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But it was everywhere. The pain. The pulling. It was like the spell inside of me had fully saturated my DNA, and to unravel it would unmake me. But I did as she said.
Forcing the breath into my lungs wasn’t easy. But I did. Deep, painful inhales and full exhales. The spell burned through me, angry. I relaxed my muscles and let the tension fall away. The burn lasted a while longer but eventually lessened. Almost like coaxing a wild animal into complacency.
When I opened my eyes again, the woman observed me coolly. “Took you longer than it should have. Your mental strength is weak.”
“Your dress is tacky, but you don’t see my panties twisted.” I couldn’t help it. Did anyone really expect me to have a filter when I’d just been through that?
She clucked her tongue. “Come back to me when you want to get that little problem fixed, and I’ll consider negotiating a price. But you didn’t come here to uncover your hidden past.”
“No,” I answered, still not willing to accept that my head was locked up with spells like she claimed. “And that’s not changing. I have a task right now, and I’m not interested in distractions.” I’d confront that bridge when the killer was brought to justice. That needed all my attention right now.
She rifled through bottles behind her counter. “Explain.”
“I won’t tell you what powers I have.”
“I don’t recall asking.”
Good.
My proposal flooded up my throat and poured out. “My powers are too weak or suppressed to do the work that I need to be done. I can sense the potential. Its willingness. But it won’t come to me. What can I use to force it out?”
She glared at me over her shoulder, and for a second, I wondered why that pissed her off. But then, her lips began to move with quiet mutterings. I caught a few words here and there, like conjure and equilibrium. Her eyes flicked around the room, locking onto herbs and bottles and books.
I sank into my own thoughts as she considered. I was disappointed in myself. Angry, in fact. Solving this mystery wasn’t possible with my normal power levels or my deductive reasoning. My ego stung. Coming here felt like cheating.
But then again, I was over playing it safe.
I had to take more risks.
Besides, no one said I couldn’t give myself a little magical booster. President Castile would pay me whether I solved the mystery using tic-tac-toe or a probably illegal spell from the mythical Underground.
What no one knew couldn’t hurt them.
“Alright!” Orizanda’s sharp voice jolted me to attention. She stormed across the room in erratic zigzags, snagging things from this shelf and that chest until she gathered an armful of ingredients.
She settled everything on the table and pulled out a pink quartz bowl. Then she began measuring, pruning, and grinding. She attacked the lavender for the longest, clipping only the driest buds into the bowl. “This is not going to be easy for you. I’m preparing a potion that will get you what you need. It’s not for the faint of heart, and I worry that it will overtake you.”
“I can handle it,” I stated.
“And if you can’t?”
“You ask stupid questions.”
Orizanda snorted. “Fucking brat. Maybe you deserve this, then.”
Hesitant but unwilling to back down, I asked, “What does it do?”
“Have you ever tried to stretch like a gymnast would? I assume you haven’t. Imagine forcing yourself into the splits with your tight, untested muscles, as opposed to taking the time and practice to naturally increase flexibility. You’d probably tear your hamstrings or pull a ligament. The point is that you are capable. Most people are. But taking the fast-track to a result requires some ripping.”
“This is not comforting,” I declared.
“This potion does much the same. It will force your magic to push toward what it is capable of, and although you won’t be in pain, your power will feel turbulent. It will lash out. You will struggle to control it after breaking the metaphorical muscles and ligaments holding it in place.” She planted her hands on the counter and gave me a battle-hardened look. “On the plus side, it tastes like bubblegum. Are you prepared for this?”
“Absolutely not,” I answered lightly. “But I also wasn’t prepared for the explosive diarrhea I had after drinking a suspicious glass of milk, so I’ll probably be fine.”
Her eyes tightened with what was likely the highest level of respect—because who wouldn’t respect that kind of trauma? “Very well. Seems like you have a lot figured out.”
“Not really,” I disagreed. “So, how much will this cost?” Money wasn’t exactly a limiting factor for me at the moment.
