studies were complete. They were only eight years old. Unwilling to make the same mistake again, my adoptive mother banned all forms of psychedelic magic from the house. Because of this, the first eye mage I’d ever met was Electra. I’ve yet to encounter a psycho mage, but I’m told they exist. It can’t be easy to live amongst others when you spend a lifetime digging into people’s minds in search of answers you may not wish to find.
That evening in the study, Copper-Eye had me sit on the rug by the blackened fireplace and explained to me that I was the first child she’d met who she couldn’t comfortably place into a certain sub-type of magic. I was her experiment. She wished to groom me into the very first hybrid mage to walk this earth. She had me believe it was an honor above all honors. So, while my siblings were given a purpose and eventually thrived in their own various disciplines, I floundered. I had nothing to anchor me in place, always jumping from one sub-type to the next. I became restless, bored, and, worst of all, arrogant.
Mentally, I was obese. Soon, the honor above all honors seemed like a hack. I lashed out. Rebelled. Wasted my magic-born talents on shitty pranks and household spells. I met Electra. Fell in love with the unstable bitch and spiraled out of control. Meanwhile, my siblings – even the most disturbed, misunderstood ones – grew into unparalleled mages in their own rights. I was nothing more than a loser who magic was hell-bent on punishing for the ways I had abused it in the past.
Copper-Eye accused me of being wasted sperm. That I was an embarrassment. The purest embodiment of failure. We didn’t speak again after that.
Yet, despite our past, I find myself standing on the porch of the only blue house on a rather grassy hill dwarfing Cotton Rock. Maybe it’s a perverse arrogance that drives me to potentially save her from some faceless evil that keeps me going. A chance to prove to Copper-Eye that I’m more than a failure or wasted sperm, even though I may not believe it myself.
The door opens on its own accord. I’m clearly expected.
Stepping inside, I wait for something – anything – but I’m only greeted by silence. With a creak, the door closes behind me.
Sunlight leaks in through cracks between frayed curtains hanging over windows, highlighting spores that dance and float in the air. A grand staircase stands proud in front of me.
I pull the pouch from my tote bag and dig my fingers inside for the fae ring. Once it warms up and its center glimmers, I bring it to my right eye and brace myself for the worst. Hearing grotesque screams is one thing. Seeing things…
But all that presents itself to me from the spirit world through the fae ring is a celestial cord running from my chest. It sparkles and glows a summertime orange, fading in and out. In and out.
With the ring to my eye, I roll my shoulders and follow the rope, ascending the staircase one step at a time. Keeping a hand over my nose and mouth, so as to not inhale the spores around me, I hold down the wiry sense of unease gathering under my skin.
The cord leads me to the second floor of the large house, past closed doors, dusty portraits and moldy wallpaper. It bends into an open room, where ivy climbs over the doorway and flowers of every color drip and bud.
I venture forward, not allowing myself to second guess or hesitate. The unease inside me threatens to froth, but I push on. Step, by trembling step. I will see this through. I have to. I’m so close.
Pushing vines and leaves aside, I enter the room even though my nerves are on fire and panic whistles in my ears like a neglected kettle.
A woman, no older than me, stands naked amongst the foliage. Eve in her garden of Eden. She wears a cherubic face, with blonde hair that cascades over her slender shoulders and comes to rest by her hip. The shimmering cord is attached to her stomach. Her large blue eyes look me up and down curiously.
“Who are you?” I whisper, the hand holding the fae ring over my eye beginning to quiver.
She smiles and raises her hand to greet me. “I am you.” Her voice is the sound of God making love. “And you are me.”