DARK SOULS (Dark Souls Series) (7 page)

I smiled and shrugged. A part of me was sincerely hoping that I wasn’t hallucinating my physical improvement. I had always been insecure about myself, especially my hair, and I couldn’t help but feel a brief spurt of confidence at Macy’s exclamation.

Stepping into the shower, I turned the water up hot—
his eyes, drowning with pain
—and entered the spray, sighing in pleasure under the stream. Since Friday night, I preferred only showers at the highest temperature, my skin reddening with the scorching heat but never burning. Reluctantly, I turned off the spray when my fingers began to prune.

Toweling off and putting on a simple pair of blue jeans and a purple t-shirt (all the while picturing Macy shaking her finger at me in fashion-disapproval), I stepped into the kitchen and turned on my ancient coffee maker, though it still ran like a dream.

As the smell of coffee began to take over my studio apartment, Macy grumbled in her sleep as she rolled over onto her back, cracking her eyes open to look at me.

“What’s up,” she said, her voice hoarse.  

“What’s up yourself,” I said without looking up as I began to crack eggs into a bowl. “You ready to face daylight yet?”

“Not particularly,” she said as she sat up and rubbed her face. “Oh, the punishment alcohol forces upon me…”

I studied Macy as she stacked my pillows and curled up against the wall, pulling the covers back over her. I decided to put into play what I had been anxiously debating over in the shower. I just wanted to see. I just wanted to reassure myself that maybe my mind wasn’t shattering into a million tiny pieces, and that maybe something tangible was happening to me. Even if I might not have done it to Rob—he might be an imaginary boyfriend I made up, or if he wasn’t imaginary, he was possibly a slitty-eyed, yellow-fanged monster, neither of which were credible sources—I
definitely
did it to Macy on Friday night.

I narrowed my eyes at her, squinting with effort as I attempted to focus my mind and think,
Make yourself a cup of coffee and drink it.

Macy groaned, stirring like a sleeping dragon under the covers, one that would only awaken if her golden treasure were physically taken from underneath her. Either that or poked her.

Nothing. The lump under the covers barely even shifted.

I am not crazy I am not crazy I am not crazy, I thought frantically. This
had
to be real.

Then I remembered. Eye contact!

“Hey, Macy?” I asked, as innocently as I could. Macy lowered the covers only slightly, just enough for me to see a set of squinting, red-rimmed eyes.

“This better be good,” she said, her voice muffled.

I caught her gaze, and narrowed my eyes again. This time, I felt the gentle heat at the back of my head, almost like a small flame illuminating my unconscious. “
Get up, grab the cup of coffee beside me. Drink it.”

Her eyes dilated to black and the covers across her face dropped, and I saw her mouth slacken slightly. Without a word, she rose from the bed, walked past me and grabbed my cooling mug of coffee. She stood in front of me robotically, lifting the mug to her mouth and gulping the liquid down.

“Holy shit,” I whispered. Mixed emotions assaulted me, almost like panic and euphoria blending together. Despite these raging sensations, I knew enough not to break eye contact with Macy until I put her back where she was. It wouldn’t do to explain to her how she ended up in front of me chugging lukewarm coffee when she had just been curled up in a fetal position in my bed.

“
Now go back and lie down
.”

Without expression, she backed up to the bed, her gaze still held by mine. Once she was curled back up under the covers, I blinked and looked away, breaking the connection.

Macy blinked back. “What are you disturbing my hang-over for?”

I startled. I didn’t expect her to come back into consciousness that quickly. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry,” I gestured awkwardly with the whisk before I looked down and began to stir the egg mixture.

She shrugged, preparing to burrow back into covers before she paused, burped. “Why does my mouth taste like a cat’s ass?”

I stiffened only slightly, barely pausing as I whisked the eggs. “How would you know what a cat’s ass tastes like?”

“Because it tastes exactly like coffee does.”

I shrugged. “You’re the one who told the bartender last night to make ‘whatever came to him.’” I made air quotes with my hands, one still holding the whisk. “Who the hell knows what’s left-over in your mouth.”

