Shadows of Ourselves (2016 Original Edition)

FIVE: Visions in Black & Blue

I spent most of my day in and out of bed. It was lazy, but I figured I deserved it. I'd just learned I wasn't human. I'd spent the day inside lazing around over less.

Angst. The curse of a generation.

Mom was mad at me; it turned out what she'd been yelling at me through the door the other night as I left was a reminder of my appointment this morning. But I hadn't been here to tell this uni student if her boyfriend was cheating on her or not, and Mom had to shuffle the annoyed couple out while I was busy sneaking out of my random hookup's hotel room.

I didn't tell her that, though. She thought I'd been sleeping off a long night of movies on Riley's couch, and it was going to stay that way.

If she noticed the new T-shirt and the missing art store haul, she pretended not to.

Mom was like that, anyway. She didn't care what I was up to or who I was doing it with, as long as I was here often enough to pay her rent and be someone to torture.

I had no clue why I was still here. I guess I just needed someone to be miserable with.

She was drinking, as per usual, but today she'd secluded herself in her cave of a bedroom. Half of me felt really bad about the other night—and the fact that I'd missed an appointment this morning—forcing her to send my clients home disappointed and costing us a cheque we could really use.

On the other hand, I was about as much of an emotional wreck as she was at the moment, so I kept to myself and sulked. Guess it was easy to see who I got it from.

My mother was a star athlete once upon a time—hard to believe, considering she now resembled the shape of a marshmallow from all the hard drinking, but back in the day she was built. She was also on her way to the Olympics. But her tennis career ended the same day she took a home pregnancy test and got blessed with the blue smiley face that predicted my birth.

Now here we were, a clinically depressed sorcerer with weird coping methods, and an alcoholic ex-athlete with too much time on her hands.

Thinking of what Hunter had told me was making me wonder about my father more and more. Mom had never shown herself to have any sort of magikal affinities—and she'd always said that my gift was the one good thing my father ever made or gave her. You might be a freak, but at least you get paid for it, she said. No shame in being useful. Except for the part where, you know, he bounced the minute I started to develop my ability. My memories of him were of a tall, light-haired man, with tattoos on his hands and strong brows. He'd always smelled of car exhaust from his work as a mechanic. Melissa said he left because my abilities freaked him the hell out—and made it abundantly clear that she blamed me for his running off.

So was he a Charmer? Was he even still alive? I hadn't heard from him since my fifth birthday—I barely remembered his face. If this was his genetic legacy I was dealing with, a quick warning about the monsters on his way out the door would have been nice.

Around four in the afternoon I pulled myself out of bed, got a shower, and dressed. I wasn't up to going out, but I figured I would find Riley. A distraction would help.

Besides, if I stared at the bedroom wall any longer I was gonna have to buy it a drink.

Riley and me had texted a bit this morning, but then she'd gone radio silent after she told me she was going to talk to Penn. I'd been vague when she asked about last night, not sure how much I should tell her—which was stupid, since Riley looked for new information the way a horse looks for water, and it doesn't matter what it's about. I could tell I'd annoyed her. Part of it was that I didn't know what to make of everything I'd learned, and the other part of it was that I wanted to protect her from it. Whatever this world was, it was dangerous, and I wasn't going to be responsible for her getting herself killed. She was safest at home, behind her computer, Googling away.

Riley had been trying to puzzle out my gift for years (she had theories about brain wave frequencies and neuron transmission and advanced mood perception or intuition) and I knew her curious mind wouldn't allow her to let this shit go.

But I also knew that Penn would do her best to protect Riley, too, and she knew better than I did. If she thought Riley should know the truth, she would, and if she didn't, then...

I didn't know what I would do. Didn't know anything today.

But I wanted to see my friend. And if I did spill all of this, at least she could help me process it. She was smarter than I was.

I was in my bedroom grabbing my wallet and keys when I saw it. My bedroom is mostly white: white walls, white floor, white bed sheets. I didn't have a lot of furniture—I kept things tidy, impersonal. Ready to pack up and go at a moment's notice, since we moved a lot. Plus, Mom liked to snoop. And the white background space helped me focus on my art when I was working anyway, so I was less influenced by my surroundings.

But now something else was standing out on the white wall, above the paintings I'd stacked against it—like a stain, except it was moving, growing larger and larger as I stood and watched.

Slowly, something began to take shape, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as I observed it. A skull rose off of the wall, bone bleached white. Lotus flowers bloomed behind it, taffy pink petals unfurling as something moved inside of the skull. I stood frozen, sure I was going insane—this was a hallucination, had to be—as a snake slithered down through the skull and out one of its eye sockets. The serpent was black and blue, teal markings bold against the onyx of its scales.

I was terrified of snakes. Petrified. The creature slid out of the bones and came closer, until its beady eyes were level with my own. The serpent pressed its forehead against mine—

And then it was all gone.

I blinked. It was like it had never been there. The walls were bare, pale white plaster, just like always.

There wasn't a single trace of what I'd seen.

I looked around the room, but I was alone. My hands shook while I ran my fingers over the wall, although I knew I wouldn't find anything there. That wasn't real—not in my sense of the word. It was more magik.

I turned and bolted. I ran out of my bedroom, tore through the apartment, and down the stairs. I had to stop all this.