A Love of Magic: Jace's story: Chosen Saga Book 1.5 Read online

  “You. I see you,” she breathed.

  I smiled. "Good. Now if this is too much, you can just pull and you are free, ok?"

  I picked up the flower. “All the bad that happened, I’m going to try and replace it with something good. That way, when you think of what happened, it won’t make you want to cry. Instead, it will make you think of your wonderful flower. It will make you think of me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Jace

  I sighed and slowly put one of the petals against the bite marks on her forearm and twirled it around counter clockwise. I looked at her to see if she was going to stop me, but when she just stared back, I leaned in and kissed the spot where the bite mark was still visible. I traced around her arm with petals, ending up by her ear where that sick, twisted guy had bitten her.

  “Tell me if you want to stop, and I will.”

  She shook her head, and with a trembling voice, she said, “Please, Jace. Make it go away. I want to feel like me again. I just want to feel. I don’t want to feel like this empty shell anymore.”

  I nodded and leaned in, kissing her earlobe, and with the same precise movements, I took the flower and traced it down the side of her arm to her ribcage. I lifted her shirt up just enough to show the new scars from where the knife slashed her abdomen. In tiny movements, I swirled the flower around her stomach and kissed the pain away. She started to cry. I immediately pulled the vines away from her wrist and wrapped her in my arms, gently stroking her hair.

  "Shh, it's all over. You're going to be fine. You're strong, Charlie. You are an unyielding person, and if anyone can get past this, it’s you.”

  Finally, she broke down and told me what happened to her, even if I knew already I was relieved she was talking about it, and she didn’t hold back, provided every sick, disgusting detail. She told me about this humming noise she thought she had imagined, and that there was this fire that exploded out of her feet and hands when she was angry and trying to defend herself. I knew it was probably her magic trying to manifest.

  “Do you think I’m crazy, Jace?”

  “No, Charlie. You’re not crazy, and those men deserved it.”

  ***

  After our time in the gym that night, I thought things between us would change, but when I found out Tru was coming to her birthday party, I had to decline the invite.

  "Hey," I said as I tapped on the door frame.

  "Hi, Jace. You look good. Is that what you're wearing to the party?"

  I shoved both hands in my front pockets and shuffled my feet nervously, hoping to change the subject. “You look good enough to eat.” I raised both eyebrows and wiggled them. She blushed.

  I chuckled, “Wow, you’re blushing hard.”

  “Yeah, don’t rub it in, Jace. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.”

  "No, it's not, Fox. It's not embarrassing to me at all."

  She smiled. “Why do you say that? And no, this is not what I am wearing, thank you.”

  “This is the first time we’ve been alone together in two weeks. I was starting to think we’d never be alone again after my flower therapy. I figured we were on a new level. Sorry. It's just that seeing you blush gives me hope."

  She smiled, walked over and gave me a big hug.

  I sighed and put my hands on her forearms, pushing her away. Looking down, I said, “Don’t get mad, Charlie, but I can’t come to your party.”

  She pulled away and stepped back, looking hurt. “Why, Jace? Why won’t you be there? I mean, I would love it if you came.”

  “I know, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “Why?” she demanded.

  “Because Tru and his family are coming.”

  “What? That doesn’t make any sense, Jace. Why would Tru and his family be the reason for you not coming to my party? You’re jealous, is that it? But what does Tru’s family have to do with your jealousy?”

  “Look,” I said. “I’m sorry. You will understand why, later. Please, Charlie. Please don’t be mad at me. Besides, I know you’re with him now. Your actions have been clear on that. So, you sure as hell have no right to ask me to come to your party and stand on the sidelines while you play kissy face with Tru. I already do that enough at school. Do you think I like feeling this way?” I looked down. “However much I hate seeing you with him, that’s not why I’m not coming. Other than the fact that I care for you, there is more to this story, Charlie.”

  She snapped. “Whatever, Jace. Just go. It’s fine. I don’t understand because you won’t tell me the whole truth. But, whatever, please just go.”

