9. A Weirdo Among Weirdos
A Weirdo Among Weirdos
“Tonight, we conjure our element outside of our hands. We connect with and create our element outside of our inner circle,” Grandma announces. We’re in the backyard yet again a full week later.
She’d been taking it easy on me in magical lessons, trying not to push another magical episode, but I had a feeling there was an expiration date on her kindness.
Rosie and Belle wait on the porch, watching us intently. They don’t love each other, but they’re able to exist together. Based on Noah’s shocked reaction, I expect it’s a magic thing.
He’s practically jumping from the kitchen window wanting to pet them, but Hazel insists he stays inside during magic lessons, just in case any stray magic hits him. It’s a fair rule.
“Hazel, will you demonstrate?” Grandma continues, taking a step back from my sister. Allowing her space to work, probably, and I follow suit.
Logically, I understand why Grandma wants Hazel to demonstrate. Hazel knows what she’s doing, unlike me. But I’ve grasped things relatively quickly, I don’t need them to keep babying me.
“Get it, baby!” Noah calls from the open window. Hazel giggles, blowing him a kiss.
They are both ridiculously dorky and adorable, and it makes me want to roll into a ball and hide.
I’ve managed to continue avoiding Ash by a very graceful bob-and-weave method.
Anytime I feel his approach, I hide. And he hasn’t texted.
But I know there’s an expiration date on that, too.
I’m not sure how to talk to him after our sunrise together.
Being mean just seems cruel, but it’s easier in the long run.
Better to reject him now before I break his heart. Or he breaks mine.
Hurting each other is inevitable. Even with Mr. and Mrs. Perfect standing here in front of me, I know they’re on a timer, just as much as Mom and Dad were. I’m just trying to follow the path with the least amount of pain.
Hazel’s deep breath pulls me back to the present.
She closes her eyes and waves her hands in front of her.
As if she could create a breeze simply with the movement.
She murmurs a little to herself and then throws her hands forward.
A small tornado, maybe four feet tall, springs up a few feet away.
It whips and gnashes at the air around it, but doesn’t pull anything else to it.
If I wasn’t seeing the damn thing in front of me, I wouldn’t believe it existed.
“Excellent, Hazel!” Grandma praises, clapping her hands. “You’ve come so far!”
I roll my eyes. Gotta love that favoritism.
Hazel always got all the attention. I may have gotten it from the outside world because I demanded it, but she got it at home. Mom always fought with her, Grandma always enjoyed talking with her.
There was never much left for me.
“Laura, would you like to try?” Grandma asks kindly. She doesn’t show disbelief or rudeness, but I can’t view it as anything other than a challenge.
Can I do what Hazel does? Can I be as good as her?
I absolutely can.
I have to.
Closing my eyes, I block out the overwhelming presence of my family. I focus on my breathing instead, relaxing my body like Grandma taught me to. My connection to fire has always been there, always been such a strange little part of my life. I can tap into it.
I think about conjuring with fire, about creating a small ball of fire to hover in the same spot Hazel placed her tornado.
I open my eyes and find the smallest flicker of blue flame. It stands all alone, dancing in the air.
“Beautifully done, dear,” Grandma says, hand on my shoulder. “Your powers are growing quickly.”
The fire flickers at the praise, as if it’s proud of us for what we’ve created. It’s not a tornado, but it’s mine.
Help.
A whisper on the air. A small plea I would’ve ignored if not for the general stillness of the outdoors.
Help.
It whispers again. It’s soft, pleading, drawing me in.
“I don’t know how to help you,” I reply, with more eagerness than I expected. As strange as this is—as terrifying as the heat is—I’m a little excited. I want to know more. “I don’t know what you need. I don’t know who you are.”
“What was that?” Grandma asks, not removing her hand from my shoulder.
I shake my head. Too many voices at once. “The fire said it needs help.”
“The . . . fire?” Hazel asks. I can feel her skepticism from here, it’s practically bleeding off her. “What do you mean?”
And that’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell her.
“I mean what I said,” I huff. “I’m not speaking another language. The fire said ‘help.’”
“Even in our world, it is unique for our elements to speak to us. Especially using language,” Grandma explains.
Huh. So I’m a weirdo among weirdos. Cool.
“Do you think maybe since Mom died—” Hazel starts.
“She is not dead!” I practically screech at the same time as the fire blazes, snapping at my family with the same ferocity. We react as one. And something about it feels damn good. Validating.
Something believes me. Something doesn’t pity me.
I don’t look at Grandma and Hazel. I don’t want the ‘honey, you’re just traumatized’ response that I know is coming.
I know I’m traumatized, but I also know that something is going on. The fire is against me giving up on Mom—and despite that woman giving up on me every single day before her disappearance, I’m not getting talked out of this.
I turn on my heel and stalk into the house, Belle hot on my trail.
I may be the only one who hears their element, but I’m not going to be the only one who listens. I’m going to find some way to convince those two idiots that something more is going on.