“The bastard must’ve made something with coffee liquor,” she said before grabbing my water glass off my nightstand. “I
hate
coffee. Hate, hate, hate.”

She made a pathetic, pained noise when she realized my water glass was empty.

“I got it, I got it,” I said as I walked over to her.

I filled her water glass and cooked us scrambled eggs, all the while trying to process what just occurred—what I
just
made
occur. It was one thing to have a theory. It was a completely different thing to have that theory turn into fact.

Better than being insane,
I thought as I watched Macy demolish the eggs as she sat cross-legged on the bed. I sat across from her, looking down at my eggs with sudden distaste. My stomach rolled as I took in the yellowed, glopping mass.

“You gonna finish that?” Macy asked through a mouthful of cheese and eggs.

I shook my head. She gestured with her fork. “Give it here, woman.”

I passed the plate over to her, wondering why I suddenly had no appetite. I’d woken up with a raging, empty stomach, but now all I wanted to do was run from the smell of food.

“Want to hit up the Greenmarket at Union Square today?” Macy asked before scraping up the last of the egg with her fork and stacking my plate on top of hers beside her. She patted her stomach and leaned back against the pillows in contentment. “I’m feeling energized. Eggs and cheese absorb hang-overs like magic.”

“Yeah, sure.” I realized I’d been jiggling my left knee erratically, and placed my palm on top of it to stop it.

“Nice. Let me shower first.”

She hopped off the bed, her bare feet padding against the floorboards as she headed to the bathroom. She made sure to curl her lip in disgust at the coffee maker as she passed.

I had to stop myself from pacing back and forth across my apartment as I waited for Macy and feebly attempted to sort through my thoughts. As soon as Macy stepped out of the bathroom, fresh-faced and hang-over free, I shot towards the door.

“Whoa, slow down, speed demon. Drink some extra coffee this morning?” she asked, elbowing me affectionately on the arm as she passed me.

“I’m just feeling extra energetic today,” I said, attempting a smile.

“Well, let’s put that energy to use, shall we? You can help me try to score free food from the market. Student budget and all.”

I rolled my eyes as I shut the door behind us and locked it. Macy came from money and never lacked for anything, yet she refused to bask in it. She was a sucker for bargains, and even more so for free stuff. I never minded standing beside her as she haggled, because I was usually lucky enough to benefit from it.

We decided to take the 6 train to 14
^th
street, Macy chattering away the entire time, and exited right into the heart of Union Square. The Greenmarket was bustling, white tents spread in rows, surrounded by tall concrete buildings, some which still stood the test of time while others were more recently developed. The street trees that radiated out from the middle of the square still had their leaves, their colors warming into ruby, burnt orange and chocolate underneath the autumn sun. The farmers’ market itself was filled with small vending stands, every space of table covered with vegetables, jams, honey and herbs. I could smell the roasting meats as the cooking smoke gathered in the air, mixing with the smell of freshly split oranges as children ran around us, juice from the orange wedges dripping from their hands. The sharp aroma of plants packed in soil enveloped me as soon as we reached the tents, and I resisted the urge to cover my face with my hand.

The mixing scents were hitting my nose like a sledgehammer at the same time a wave of voices crashed into my ears, sounds from clusters of people waving and falling as I walked by them, amplifying then receding. 

I tried to shake myself out of it as I walked beside Macy, focusing on the few craft stands that had popped up, and I eyed a wooden carving of a bird with interest, noticing each and every knife cut that was used, the splinters and grains in the wood garishly apparent.

“Oh, awesome, I see apple cider!” Macy pointed to the left, drawing my scattered attention.

Every year I waited in anticipation for October to come, signaling the autumn season, and most especially, signaling the start of homemade apple cider. It was still my favorite drink in the world, particularly when it was warmed and muddled with cinnamon. If this were any other weekend, I would have been just as excited as Macy at this unexpected treat, but as soon as she said the words, the spiced cinnamon smell that greeted me made me want to vomit.

“Hang back,” Macy said, eying the growing crowd around the apple cider stand and preparing her elbows for the onslaught. “I’ll go grab us a free sample.”

