On the Verge (A Charmed Life Book 1) (31 page)

Here was the trick she'd been working on lately - something that should help her when the next winter came around and there was less water to work with again.  She focused her will, and the ball of ice started to shrink, sublimating right from solid to gas as she returned the moisture to the air, leaving her with a little orb a bit smaller than a cue ball.  She smiled happily - last week it'd been so much harder, and the week before, she'd been left with a wet outfit she'd needed to dry out.  She was improving!  She tossed the ball from hand to hand, letting out a soft breath of relief and pride.

Then a second ball added itself to the mix - a ball made of insubstantial mist, but she handled it as if it was solid - only she knew how much control it took to 'handle' mist like that.  As her fingers touched it, ripples flew across the surface, and shock waves flowed over it as it pressed against the air with each toss.  Then she pulled upon a third charm, and a ball of flame joined the first two, and she juggled them half with her hands, half with her mind.

She was weary from the long day at work, and she still wasn't very good at juggling, but she tried for the last ball anyway.  Circling the three other balls over her left hand, she reached out with her right to the concrete wall, drawing out some of its substance to make a heavy gray stone ball in her palm.  It took several minutes - stone was not easy to work with one's will alone, but eventually it parted from the concrete and she held it in her fingers.  The essence of earth was its immobility, and her will couldn't budge it, but she tossed the stone sphere into the pattern and wove it with the other three, biting her lip with the concentration of it.  Each ball needed a different focus - the mist and fire mainly controlled by will, the ice and stone mainly controlled by her hands, and she had to balance the two types of control to make this practice work.

She managed about five seconds before she fumbled it, the ball of mist splashing over her hand and dropping another foot besides, and as she tried to pull it back up, the stone ball smacked into her fingers and bent them backwards, pulling a sharp cry from her as the pain shot through her hand.  Despite the pain, a feeling of amusement bubbled through her, which confused her for just a moment.

She splayed her fingers, dispersing the three less solid balls - the ice sphere shattering and leaving damp wetness around the room.  She took several minutes to carefully return the stuff of the stone ball into the concrete wall, restoring it to its original place.  Then she sagged, letting go of the magic at last, feeling the mental ache of having exerted herself for so long and with such intricate control.

Then she went stalking from the arena into the lounge, where Tyra and the others were lounging around on the old couches, and Tyra was grinning unrepentantly at her.  Tracy tamped down on the empathy, cutting off her awareness of their amusement at her fumbling.

“Really?” she asked sharply.  “Spying on me?”

Tyra raised an eyebrow, smirking.  “Y'all jes' walked past us sittin' in front of th' TV t'go practice in th' room with cameras.   Might as well have just walked in an' started doin' it in front of us.  We weren't spyin', jes' had t'press one button t'watch.”

Tracy groaned.  “So now I'm going to be paranoid all the time that I'm being watched.”

The pizza, despite having gone cold, was as good as Tracy remembered - and she rather liked cold pizza better than hot pizza, anyway.  The conversation was pleasant enough - when she could talk with Tyra.  The others sitting around kept wanting to inject their thoughts, and Tracy had long ago figured out that just sharing the ability to do magic didn't mean one had a lot in common with everyone else.  Even after several months, they wanted to hear her tell her story of fighting Lord Pax, and she just wanted to forget it.  It'd been recorded - but her own screening fog had kept most of the action from being captured.

Still, she eventually shooed them off so she could have a quiet conversation with Tyra, heavily implying that they wanted to discuss 'secret battle strategies.'  They retreated to a corner, Tracy put up a privacy wall of solid air, and they shared stories of past and present, as they often did.  Tyra's family was poor, and she hadn't talked with her father in five years - but it hadn't always been that way.  When she was young, he'd been successful, and had taken them on trips and they'd had a nice life.  Tracy didn't know what had happened, and Tyra always danced around the subject, so Tracy didn't push.

What Tracy did push on, from time to time, was a particular curiosity that fascinated her, despite Tyra's reluctance to share.  “So, standard question-”

“No.”

“C'mon, Tyra-”

“No.  Stop asking, Tracy.”  Tyra sighed, flustered.

