Big Witch Energy - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,31
felt strong energy. I want to confirm that. Because there’s something nobody seems to have thought of, and it could be important.
I pull my talisman out of my pocket.
Romy watches as I hold it by the leather cord. “What is that?”
“It’s a talisman. It belonged to my father.”
“But what is it?” Her nose wrinkles.
“It’s a raven skull. Not a real skull. It’s made of metal, with amethysts.”
She inspects it. “Cool.”
“Try to take it from me.”
Her eyes shift, she gives me a quizzical look, then reaches out her hand.
I keep my palm flat, the object lying on it. As she reaches for it, it vibrates.
Her eyes widen. Her hand comes closer. I don’t move.
“Concentrate,” I tell her quietly.
A notch appears between her eyebrows. Her fingers are near the raven skull when it rolls off my hand and falls to the rug. The amethysts glow.
Romy glances up at me.
“Take it,” I encourage her.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and bends forward. She gets so close to it I think she’s going to get it. I realize I’m holding my breath, watching, waiting. Her fingertips grow closer… and almost touch it when it rolls away from her.
I scoop it up and put it back in my pocket.
She lifts her head and meets my eyes. “What was that?”
“A test.”
“Did I pass?”
“You did okay.”
Her eyebrows slope down and her lips droop. “Just okay?” She seems really downcast by that.
“You did fine. Let’s move on. We have lots more to cover.”
Her lips twist into a dissatisfied pout, and she sighs.
“Witches with great powers become supreme wizards, with the archmage being the leader of all.”
She nods.
“Let’s talk about spells, charms, enchantments, and hexes.”
We go over the different forms of magic. Then we take a break. I use her bathroom, taking the chance to further inspect her home. It’s spotless and tidy and… bland. Nice though. It doesn’t tell me much about her personality, because I already know she is not bland. Even though I suspect she tries to be.
When I return to the office, she has drinks and a plate of cookies for us… dammit, chocolate chip cookies. My favorite. And they’re not packaged cookies; they seem to be homemade. Fresh and soft. I can’t resist one. Maybe two.
She sits on the couch beside me so we can both see the book I’m looking at. She’s been taking notes on her iPad. It’s an unusual book of shadows, but I guess there’s no reason she can’t do that.
Sitting next to her, I’m aware of her warmth, her scent, the brush of her hair against my shoulder when she leans over. I guzzle the glass of Coke she poured me, grateful for the ice. I try to focus on teaching her how to make a spell.
“You start with understanding the problem you’re trying to fix. Always remember—be careful what you wish for.”
I meet her eyes, and she nods solemnly. “That’s always good advice.”
“Yeah.” I stare into sapphire and cobalt sparkles. Then I drag my gaze back to the ancient text. “Ask yourself questions about the current situation—who, what, when, where. Why.”
“This I can do,” she says confidently. “I’m good at analyzing information.”
I nod thoughtfully. “Yes, that’s a big part of it. We always want to use our powers carefully, and it’s important to make the correct decisions.”
“That’s my whole life.” She sighs. “Making the right decisions.”
“I’m going to tell you something different.”
“What?” She gazes back at me.
“You also have to consider how you feel about the situation.”
She blinks.
“You have to consider your emotions. Also how others feel about the situation. It helps to write this all down.”
“This seems like a long process,” she complains. “Are you sure there’s no magic wand I can wave?”
I grin. “Nope. Then you have to think about what you want the new situation to be. Ask the same questions. Write it all down. Consider if you can break the problem into smaller, more manageable problems. Start with the goal and work backward.”
“Now you’re talking my language.” She smiles. “That’s exactly how I manage a project at work. The client comes to me with a problem, we figure out what they want the solution to look like, and work backward, breaking it into smaller projects.”
“Yeah. That’s it.” I pause. “That’s what my job is like too. I’m not the designer, but I manage the project—taking the client and the designer’s vision and making it happen with all the other tradespeople.”
“Right.” She tilts her head. “Exactly. It is the same. I bet you’re