8. Patrick

Chapter eight

Patrick

T he explosion of my shower stall sounded much worse than it was, and despite the amount of blood that swirled around Allan's body, he only had a couple of deep cuts, and nothing that looked like it would require professional care. Which was good. I really didn't want to have to go to the hospital and answer a million questions about Allan's current state, not to mention his ID showing up when he should be "missing". Thank the gods I had enough first aid equipment and steri-strips to take the place of stitches.

There were a couple of places where a stitch or two might have been required, but with a bandage and some assistance from Mother Nature, Allan would be as good as new.

After half an hour, and my piss-poor first aid skills, Allan looked like a mummy. Considering my natural attunement to the element of water, which held healing as one of its qualities, I sucked at this aspect, and my magic didn't extend reliably into the restoration realm. Getting the body to stitch itself back up required a whole different level of knowledge, talent, and expertise I just didn't have a natural knack for.

Some water witches were expert healers. I was far more adept at the art of divination, digging into the well of emotions, manipulating memories, and controlling the element's primal properties.

"There, all done." I stood back and examined my work. I grimaced. Hopefully what I had wrapped up would hold in place.

"Can I have those please?"

Allan pointed toward the raggedy pile of clothes I had given him.

"I can do you one better."

Walking over to the chair where I had deposited my purchases, I snagged the bags and brought them over to the bed.

"Here."

"What's this?" He reached for them but then contorted his face.

"If you're in pain, I can whip up something to help." Allan nodded. "Okay. Remember I told you I had to go into town? I met with my friend, who was of no help whatsoever, but it gave me the opportunity to get you some clothes that I hope will fit." I pushed the clothes closer for Allan.

He peeked into a couple of the bags and then glanced up at me.

"I can't pay you back. These are far too nice." He tried to shove everything toward me, but the scowl returned.

"I am not concerned about the money. And right now, you need something more than ill-fitted hand-me-downs. You'll be staying with me for a month, so you might as well have a few outfits."

"Ah, what do you mean I'm staying with you? How do you figure?"

"Did you not see what happened in there?" I pointed over my shoulder toward the next mess I had to clean up.

"Yeah, so, some faulty glass and some hot water made the damn thing explode."

I chuckled and rolled my eyes. The level of denial in this one astounded even me. In my youth, I had been attitudinal as well. I think we all go through that phase—that is, until we figure out that we don't actually know everything, and perhaps listening to those more knowledgeable might do us some good.

Took me a while to get there. Looks like Allan was on a similar journey.

"Okay. No. We're not starting in on your whacko theories again." Allan stated emphatically.

My eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Allan sneered at me. "Really? You're gonna go there? Magic?"

"Yes." I crossed my arms.

"You're fucking insane. You do the magic. Not me."

"Insane? Maybe, but that's a different conversation. Those water spikes were all you, kid. Impressive, too, I might add."

"Magic isn't real. It's the stuff of kid's books and fantasy movies."

"And some humans in this world have access to it, can channel it, and make it do their bidding. The really rare ones have an abundance of it, and we generally call them Magicians. But you're gonna have to train really hard to get that title."

Allan stared at me like I had horns.

"It's true. Look, I'll prove it."

Water was my thing. Allan's, too, obviously. I had a pretty good handle on air. I wasn't great with earth magic but could get away with some basics. Glass was an unusual combination of earth and fire, so this next task would be tricky, but not undoable. I suck at fire.

So, I grabbed my wand which sat on a platform on top of my dresser. The wand was a carved branch of silver maple wood. The wand helped me focus my attention and power and often assisted me in performing complex magic, especially when trying to harness earth and fire energies.

As Magicians, especially the emissaries who were the leaders of selected areas we governed and protected, we were expected to be, at the very least, proficient with all the elements, which inevitably becomes the biggest lifelong struggle.

Witches were born attuned to a single element.

Most of us could easily harness at least one other element. The third became tough, and the fourth a near impossibility. But the stronger the talent within an individual meant the better chance to gain some minimal mastery over all four.

I walked over the broken glass to stand in the middle of the shower stall. With my right hand outstretched and wand pointed, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the tiny grains of sand that originally made up the glass pane. Finding the earth element within the shards that lay scattered about my bathroom was fairly easy. While holding onto the earthly vibrations I concentrated on the intense heat required to turn those miniscule particles into liquid, in other words, fire.

As soon as I could feel the hum and energy of the earth element, and the searing flames of fire, I began to reconstruct the glass, finding the pieces that fit together and pulling them back into formation. I flicked the wand back and forth directing bursts of energy toward the scattered shards.

A gentle tinkling sounded, like fairy charms dancing in the wind. In no time, the explosion reversed as the massive sheet of glass reconstituted itself.

