Authors: Tracy Madison
When I finished, she grasped one of my hands. “It’s okay to be scared, but sweetie…you should also be excited! This is good. You can see that, can’t you?”
“I’m not sure. But I don’t see as if I have a choice.” I let go of her hand. “Everything’s getting all messed up.”
“Can I ask you something?” At my nod, she continued. “When I drew my picture, the one of me, Ethan and Rose, you didn’t have any trouble believing in that future. Why is it that now, when it’s
your
future my magic has shown, you can’t accept it?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But right now, that doesn’t matter. Now I need to see it, so if you really destroyed the drawing, you’re going to have to re create it.” I exhaled a long, slow breath. “Can you? And if not, then I guess you’ll have to go with me to deliver the pendulum to Ben, so you can see him for yourself. You’ll recognize the man from the picture again, right? Even though it’s been a while?”
Bolting from her chair, she raced out of the room. A few minutes later, she returned with a book in hand. Opening it, she pulled out a piece of folded paper, set the book on the counter and approached. “Here.”
“Ha! I knew you were lying.” The relief poured in that I’d wanted to feel earlier.
“I needed to be sure that you wouldn’t destroy the drawing the second I gave it to you.” She held the paper in front of me. “So yeah, I lied. Sue me.”
Maybe I should have been angry with her, but I wasn’t. I understood her motives, and when push came to shove, she’d
done what I’d asked. No reason to be upset. But as I stared at the paper, a tremor whisked along my skin. Was I sure about this? No, but my arm remained steady as I reached for the drawing. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
She handed it over. My fingers touched the heavy paper and my heart rate sped up. I held the page, trying to draw the strength I needed to open it. Knowing you
should
do something doesn’t necessarily make the doing itself any easier. Especially in these circumstances.
One quick breath, and I opened the first fold. Every single hair on my body stood up. The throbbing in my head increased. My stomach dipped. I felt a little like the way I had the one and only time I’d gone skydiving—that millisecond before the jump, when a rush of fear, excitement and adrenaline pushes through every nerve, every muscle of your body, and you have to force yourself to take the leap. To step out into the air and trust that your parachute will open when you need it to. It’s mindboggling. And scary as hell.
One fold to go. I sucked in another mouthful of air, let it back out and opened the page fully. My eyes were scratchy, almost irritated, so I couldn’t see anything of merit immediately. Just a bunch of lines blurring together. Tears fell, but I couldn’t stop them. I didn’t even want to. But they blurred my vision, so I wiped them away.
The trembles grew stronger and I shivered. I blinked rapidly, and for a brief, glowing second, the drawing came into perfect focus. My eyes rested on the image of me, and then, out of nowhere, a burst of bright light turned the room upside down and sent it spinning in dizzying circles. As cold as I’d been earlier, my body now surged with heat.
The fire continued to climb upward and then outward. My throat grew parched. I reached out, hoping to find the table, grasping for some type of stability. Nothing met my fingertips. The weight of my legs, arms, my entire body disappeared. Fear pummeled through me fast and furious.
Had I lost my mind, my grip on reality? Or was I in the process of dying from some freak accident? A heart attack, maybe, or a plane crashing into Alice’s house. Or hell, maybe an earthquake. All of these seemed like reasonable and perfectly possible, if ridiculously unusual, explanations.
Again I tried to find stability, something to center me, by clutching blindly for the table. The heat suddenly vanished, the swirling ceased, and limb by limb, the weight of my body returned to me. I blinked again, opened my mouth to ask Alice what the heck had just happened, except she wasn’t there. Neither was her kitchen. I now stood outside, and an arm rested on my waist while the sun warmed my shoulders. Some type of soft fabric—silk?—cascaded along my skin. Instead of the drawing in my left hand, I held a bouquet of flowers: vanda orchids, a glorious combination of purple and white, surrounded by a sea of lush greenery I couldn’t identify.
“Chloe! Smile for goodness sake. This is your wedding day,” an unknown male voice called out from in front of me. “Stand a little closer to your handsome groom.”
As if on autopilot, my body obeyed the commands. I tightened the gap between me and the unknown masculine form next to me. My lips stretched into a smile. I heard the whir of a camera.
“Good! Perfect!” the same man shouted.
