The Blue Door

Chapter 3

Burnt Berry Pennies

Nix

I settled in to absorb Cindy's explanation, but I wasn't quite ready to buy the magicians weaving colors into reality thing just yet, despite what I attempted in the bathroom. I needed her to do something else, something bigger than a blinking eye of fire that nagged at my memories. My sanity begged for something more substantial. "Wait. Before we get too deep into this, can you show me one more?"

Cindy glanced down the grassy hill. "We have to be careful. Even if nulls can't see magic, they do see the results. It's not always easy to explain when something bursts into flames or explodes."

"You can make things explode?" Let's say I was a little too excited for my own good.

She gave me a wry smile. "Maybe...and mostly on purpose."

I didn't need to look around. "No one's paying any attention to us. We're good." Years in foster care had overdeveloped my sense of being watched. You don't keep valuables or secrets without it. I rubbed at my door charm while I waited for her to see what I already knew.

Cindy made one last sweep of the area around our picnic table before putting her hand out. I reached across the weathered, graffitied wood with my right hand to take hers, but she pulled away with a hiss. "What are you doing?"

I shrugged. "I thought you wanted to hold my hand again, kumbaya style."

She scowled, her eyes flashing purple. "This isn't spirit camp." Her voice softened and her eyes went blue. "Sorry, that came out harsher than I meant. It's just you almost got burned. I worry about that all the time. Red weaves on skin can do major damage to someone who doesn't know how to handle them."

I pulled both flesh and robotic hands back to my side of the table. "It's all good. It takes a lot more than someone forcefully worrying about my safety to offend me." She had some sharp, hardened steel in her I hadn't seen before. I liked it.

She met my eyes as though looking for some reassurance that she hadn't hurt me inside or out. I nodded for her to continue, and she pushed more red strings from her fingertips, weaving them into a swirling red ball with the faintest of purple threads curled up at their center.

A globe of fire burst to life, devouring the delicate filaments of her magic. The fireball spun like a top for a few seconds, humming, whistling, and spitting gold sparks until it evaporated with a soft pop. The scent of it tickled my nostrils.

"Well that was cool." I rubbed at my nose. "Does it always smell like strawberries and electricity though?"

Cindy raised an eyebrow. "I don't smell anything."

"Really? It's everywhere. I smelled blueberries earlier...and diesel. Onions and blood too. And my skin is all tingly." I rubbed at my temples. "Am I having a stroke? That would explain a lot actually, all the hallucinations about stalker water and little miss fire-hands."

"Oh, of course, you're a synesthete! I am to. With that little fireball I always hear fast-paced violins and a soft bass drum."

"Synes-what now?" I had no idea.

"You have synesthesia. It's an overlap of senses. Seeing sounds as colors. Smelling numbers. Stuff like that. Strong weavers tend to experience it around magic. My mom could feel the colors in her weaves as textures. My father experienced them like a map. I never really understood what that meant, but he swore it was true."

I sniffed, the magic fading into a sweet remnant, a memory of berries. "I guess I smell them...and taste them too."

"Huh, that's amazing."