  “See, now you’re mad. I didn’t come here to hurt you.” I frowned. “Fuck. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know that, right?”

  She started to cry. “Jace, please leave. I’ll be okay. I'm not mad. I just need you to go because you say you, would never hurt me, but you are. If you leave now, then I won't be mad, but you have to go now."

  “Charlie, I’m sorry.”

  My heart was breaking. Sighing, miserably, I placed her present down and left, feeling like an ass. I hoped she would like her gift and she would be wearing it after her party. I knew everything was going to change tonight. Finally, she would know, and all the secrets would be out. I knew, then, she would remember me and I believed it would be different. Maybe, I would get my little Fox.

  Epilogue

  Jace

  We stood in front of the fountain as Charlie and her two-guardians pulled into the driveway. I smiled.

  The end.

  ***

  A quick note from the author.

  Want to know what happens next? Read book two: A Blaze of Magic.

  Author’s spotlight’s

  Searching for Sullivan by Carissa Ann Lynch

  Chapter One

  My son inherited his name from my great-great granddad, Sullivan von Derbach. It is a respectable and stalwart family name; but in truth, I have never once called him by it. He has always been, and always will be, Sully to me.

  When it comes to Sully, it is not the trips to Disney World, or other big events, that I remember most. It is the simplest of moments that cling to my soul and release their vengeful talons into the very heart of me. Like the first time Sully saw a shooting star. We were sitting in a clumsy pair of lawn chairs, staring up at the velvety pool of blackness, when a quick flash of light sprung down from the sky. He was only three at the time, and he screamed with such delight that the moment overwhelmed him, and he burst into tears of joy.

  Or the time we baked one of those cheap, store-bought cakes; I absentmindedly laid the glass pan down on a forgotten burner, and the next thing I knew blue, pasty cake and glass shards exploded onto the ceiling and walls. Initially, we were terrified. But then there we were: rolling in a fit of giggles on our backs as our eyes traveled the circumference of the room, examining the damages caused by our “cake bomb”, as Sully called it.

  When I wake up in the mornings, I focus every ounce of energy into concentrating on those memories, the good ones, before I get out of bed. But no matter how hard I try, my mind always drifts to the one memory that I cannot let go of—the summer Sully turned thirteen…

  We visited an old campsite at Lake Merlott that summer. It was the first time we’d been camping in seven years. I used to take him all the time when he was little, but as he grew older and my own workload and school schedule became more hectic, family activities, like camping, took a back burner.

  The camp site was a regular lot that my father and his new wife, Judy, frequented on most holidays and weekends in the warmer months of the year. Judy and my father had been begging us to come up to “the camp” with them for years, and when I suggested it to Sully I was nearly one hundred percent certain that his thirteen-year-old self would scoff at the idea. Instead, he surprised me by responding enthusiastically, “Sure. Let’s do it, Mom.”

  Around the age of ten, Sully started becoming more temperamental and reclusive.
The honest truth is that I was working and attending courses at the university, and his biological father had never been in the picture, so he was left to himself a lot of the time. He always seemed wise beyond his years, even as a toddler, and we were always close. So, I never worried too much about him. That is, until he became quieter,more distant.

  As our camping trip approached, my concerns about Sully were becoming more and more worrisome. He’d recently acquired a girlfriend, and most of our interactions consisted of hostile remarks or non-responses—which were inherently worse. His body language said it all—he no longer liked his mother.

  So, when I suggested the camping trip and he reacted so well, I felt relieved about the state of our relationship, and I was hyped up for the trip. Two days before we were scheduled to leave,, I was taking a shortcut home from work, when I saw the outdated RV sitting on the lawn of a well-kept Cape Cod-styled home. Impulsively, I yanked the car over to the side of the road, barely missing the curb.