What the stranger initially said finally penetrated through the thick smog that coated my brain. My groom? My wedding day? Had I somehow become a part of the drawing? I’d seen enough strange occurrences in my life to accept that as a reasonable explanation.
But wow. A rush of lightheadedness hit. My legs grew weak. I leaned farther to the right, using the solid, firm form of the man standing beside me to stay upright. His arm tightened around my waist, adding support, shoring me up. The camera made more whirring noises, and while I tried to tilt my head to
look at my groom, I couldn’t. An unexplainable force held me still, and I could do nothing but stare straight ahead. Not a pleasurable feeling.
“We’re set for now. We’ll get some more shots at the reception,” the photographer said. “I think you’ll both be really pleased!”
Whatever vise had seized me suddenly evaporated, so I slowly tipped my head, intent on learning who stood beside me. Excitement, anticipation, fear, worry and a host of other emotions I didn’t bother trying to name swarmed my senses. I saw a black tux, a white shirt, a strong physique. Slanting my vision up another degree, a chiseled chin came into view, and then…Oh, God.
Ben Malone.
All the blood-pumping desire I’d experienced earlier came back in a flash. No surprise there. But when he angled his body toward me, dipped his chin so our eyes could meet…Well, that was when the real bombshell hit. This Chloe, the one in the drawing, loved this man with an intensity I’d never before felt. Bright. Strong. Everlasting. And that same love reflected back to me in the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. This Chloe—the girl who wasn’t yet me, but whom, if I played my cards right, I could potentially become—was loved. Truly, to the depths of her soul, loved.
“Kiss me,” I whispered.
He smiled, bent over and pulled me against him. I closed my eyes, ready to finally experience the kiss I’d waited my entire life for. Would his lips be hard or soft? Would his mouth ravage mine, or would his kiss be slow and intoxicating? I wanted to know, and I wanted to know right that instant.
“Kiss me,” I said again.
“Chloe. Wake up, honey.” Alice’s voice seeped into my awareness first. Her hand, lightly slapping my cheek, came next. “Snap out of it.”
My eyelids were heavy, almost impossible to lift, but I
heard the panic in her voice, so I forced them open. Her face was over mine, concerned. “Thank God! You scared the crap out of me. What happened?”
With her help, I pulled myself into a sitting position but stayed on the floor. The hollow ache I’d lived with for the better part of a year was back, only it was stronger, deeper, and hurt like the devil. “Where’s the drawing?” My voice came out in a thick rasp.
“You dropped it when you passed out. How are you feeling? Do you need to go to the doctor?”
“Give me the drawing, Alice. Please. I need to see it.”
She didn’t argue, just reached to the side to grab the paper. Handing it over, she asked again, “Honey? What happened?”
Please, please let me go back, I prayed, clasping the paper tightly. Just for a few more minutes. Just for the kiss. I stared at the image, not seeing the black and white sketch as it actually was, but in living color, smelling the scent of flowers in the air, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the feel of Ben’s arms around me. But nothing else happened. It was just a drawing, nothing more, nothing less.
“If you drew this, does that mean this is definitely my future?” I asked.
Rocking back on her heels, Alice frowned. “I wish I could answer that. I don’t know.”
“But what do you think?”
She bit her lip before responding. “I think, because my magic showed me this future, that this day is within your grasp. But I also think that the future is fluid, and that every choice we make can alter the outcome.”
“But it’s possible,” I whispered. “It
can
happen. It
can
become true. Like with you and Ethan.”
“Oh, sweetie, of course it’s possible!” A sigh shuddered out of her. “But I nearly screwed everything up with Ethan by almost making the wrong decision. Every time I think about
what I could have lost…” She shook her head. “No. As happy as we are now, getting here wasn’t all that easy.”
My hand gripped the drawing tighter. Did it matter how difficult the process was if it resulted in what I’d just seen? What I’d just experienced? No. It didn’t. I wanted this more than I’d ever wanted anything else in my life.
Kyle flitted into my mind then, and while I didn’t have a ring on my finger, I felt the burden of it nonetheless, tying me to him. Tying me to
our
future.
“Come on, let’s get off the floor,” I said. We both crawled to stand and reclaimed our seats from earlier.
