Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“Magic is like home for witches. It is who they naturally are.” He nodded and let me go, stepping back. “Northern Virginia, you’ve always lived there?”
I nodded.
“And Simone has always been close to you?”
“As in we grew up together, yes.” I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “Why?”
“I want you to do more magic.”
Huh? “You want me to do more? I don’t even know how I did this.”
He glanced around the room for a moment, grabbing the bottle of blood and one of the two glasses left there like complimentary drinks at a hotel. He lifted it up in front of my face. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before.
“Pour the blood from the bottle into the glass. Without touching it.”
“Theseus.”
“Just humor me for a moment. I have a hypothesis, but I need you to try.” He showed me the bottle and glass again.
“What am I supposed to say, Theseus?” I waved my finger as if it was a wand in front of him “Blood-o in glass-o?”
The bottle in his hand vibrated, and I stared at it in shock. “That is isn’t funny, Theseus. Stop shaking it.”
“I’m not,” he said seriously. “Try again…with less sarcasm and more desire. Magic allows for desire to become reality.”
Part of me wanted to. But, what did it mean if I could do this? Then again, not doing this meant I would be clueless as to what was happening to and around me as well as what had happened to cause Theseus to lose his memory. I took a deep breath, trying to think of what to say.
What rhymed with blood? Did a spell need to rhyme? That seemed a bit silly. It made me think all witches were walking around with a rhyme book just in case they needed to cast a spell.
Everything had steps. If I were going to pour wine into a glass, I needed to uncork the bottle first. I stared at the cork inside the bottle, watching it wiggle. Come on; you can do it. It wiggled and wiggled, but it wasn’t moving up, and at that point, I felt it was taunting me.
“Oh, just come out already!” I snapped at it, and it popped back, shooting out of the bottle like a bullet. The glass shattered, spilling the blood to the ground, and the cork landed a few feet from us. I stared at it shock.
“I think a delicate hand is needed for the craft.” Theseus snickered beside me.
“Don’t laugh. Look what you made me do!” I got on my knees to pick up the broken pieces, further ruining my dress.
At this point, if Lucy could save this dress, she definitely knew how to do magic. Not to mention the stains we’d just left. We were the worst guests in history.
“We have to get the stain out…” My voice drifted off as I watched the blood rise from the ground into a sphere-like blood bubble.
He knelt in front of me and lifted the wine glass from my hand. Then Theseus moved my hand over to the bubble and down. The blood followed my motion until it landed in the glass until it was full.
“Better.” He grinned. “I’m unsure how the Wiccan’s do it, but you passed my test.”
“Theseus, how the hell am I doing magic? I’m a vampire.”
“I don’t know; maybe your true gift is the gift of magic. Everything you’ve done so far is because of magic. Though the point is, you can do it, even as a vampire, which means you could most definitely do so as a mortal.” He put down the glass, and when he did, the blood bubble balanced on top of it, waiting. “You grew up in an area full of witches and next to another witch. Your magic is so strong that it follows your wishes even when you do not command it. How is it possible you do not remember ever having it? How is possible the witches around you never sensed it?”
“Maybe I didn’t want them to. Maybe I rejected the magic.” That didn’t make sense either. I would remember not wanting magic.
“Or maybe the reason the Omeron witches left you alone, Druella is because you are an Omeron coven witch and just don’t remember.” His eyes were clear and full of wonder like he was piecing the puzzles together the longer he stared. “What if my memory isn’t the only one missing? What if yours is, too?”
No. I shook my head. “How can I be missing my memory, Theseus? I remember everything?”
“Maybe there are holes—”
“There are no holes in my memory,” I said, and to prove it, I went through my short life for him. “Mother was Zira Monroe, she was an artist, and my love of art comes from her. She died giving birth to me. I spent my childhood finding comfort in her paintings and trying to copy them. My father was Dovev Monroe. He was heartbroken when she passed away, and everyone said he lost a piece of himself. He avoided me because I reminded him of my mother. He worked as an international aid worker, and I was always jealous that he spent more time helping other kids than me. So, I would misbehave in high school, hoping to get his attention.