15. Damian

Chapter fifteen

Damian

O wen's calm demeanor was exactly what I needed. Dad had barely kept the rent paid when I was growing up, and now, with this being in an up-and-coming neighborhood, the landlord had raised the rent three times in the last four years. I would rather not give the leach another penny, but I wasn't ready to get rid of dad's or my stuff either.

When Owen was talking about the second floor, I was picturing a fancy living space, but now, I was imagining this, my life, moved into that one. I liked it instantly.

"Can, um, can you hold my hands while I try? I might need moral support. There are a lot of memories between these walls."

Owen didn't hesitate but reached over and took my hands. I closed my eyes, and the world began to spin. I'm not sure what I expected, but I wasn't transferring furniture like we'd planned. Instead, I was spinning through space with Owen .

It was almost exactly like my dreams last night. Both real and a vision all at once. We instantly stood together in front of the house, looking from the front door to the back. It was different from this morning's transformation, although some of those elements still existed. The biggest difference was that Owen was now as much a part of the place as I was.

I could feel elements of him in the design. So much of it traditional, but with sweet little additions that made the home feel modern and happy. The parlor had a mix of this morning's furniture as well as some of the old. A fire burned happily in the original fireplace.

I turned toward the music room that now housed a self-playing, baby grand piano with comfortable, modern, but formal seating. The kitchen and dining room were exactly as they had been, but the library was back to its original wood shelving and formal green carpeting. I instantly knew this was right. It was precisely how it should've been from the beginning.

We seemed to glide up the stairs together, and the bedrooms had been totally transformed. It was now a living space, as Owen had suggested, but with a much more modern design. I saw my dad's old leather chair in the corner next to a fireplace, identical to the placement of the one downstairs, and a nostalgic fire burned warmly inside it.

I looked around the space and saw myself there. Things I'd loved my entire life were there, but everything looked new and modern, not torn or broken like most of my furniture had been in the apartment.

There were no bedrooms though. Not downstairs, not on this floor. I looked at the attic door, which opened, and Owen and I floated up the staircase into the attic.

It was so different yet very much the same. The space was still open like before, but on one side was a king-size bed that sat snugly under one of the great windows. The bathroom where I'd cleaned off the blood when I'd broken the ugly vase was transformed. Now, it was modern and chic. Nothing like the dusty room had been before.

A considerable closet was attached to the back, and my and Owen's clothes hung there.

The vision changed then, and when I opened my eyes, the apartment was empty. Owen and I were sitting on the floor instead of the worn leather furniture that'd been here before.

"Um," Owen said, his eyes wide. "I think I might have injected myself into your moving vision. I hope I didn't screw up."

I pulled him into my side. Seeing all my stuff so beautifully upgraded and stored in my new space and now seeing Dad's and my apartment empty made me emotional.

"Come on, let's see what happened at the house," I finally said.

Owen just nodded, but I could tell he was upset. I wasn't quite sure why. Sure, we'd shared a vision, and yeah, I could see how he'd put himself in the space, and even if his clothes ended up in my closet, that wasn't so bad. We could move them back. The powers prevented me from doing stuff for my own gain, not helping him fix stuff that happened in a vision.

Besides, I liked his style. The first floor of the home in the vision was so comfortable and inviting. I could see many nights sitting in front of the fire, reading a book or drinking a cocktail in the warm library. Hell, maybe we could even hire a real musician to play that fancy grand piano and not just rely on the self-playing element.

It'd all be good, no matter what.

Owen said he would give me some space, which, truth be known, I needed. I wandered through the tiny apartment, amazed at how small it felt now it was empty. "Dad," I said, knowing that, unlike the ghosts in the mansion, my dad was no longer here, "I guess I'm finally flying the nest."

A calmness fell over me, and although I couldn't see his spirit, I'd been wrong. My father was here, and he was giving me his blessing.

A tear slid down my cheek as I said one last goodbye, then closed and locked the door. Our lease was mostly nonexistent. We'd lived here too long, and Dad had refused to sign another one even though he'd paid the upped rent to keep us from getting kicked out.

I texted the greedy jerk of a landlord, letting him know I'd moved out. "The apartment is yours," I wrote, then shoved the key under the door. I have no idea where Dad's key went. It was probably with the stuff that was transferred to the new home. As soon as I had that thought, I saw the key sitting in a cabinet and knew exactly where it was.

I could've had it come to me and left it for the landlord, but I decided against it. Instead, I could see the key mounted in a small picture frame and placed on the wall in the attic next to where all the old books were stored.

No matter how amazing my new home was, that key would always represent home to me, even more than the empty apartment I'd just left. I knew I'd cherish that for the rest of my life.