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About damn time.
49
The rainbow swirl of Loren’s magic reflected in the glossy surface of the table at Agatha’s Post-Secondary Education for Botany. A seemingly endless stream of pastel colors poured from her cupped hands, sparkling and undulating like ocean waves under a clear sky. Woven between each color was a white so bright, it nearly blinded.
“I’d say you’re getting the hang of this,” Agatha said with a proud smile. That smile faltered a little as she studied Loren’s eyes—solid white again, white lines webbing away from them. “Though I do wish you wouldn’t insist on using the Venom.”
“It’s easier to summon my magic when I’m on it,” Loren said, watching her aura dance across the wood. The plants on the sills were intrigued by the sight of it. They leaned in their pots, as if drawn to sunshine, the real rays of the sun that were slanting through the windows behind them forgotten.
“Maybe.” Agatha frowned. “But you’re going to have to get off it sooner than later. If you become too reliant on it, then you’ll never stand a chance at learning how to control your magic without it. Dependency is a serious concern, Loren.”
“I will, don’t worry about me.” Loren sat back in her chair and lowered her hands to the table. Her magic faded away, much to the disappointment of all the plants, who shrank in their pots and turned toward each other, as if gossiping.
Agatha glanced at her watch. “Our time is just about up for the day. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to ask you…” Loren searched for the right words, a way to ask Agatha the most important question without tripping the spell and causing her speech to lock down. If she messed this up, she wasn’t sure what she would do, especially now that she’d come this far. “Do you know anything about the Veil?” She breathed an internal sigh of relief when the question came with ease.
Agatha canted her head. “Doesn’t everyone know about the Veil?”
Loren worded her next sentence just as carefully as she had her question. “I’m more interested in hearing what you know about it.”
Agatha raised a brow, looking faintly amused. Loren was relieved that all her strange requests and questions hadn’t yet pushed Agatha to contact Darien. It was a miracle, really. And she didn’t bank on having it last much longer. “Don’t they teach you this at AA?” Agatha asked.
“Yes. But I wasn’t paying attention in class, and I have a test tomorrow that I know I am going to fail.” This part wasn’t actually a lie. The day Professor Griffith had been pacing in front of the chalkboard as she gave a lecture about the Crossroads was the same day Darien had texted Loren about how perfect her ass was. She found it impossible to ignore him when he was talking like that, no matter how interesting or important the lesson.
“Alright.” Agatha tossed her tumble of curly hair over a shoulder, where it draped across the table. “The Veil is a curtain between the land of the living and that of the dead. Some people believe that at twilight, as well as on the darkest night of the year, dead loved ones can communicate by means of the Crossroads, because the Veil is thinnest during these times.” She fluttered a dismissive hand. “It’s all just old stories. I wouldn’t put any stock in them.”
“And what of the living?”
Agatha pursed her lips in thought. “What of them?”
“Can they…?” Her question stuck in her throat.
Luckily, Agatha understood. “The living cannot cross over.”
“But hypothetically speaking,” Loren urged, feeling her throat threatening to tighten, “how might someone do it?”
“Hypothetically speaking,” Agatha began, looking as confused as she did frustrated, “I would talk to someone who knows the answers.”
“A creature of the Crossroads?”
She drew a slow breath in through her nose. “Or someone safer, like I don’t know…a Familiar Spirit.”
A Familiar Spirit—that was it!
A knock came at the door. They both looked its way as it groaned open, and Loren had to stop her mouth from falling open at the sight of her father standing in the doorway.
“Pardon the interruption,” he mumbled, scratching at the back of his neck. When his eyes found Loren’s, he looked as awkward as ever, scarlet spreading across his cheekbones. “I was hoping I might find you here.”
—
Loren sat with Erasmus on the bench near the babbling fountain outside of Agatha’s. She ate a granola bar, the glow of her tattoo dimming with every swallow. Luckily, it was only a bright blue, not the glaring red of a distress signal that would push her into a fainting spell.
“How did you find me?” Loren asked, biting off another chunk of the granola bar. “Were you spying on me?”
“Spying?” Her father chuckled. “Of course n-not.” He gestured to the quaint little shops and restaurants just down the street. “I come here for coffee almost every afternoon. I saw you a few days ago, and since I was in the area today, I decided to pop in and see if you were here.”
“How’s the townhouse?”
