Witch's Diary: A Paranormal Urban Fantasy Tale (Lost Library Book 4) (3 page)

“That’s no excuse for rudeness,” her mom said tartly.

“Maybe not.” Kenna sighed. “What does all of this have to do with our family drama?”

“Some spell casters can use their magic as early as five or six years. Lycan gain the ability to shift forms during puberty. But they’re all born with some measureable amount of magic. Witches are different. We’re born without any perceivable magic. There are different theories, but most say the magic is there but can’t be detected.” Her mom grimaced slightly. “Male witches gain their magic during puberty.”

“And women?” Kenna laughed, but without any humor. “No, don’t tell me. Pregnancy and menopause. Which is how you knew I was pregnant. Smoke and ashes. And I’m too young for menopause. Instant witch. That is seriously fucked up.”

“Kenna.”

Her mom’s disapproving tones had no impact on her. “I get a freebie on the F-bomb today, Mom.”

“Well, that aside, your facts aren’t quite right.” Her mom folded her hands together on the table. “You’re not too young for menopause. Early onset menopause isn’t uncommon in witches, especially witches who haven’t acquired their magic through pregnancy. I just hoped—since you’d wanted a child so much…” She gathered her thoughts, then said, “The long and the short is that pregnancy hormones spark a change in your body, beginning a process that results in the development of your magic. Oh, and pregnant witch hormones can be a bitch.”

“I should have known you had some profanity lurking in there somewhere.” What other surprises was her mom hiding? “Wait. Are you saying you’ve been through menopause? How did I not know that?”

“You were young. And like every other teenager, you had bigger problems than your moody mom.”

“Hmm,” Kenna grumbled.

“In any event, pregnancy has already brought on some of your magical ability, and I suspect more is around the corner. Theoretically, you could channel those talents now.”

“Okay, Mom. I’m thrilled to learn all about my witchy quirks, and we’re going to have to have a serious discussion about fire—primarily controlling and extinguishing it—but I think you’re avoiding the issue of our family. Why?”

“Not exactly.” After studying Kenna for a moment, her mom briskly nodded her head. “Okay. Your biological mother, Ginny, was not a very nice person. Still isn’t. When she was young, maybe sixteen or seventeen, she decided she didn’t want to wait for her magic. Not for the right time or for the right man. Grandma tried to reason with her, and she had some influence. But when she was twenty, she’d had enough of waiting, and she did her best to get pregnant.”

“With me,” Kenna said.

Her mom nodded.

“So she’s irresponsible and reckless. I can remember making some bad choices at twenty.” Kenna shrugged. “It happens.”

Her mom tilted her head, hesitating.

“It was worse than that?” Kenna asked quietly.

A small, pained smile fleetingly crossed her mom’s face. “I thought so. She drugged and seduced my fiancé.”

“Uh—what?” Kenna hollered. “Why? Geez. It’s not like it’s hard to find sperm.”

“Right. Except there’s a myth, a belief held by a specific group of witches.”

“Steal your sister’s guy and you’re more likely to get pregnant?” Kenna interrupted in a huffy voice. “Who does that? To their own sister?”

“Shush. It was a long time ago. No, the myth had to do with the male witch’s power.”

Kenna felt understanding begin to dawn. She waited for her mom to explain, hoping she was wrong.

“Ginny wanted the most powerful male witch she could find to father the child. The belief being that her own magic would be increased if she was impregnated by a powerful male witch.”

Her mom didn’t look nearly upset enough. If her sister—or Lizzie, who was as close to a sister as she had—ever did something so hurtful, Kenna would be violently angry, maybe even thirty-five years later. Well, her mom was a much nicer person than Kenna.

Kenna said out loud what her mom had avoided: “So she screwed the best candidate, not giving a damn that he happened to be the man her sister loved and was planning to marry.”

“Yes, that’s about it.”

“Hmm. You missed the mark. Your sister was a little worse than ‘not a nice person.’ She was a raging bitch.” Kenna crossed her arms. “What about me? Where did I fit into her grand scheme?” Kenna couldn’t miss the sadness on her mother’s face. “Nice. I didn’t even come into the picture. Or worse, I was a nasty side effect. Peachy.”

“She was young, and no, a child didn’t fit into her plans. She planned to give you up for adoption. Your great-grandmother and I were desperate to keep you, and together we managed to persuade her to let me legally adopt you.”

