My Luck (Twisted Luck Book 1) Page 6

  I shook my head. I needed to chill out and focus. My parents were nothing new; that had been going on since - well since Stevie died. Me crying over it now would not change it. Someday I'd be able to think or say that and truly mean it. For now, I kept trying to pretend. Six more months - I could make it. I had to make it.

  That thought, or was it a dream, followed me to bed.

  Chapter 8

  Magic strengths are denoted by pale or full. Many people think this comes from the idea of being a pale comparison – i.e., a lighter shade of something darker, more full. In truth it comes from the phases of the moon; full, waxing, and waning in light and power. Originally you were full of Air or full of Spirit, and waning in Water or Transform. But people wanted it associated with positives, so strong took the place of full. But the moon terminology held on with the idea of a pale moon. Hence secondary skills are still regarded as 'pale'. ~History of Magic

  I should never hope for a good day—it's guaranteed it won't be.

  Stinky picked me up at five-thirty on the dot and I was at work in record time. I treated him to the best coffee I could make and filled up his cup. Though if he survived after drinking 32 ounces of my high-octane brew, magic was good for more than I thought. From there the day went downhill.

  Kadia called out. She had gone out for sushi last night and got food poisoning. I could have told her any place around Rockway wasn't a good place to get sushi. But that meant I had Molly as help for the morning rush, which meant I had no help at all. Molly struggled to such a point that in the chaos of Friday morning orders, I gave in and asked her to just restock. It was less stress to just do it all. By nine-thirty most of the crowd had disappeared, Molly had come back to help me clean, and things were just settling down when Shay walked in.

  I didn't groan. I didn't. But I did steel myself as he walked up to the counter, his odd green-gray eyes locked on mine, contrasting to his red hair.

  "Disaster follows you like stink on a skunk. But your time here is winding down. The paths that lead you away will make you grow in ways you never wanted."

  I blinked then frowned at him. Yes, the shop looked a bit rough—I needed to finish picking up, not to mention get things restocked. "Hey, Molly?" I asked, but I kept my eyes on Shay. For some reason he always reacted to me, and I didn't understand why. I knew he was a merlin—that shouted out at everyone who glanced at his face—but I had no idea what he did or who he worked for. He always worked on his computer, and traveled a lot, but that was the extent of my knowledge.

  "Yeah?" I could sense her behind me, watching.

  "Are you going to fire me in near future?"

  "Hadn't planned on it," she replied. "If I did that, I'd run myself out of business before I got someone to replace you."

  "Well, I am graduating this summer," I responded, smirking at Shay. He didn't look impressed.

  "Don't remind me. I'm in denial, thank you very much." Molly groaned. "The floor is sticky, let me go get the mop. And I really need Carl to show up for his shift. Early would be nice."

  I heard her move away from me and I looked at Shay. "I think I'll be here for a bit. So what can I get you? Your usual?"

  "Time is relative and paths twist, but yours are all going away, never to be here for long again. Yes, my usual." His tone didn't change, and it took me a minute to realize he had answered my question. And to convince my skin that crawling in reaction to his words was ridiculous.

  I fought to shake the feeling off as I made his usual drink, then started to put all the baked goods into the display tray. Molly left them there as she went to get stuff to mop up the spilled drinks. Nothing major, but coffee always spilled when you moved as fast as I had been moving that morning.

  That notion made me realize there hadn't been any disasters today. Maybe this odd effect was starting to dissipate. I handed Shay his drink and he headed to his favorite corner table and chair. As he sat, the chair collapsed underneath him.

  That's what I get for thinking things were going well.

  The frantic thought ricocheted through my mind as I tore towards Shay. If he'd been hurt, I'd never forgive myself. The chair lay in pieces under him. To my utter relief he'd set his coffee on the table before he sat down. Hot coffee dumped on him would have made it worse. Our coffee was HOT.

  "Shay are you okay?"

