Big Witch Energy - Kelly Jamieson Page 0,35
before? Why have I been happy living in an apartment that’s still decorated by the people who lived there before? Why didn’t I care enough to want to display things I think are beautiful? To display… myself?
Maybe that’s exactly why. I’ve always tried to be someone I’m really not. Crazy art and pink furry pillows are not practical! All these changes in my life are surfacing parts of me in unexpected ways.
TRACE
I wait until Monday morning when Joe and I are both at the office. I always get to my office early and blast through a lot of work before other team members start arriving.
Dream Homes’ offices have been located on West Armitage forever, but we recently did a renovation of our space, modernizing the old building. It’s actually a former residence—a classic two-story graystone house. The bright red front door and red awning stand out, the name of the company gleaming across the big front window. Now all the windows have been replaced and the stone facade cleaned up. Inside the door is a bright reception space with spotlights shining on framed prints of many of our jobs.
I jog upstairs to the second floor where the renovation division offices are located. My office is at the front, with bay windows overlooking the street. I really like that we kept the original brick exterior wall. With white interior walls, a sleek black desk and chairs, and chrome accents, the office has a bright, modern feel with an industrial edge.
Joe pokes his head into my office, as he does most days. “Morning, Trace.”
“Morning. How are you?”
“Good. How did things go with Romy on Saturday?”
I lean back in my chair. “It was interesting.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”
“We need to talk.”
“Okay. Give me ten minutes.”
“Sure. Your office?”
“Yeah.”
I take care of a few more emails, then stop in the small kitchen/break room to refill my coffee mug, and head to Joe’s office. I slide the glass door closed. Not everyone here is family, so we need some privacy.
I sit on the couch in the corner of Joe’s larger main floor office.
“So what’s the problem?” Joe sits across from me in an armchair, setting his coffee mug on the low table.
“It’s not a problem.” I lean back and stretch an arm along the back of the couch. “More like something we need to be aware of.”
“Okay.”
“Romy’s only half witch, but I think she has potential to have supreme powers.”
“That’s not possible.”
I grimace. “It shouldn’t be. We all know there are lots of half witches out there. Relationships with Ruckers are discouraged, but they happen. The half witches have soft powers, but without proper training they can’t really use them. Romy’s are stronger than that.”
“So…” Joe stares across the room. “Are you saying her mother was part witch?”
“That would be my guess.” I pause. “You didn’t know that?”
“Fuck, no.” Joe rubs his face. “I’m no good at picking up on that stuff.” He eyes me. “You often are.”
“Yeah.”
Lots of witches don’t believe in the ability to sense if someone else is a witch. My instincts are usually right, but others have no clue. Joe is one of those.
“That would explain why I could never find her,” Joe says slowly. “With soft power, she could have blocked me out. She wouldn’t have even realized she was doing it.”
I don’t say anything, letting him process this.
“But then why did she freak out when I told her I was a witch?” He looks back at me.
“I’d guess something bad happened in her past. If she was half witch, possibly things didn’t go well for her parents. I’ve heard stories about things that go wrong in those situations, like the Rucker telling someone about the witch and having to be punished.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah.”
“That would traumatize someone. If one of her parents turned into a potato, no wonder she wanted nothing to do with another witch.”
“Huh.” He rubs his chin.
“Anyway, I’m not sure I’m the best one to teach Romy.” I broach this with attempted casualness.
He frowns. “Trace. We talked about this.”
“Yeah, I know, but it would be a good chance for you and her to spend time together. Father-daughter time.”
“True.” He purses his lips. “But we both know you can do a better job of teaching her what she needs to know. You’re the same generation. I went to the Academy years ago. And with all the work you’ve done…” He speaks cautiously. “Your knowledge is exceptional. Your powers as well.”
He knows it’s a sore spot