Kenna felt no sense of abandonment or loss concerning her biological mother. Whether it was because she’d grown up in a secure environment with a loving mother, or because the reality of her past was simply too telenovela for her to immediately and fully accept as truth, she didn’t know. And though she couldn’t imagine how the teenage version of herself would have felt, she did have enough sense to know it would have been a terrible burden.

“I understand why you didn’t want me to know when I was younger. But why wait so long to tell me? I could have gotten knocked up at any point in the last ten-plus years. And what if I’d set someone on fire? Geez, Mom.”

“Please. You’re not going make anyone spontaneously combust. That’s ridiculous.”

Kenna raised her eyebrows. She’d seen some evidence to the contrary, so she wasn’t buying it. “Then explain the smoking and disintegrated paper. I thought intent was a huge part of doing magic. I did not intend to magic away my proof of insurance.”

Her mom waved a dismissive hand. “No one needs those little pieces of paper anymore. The police can look all of that up these days.”

“Mom.” Kenna couldn’t keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Her mom shrugged. “Okay, fine—paper catches fire. That’s not exactly rocket science.” She tipped her head to the side. “But there is a problem with regulating your magic when you’re stressed. It can…leak a little.”

“Leak?” Kenna’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “When I’m stressed, somehow my magic leaks out into the world? Where, I might add, it wreaks havoc on innocent passersby?”

“It does not wreak havoc. That’s an exaggeration. You might notice some inconvenient slips when you’re in a heightened emotional state.” Her mom blinked at her innocently. Too innocently. “Have you noticed any other strange occurrences? Before the register tape?” Her tone was casually inquisitive.

Kenna was immediately suspicious. “Like what?”

“Nothing in particular. Just any other smoke, fire, melting, interesting dreams. That sort of thing.”

Kenna shook her head, but she didn’t take her eyes off her mom. “You’re blushing.” When her mom would have denied it, Kenna said it again. “You are definitely blushing.”

“It’s possible I set the sheets on fire.” Her mom’s clear complexion shone pink. “Once. Maybe twice.” Her demeanor and tone turned brisk. “But that clearly hasn’t been a problem for you.”

Kenna didn’t know what to say. So she sat and tried not to envision what might possibly have caused her mom to set the sheets on fire. She failed miserably.

“Really, Kenna. Who knew you were such a prude?”

Kenna was not going down this particular conversational path, especially not today. She wiped her face as clear of emotion as she could—she must have looked as appalled as she felt—and turned the conversation in a more fruitful direction. “How long before I get full control?”

“By the time you deliver, your magic will have stabilized. And after the first several months, everything—the moodiness, the lack of control—it all improves greatly. So I’m told.” Her mom’s creamy complexion had regained its normal cooler tones.

“Anything I can do to speed that process along?”

“Drink the tea to keep your hormones from throwing a party for themselves.”

“Cute, Mom. And I will, but what about control?” Kenna picked up her tea and took a sip. It was growing on her. A little. It was growing on her a little. The aftertaste was still dirt-like.

“Think of your magic as existing in a well inside yourself. It’s there, but asleep until you wake it up. That’s what stress does—it gives your magic a solid smack and wakes it up.” A frown played across her mom’s face. “I’ve always found each person’s magic to be highly individualized. So my explanations may not be that helpful for you.

Kenna sighed. “I get it. I’m just worried that I’ll unknowingly let loose some magic. And then the next thing I know, it’s latched on to a stray thought. With the awesome end result of me in jail or a psych ward.”

“Not to stir the pot,” her mom said, lips twitching, “but it’s not just stray thoughts. Unarticulated impulses and feelings can be enough to, say, catch your sheets on fire.”

“Geez, Mom. Stop with the sheets. I’m all about you having sex—I just don’t want to know about it.” Kenna pursed her lips. “Or have such vivid images of it in my head.”

Her mom laughed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “But you see my point? You probably didn’t consciously think you wanted the receipt paper at the grocery to go up in flames. I’d guess it was more of a generalized anger that the register wasn’t working. Or maybe even more attenuated—frustration directed at the situation in general. But magic requires a specific target.”

