Page 84 of The Diamond in the Rough

“It kind of doesn’t?” she replied. “It’s not about mymagic, but aboutme. It’s what makes me feel calm and in control, not about keeping my magic from doing anything.”

I thought about this. It was like what Mason kept tellingJackson and I about being calm—counting to ten, taking deep breaths, that kind of thing. It wasn’t about controlling the magic, but ourselves.

I didn’t know what I needed to do to controlmein the context of my psychic abilities, though. With magic, it made sense. My magic got more erratic the more emotional I was. But I didn’t feel like the same thing was true of my psychic abilities.

I said so out loud, then took a bite of my pizza.

“Maybe not,” Sam replied mildly. “But isn’t there something that just feels… I dunno, psychic-y?”

Both Melissa and I stared at him.

“Psychic-y?” I asked, after swallowing my pizza.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, nodding. “Like, sometimes I smell something or taste something, and it makes me feel… ghoul-y. Like there’s something about what I am that just sort of resonates. Buzzes. Feels more like itself.”

A glance at Melissa told me she was just as confused as I was.

“I don’t have any idea what feeling psychic-y would feel like,” I said.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Sam replied, still cheerful, as he took another bite.

“What’s the problem?” I asked, becoming a bit exasperated.

“That you don’t know what you are,” he replied.

I gaped at him.

I did know what I was. Didn’t I?

Well, now, that was an interesting question. Because I knew I was a death witch, and I could control that. And I knew I was a dreamwalker, and I could control thatverywell.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Sam said suddenly, after apparently I’d been quiet for too long.

“I’m not offended,” I replied honestly. “Just… thinking about it.” I offered Sam a smile. “I’m not sure what a psychic is supposed to feel like, so maybe you’re right.”

He smiled back. “I hope you can figure it out,” he replied, then stood and grabbed another two pieces of pizza and a breadstick. “Puzzle time?”

The puzzle pieceshadn’t been that bad.

I’d gotten the occasional flash of worry from Melissa and a kind of odd optimism—along with concentration on the puzzle—from Sam, but both were being careful to only touch pieces very quickly. I appreciated it.

I was glad that I’d decided to do this, even though I was exhausted. It had been a good reminder that people really did care about me—that they liked spending time with me. That I had friends. Real ones, not people who were friendly to me because they had to be or because they thought I was nice enough and we worked together.

These were people who loved me for me.

And Sam’s suggestion that I had to be more of a psychic—although not in so many words—was something that I thought had some potential. I wasn’t sure quite what it meant yet, not really, but it would be worth thinking about, at least.

Melissa put on a movie in the background while we worked. She liked to watch the same five or six movies over and over, mostly film versions of Jane Austen novels. Sam and I didn’t mind if she wanted to put on something we’d seen, too—that way we didn’t have to worry aboutmissing something in the movie while we worked on the puzzle.

I wasn’t paying enough attention to it to even figure out which one it was for a good half hour. It wasSense and Sensibility. Not my favorite, but none of the ones Melissa had were bad.

I put another puzzle piece in place.

“Damn, I was trying to find what went there,” Sam said, smiling.

I smiled back. “Found it,” I said. This was our usual pattern.

“I need blue,” Melissa put in, leaning over. “Make me a blue pile.” She stood up. “I’m going to make us dessert.”