“Everyone has a focus, though.  You must have one.”

“I do have a focus.  I'm the only one that knows what it is.  It's embarrassing.  Stop asking.”

Tracy laughed, sighed, shook her head.  “You realize everything folks can imagine is probably more embarrassing than the reality, right?”  At Tyra's shrug, Tracy shrugged too.  “All right.  For today.”

Tyra groaned, and changed the subject - sports.  Tracy wasn't big into most sports, but she'd long ago learned the secret to participating in the conversations.  Know your local team, know whom they played last, whom they're playing next, and whom their star player is.  As long as you know that, you can make encouraging remarks with some semblance of participating, and just wait for them to run out of steam.

Which took a while for some of them.  But after that while, Tyra ran down, and there was a long period of introspective musing.

“Tracy?” Tyra spoke up, breaking that quiet.  “Do y'like it?  Having the magic?”

Tracy nodded without hesitating.  “There are things I don't like about it, but yes.  For the most part, it's what I always wanted.  It feels like I can finally do the things I always should have been able to do.”

“What do you like most?”

Tracy considered for a bit.  “Well, I guess … it came at just the right time to break me out of a rut that I'd been settling into for years.”

Tyra laughed softly.  “Yeah, so y'just dug a new rut for yourself, but this one with magic 'stead of without.”

“Perhaps, but … I made a new friend or three, too.”  They smiled at each other.  “That's enough for me.  That's a true treasure I won.”

It wasn't long after that when both Tracy and Tyra had to get up to leave.  Tyra had to get to work, and she dropped Tracy off along the way at a little ragged-looking clinic that was secretly the small hospital for the magical community.

The older woman manning the front desk smiled to see her and waved her through from the run-down waiting room into the clean, professional hallways.  She made her way through the familiar layout to the right room, having been making the trip two or three times a week since the fight.

The door sat open, so she half-leaned in and knocked on the frame.  “Knock knock!” she called.

Anthony looked up from where he was laying in the bed, smiling to see her.  He'd lost most of the bandages by now.  He should have been dead, or still in much worse condition, but magic did wonders for healing.  “Ah, Tracy!”

Brightfur's head lifted up from Anthony's thigh.  The wolf had been napping lightly on the hospital bed next to him, but woke up to Tracy's voice.  His tail whipped into Anthony's face, and Anthony laughed and shoved at the wolf, knocking him off onto the floor.

The beast still intimidated Tracy.  It was BIG.  Much bigger than most any dog she'd ever seen.  But she took care not to let that show as she nodded her head in greeting and reached out for him to sniff at her fingers.

“Tracy,” Brightfur greeted her solemnly, his voice a low rumble.  His mouth didn't move right for the words, and Tracy had no idea how it happened, but apparently, animal focuses could talk.

“Brightfur,” she responded with equal solemnity, and the three of them waited a moment.  Then Brightfur pushed his head under her fingers, and she played briefly with his ears before moving past to sit down next to Anthony's bed.

“Tracy,” Anthony repeated again, and reached out to take her hand.  “Thanks for coming.”

Tracy nodded, and heard the desperate relief in his voice.  “Still your only visitor?” she asked, and he nodded.  It wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation.  Pax had shown up only once – to let Anthony know he was very disappointed in him – defeating himself in the fight.

“Look, he's a jerk.  And no doubt he's not letting anyone else show up.  I'm sure they want to.”  It wasn't the first time she'd reassured him with this, either, and it was helping him less every time.  She sighed, hauled her bag up onto the bed, and pulled out the books and movies she'd picked out for him.

They talked about books for a while, and about his rehab.  His face was still badly scarred, but the doctors had promised that would mostly go away after the final treatments with earth and water.

New friends, Tracy thought, and felt a contented smile on her face, even though she still worried about Anthony.  His body was sure to heal soon, but his mind … how long would that take to mend?  Still.  He was a friend.  He had been so grateful for her visits – first reading to him when he could barely respond, still half-loopy from pain meds.  Then being there when he started the rehab.  Then just visiting to bring him things to occupy him during the long, empty days.

Yes.  She had won a treasure from that fight, and it was more valuable than any magic.