Macy dove right in, snaking through the crowd like a New York City pro as she made her way to the front. I couldn’t disappoint her, so I stayed silent despite my heaving stomach, my foot tapping anxiously as I waited for her to return.

Macy came back empty handed.

“Weird. The vendor just told me they had made a bad batch and couldn’t sell any more. They’re closing for the day.”

“Wow, that is strange.”

My stomach sank. I couldn’t help but believe that my potential mind-altering capabilities had something to do with the vendor’s sudden decision to close up shop. I continued to walk with Macy, pretending to be interested in the fruit stands and feigning amusement when Macy said she wanted to sweeten up the chocolate guy. I was too distracted, too unsure of how I even influenced the vendor in the first place, never mind how I was supposed to moderate it so I didn’t unintentionally affect anyone else at the market.

We finished the rest of our perusing quickly, mostly due to my increased speed at walking among the stands so we could leave. If Macy found it odd, she didn’t comment on it and continued to chat with me as if nothing in my life were awry. I followed suit, too tempted by the lure of normalcy to do anything different, until I waved good-bye to her as she descended the steps to the 1 train.

Once home, the pent up energy I had been trying to temper rose back to the forefront, and I knew I couldn’t stay in this apartment one minute longer. I was afraid I was going to do something I couldn’t control, like inadvertently cause some sort of molecular explosion in my face. Considering my current situation, who knew what I was capable of?

I was suddenly desperate for more fresh air, and opening my two meager windows wasn’t cutting it. I practically fell out of my apartment door, running down the five flights and flying into the cool air of the evening. I breathed in gratefully, not caring that the air was coated with smog and dust of the city. This was my home. This was my city, and I stood still for a moment outside my building, heedless of the people that had to walk around me as I lifted my face and let the wind glide across it. My stomach took that opportunity to grumble, but I ignored it, knowing that food wasn’t going to do any good.

I just wanted to walk around, burn off some energy, and the East Village was the perfect place to do it. The streets were eclectic, with local art shops, famous restaurants and trendy clothing stores all known to neighbor one another. Sunday evenings were no different than any other evening in New York City; it would still be full of people, especially on a clear autumn evening like this one. When I wasn’t vacillating between over-enthusiastically chatting with Macy and feigning interest at the Greenmarket, I’d been deep in thought and mulling over what I had made Macy do with the coffee, and a plan began to form.

I needed to be sure. I needed to know, with conclusive proof from multiple test subjects, that I could make people do things with my mind.

I didn’t even bother to stifle the barking laugh that came out of my mouth at that thought, but nobody turned to look at me as I laughed to myself and walked down my street. I was probably one of the milder forms of weirdness they’d see on the streets tonight.

It was true; I was coming to believe that I had a superpower. I mean, what else could it be called? Even though the idea of having a superpower and not a crazed mind made me feel less insane, I knew if I breathed a word of it to anyone it would only make me look more
insane. But at least on the inside, I knew that this was real, and my personal sanity was all that mattered—not what anyone else would think.

My cheeks reddened with the cool breeze that had accompanied me as I walked past crowded restaurants and tiny bodegas, all emitting some sort of stomach-turning food smell. I picked up the pace, enjoying the breeze as it kicked up, lifting scattered trash and debris from the sidewalks that I dodged with ease. Although I recently preferred heat, I wasn’t about to shy away from the comforting coolness of the wind as it caressed my face, random pieces of plastic and all.

In less than five minutes I found my first test subject, exhaustedly pushing a stroller and trying to wrangle a toddler on the loose at the same time. She managed to catch her escapee just in the knick of time before he ran out onto the street, scolding him as she wrestled him back into the stroller.

As she bent down and waited at the stoplight, I approached her. She was young, probably no older than I was, her blonde hair scraped back into a haphazard ponytail that she had probably been tying and retightening all day. Her face was flushed and tired, her cheeks probably reddened more from exertion than the breeze.

That’s what a NYC nannying job will do to you. I considered such a job when I first moved here, then quickly dismissed it after watching an epic meltdown by a four-year-old in a restaurant because he got milk instead of juice, staunched only after he threw the milk into his mother’s face.