Chapter 29 #2
I blow out a breath. That was a little anticlimactic. I then sternly remind myself to squeeze my digit. I squeeze until I have a good drop of blood balanced on the tip. I don’t want to be doing the entire hole punch thing again today if I can help it.
With blood drop balanced, I carefully shuffle to the empty back wall of the stockroom.
Now comes the gross bit. I smear it onto the wall, tracing around the still open portal, but being careful not to touch the magic or get the blood inside the dimensional gateway.
I have no idea what nightmare situation that would cause.
I know it’s gross and wiping an open wound onto the wall of my sister’s magic shop is not exactly hygienic, but I am again going with my gut and what I am doing feels right.
With another few squeezes, I finish the freehand rectangle.
A doorway.
I move back to eye the now fixed doorway that leads into my pocket realm.
Perhaps I should say some witchy words? My lips twitch.
A fancy incantation to lock it all into place.
I know there is no need. My blood has done the trick.
I stand and stare at it. Huh. My mum said my portal was wonky and look at that.
A real wonky portal. It’s like what she said was a premonition.
I tilt my head. Yeah, it might not be the best thing I’ve ever done.
Mum will moan that I should have outlined it first in chalk and perhaps used a ruler. The shape will irritate her.
It couldn’t be more obvious that I made the portal unless I scrawled “Tuesday was here” in blood. I grin and shake my head. Yeah, I’m not going to do that.
Am I nuts, giving my coven direct access to me and my pocket world? Maybe. Although, it could be worse. I could have gone with Mum’s suggestion and put the doorway at my parent’s house. I snort and dramatically shudder.
I will have to pop a ward on the door at my end to make sure no one comes through to do some sneaky shopping. The shop has enough wards. No one but coven can access the portal, so at least I don’t need to mess around with it on this end.
Blood is one of the scariest ingredients in witchcraft.
Even trace amounts can be used against you.
I press and hold a small button on the side of the lancet, and something hidden inside the plastic breaks.
With a puff of smoke, the entire thing vaporises.
I brush the ash off my hand into the bin.
I should now use a medicated wipe to clean the wound, but with the portal open, there is no need. My finger has already healed.
I shuffle away and direct the pulse of magic that emanates from my chest at the portal. The blood trail around it glows, and with a flash of light that momentarily blinds me, the gateway seals.
The fading buzz of power tickles my skin, and then the portal closes, sealing the doorway into the very fabric of the building. The room transcends into darkness.
All I can hear through the pounding of my heart are my raspy breaths.
Dizzy, I sag against the wall and a few unseen items fall to the floor. I rapidly blink. Whoa, that was a bit of a shock. I have to lock my knees so I don’t fall over.
It is not the power I used to make the doorway that is affecting me. To anyone else, using power like that would be a momentous challenge, if not an impossibility, but the power I used to make the fixed portal? Well, it didn’t even register.
No, the reason I feel like a wet balloon that’s been popped is that I have gone from immense power to nothing. Nada. Without the doorway open, I am back to being plain old me, and wow, I do not like it.
Staying in my pocket realm, I can see, will be addictive.
I was right. I do need to gain some perspective, take that fresh air break I promised myself. I will also not let this powerful magic control me. I need to make a decision that is right for me and not just go along with everything like a proper numpty.
I am no one’s puppet. I need to be here.
I need to think with no magical influence and be reminded of what being normal feels like.
Crikey, if I feel like this after a few days?
What am I going to feel like after years?
What a terrifying thought. That is why I am going to stay here for at least a few hours.
I force myself to move my feet. The wooden floor creaks underneath me as I leave the dark storeroom behind. I come out into the homely-looking backroom, which I ignore, and instead, I enter the shop.
The smell of magic is more potent. The strangeness of the foreign energy wiggles across my skin like ants crawling. It tickles the back of my throat and I have to breathe in shallow gasps to stop myself from gagging. It is so gross.
I hate this shop.
Yet, I cannot stop my fingers tracing across the shelves, shelves packed to the brim with magical items and artefacts. The store’s name is everywhere. ‘Tinctures ’n Tonics’ - Specialists in Portable Potions. My lip curls with deep-rooted disgust.
This shop is the accumulation of everything that was wrong in my old life.
All I see when I come in here is my failure.
And I need to make peace with that. It is not the magic in this world’s fault that my strange host magic was not compatible. I have blamed magic, school, the witch community, my coven… I swallow against the growing lump in my throat. Everyone. I blamed everyone.
Diane was right. I was bitter. I was jealous.
Those imaginary fairies bounce around in my abdomen as I come to a horrid realisation. What type of monster would I be if I had all that power to begin with?
I have been given a unique perspective that I would have never had if I had not lived it. A gift. I have had years of being weak and powerless. Perhaps I needed to learn through my experience to gain empathy and compassion. Perhaps everything does happen for a reason.
I roam around the shop, the retail manager in me mentally rearranging things to make more sense of the higgledy-piggledy way items are stuffed onto the shelves.
I itch my arm. The layout is going to give me hives.
There is an enormous mirror alongside a display of pretty jewellery. According to the labels, they contain powerful disguise spells that can change appearance, Diane’s speciality. I glimpse my reflection and notice the lack of glowing marks on my skin. My stomach dips.
They mark me as different, alien, so how can I miss them? Of their own accord, my eyes drift back to the hidden portal. A sharp urge for home thrums through me. I need to get my head on straight without the pocket realm’s magic mojo messing with me.