Dangerous Magic

13. Memories

The memory settled over me, clear as the day it happened.

In my mind I was back in the yard of the little blue house in the woods. My father stood blocking my way. I heard the screen door slam--my mother going back inside to let Dad deal with me this time.

"We were arguing. I was fourteen and I thought I knew... everything. He just wanted me to be safe, to keep my magic contained."

We just want you to be safe. You deserve a normal life!

I don't want a normal life!

It was the last time we had that argument.

"One minute he was there, close enough that I could touch him. Then I blinked and he was just gone."

I remembered just wanting him to leave me alone. Being back there in that moment, in those emotions, I hated my younger self. In the present, I squeezed my eyes together to fight off the tears.

He had worn jeans and a flannel shirt, blue and white. There was an ink stain on the pocket. He hadn't shaved for a few days, and his five o'clock shadow made him look weathered and old.

"In that instant, the birds stopped chirping. There was no wind. It was like the world stopped moving. I called out for him but he didn't come."

The days that followed stretched out like years. I stayed awake for as long as I could, waiting for him to come back.

He never did. And when it wasn't safe to be there anymore Mom and I left.

Jackson's voice pulled me out of the memory. "What was your father's magic?"

I was grateful to be in the quiet library with him instead of in the yard where I'd last seen my father. Holding back tears, I smiled tightly at the book on the table; I couldn't quite meet Jackson's eyes. "Knowledge, ironically. He was the kind of psionic that nobody ever wanted to be. My dad remembered everything he'd ever heard or seen. He could recreate any fight from a movie or imitate any accent as long as he saw or heard it. My Uncle Andrew used to call him a parrot. Dad had a whole collection of parrots from years of Christmas gag gifts."

Being vulnerable in front of Jackson felt wrong. Wasting my time telling stories felt worse. Once I got started, I couldn't stop myself.

"They were creepy parrots. My dad loved them anyway. Mom threatened to leave him if he kept hiding them all over the house for her to find in the cabinets and stuff. She lost it over the little one in her shoe."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Jackson smile. The air in the room felt breathable again where it had been weighed down with stress before. Who knew Jackson would be the one to pull me out of my desperation and help me refocus?

Not that I planned to tell him that.

"I actually remember that." Excitement danced in Jackson's eyes. He sat up straighter, leaning slightly forward over the table. "Your mom was so mad about her shoes that she threw them at him from the window. And then kept throwing different pairs when she missed. I remember that part because I thought it was odd that your parents laughed with each other when your mom threw stuff at your dad."

I opened my mouth to comfort Jackson but closed it without saying anything. That was a side of him he didn't show me when we were kids.

Quickly, to cover up the secret he had just spilled, he asked, "Why do you think someone would want to kidnap your dad?"

That was a question I didn't have a good answer to. The only one I had ever been able to come up with wasn't one I wanted to admit to. It often kept me up at night.