“What exactly took place here?” Alice asked for the third time.
I shook my head, trying to deny the words even as I spoke them. “I became a part of that picture, and that Chloe—the one you drew—is head over heels for a man who is not my fiancé.” Bringing my hand to my chest, I felt the thud of my heart, the steady beat of it somehow reassuring. “I fell, Alice. I fell hard. So what am I supposed to do now?”
The following Wednesday I still hadn’t settled on an answer. Oh, I knew what I wanted to do, but I wasn’t entirely sure if
want
equaled
right
. I’d spent the last few days going about my business as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, and other than Alice, no one had a clue that I was completely freaking out.
That “no one” most definitely included Kyle. He remained in Cincinnati on business, and as was his custom, he hadn’t called other than to let me know his plane had landed safely late Sunday afternoon. What wasn’t normal, and what I hadn’t been ready to confront, was that I hadn’t contacted him, either.
Arriving home, however, with less than two days before the scheduled delivery to Ben and only one before I saw Kyle, it was time to figure this out. After dropping my mail on the dining-room table, I headed for my bedroom and then quickly changed into a pair of loose pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. Ignoring the nervous energy pumping through my blood, I knelt down in front of the antique mahogany armoire that had belonged to my parents. My fingers rubbed along the rich grain of the wood, my mind flashing back in time, seeing my mother hurriedly selecting clothes to pack. I was twelve and had watched her from across the room, upset that she and my father were going away on a weekend trip without me and Sheridan.
I hadn’t been nice to my mother. I’d called her selfish and stomped around in a huff, trying to get her to change her mind. Of course, she hadn’t. They’d left with a list of rules
and contact numbers for the sitter, hugs and kisses for us and the promise that the three days would speed by. Instead, a rainstorm, flooded roads and a driver who lost control of his car made certain my parents never came home again. Shaking my head, I pushed away the pain.
Opening the bottom drawer, I glanced at its contents: a variety of candles, several types of tarot decks, my pendulums, and a few other odds and ends of a spiritual nature. I grabbed a white candle first, for truth and purity, and next, a blue candle, for wisdom and understanding. My hand hovered over the purple candle, unsure, because the use of it along with the others might be more powerful than I needed. Purple enhanced all other spiritual activities, and should increase magical power—if I had any. Since I didn’t, and because I needed all the help I could get, I figured it couldn’t hurt, so I added that candle to my pile.
Situating the three candles on the top of my dresser, I carefully lit each before tossing the drawing and my MP3 player on my bed. Scooting into position, I supported my back against the pillows I’d fluffed and puffed along the headboard and closed my eyes.
A dream had haunted my sleep for the past two nights. Pulling the dream to the forefront of my mind, I envisioned myself standing in the middle of a crossroads. One direction led to Kyle, a second toward Ben and the other two paths led to destinations unknown. Even so, I knew without a shadow of a doubt which path beckoned. The strength of the pull didn’t so much surprise me as scare me, because I didn’t trust it.
It seemed fake. As if I were Eve being tempted by the most succulent fruit in the Garden of Eden. What if, like Eve, I gave in to temptation only to discover I’d made a horrible mistake? Maybe the dream was a warning, cautioning me that all of this could be nothing more than a test of fate, to see how committed I was to Kyle. If I turned away from
that now, if I proved to the universe that I’d bolt at the first sign of something possibly better, then maybe I’d end up on one of the other paths, the ones I couldn’t see, with years of misery as my future.
I needed to reenter the drawing. To capture the kiss I hadn’t, and not just for the emotional punch but for the tactile experience: the taste of Ben’s lips, the scrape of his cheek against mine, the weight of his arms around me. Feeling the reality of us together again, when I was prepared for it, seemed crucial, for without that push, I didn’t know if I had the courage to proceed in
any
direction.
Praying for clarity, I picked up the drawing and pushed the MP3 player’s button with my thumb. The song that had driven me crazy the other day began to play. I set it on repeat, cranked up the volume and centered all of my attention, all of my energy, on my wedding day.
The colors, scents and emotions whirled around me like a kaleidoscope, tugging at the very core of my being. Whatever line separated my current reality from the one that existed on the page blurred, and the tug grew stronger. But it wasn’t enough. A wall stood, tall and solid, between me and the world I yearned to enter.
