Page 19 of The Blood Witch
I take a deep breath and survey the bones again. Symbols jump up at me, mixing together to create meaning and purpose. Shapes, fragments, and combinations guide my way, and I settle into the marvel of this magic. I study the bones connecting the pin and the earring and look up.
“You’ve been debating about something for a while now, a job maybe or some kind of task, although there’s more to it than that,” I hedge as I read the symbols hugging her Order pin and branching out from it. “I see that you’re searching for something, but you’re looking in the wrong places.”
Colby’s eyes shoot to the Order members all around us and then once again meet mine, her eyes probing for guidance. “Does it say where Ishouldlook?”
“Sure as fuck not anywhere near your family, it’s a miracle you survived that pack of psychos,” I blurt, and then my face immediately heats.
Shit. Way to ease into that.
“I mean, I’m sure they’rewhateverin their own right,” I rush to add. “And it’s clear you haven’t cut them off...but maybe you should consider that, because everything I see around them, in relation to you, is bad. Sorry,” I offer awkwardly, but Colby gives me a warm half smile.
“Don’t be, you’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” she explains with a sigh. “It’s a good reminder though. I use the last name Trapet here because I don’t want any issues, but it’s short for Trapetti,” she reveals, her eyes searching mine for recognition.
There isn’t any. I have no idea why it matters.
“Cool,” I tell her casually, and she barks out a laugh and shakes her head.
“You really don’t know?” she asks, her eyes alight with amusement.
A guard coughs, one hack leading into a full fit. I think his name is Timin. He pounds on his chest and gets a hold of himself after a moment, returning to his perusal of our surroundings like nothing happened. Colby and I look away from him, and she shoots me an eyeroll.
“Yeah, I’m actually relatively new to the whole witch thing, and I know fuck all about most things beyond these bones,” I admit on a chuckle.
“The Trapetti coven is like the mob, I guess that’s the best comparison. The mob with magic,” she adds with an irritated huff and disapproving shake of her head.
“Oh, okay then, well, I guess that makes sense with what the bones are saying,” I declare, gesturing to the spread. I notice a couple of guards around us fidget, but I don’t draw attention to it.
Colby rubs her cheek absently. “Yeah, things have been really tough for me for the last couple of months. I lost someone, and my mother has tried to reach out. I doubt she even knows anything has happened, but shitty people always seem to know when you’re at your most vulnerable, don’t they?” she asks, a humorless laugh escaping her as her eyes drop to the bones, and her face becomes sad.
“It’s like a sixth sense,” I agree. “I swear there’s an alarm that goes off in my ex’s head every time I’m lonely and horny,” I add, and then internally roll my eyes at myself.
Right, Lennox, because that’s the same thing.
Colby laughs and nods. “Exactly, it must be something we put off, wavelengths or pheromones or something. All I know is, if I ever figure out what it is, I’m breaking it.”
“Well, be sure to tell me, because a girl can only take so much,” I tell her, laughing. I focus back on the spread as she smiles and nods. “When things are hard and sad, it can be so easy to try and rewrite history with toxic people. We can convince ourselves that it was us, or that they can change, but don’t do that,” I tell her, my tone empathetic but matter-of-fact. I look down to her borrowed totem, the bangle sitting atop a pile that represents putrid roots and decayed familial connections. “Don’t turn to people who were never capable of giving you what you needed, what you deserved in the first place. There’s no coming back from that.”
She sighs, but she nods. “Then where should I turn?” she asks, but the question sounds hollow, like she already knows there’s no one.
“I’m going to sound like some spandex-wearing, protein-pumping, self-help freak, but have you ever thought to just turn to yourself?” I ask. “And before you roll your eyes and say, ‘Thanks, but no thanks, witch, no one is buying your bullshit today,’ hear me out,” I plead, because I see in her demeanor that a wall just went up.
“You don’t trust yourself, I get it. But why? When have your instincts or inner voice led you astray? You’ve relied on yourself most of your life, but you don’t give yourself enough credit for that. You should,” I implore, hoping that she hears me, because with what I can sense she’ll be facing in her future, trusting herself is going to be the difference between life and death.
I try to shut myself off from the images and feelings that flood me from both Colby and the bones. The years of neglect and disinterest that Colby felt growing up. All the questions she battled as she tried to understand why her brothers and sister were loved but she was hated. I push away visions of the war inside of her that constantly tells her she’s not good enough, not loveable, not worthy. I feel sick that these things were hammered into her by the people who should have loved her, valued her, treasured her. But family isn’t always what they should be. Sometimes they’re the poison, not the antidote.
“You’ve been looking for a sign, something to force your hand, well, here’s your sign,” I tell her, feeling like I’m doing a bad impression of Bill Engvall.
As though the heavens themselves got the joke, a ray of light drops through the clouds and falls on the bench next to me. I turn to take it in, only when I look, it’s no longer a ray of sun peeking in on our reading, it’s a woman. She’s Colby’s age, statuesque, with stunning golden blonde hair, hanging stick straight almost to the small of her back. Her bright blue eyes smile at me as she sits there like her presence is simply no big deal.
My eyes widen, and I freeze as I stare at her...as I stare through her. She’s there, but not fully. There’s no flesh or blood about her, and yet I feel her presence just as surely as I feel Colby’s.
“Are you okay?” Colby asks, warm concern spilling out of her tone. “You’re doing great,” she reassures me, and I could just hug her for being so sweet, but that would mean I’d have to stop staring at the ghost who just copped a squat next to me.
I clear my throat and turn my shocked stare to Colby as a name rings clear as a bell in my mind.
“Do you know a Diem by chance?” I query, my voice a little more froggy with surprise than I’d like.
I feel like I’m experiencing an epic Osteomancer fail. Why was my first reading so smooth and amazing? But with this one, I’m tripping all over myself, blurty, and now a ghost has stepped in to get things on track. I’m totally shitting the bed.
