The Blue Door

Chapter 3

I chuckled. "Only when they taste good." So far they hadn't been super delicious.

Cindy laughed too. "Oh yeah, that could get gross fast. What does electricity taste like anyway?"

I smacked my lips. "Like burnt pennies. That one's not nearly as bad as it sounds."

Cindy gestured to the table. "Now you try one."

"Gladly." I let go of the door charm around my neck and held my hand out, but then faltered. I had no idea how to recreate what I'd done with Tommy. "Um, how exactly do I do that?"

"Let's start simple. Do you remember how you made the wall explode?"

"Nope. I'm coming up nada."

That got a twitch of a smile out of her. "You create the weaves inside yourself. It's hard to explain. It's one of those things you just do and it clicks when you get it right. Oh, tying it to an emotion helps." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go ahead. Try."

I stared down at the table, doubting myself and my magical abilities. "You're really saying I can do magic? I'm not in the middle of a stroke-induced hallucination?"

"You can, and you aren't. Start small, like half the size of the one I just did. We don't want another flood of icy water drawing attention to what we're doing up here."

I reached inside myself, looking for any hint of red strings that would make a tiny fireball of my very own. I found nothing. Maybe it was an elaborate joke. Hey, let's convince the new guy he's a wizard. Laugh at the results. "Yeah, it's not so much working as it isn't. I'm not so sure I'm one of you weaver people."

"You are. Choose an emotion first and build on it." She tapped at the center of her chest. "Look for the threads here." She blushed when she noticed where her hand sat. "But in your own chest. Close your eyes."

I stared at her, my natural suspicions bubbling up inside me like hot tar. I'd been lulled into traps before. Older foster kids picking on new arrivals. Sometimes the foster parents weren't much better. This felt like a trap. I half expected her to run off, laughing at the idiot she'd convinced could do magic. But what did I really have to lose? I had nothing worth stealing, except my hand, and that was velcroed to me.

I let my eyes slide shut. I glared at the darkness, trying to focus with my mind's eye on the center of my chest. Nothing happened. I must have scowled, because Cindy put a hand on my arm.

"Remember, tie it to an emotion. Think of a memory that makes you feel something real and powerful." Delicate fingers brushed my skin and I fought a shiver. "You can do this."

I imagined my mother, saw her carrying a load of laundry down the hall of our home in some nothing town in Idaho while I played with a bright yellow truck in the living room, bashing it against one leg of the coffee table over and over again. Mom gave me a smirk that conveyed both humor and disapproval. She always had the gift of conveying more than one emotion with her looks. I went back to driving it around the room, ashamed and happy.

A twinge of sorrow brought a blue thread into view. It hovered over my mother's face, remaining when the memory faded away. It shimmered and vibrated inside me as though alive. It hummed, like a captured insect.

I opened my eyes, almost surprised to see Cindy leaning in close. "I think I have one."

She clapped her hands. "Good. Is it small?"

I nodded.

"Perfect. Close your eyes again and move it to a fingertip. Let it out nice and slow."

I closed my eyes, this time without fewer doubts. The thread thrummed inside me, anxious to be free. I willed it away from my center. "It's moving!"