“I didn’t set the register paper on fire—it smoked.” That small difference seemed important to Kenna. She rubbed her temples. “So what’s the fix? I assume there’s some way to keep my magic from…escaping into the ether. Leaking sounds disgusting, by the way.”

Her mom dug around in her purse again and pulled out a small box of emergency candles, the plain white kind that looked like they were made by first graders. She removed the packaging and placed four sticks on the table.

“I remember this part. And it is not cool.” At her mom’s questioning look, Kenna reminded her. “Lizzie? Two years of fiddling around with that stupid magic book? I assume you want me to light a candle—fire witch and all. But I’m not particularly in the mood to suck at this and get crazy frustrated…ah.”

Her mom smiled slightly. “It’s a win-win, really.”

“So how do I do this?”

Her mom looked surprised. “We’ll find out together. This can be a trial-and-error process, since everyone’s magic is different.”

Kenna growled. “You people have got to get a manual. This is ridiculous.”

“Well, I can’t exactly tell you what your magic will feel like to you—but once you do know, it’s easier to find it.”

“Not helpful, Mom. Can you tell me what it feels like to you? I mean, can you sense other people’s magic?” Kenna knew spell casters like Lizzie could cast wards that revealed whether magic was present. “A witch equivalent to spell-caster wards, maybe?”

“I’m not particularly familiar with wards, but once you light a candle I will be able to detect your magic.” Her mom tilted her head, giving the matter some additional thought. “I can’t look at you and see some kind of witch magic aura, if that’s what you mean.”

Not exactly what Kenna meant. “Good to know I don’t glow the orangey-red of fire as I walk down the street. Huh. So not even my escaping magic shows up?”

“Not that I can tell. Wanna give the candle a try?” Her mom picked it up like it was a tasty treat.

Kenna had flashbacks to broccoli at dinner when she was little. And just like the broccoli, she caved. “Hand it over.”

Lizzie had gotten a how-to-do-magic recipe from one of her mentors. Kenna dug around in her brain for those steps. She and Lizzie had discussed them ad nauseam as Lizzie had trial-and-errored her way through her magic. Kenna squeezed her eyes shut. “Does pregnancy affect memory?” Before her mom could respond, Kenna said, “Never mind. I’ve got it. Find your magic. Decide on an action. Apply will.”

One, two, three, and voila—magic. Somehow Kenna doubted it was that easy.

“Sorry?” her mom asked.

“Just something Lizzie told me about using magic.”

Her mom frowned, but almost as fast as her displeasure had come, it was wiped from her face. Kenna had enough problems to start worrying about shit that wasn’t jumping up and down, demanding her attention. So she’d have to take a pass on why Lizzie’s magical advice might give her mom fits.

Kenna picked up one of the candles. She held it gently in her fingertips and tried to figure out how she was going to “find her magic” so she could get the thing lit.

“Shit!” She dropped the unexpectedly lit candle on her kitchen table. “Dammit,” she muttered as she grabbed unsuccessfully at the falling candle. She liked this table. At least the candle had gone out right away and hadn’t scorched the wood. She used her thumbnail to scrape at the cooling wax.

Scraping the droplets of white wax, she said, “So what’s up with that?”

“Well, that’s magic.” Her mom left the table and rummaged around in the kitchen. She came back with two small candleholders. Plopping them down in the middle of the table, she said, “What was so shocking about lighting a candle, when you were trying to light a candle?”

“Okay, when you say it that way, I sound like an idiot. But I didn’t—you know—feel any kind of magic. I just kinda thought it’d be good to figure out where my magic was lurking so I could light the candle. And boom, the candle was lit. Weird, right?” She eyed her mom closely, looking for some sign that she was broken or that she was some kind of walking, talking, crying menace. “The way Lizzie describes it, it’s a thoughtful, or at least planned act.”

Again with the frown. Her mom said, “Spell-caster magic is very different from witch magic. Taking a spell caster’s advice about magic is a bad idea.”

“She hardly gave me advice, Mom. She’s just the only up-close-and-personal experience I’ve had with magic.” Kenna arched her eyebrows. “Whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“How did I raise such a rude child?” Her mom raised her face heavenward, appealing to some higher power. “Light the candle.”

Kenna picked up the same candle and this time set it in the holder her mom had retrieved. She looked at the candle and thought of a flickering flame where she could see the wick. Nothing.