My skin has gone white. My lips are blue and eyes bloodshot. I open my mouth, but I don’t scream. Instead, flowers, stems and leaves pour from it and snake down into the sink.
The pinprick-sized fireworks give way to fuzzy splotches. My legs turn to jelly. I sink to the floor and kiss the ceramic tiles with a thud.
I roll to my side as the foliage continues to grow out of my mouth. This can’t be how I die. I can’t let this happen! Goddamn you, Copper-Eye!
My vision blurs as a numbness rises from my toes to my knees, thighs, my stomach, and chest. My arms go slack. I’m all alone as I slip into a volcanic black.
I am dead. I am dead. I am gone.
At least, that’s what I think. And who can blame me? When I awake sometime later — gasping for air and coughing up dirt — the first thing I do is turn on the faucet in the bathtub and slurp at the water pouring from it. I run the water over my face and head, catch my breath and wait for my heart to slow down to a jog.
Next, I examine the scene around me. Flowers of various shapes, colors and sizes coat the bathroom floor, turning it into a slick forest bed. I place a hand on my chest. It feels as though a rake has combed the insides of my throat and lungs. I take a stab at speaking. I cannot say a word.
Magic is messy and sick. Acid reflux following a cotton candy binge. And, if you’re ever in the same sorry situation as me where you find yourself on the wrong side of magic, you’ll understand that it all boils down to how you use it. And how it uses you.
Chapter Three
Me, myself and I
All roads lead to the Three Blind Mice, which is a good reminder to never date anyone who is even remotely magically-inclined. It only makes encounters like the one about to unfold all the more awkward, especially when you don’t look as presentable as you should. Crusty with goat blood. Hair a spider’s nest. Breath smelling of undergrowth. I’m a walking corpse. And now I need the help of my ex and her spiteful sisters. If magic is tough, then life is a cosmic fuck-up.
The electric shock I receive when I place my hand on the door to the esoteric shop tells me I’m still banned from entering it. I roll my eyes and open my satchel, contemplating calling the sisters to let me in, but I know that will be futile. Instead, I pull out my box of cigarettes and a lighter, and sit down on the sidewalk facing the street. This part of town is quiet this evening, there are barely any cars or pedestrians mulling about. I take a moment to massage my throbbing hand.
Halfway through my cigarette, the door to the Three Blind Mice opens.
“Well, well, well,” a voice says behind me, then laughs. “Look at the greasy hairball the cat’s coughed up.”
I blow smoke out my nose and grind the rest of the cigarette onto the asphalt. Clicking my neck twice, I stand up and force a smile at the woman dressed in boho chic. “What’s poppin’, Olectra?”
“What’s poppin’?” She spits. “The hell are you doing in this part of the city, Chen?” She crosses her arms but doesn’t wait for a response. “Why don’t you head on back to Shitsville where you belong, gutterbug?”
“I don’t want to be here,” I say, keeping my voice level as a homeless person with a gammy leg hobbles past. “Just as much as you and the other two don’t want me here either.” I look down at my hands still caked in goat blood. “You know I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t desperate.”
Olectra arches an eyebrow. “Go find help somewhere else. You’re not welcome at the Three Blind Mice.”
“I swear, I’m good for it.” I take a roll of cash out of my satchel, extra careful not to touch the envelope tucked inside. I look down at the pavement as I offer it to her, worried she’ll see my cheeks color.
“Your money’s not welcome here either.”
God, out of the three sisters to have walked out of the shop now, why was it her? I’m pretty sure Electra is still out for my blood since our break-up. Alectra too. But, at least I know how to sweet talk both.