  He seemed a bit dazed and looked up at me, a strange expression of exasperation on his face. "I should know by now your effect on the entropy lines. I just hadn't expected it to be this blatant. I shouldn't be surprised. All the lines are being pulled towards your vortex, regardless."

  I had no idea what the meant, but as he was standing slowly and brushing himself off, I figured it meant he'd survive. I pulled out another chair for him and went to work collecting the pieces of the chair that used to be there. It looked like the chair had been infested with dry rot and when he sat down it basically disintegrated.

  "Everything okay?" Molly asked, coming out of the back, holding the mop, a worried look on her face.

  "Yeah, but we should probably get the rest of the chairs checked. Shay, are you sure you're okay?" He drove me crazy but that didn't mean I wanted him injured.

  He waved his hand, shooing me away. "Fine, fine. Entropy and convergence have been, and always will be, my bane."

  It made no sense to me, but I slunk back to the counter. How in the world had that happened? There were days when I felt like I should be the one in a bubble, but everyone knew these weird things weren't my fault. I'd never emerged, and they'd been going on for years. So not me, but that didn't mean I didn't feel guilty. I went back to work, trying to shake the feeling of unease and focus on the issue of my name.

  It must be me, right? I think Jo is right and it has something to do with family. But then why wouldn't they have talked to Mom and Dad? Or heck, knocked on my door?

  That line of thought didn't make sense as any family investigation would start with talking to my parents. And while they might have lied to me, they would never lie to Chief Laurel Amosen. My head itched so badly I had to clench my fists to not go and scratch it. I hated the stupid dandruff. Like I didn't have enough other issues.

  I feel like a character looking at a tantalizing quest object, but I can't pick it up because it isn't mine.

  The image of me staring at the grail just unable to touch it made me snort at the same time the bell to the Grind Down rang. I looked up to see the person I'd been thinking about walk in.

  "Well think of the devil and she appears." The words slipped past my lips before I could think better of them. What was it with me and the chief where I seemed determined to always be at my worst in front of her?

  No, I knew the answer. It just was all in that same bucket of stuff I refused to think about, except that I always thought about it, about Stevie.

  "I'd like to talk to you, Cori," Chief Amosen said, her voice hinting at her annoyance.

  "Sure. Molly?"

  Poor woman is going to have a meltdown having to deal with the front again.

  But before she could emerge from the back, Carl waltzed in. Carl was nineteen, waiting to see if he emerged and frankly didn't care either way. Mostly he wanted to hang with friends, but the rumors were his parents were getting tired of him not doing much and this job was the only thing keeping him from getting kicked out on the street. Luckily, he actually enjoyed being a barista.

  "Hey, Carl, will you take over for a bit? Chief needs to talk to me."

  "Sure thing, dudette," Carl drawled and I rolled my eyes. He was back on his surfer kick and called everyone dude or dudette. We were at least six hours from the ocean and his pasty white skin and light red hair meant if he got on a surfboard he'd turn into a lobster. Whatever. At least he worked, mostly. Cleaning the bathroom was not one of his strong points.

  "Thanks. This way, Chief." We didn't really have a break room or private area outside of Molly's office, and it was too tight for me to squeeze us in and not feel crowded, so I pulled her back int
o the store room. "Need me to close the door?"

  She shook her head, her tight cropped curly black hair reminding me I needed to get the next batch of beans grinding for the afternoon caffeine crowd. "No. I'm sure this will become public knowledge soon enough. I got a call back from the secretary at Harold Court Investigations."

  I went still—everything leaving my mind except what she said.

  "She went over his cases and found out that he was fulfilling a case for the estate of Merlin James Wells, a Spirit merlin in New York. His estate is looking for an emerged Spirit mage. Probably a merlin."

  I felt my heart sink as she talked. "The merlin died soon after the hunt started, but he felt the emergence of a mage about nine or ten years ago. He got the impression of a female and the name Kory Monroe or something like it. There is a big reward to find the mage. So Harold was following up on any women with a name even close to that to see if they might know or be the woman he was looking for."