  The cardboard “For Sale” sign that leaned on its bumper was weather-faded and difficult to read. But I could see that the asking price was $1600. It was too much for my budget, but considering the age of the sign, I was hoping for a motivated seller. I knocked on the door, my checkbook in hand, channeling the most confident version of myself. The bald, pot-bellied man that answered the door with a grunt was not what I was hoping for. But when I offered the check for one thousand dollars, he smiled kindly and handed me the keys. “First, I have to make sure that it runs and that it’s not a dump on the inside,” I informed him sternly, pulling the check back away from his pudgy, grasping fingers. He shrugged. “Let me get my shoes.”He met me out in the yard beside the RV several minutes later.

  The interior was not new or anywhere near perfect, but it surpassed my expectations. It seemed well taken care of, free of debris or any major damages on the inside. Most importantly, it seemed to be in working order. It took a few tries to get it started, but that didn’t surprise me after hearing that it’d been sitting unused for nearly five years now. We sealed the deal with a handshake, and I signed the check.

  Driving home that day, I can still recall the rush of excitement that I felt down deep in the pit of my belly. I had purchased plenty of vehicles before, but never nothing like this, and never so spur of the moment. It was an “impulse buy”, but I felt great about it.

  I realized then that it was Sully’s pleasant reaction to the idea of camping that drove me to stop when I saw it. I wanted this weekend to be perfect between us, and I viewed it as an opportune time for me to make up for my own busy schedule, and subsequent absence from his life. I needed some one-on-one time with my son; simple as that.

  You can imagine my disappointment when his girlfriend showed up as we were loading our food and clothing into the camper on the morning we were scheduled to leave. I looked from her to Sully, my confusion and irritation transparent. “I invited her to go with us,” Sully explained, shrugging his shoulders in a “no big deal” sort of way that he recently had a habit of doing. Some of his mannerisms had begun to drive me insane.

  “Your parents okay with this?” I asked her, raising my eyebrows at the girl skeptically. She nodded, focusing her attention on a wad of gum that was stuck to the sole of a bright, orange Nike high top.

  “My parents said it was fine. They aren’t even home on the weekends usually, anyway. They are probably glad I’m with another adult instead of home on my own,” she replied, sulkily. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of parents would leave their kid home alone on the weekends, and I definitely couldn’t fathom why any sane parent would allow their barely-a-teen daughter to go camping overnight with a strange boy, parents or no parents.

  Perhaps I was being sexist, but I know that if Sully had been a girl, I would have kept a tighter leash on him than I did. I guess my parenting is no better than theirs though, because I said “okay” and allowed my son to bring this young girl camping with us despite my better judgment.

  When I pictured this camping adventure in my mind’s eye, I imagined me driving with Sully next to me in the passenger seat of the front cab, shooting the shit and enjoying the open road. A supreme bonding experience. But instead, he and “Roxy”—that’s what she called herself, but I suspected it wasn’t her real name—were seated on a couch in the back, talking cheerily amongst themselves in hushed tones. Whenever I stole a glance at them in the rearview mirror, they responded with looks of disgust.

  It was a strange feeling, watching this son of mine talking so easily and freely to Roxy, while every conversation between us for the past two years had been awkward and strained. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. I wanted my son back.

  Four long hours later, we arrived at “the camp” at Lake Merlott. We were greeted by my father, Ralph, his wife, Judy, my sister, Margaret, and her new baby girl, Maxie. We spent our first night at camp pretty typically; we sat around the bonfire, chatting while roasting marshmallows and hotdogs on wooden sticks. Most of the conversation revolved around eighteen-month-old, Maxie. She was quite a little ham, running around playing peek-a-boo and smiling up at each of us to reveal a semi-toothless grin. She was such a doll, and she was my first niece, so I was glad to spend time with her, as well as the rest of my family.

  Sully and Roxy joined us around the campfire, but they kept their fold-up chairs slightly farther back from ours, and they whispered quietly amongst themselves. I couldn’t help but wonder how these two young children could have so much to talk about. Again with the jealousy, I suppose.