The music played on for a while—I’m not sure for how long—but when the last drop of hope drained out of me, I gave up and turned the MP3 player off. Crinkling the corner of the page in frustration, the sigh I’d been holding back escaped. Why wouldn’t this work? What was I missing?
“Help me,” I whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
The air turned then. I gasped as pinpricks of cold darted down my spine. Next, the awareness of being watched plunged into my consciousness, followed by the scent of freshly picked roses, fragrant and rich. My muscles tensed, my breathing hitched. Could it be—?
“You already know which direction calls to you, Chloe. Is it so hard to heed that call?”
That musical voice, which I’d heard only once before, came from my right side, just beyond my vision. My body went rigid. I didn’t move, not even to turn my head to face her. Emotion clogged my throat. The heavy weight of unwanted tears gathered behind my eyes. How long had I waited for this moment? How many nights had I sat in this very spot, calling out to her? I swallowed, tried to find the courage to speak, but couldn’t.
A rush of colors slipped into view as she walked—glided—into position in front of the bed. Her tall, lanky, almost willowy form appeared solid, but a shimmer of light surrounded her, an ethereal glow. She had large brown eyes, deep and fathomless, as if they’d captured the secrets of the world; long dark hair that fell in luxurious waves around an elegantly featured face; skin as white as the finest porcelain; and rich bloodred lips. Myriad hues rippled over her like a rainbow’s reflection in a pool of water—there, but not concrete, unreal. As if one skipping stone would break the illusion.
Miranda.
Spiderlike shivers cascaded over me, through me, as I fought to stay calm. Again, I tried to voice my thoughts, but they remained locked inside, caught in the storm of emotions I couldn’t seem to stop. The minutes ticked by in my head until fear that she would disappear pushed out the words I needed to say, the one question I needed answered before anything else. “What took you so long?”
She emitted a light laugh. “Silly girl. I’ve been with you all along, in one way or another. You simply haven’t been ready until now.”
“That’s not true! I’ve been ready for months.”
“Ah, if you had been, I wouldn’t have had so much difficulty connecting with you, now, would I?” She gestured toward the candles, the movement stirring the flames, making them dip and bob, nearly extinguishing them. “These helped
clear the way tonight, even if they didn’t serve the purpose you intended.”
“I needed you,” I said in a halting voice. “But you left me alone. Wondering if everything Alice told me is even real—if I really am a part of something bigger, or if I’m just the girl I’ve always been. Why would you do that?” The words gushed out.
“Such emotion! Why do you find it so difficult to believe that we share the same blood? You come from me! And yes, Chloe, you are indeed the girl you’ve always been. But you are also, as you say, a part of something bigger.”
I opened my mouth to argue but promptly shut it when she raised her hand.
“There is much to say, and too little time, so listen carefully. That long-ago night when I nearly cursed a man, the night I instead created the gift that has been passed from one daughter to another, I did so out of love, but also because I could see the futures of my girls. I was shown that cursing him would then curse everyone who came from me.”
“This man. What was his name?” I already knew the story. Miranda, a powerful Gypsy, had been lied to by the man with whom she’d fallen in love. Seeking revenge for his lies, for his cruelty, she’d almost cursed him, but instead she had changed her direction by gifting magic to the baby—babies, it turned out—she carried, who then gifted it to their daughters. So it went, from daughter to daughter. Supposedly, I was part of this chain.
She hadn’t yet answered, so I asked again, “His name? Please tell me. I need to know.”
Still she hesitated. A flash of emotions—anger, sadness, fear—plunged in and out of her eyes, but finally, she nodded. “His name was Bartholomew Bennett. Your great-great-great-grandfather.”
There it was: the missing puzzle piece, the connection between me and the ghost standing before me, and therefore,
my connection to the ever-elusive magic. “He raised my great-great-grandmother? What was
her
name?”
Miranda’s eyes narrowed, and a longing entered her voice. “He stole her from me. My Evelyn. I only saw her once, from a distance, and I couldn’t bring myself to disrupt her life. As much as I despised Bartholomew by then, he was a decent father, and his wife a good, loving mother. Besides, the world was vastly different then, and no one would have believed the word of a Gypsy over his. I might have lost Amelia in the process.”