  "So not me," I said and poked at the sense of disappointment. It would have been nice for someone to want me.

  "No. Figure she'd have to be in her very late twenties or early thirties at this point. From the gossip the secretary told me, they figure she must be dead as the Office of Magical Oversight has no record of any spirit mages with any name even remotely like that. Which means it's a ghost chase."

  OMO was a global agency where all mages were required to register. While the US instituted a draft of all mages at magician rank or higher at the beginning of World War I, regardless of gender, other countries had different ways of dealing with their high-rank mages. Regardless, everyone registered, and all the countries worked together. The consequences of not, well I didn't really know. Too much protection and benefit came with registering, not the least of which was a free college degree.

  "Oh." It came out dejected and sad and the chief arched a brow at me. I ducked my head, thinking through it. "I guess I figured he had to be after someone alive. Maybe he really was looking for me, wanted me." I managed to cut off the rest of my sentence, but she nodded.

  "I get that, but no, he was looking for a woman almost a decade older than you. She would have emerged before you even became a teenager."

  I had to admire her diplomatic way of framing the time for me. But it didn't answer all the questions. "So how, or why, was he killed? I mean there was a lot of blood there on the scene, so I don't think his body was dumped."

  The chief gave me a look that if I'd been up to something would have made me quail; as I wasn't, I just looked at her. "You been watching crime shows again?"

  I almost ducked my head, there'd been a time back in high school where I'd gorged on them non-stop. But this time I lifted my chin and gave her a flat look. "No, my homework. Remember what I'm going to school for?"

  She leaned back, pressing against the bags of used ground beans—we sold them to the local plant place where they made it into a soil nutrient. I almost told her to be careful, the beans would stain her light khaki uniform, but I didn't. What can I say? I occasionally hold grudges and Laurel Amosen was easier to blame than myself. Some days I think she knew that. Some days.

  "Ah yes. Your need to save and fix. Triple AA I believe? Paramedic, Criminal Justice, and what was the third?"

  I swallowed. Her knowing so much about my plans made me uncomfortable. "Medical Assistant. The max degrees I could get at the community colleges. Figured someone would hire me even with me not being a mage."

  Laurel waved her hand, dismissing it. "Believe it or not, being a mage isn't the end all be all of everything, regardless of what they like to pretend. Be good and work hard and no one cares." She touched her tattoo. "And sometimes being one causes more problems than it solves."

  I nodded, but I didn't really believe her. Everyone wanted to be a magic user; it made life much easier, even if doing the right or wrong thing could kill you.

  "But back to your question - how did he die.” Her voice turned suddenly stern and her eyes locked on mine, no give to them. "This is not to get out. Do you understand Corisande Munroe?"

  The lump in my throat took me three tries to swallow past. "Yes, ma'am."

  Laurel softened. "Okay. You may tell Josefa, but the rest stays silent." I nodded rapidly, needing to know. "As is usually the case with those you stumble across, it was a freak accident. One of the guidelines on the telephone pole near where you found his body apparently snapped as he was walking by. It flicked up and through his neck, severing it. He would have died almost instantly, if that's any help." She must have seen my stricken look or remembered the other times I felt useless. "Even if you or a mage, possibly even a merlin, had been standing there, he still would have died. There wouldn't have been any pain."

  I studied my feet, thinking it through. He'd been dead for a little bit before I found him, so Laurel was correct. There wasn't anything I could have done. No matter how hard I studied, I'd never save everyone, or have all the answers. But I could keep looking and maybe someday I'd figure out why Stevie had died.

  "Thanks for telling me," I manage to say finally. When I looked back up at her, she had an expression I couldn't interpret.

  "You earned it." She pulled away from the stacks of grounds. "Good luck with your classes."

  "Thanks," I muttered and watched her leave, smirking a bit at the brown spots on the back of her uniform. Some days I really was a bitch.

  Chapter 9

  Merlins are the scary bad guys, but a smart person is scared of a hedgemage. They aren't branded and it doesn't take much to stop a heart or create a blood clot in a brain. ~ Freedom from Magic tweet.