  We all decided to turn in early, heading to our separate RVs, with plans to go boating on my father and Judy’s newest addition in the morning: a twenty-three foot Caravelle Interceptor, which was basically a really fast speedboat. I’m not a big fan of swimming or watersports, but Sully seemed interested in going, and I was eager to appease him and my father.

  Our camper consisted of three beds—a queen-sized bed in the back for me, a twin-sized sleeper bed that folded out from the dining table, and a large sleeping space above the cab section in front. I may have been cool for allowing Roxy to join us on this excursion, but I would not let them sleep in the same bed. That is where I drew the line.

  “You there, and you there,” I told them, pointing first to the upper bed for Sully, and the table fold-out bed for Roxy. Luckily, they were too tired to argue with me, and they climbed into their respective beds. We were all asleep within minutes. There’s just something about sleeping in the middle of nowhere that brings on the best quality of sleep.

  I woke up early the next day with the soft, wavering glow of the morning sun peeking through the moth eaten, flimsy curtains that covered the tiny windows on both sides of my bed. I nudged Sully and Roxy awake. “We are going out on Grandpa’s Interceptor today,” I told Sully, trying to give him sufficient motivation to get out of bed. He had never been much of a morning person, and getting him up for school over the years had basically been hell. My own mother had this incredible ability to wake me up with a cheery voice and a smile every morning as a child. Regrettably, I did not inherit said trait.

  But Sully surprised me by getting right up that morning, as did his girlfriend. We took turns changing into our bathing suits and shorts in the cramped toilet space next to my bed, and after a quick breakfast, and the lengthy process of loading up towels, coolers, and life jackets into the boat, we headed out for the half mile drive to Lake Merlott.

  My father drove the truck with Judy in the passenger seat, while the rest of us rode in the boat, which was securely hitched to the truck. My sister sat beside me in the back bench seat, bouncing baby Maxie up and down, up and down, on her knees to keep her satisfied. Sully and Roxy took their seats as far away from me as possible, up in the front bow of the boat.

  There are nearly sixty camping lots at Lake Merlott and as we rode past all of them, the breeze blew generously, providing relief from the scorching heat of the sun. It was apparently not a huge camp
ing weekend because most of the lots were vacant. A few of them contained RVs or tents, and I offered a friendly wave to the families we passed.

  For an instant, I was overcome with a rush of my own childhood memories, of coming to Lake Merlott, and riding just like this in the back of one of my father’s boats. I imagined my own thirteen year old self, sticking my arm out the side of the boat, making waving motions with my hand, all the while giggling excitedly, with my mousy brown hair blowing all around my face and sticking to the corners of my mouth. When my mother was alive, she never rode in the truck with dad. She was always in the back, seated right between me and my sister. I missed my mother terribly, and as I looked at Sully, I was reminded that life is too short, and I must continue to do everything within my power to gain a closer relationship with my only son. Before it was too late.

  Even though he was a boy, he looked so much like me at his age. I imagined him with longer hair and girlish eyes—he was the spitting image of me. That realization made me proud.“Cheer up,” my sister, Margaret said, nudging me playfully. Maxie suddenly reached her small pudgy arms out to me, and I took her willingly onto my lap. I decidedly planned on enjoying this day, smiling down into my baby niece’s sparkling green eyes. She smiled back toothily, and I felt utter calmness and peace.

  We followed a tree-lined, rutty road that eventually opened up to reveal the sixty acre spread of freshwater that makes up Lake Merlott. The weather was perfect for a day on the boat. When I looked over at Sully, he was staring right at me, and we smiled at one another—a real smile—for the first time in nearly a year. I wished I could seize the perfectness of that moment. If only my eye lids were like shutters on a camera, and I could capture it all as I blinked…if only.

  Even though it was the height of boating season, the ramp was unexpectedly deserted, much like the campsite itself. At the water’s edge, my father exited the truck and boarded the boat. Judy backed the truck up expertly as my father guided it off the trailer. My mother never was much of a driver, and it surprised me to see a woman backing up a boat, much to my dismay.