Betsy ignores me. “Ever since you started manifesting, you’ve been doing so with both your own emotions and those around you. How long is that sustainable? What if the power you need in the moment isn’t anemotion you’re feeling at the time? You need to be able to identify and control your own emotional responses, and to … tap those needed emotions, draw them out from others. Whether or not they’re feeling them, either.”
“Wait. You’re saying I’m… I don’t know… some sort of emotional vampire?”
“Not exactly. I’m saying you can not only draw on other people’s emotions, but I think that, if you had to, you would also be able to force people to feel whatever you needed them to, in that moment. But that’s just a hypothesis.”
There’s a long silence. “What the fuck Bits? Whatareyou?”
She blinks innocently, the sunlight bouncing off her hair before she laughs. “Me? Sweetie, just consider me your fairy godmother. Now, back to work.”
I don’t know how she can drop a bomb like that and think I can just go on about my business, but she makes it clear that she expects exactly that.
I exhale shakily and close my eyes again. The warmth fades as I try to focus on my fear. I want to pretend I don’t know what I fear, or that I don’t know what to reach for.
Instead, I focus on the thought of what is lost with my memories.
Do I have a family? Parents? Siblings? Friends? Is anyone looking for me? Is anyone heartbroken that I, apparently, disappeared one day? Or do I have no one?
The warmth fades, replaced by a chill that crawls up my spine. Despite focusing on my own deeper fears, other images appear — Brett’s hands, his voice, his words.
The light in my hands dims as the clearing darkens.
I hear Betsy say something, but it’s distant and muted. The edge of the world rips, black threads coiling around my arms, crawling upwards like living ink. My heart is pounding my chest.
“I can’t– Betsy, I can’t stop it!”
“Yes, you can.” Her firm, no-nonsense voice cuts through my panic, grounding me. “You arenotyour fear. You’re the one holding it. You are in control.”
I try to focus on my breathing but the shadows tighten, feeding on my pulse.
“You need to allow yourself to feel it. Your feelings are valid.”
My breathing is growing more shallow. I open my eyes and realize I can’t see Betsy or Calida. The clearing is shrouded in mist and fog.
“Don’t fight it,” I hear Betsy instructing from somewhere in front of me. “Name it.”
I swallow hard, closing my eyes tightly. The words tremble out of me. “It’s helplessness.”
The second I say it, acknowledge it, the shadows shudder and disappear. I can feel it — the emotion uncoiling, taking shape. The darkness softens into a mist. When I open my eyes, the fog lingers, but I can see them again.
Betsy is smiling. “See? Fear loses its fangs when you acknowledge what it is.”
My throat burns. “I thought I was supposed to control it.”
“You just did.” She tosses me a saucy wink. '“Control isn’t suppression, pumpkin. It’s understanding. It’s allowing yourself to feel and not fear it.”
Calida gives a lazy stretch, dragging my attentionaway from Betsy. ‘Not bad for a beginner. She didn’t even set anything on fire this time.’
Betsy gives her a sharp look. “Don’t tempt fate, child.”
We break for a lunch of sandwiches and lemonade, eaten on the grass whilst the world hums with quiet energy. I can still feel the pulse of magick beneath my skin, like I’ve been rewired.
I’m just trying really hard to avoid meeting Betsy’s gaze because I canfeelher studying me and I’m starting to feel like a bug under a microscope.
“You’re holding it wrong.”
I blink. “What?” I look down at the sandwich in my hand.
“Yourself.” She gestures with a hand, heavily ladened with rings and I notice a smear of mustard. “You keep trying to hide it. The light, the power, the way you can sense feelings moving. You’re trying to make yourself smaller. Stop. It.”
