Chapter Sixteen #2
The suite was, thankfully, empty—it was a Sunday—so there was no one to witness Sylvia’s small stumble as she followed Vikrant out of the elevator.
She felt underdressed, self-conscious of her too-short jeans and thin sweater.
Her head swirled with thoughts of what anyone who saw her here would think. Imposter. Fraud. Worthless.
Vikrant walked her to a staid room. “Wait here,” he said. “And don’t touch anything.”
She hadn’t planned on it before, but as soon as he left, Sylvia started scanning for things she could break. She was debating between a vase and a fruit tray—or both—when she heard an excited squeal.
She looked at the doorway and spotted a smiling Indian woman, a couple years older than her, with long, bouncy curls. Like Vikrant, she was dressed in perfectly tailored business attire, although she had at least paired the skirt suit with a semi-youthful butterfly-print button-down.
“Oh my god, you’re here,” the woman said. “Vikrant said he had brought you in, but he wouldn’t tell me where you were. I’ve tried like, six rooms. I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination.”
“Uh,” Sylvia said, not quite sure how to respond to the woman’s outburst. “Well, I’m not.”
“Of course you’re not!” The woman walked past Sylvia, plopping down on the couch. “I’m Nina. And you’re Sylvia.”
Sylvia raised an eyebrow at the woman, who seemed to find it impossible to talk at any speed other than breakneck. She was nothing like Sylvia, who meted out words like they cost money. And yet Sylvia sensed some kinship in her, something that fell somewhere in between a want and a need.
“That’s correct.”
“I have literally so many questions about being an unsettled witch,” Nina said.
Unsettled. Vikrant had called her that as well.
Before she could figure out what it meant, though, Nina started talking again.
“I mean, I’ve never met one before, so everything I know is from textbooks, which are like, so stuffy.
What does the magic feel like? When did you first know you had it?
How does it work when you craft a spell? ”
Sylvia opened her mouth to answer, but Nina barreled on. “Wait. Could you show me?”
Sylvia paused. An hour ago, when she was just one of many strangers in Times Square, she would have confidently shown Nina anything.
But here, in this sober, uptight office—this living reminder of all the things she’d never expected herself to have—her magic felt like a foreign thing.
A gift so far out of her tax bracket that she couldn’t possibly afford to keep it.
“Shoot,” Nina said, sensing her hesitation. “I’m sorry. You must be so overwhelmed, and then I come in asking all these questions. Am I the worst? I’m the worst. Have I mentioned I’m sorry?”
Her babbling was so disarming that Sylvia laughed before she realized what she was doing. Her anxiety fizzled away, chased off by Nina’s blush.
“You did mention that. But you don’t need to be.
” Sylvia took her hand out of her pocket, holding it in front of her.
She closed her eyes, willing the power into the form she wanted.
It was easy, diving into that limitless well.
It was an exercise in trust, she realized—knowing that she might take the power or the power might take her.
Either way, she’d be better off than she’d been before she took that plunge.
This time, the power let her take the reins, burning up her arm until it reached her palm, and then forming itself to her will.
The first butterfly came out in a spew of gold sparks. The second emerged in a haze of blue, the third a riot of purple. A dozen more burst forth at once, all colors of the rainbow. They flitted around the room, landing on the vase, on the fruit tray, on Nina’s matching shirt.
“Holy shit,” Nina breathed. “And you didn’t even have to cut yourself.”
They kept mentioning that—the cutting. Sylvia shivered, glad she didn’t have to resort to that. She didn’t respond, instead crafting a few more butterflies out of pink and green and silver and setting them free. Nina laughed as they took up residence in her hair.
“How many do you think you could do?” she asked.
Sylvia shrugged. “How many could fit in this building?”
Nina’s face split into a wide grin. “You’re incredible. Seriously. I’m so happy you’re here.” She stood, pulling Sylvia into a tight hug. Sylvia stayed stiff as a board for a moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been touched like this. She wasn’t sure she ever had been.
She wrapped her arms around Nina and hugged back, butterflies alighting on their joined bodies.
And then the door opened, and the butterflies all turned to dust.
Sylvia jumped back instantly, putting a few inches of space between her and Nina, but it was too late—Vikrant and the man who trailed behind him had clearly caught her moment of vulnerability.
The man was Vikrant’s carbon copy, give or take thirty years—his father, she assumed.
Both men fixed her with a familiar sneer.
The same sneer Sylvia’s parents had given her when she dared to interrupt their TV show to ask for something so wild as being fed, the same way everyone at school had looked at her when she came in with hand-me-down clothes or matted hair.
She hated them. Hated the disgust in their eyes.
She’d just have to wipe that look right off their faces.
She didn’t know how, but she had a power they feared. And, she was fairly certain, envied. She had abilities they couldn’t even dream of having, with none of their limitations. And she had nothing to lose.
“So,” she said. “How do I get into this joint?”
Present Day
Sylvia opened her eyes, snapping back to her apartment.
She wasn’t that girl anymore, in so many ways. She had settled—not only her magic, but her life. She had roots now. A home she had poured her heart into perfecting. A coven she had poured her energy into building. People she had poured her soul into helping.
She had the life she’d always wanted. She’d fought her way up a ladder that people kept trying to throw her off of, and she’d made it to the top. She’d proven herself smart, capable, and strong over and over and over again. People relied on her. People respected her.
She was terrified of losing all that hard work, of plummeting back into the ditch she’d dragged herself out of all those years ago.
She was terrified of losing her coven, of never again getting to stand up on the stage before them and see their faces staring up at her, telling her she was worthy.
And she was terrified of losing Katherine, of never getting to hear her laugh and know that she was the one who made it possible for Katherine to smile again.
If people found out she’d played any part in Lily’s death, her past, present, and future were gone.
Her power started to burn again, the tornado of emotions swirling into a ball of sparks in front of her. She tried to yank at it, but it pulled out of her grasp, slamming into her chest. She coughed as the breath was knocked out of her, bending over as her body was racked with pain.
Finally, she found the air to let out a low groan. She opened her eyes to see the mess she’d made of her living room—carefully placed knickknacks blown off shelves, her rug burned, her coffee table pulverized to ash.
She needed to get this power under control. Quickly.