Jim Butcher - Proven Guilty

“Left?” I asked.

She shrugged a shoulder, and didn’t lift her eyes. “It won’t work. Me staying at home.”

“Why not?” I asked.

She shook her head tiredly. “It just won’t. Not anymore.” She walked out past me.

I moved my right hand smoothly, gripping her hand at the wrist, skin-to-skin contact that conducted the quivering, tingling aura of power of a practitioner of the Art up through my arm. She’d avoided direct contact before, though I hadn’t had a reason to think she would at the time.

She froze, staring at my face, as she felt the same presence of power in my own hand.

“You can’t stay because of your magic. That’s what you mean.”

She swallowed. “How… how did you know?…”

“I’m a wizard, kid. Give me some credit.”

She folded her arms beneath her breasts, her shoulders hunched. “I should g-go…”

I stood up. “Yeah, you should. We need to talk.”

She bit her lip and looked up at me. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve got some tough choices to make, Molly. You’ve got the power. You’re going to have to figure out whether you want to use it. Or whether you’re going to let it use you.” I gestured with a hand for her to accompany me and walked out, slowly. We weren’t going anywhere. What was important was the walk. She kept pace with me, her body language as closed and defensive as you please.

“When did it start for you?” I asked her quietly.

She chewed her lip. She said nothing.

Maybe I had to give a little to get a little. “It’s always like that for people like us. Something happens, almost like it’s all by itself, the first time the magic bubbles over. It’s usually something small and silly. My first time…” I smiled. “Oh, man. I haven’t thought about that in a while.” I mused for a moment, thinking. “It was maybe two weeks before Justin adopted me,” I said. “I was in school, and small. All elbows and ears. Hadn’t hit my growth spurt yet, and it was spring, and we were having this school Olympics. Field day, you know? And I was entered in the running long jump.” I grinned. “Man, I wanted to win it. I’d lost every other event to a couple of guys who liked to give me a hard time. So I ran down the blacktop and jumped as hard as I could, yelling the whole time.” I shook my head. “Must have looked silly. But when I shouted and jumped, some of the power rolled out of me and threw me about ten feet farther than I should have been able to jump. I landed badly, of course. Sprained my wrist. But I won this little blue ribbon. I still have it back at home.”

Molly looked up at me with a little ghost of a smile. “I can’t imagine you being smaller than average.”

“Everyone’s little sometime,” I said.

“Were you shy, too?”

“Not as much as I should have been. I had this problem where I gave a lot of lip to older kids. And teachers. And pretty much everyone else who tried to intimidate me, whether or not it was for my own good.”

She let out a little giggle. “That I can believe.”

“You?” I asked gently.

She shook her head. “Mine is silly, too. I walked home from school one day about two years ago and it was raining, so I ran straight inside. It was errands day, and I thought Mom was gone.”

“Ah,” I said. “Let me guess. You were still wearing the Gothy McGoth outfit instead of what your mom saw you leave the house in.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Yes. Only she wasn’t running errands. Gran had borrowed the van and taken the little ones to get haircuts because Mom was sick. I was in the living room and I hadn’t changed back. All I wanted was to sink into the floor so she wouldn’t see me.”

“What happened?”

Molly shrugged. “I closed my eyes. Mom came in. She sat down on the couch and turned on the TV, and never said a word. I opened my eyes and she was sitting there, three feet away, and hadn’t even seen me. I walked out really quietly, and she never even glanced at me. I mean, at first I thought she’d gone crazy or into denial or something. But she really hadn’t seen me. So I snuck back to my room, changed clothes, and she was none the wiser.”

I lifted my eyebrows, impressed. “Wow. Really?”

“Yes.” She peered up at me. “Why?”

“Your first time out you called up a veil on nothing but instinct. That’s impressive, kid. You’ve got a gift.”

She frowned. “Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m a full wizard of the White Council, and I can’t do a reliable veil.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

I shrugged. “Why are some people wonderful singers, even without training, and other people can’t carry a tune in a bucket? It’s something I just don’t have. That you do…” I shook my head. “It’s impressive. It’s a rare talent.”

She frowned over that, her gaze turning inward for a moment. “Oh.”

“Bet you got one hell of a headache afterward.”

She nodded. “Yes, actually. Like an ice-cream headache, only two hours long. How did you know?”

“It’s a fairly typical form of sensory feedback for improperly channeled energy,” I said. “Everyone who does magic winds up with one sooner or later.”

“I haven’t read about anything like that.”

“Is that what you did next? You figured out you could become the invisible girl, and went and studied books?”

She was quiet for a moment, and I thought she was about to close up again. But then she said, quietly, “Yes. I mean, I knew how hard my Mom would be on me if I was… showing interest in that kind of thing. So I read books. The library, and a couple others that I got at Barnes and Noble.”

“Barnes and Noble,” I sighed, shaking my head. “You didn’t head into any of the local occult shops?”

“Not then,” she said. “But… I tried to meet people. You know? Like, Wiccans and psychics and stuff. That was how I met Nelson, at a martial arts school. I’d heard the teacher knew things. But I don’t think he did. Some of Nelson’s friends were into magic, too, or thought they were. I never saw any of them do anything.”

I grunted. “What did all those people tell you about magic?”

“What didn’t they tell me,” she said. “Everyone thinks magic is something different.”

“Heh,” I said. “Yeah.”

“And it wasn’t like I could just go running around all the time. Not with school and the little ones to watch and my Mom looking over my shoulder. So, you know. Mostly books. And I practiced, you know? Tried little things. Little, teeny glamours. Lighting candles. But a lot of the things I tried didn’t work.”

“Magic isn’t easy,” I said. “Not even for someone with a strong natural talent. Takes a lot of practice, like anything else.” I walked quietly for a few steps and then said, “Tell me about the spell you used on Rosie and Nelson.”

She paused, staring at nothing, the blood draining from her face. “I had to,” she said.

“Go on.”

Her pretty features were bleak. “Rosie had… she’d already had a miscarriage, because she kept getting high. And when she lost the baby, she went to the hard stuff. Heroin. I begged her to go into rehab, but she was just… too far gone, I guess. But I thought maybe I could help her. With magic. Like you help people.”

Hooboy. I kept the dismay off my face and nodded for her to continue.

“And one day last week, Sandra Marling and I had a talk. And during it, she told me how they were discovering that the presence of a very strong source of fear could bypass all kinds of psychological barriers. Things like addiction. That the fear could drive home a lesson, reliably and quickly. I didn’t have much time. I had to do it to save Rosie’s child.”