As soon as it was solid and back in place, I let go and released any residual magic. The vibrations wafted off of me in gentle, rolling waves.

"There. No harm, no foul," I said.

Allan sat on the edge of the bed. Shocked, slack-jawed, and wide-eyed.

"How the fuck?"

"I think the first thing we teach you is another swear word. You like that one a lot." I tried to make a funny. I had to start to break through Allan's anger if we were going to be successful in his training.

In all honesty, I dropped the f bomb on the regular. I was only chiding him.

And as much as I found his surly attitude to be somehow charming, anger was never a good emotion to utilize as the base for magical practices.

"How—"

"Magic, Allan. Magic. It's not just the stuff of kid's books. And you have scads of water energy coursing through your veins. I'm going to teach you how to use it."

I didn't want to tell him about the month-long deadline, and the deal I had made to give him over to the Fae. I mean, I would tell him eventually—when the time was right—but not right now. It would freak him out even more than he was already. If I was any judge of human character, the stupefied expression currently plastered all over his face indicated a high level of discomfort.

And somehow that tiny white lie, that teensy bit of information held back, left a bit of a hollow in my stomach.

But from the look of his glazed-over eyeballs, he was already processing way too much.

"I can't stay here. This is insane." Allan tried to get up off the bed. A few of my bandage rolls immediately began to unravel. I rolled my eyes at myself for being so inept and at Allan for being so dense.

"Okay, look. I understand this is a lot to take in, but I can't let you back out into the world, Allan. You're now a danger to other people—and yourself."

"This is nuts. I gotta get home. I have a job and parents and friends that will miss me. I can't stay here a month to learn voodoo."

I hung my head.

"It's not voodoo. That's entirely different."

"The fuck? Dude, do you have any idea what you sound like? I'm outta here."

I stood at the foot of the bed and watched him struggle to get up. But the more he moved, the more pain he was in. I had pulled out quite a few shards of glass and his continued insistence on leaving kept stimulating more discomfort.

"Remember what I said out on the island? Best for all concerned if it appears that the four of you disappeared."

"Fuck off," he snapped. Then winced.

"Let me brew up something for your pain. Drink it, then rest. If, in the morning, you still feel like running back to your old life, then I will try to convince you how wrong you are, and how your life is never going to be the same ever again. Then I'll probably have to chain and shackle you in the garden shed because I can't let a fledgling witch out into the world who doesn't have control over their powers.

"Or, you can still have the brew for the pain, sleep it off, and then tomorrow we can start with your studies. I can teach you how to control these new abilities."

"What's the matter with your hearing? I told you this magic shit is stupid. You're delusional if you think I have some kind of funky talents."

I didn't want to do this to him, but I was running out of options, and I needed to convince him.

I walked over to the side of the bed and took my forefinger and pushed it into one of the largest cuts he had on his bicep.

"Fucking hell!" Allan yelled. He flipped his hand up in an effort to push me away. What ended up happening, though, shocked us both.

Water droplets from the ambient humidity of the summer season coalesced into a floating puddle of water. It bobbed and undulated, expanded and shrank, rotated, and twisted until it flew toward me. The amoeba of water enveloped my head, cutting off my ability to breathe.

But I, too, was a water witch. I had tricks up my sleeve as well. Staying calm, I pulled water from the air, created a water spike much like Allan had in the shower, and pierced the globe of water encompassing my head.

It burst, drenching me.

The T-shirt I had on soaked through and clung tight to my body. The white shorts became see-through, placing me on display. I never wear underwear. Allan's eyes widened as he got a full-on view of me.

"I didn't do that."

"Yeah, you kinda did." I said flipping my hands in the air to shake the water off. "Your powers manifest themselves whenever you're angry or hurt. It's a self-defense mechanism. When my abilities showed up, they would erupt against the exact same stimuli.

"And this is why I can't let you leave, Allan. You get into an argument with a friend, your parents, or worse: a fight at the bar, and someone will end up dead."

Allan was focusing in on my crotch.

"Hey, eyes up here."

"Ah, what? No. Get out, man. I wasn't looking."

"For the love of… Don't tell me you haven't figured out your sexuality yet. Because if you haven't, then this training is going to be twice as difficult."

"No, I came out years ago."

"Good. Thank the gods." I walked into the bathroom, stripped out of my wet clothes, tossed them in the hamper, then grabbed a towel and dried myself off.

Allan couldn't help but sneak peeks when he thought I wasn't looking.

But I tracked every glance he made, every subtle swing of his head in my direction.

"Okay, look, I'll let you in on a little-known secret. Most men who have magic are gay. It's not that big of a deal."

"Wait, you mean…" Allan trailed off as his eyes got wide.

"Yes, Allan, I'm gay as well. Now, after trying to drown me, do you think you might want to stay and learn how to control your magic?"