Unbound (Unbound, Book 1) ~Formerly Casting Power~

Chapter 9

"I love you too, Mom," I said, "but what happens when the dreams you have aren't the ones that I want? You know I'm going to do whatever I can to be normal, right? For good."

She smoothed my hair down and smiled down at me. "I know."

"Can I use your books?"

"No, you can't." She kept her hands on my head but looked away. "When you accept your gifts, you will understand more."

"Then why do you force me to take lessons if I can't understand now?"

"The lessons are to prepare you, Nora. You can't do something without learning the basics first." She looked down at me again and forced herself to smile, but I knew there was more she'd left unsaid. Things I didn't want to hear but should probably know.

"It's late," I finally said, pushing those thoughts from my head. "I don't want to wake up with red walls or something."

She nodded and stepped back, just out of reach. "Okay. One last time. Are you ready?"

"Do it." I nodded.

*****

The branches of the large oak outside my bedroom window scraped against the glass with the breath of the wind that whistled through the panes, taunting me for my failure. For the next five days, it rained. I spent most of them in my room, only wandering out when my stomach spoke to me. My search, though persistent, had proven to be futile.

The internet was full of hypothetical information, but nothing to hint at how to bind or strip one's own abilities, for good or otherwise. Everything I could find fell under fantasy or myth. The one thing that could help—my mother's Books of Shadows—which had so many volumes it had morphed into an Encyclopedia of Shadows, was off-limits unless I accepted my abilities. My mom had been useless to my cause, ignoring me except for during our mandated lessons regarding the Craft.

Zachariah, on the other hand, hadn't left me alone. While my mother grew distant, he had become... present. Always here, even when my mother wasn't home, trying to coerce me into acceptance. He kept reminding me to think of the long-term effects of my decisions. Okay, then, Zen Master. I didn't care about his opinion. He would not become my mentor just because he had been my mother's. Now that she was no longer a student but a High Priestess, she gave his opinion and advice more credit than it was due.

It was her greatest weakness.

I raked my hand down my face, closed my computer displaying fruitless results, and pushed my chair away from the desk in frustration. Maybe I could wear my mother down, bit-by-bit, and she would be forced to reconsider keeping me bound by the end of summer. Perhaps proving to her that having my abilities was dangerous was the key to having my powers bound throughout senior year. Then again, that would require using them.

Since that wasn't going to happen, the plan was to learn to control my emotions. If I could learn to relax my mind and body so that my trigger—whatever that was—couldn't be activated, I may be able to stall the rate I'd begun to unbind myself. Leaning back in the chair as far as it would allow, I closed my eyes and tried to slow my breathing while fantasizing about a tranquil oasis, a retreat for my mind if not my body.

My senses cleared and my bedroom faded. A heady, bitter taste, like fresh rain absorbed by mossy terrain, assaulted me. It was as forceful as if I'd been hit. Bright greens merged with a constant flow of the clearest blue, refreshing along the northern edge. My skin cooled and the scene cleared.

The image shattered from what it had been and would never be again: the clearing that I had destroyed four years ago.

Not an oasis.

I sat up, startled, and opened my eyes. Why did everything have to come back to that horrible day? Why was it that after all this time the nightmares that plagued my nights had infiltrated my days?

"Noreena!"

For once, I'd be grateful if my mother would take my silence as a profound hint not to bother me. It was wishful thinking, I knew. Slowly, I stood and stretched the kinks gathered from immobility, enjoying the feeling of my joints cracking and then realigning despite how my muscles creaked in protest. There would be no more hibernating in my room, researching things that would never pay off.

I grabbed my phone and texted Nancy. It was Canada Day. I was hoping that, even though she'd stopped calling after the first three attempts, she'd forgive me enough after five days of flaking to enjoy the fireworks together.

"Noreena Fallyn."

"What?" I screamed over my shoulder and punched the button to send my message.

"Get down here."

I tucked my phone into my jeans and stomped down the stairs.

"Noreena—"

"Don't yell at me, Mom." I crossed my arms and leaned against the doorframe leading into the kitchen. "What do you want?"

"First of all, watch your tone."

I rolled my eyes. "And second of all?"

"So, what do you think?"

She looked behind her and smiled. Despite wanting to remain distant, I took a step forward. I couldn't help it, though I regretted it the moment my gaze found Zachariah. He wore the same outfit as always: faded grey old-man trousers that might have looked good thirty years ago, a grey toque that was once black, and a beige trench coat stained with foreign substances I never wanted to discover the origin of. The only thing that ever changed was the color of his sweater, though it was always a sweater. Red yesterday, blue today.

"What? Why would I think anything about Zach?"

"Look again." She sighed, vibrating with authority even in a black tracksuit.

As I turned, I was assaulted by a slobbering tongue sliding up my face like sandpaper, starting at the cleft in my chin, and stopping just past my hairline. I spit out a ball of fur only to have a wet nose sniff out my last meal, followed once again by the rough tongue.