  How sad is it, I'm so desperate to be wanted that I want a private investigator to be looking for me? I have mental issues.

  Jo took the news they were looking for someone at least a decade older than me with a relieved sigh, even if she understood why I was upset. Maybe better than I did. I suspect she told Marisol something, because when Jo pulled me over to her house for dinner Saturday, they surprised me with tres leches, my favorite dessert. I ate three pieces. Gaining weight was never an issue for me. I'd been the same size ten since high school. Which, given my weird life, was just one more thing. Non-stop dandruff, hair that wouldn't grow, and I never gained weight. Oh well, I guess it could be worse.

  With the death being explained away as a weird incident I went back to walking to work, though that was only over the weekend. I arrived bright and early for the first class of what I hoped would be my last semester of college.

  The class changed constantly as students came in and rolled out, but I was one of ten in a special program. Aimed towards those who either weren't mages or, like me, didn't think they'd be one, it was a three-year program to get a triple certification. When we walked out, we'd be eligible to apply for the police academy with our Criminal Justice associate's degree, work as a Medical Assistant, or get hired as an EMT. I'd taken the extra course load to qualify as a paramedic. My skill test was scheduled for the day after graduation. With those certifications I shouldn't have trouble getting a job anywhere. At least that was the hope. While no one could legally discriminate against people without magic, the unemployment rate for the rest of us was three times as high as what mages dealt with, even hedgies.

  Sitting in the classroom, I pulled my coat a bit tighter around me. It was cold and my jacket had seen better days.

  One more semester, then you'll have a good job and can get some of the things you need, you want.

  That was what I held on to. I didn't have much else besides Jo to give me hope for the future.

  Others started to drift in and I recognized most of them. Friendly, but not friends. Between work, study, and taking public transportation, I knew their names and not much else. Oh well, I had Jo and the Guzmans; that would be enough for anyone. We nodded cordially and people took their seats. I didn't look at Monique. Every class had one, and she was ours. Always complained about everything and acted like she was better than the rest of us. She annoyed me to
no end, and I tended to let it show.

  One minute before class officially started our teacher, Bruce Marxin, strolled in. About my dad's age, he had dark brown hair with a few streaks of silver that seemed to draw the attention of the female students. I cared only that he was a good teacher. At twenty, I was the youngest person in class—the others were between twenty-four and thirty, some starting a new career, most making the best of no emergence.

  On the dot of nine a.m. Bruce snapped his fingers for attention. Even after two years of him, I still didn't know if I liked or loathed that habit. Either way, I only had to deal with it for this last semester. I'd make it.

  "Welcome to the Spring semester, people. This is your practicum class and the most important class you have." I rolled my eyes at that and he must have seen me. Sitting in the front row was never smart but being able to move when something went wrong made me feel better. "While I know many of you think your other classes are just as, if not more, important, I am here to correct that misconception. We will only meet in this classroom weekly but if you flunk this course, you won't be graduating." I wanted to cheer about the once a week part—maybe I could get more hours—but the second part of his statement had me freezing in place, eyes locked on him as he moved back and forth.

  "This is a practicum and has been developed to make sure you know the skills you spend so much time studying. As we all know, there is a world of difference between studying how to do something and actually doing it. Tomorrow you will all have tests to give you partial certification – think of it as the equivalent of a learners permit for the Medical Assistant and Police Intern. We are one of the first colleges in the country, and the only one in the state of Georgia, to offer this. While you can't work independently with this cert, you can work as interns. What that means is each of you will have a five-week ride-along in each specialty that will be thirty-two hours a week. It will be added as work credits to your degree if you wish to pursue a bachelors in any of these areas." He stopped and scanned the area, a grin crossing his face that was half amused, half cruel. "Come on, smile. This is what you've been studying for. To be out in the field and dealing with the realities. If you hate it, well aren't you glad you'll learn this BEFORE you get the job?"