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. I didn’t have to be a mother to understand the pain Miranda felt.
“I never told Amelia she had a twin sister. I regret that.” Translucent tears appeared in Miranda’s eyes. She lifted her chin, forcing them to drip down the sides of her face, past the planes of her cheeks, until they dropped away into nothingness. “This regret is what has allowed me to remain in this world, to reforge the ties that were broken, so all of my daughters will recognize each other.”
“And you’ve done that, but what about—?”
“No, Chloe, I haven’t,” she said firmly. “Not yet.”
Disappointment slammed into me. “So that’s what this is about? You want me to search out long-lost relatives? What about me?” I held up the drawing. “What about this? Is this my fate?”
“That depends.” Miranda waved her hand, and the drawing shot from my grip to hers. “And it’s not really the question you should be asking. You’re expending far too much concentration on this picture, Chloe. You need to look inside yourself. You need to trust in yourself and in your power. Find that trust, go with it, and all will become clear.”
“What power? I’m as powerless as I’ve always been!”
Her image flickered, as if my outburst had interrupted her energy and, therefore, her ability to be present. I held my breath, my gaze fixated on her, hoping that she wasn’t about
to disappear. But then her image solidified, and the tightness that had appeared in my chest relaxed in relief. For better or for worse, I wanted her here. More than that, I
needed
her.
“You are far from powerless. Can’t you feel the magic inside of you?” She smiled then, a hauntingly beautiful smile, and the light around her brightened, became more iridescent. She literally sparkled.
“What magic, Miranda? I feel nothing. Shouldn’t I feel something? I can’t bake wishes into cakes, and I’ve yet to draw a picture of the future. So, what magic?”
Her nostrils flared, as if she’d exhaled a breath. “Stop comparing yourself to others! You have always been acutely aware of the magic in this world, of the power that exists in objects and people around you. How can you not recognize it within yourself?”
“I don’t sense magic anywhere. Not like I used to.” My admission startled me. When had I stopped sensing magic? When, exactly, had I begun ignoring most—if not all—I believed in?
“The magic,
your
magic, exists within your will—as natural as breathing. It flows from you to those around you effortlessly, often without your ever being aware of the power you’re wielding. Think about it, Chloe, and you’ll recognize the truth I speak.”
My will? I thought back to what Elizabeth had said at the intervention, that bit about how she’d felt compelled to do what I asked, to bake the magic cake. I remembered how strong my emotions were as I’d pleaded with her. comprehension slid in, along with the faintest ember of excitement. “All I have to do is make a wish, want something to happen, and it will? It’s that simple?”
“Yes…and no. What you feel, what you want and desire, feeds this portion of your power. And yes, the more intense your emotions are, the more intense your magic is.”
Her eyes clouded with a hint of darkness. Fear? Not of me, but
for
me?
“Listen closely. This gift is yours, and it is meant to be used, but be cautious. Mistakes can be devastating. Not only to you, but to those your power touches. You have a journey, my dear great-great-great-granddaughter, and it is about far more than this picture.”
Before I had a chance to ask another question or, hell, even take a breath, the light vanished, and with it, Miranda. My mind whipped through everything she’d said, and while the fear in her eyes and her warning worried me, it was the rest of her message that gleamed bright and true.
The ember of excitement, of anticipation, grew in strength until it hummed through me, pushing everything else out. All this time, I’d been so sure the magic had skipped over me. Now? Well, this changed everything. The drawing lay on the floor where Miranda had stood. Catapulting from the bed, I grabbed it. I looked at it, still reeling from seeing and talking with Miranda—from learning that I was, indeed, more than the girl I’d always seemed. My eyes fell to the sketched image of me, of Ben. My heart cried out, my soul begged me to take a chance. Trust in yourself, she’d said. Trust in your power.
Every part of me wanted this. The fear of choosing the wrong direction skittered away. Confidence soared. I had magic on my side. How could I lose? And with that, I stepped out of the middle of the crossroads, chose a destination and began walking, all the while hoping like mad that what I saw at the end of the path was real and not a trick, not an illusion.
“So. Not. Cool,” I mumbled early Thursday evening, punching the button on my cell to replay Kyle’s message, hoping and praying that somehow I’d heard wrong.