The Carver's Magic Page 4

  Yes, my family loved me, but they also didn’t trust me not to do something harmful. I know they were being cautious but it hurt, nonetheless. At the same time, I did a lot of stupid stuff as a kid and I did break a lot of stuff, some on accident, and some on purpose. I wasn’t going to hide who I was at home. Magic is a part of me; I didn’t want to lose that small part of me that made me unique.

  Since I was a baby, if something broke I was the first one to be blamed. I admit that I was usually the one to accidentally break it, but it wasn't always my fault. My magic was new to me and I had no idea I could break stuff anytime I was angry or sad or too excited. I mean, come on! I am not a robot.

  One time I left a human sized dent in the hallway wall because Cory jumped out of the bathroom screaming “raar”. It was pitch black, and we had just watched Freddy Krueger! Seriously, she knew better. I responded to the perceived threat of a possible Freddy Krueger attack, at which time Cory was flung back really hard and the air was knocked out of her.

  After I turned on the lights I saw Cory plastered against the wall, with her eyes closed and blue lips. She had stopped breathing. It took a few seconds to respond, and possibly a few years off my poor heart’s life. By the time my parents came, Cory was breathing again and I got a two-hour lecture about learning to control my magic and was grounded for three months.

  Once I tried using my magic to do the dishes and ended up shattering the contents of the entire china cabinet. I was grounded for six months that time.

  Playing with magic wasn’t always my cleverly crafted idea. Cory has a devious, sneaky side. She would create little silly games that we could play without our parents finding out. My favorite was Midnight Pictionary. It was pretty clever of her to think of making our markers glow in the dark but not be seen in the light. If our parents came in and turned on the lights they would never know. Sometimes I think Cory could have been a kingpin. You never really know what she’s thinking until she is already done with what she had planned.

  On the weekends that I was grounded, and Cory was left to play by herself, she would create a game I could play, even though I was grounded to my room. For example, she hid things from me and made me try to find them. At first it was super easy, I would call them by name and make them come back. By the next weekend, Cory upped the difficulty level. It got to the point that I couldn't find what she hid or where her hiding spots were. To this day I still don't know where my favorite toe socks and all my fluorescent toenail polishes are.

  Cory is three years younger than I am, but you wouldn't know that looking or talking to her. She is smart, really smart. That's why I always worry about the quiet ones.

  My adopted family was good to me, but after I left with my biological parents Cory was the only I went back for. She was the one I wasn’t going to live my life without.

  I unzip my tan jacket, drop it on the arm of the couch and lie down. I didn't suffer from insomnia or anything like that, so staying up late was not natural. I’m tired. I want to crash out right here on the couch in my dry sweat and stinky bar clothes, but every time I close my eyes I see him again. So I am waiting for exhaustion to hit so I go from awake to a light coma.

  I close my eyes and feel my whole body melting into the couch. The vision of Dar and his perfectly chiseled jaw and robust shoulder frame are slowly fading…fading.

  "Hey. You sleeping?" Cory whispers.

  Visions of Dar are brightening and now I can practically picture what it would feel like to run my hand down his chest.

  Ugh.

  Rubbing my eyes, I roll to my side and peer out with one eye. Cory is sitting up, which means I am going to end up staying up because I can tell she wants to talk.

  Agh. Little sisters…

  With my one eye still closed, I answer, "Yes."

  "I was worried," she says quietly, even though we are the only ones in the house, and it’s not like the neighbors can hear us.

  Ignoring her comment and hoping to avoid the topic, I flip onto my stomach and nuzzle my face into the crook of my arm, "Happy Birthday, Cory. You're twenty-five. Woo… Hoo."

  "You know the rules," I can hear the smile in her voice. "You are my slave today. You have to do whatever I want."

  I can't help the smile that creeps over my lips. We had this rule growing up that no matter whose birthday it was, they never had to clean or cook or be grounded. For Cory, the extortionist, she took it a step further. She added that I had to do whatever she said, which always needed the addition of my magic. She never asks me to do anything malicious so I have always magically caved, so to speak.

  With as little emphasis as possible, I groan. "I can't wait. What is your first wish, Birthday Master?"

  The couch next to me creaks as Cory sits up. "Let's start with some coffee, nonfat with a drop of hazelnut cream." She is pretending to sound aristocratic, and failing miserably.

  Summoning the fire inside me to force me off the couch, I finally get up. If the Birthday Master wants coffee, then she will get some coffee. Slowly moving one foot in front of the other I make it into the kitchen and open the refrigerator, pull out coffee grounds and reach for the creamer.

  "Wait. Not that one!" Cory yelps as she jumps off the couch, bounds over to quickly snatch the glass canister with the coffee grounds.

  I let out a slow breath, eyeing her wearily. I am unsure what coffee she wants me to use now because that was the last of it. I think. Thankfully, Cory can read my bewildered expression and answers, "Um, this is my newest concoction. I use it to feed my plants. Kind of like a fertilizer." Cory is holding the glass canister tightly.

  Okay so she can’t read my unspoken question.

  Annoyed, I ask, "What beans do you want me to use?” Then my brain processes what she said and I narrow my eyes at my leery-eyed sister. “You put fertilizer in the refrigerator?"

  I wish I could strangle her as she nods with a sly smile. Unable to muster any more energy to scold her, I turn back to the refrigerator to fish for the real coffee grounds. I find them in the back, labeled "coffee," of course. I grab the hazelnut creamer and slam the door.

  "Um..." Cory hesitates without looking me in the eye.

  Oh, for the love of everything that tastes good! "What?” I shout at her, exasperated and cranky. I push the bottle in her face and say, “It says Hazelnut Creamer!"

  Cory winces, "I know. But…"

  I am about to ask what it really is but she grabs it and takes both the fertilizer and the mysterious liquid in the creamer bottle up to her room.

  "What is wrong with you, Cory?" I mumble while rubbing my forehead. She may be brilliant, but she forgets that our kitchen is not her laboratory.

  I shouldn’t be surprised, and in all honesty I’m not, she’s been mixing weird stuff since my adopted parents bought her first chemistry set. I am just tired. I want to go to sleep and pretend that the last twelve hours didn’t happen. But I can’t and now I have to play birthday genie for the next 24 hours. I have no idea where I am going to find the energy, but I will make it through. But first things first, I have to find the real hazelnut creamer and not another mystery liquid.

  Now that I am paying attention, there are several non-marked bottles in the refrigerator. I lean my body over the white refrigerator door and rest my head on the crook of my elbow.

  Counting the nefarious looking bottles, I ignore the fire simmering in my blood because my mood is regressing. Five. Five creamer looking bottles, all non-labeled which means that they could be dangerous.

  Cory’s constantly creating odd concoctions, and I’ve learned that the bad ones she won’t label. The good ones she does. To what end is she forever mixing and creating these things? I wish I knew. Although I suspect that she experiments at home what she is not allowed to do at work.

  I don’t know why haven’t I stopped her. Probably because she has always encouraged me to learn more about my magic, and never once has she looked down at me for not being human. S
o I won’t discourage her experiments, not that she ever tells me what she is experimenting on, but regardless, I support her.

  One time when she wasn't home I drank a cup of iced tea, or what smelled and tasted like iced tea. I ended up waking up in my bed a week later with no recollection of what happened. To this day, Cory has not explained what I drank and why I blacked out for a week. Then again, I did take away her voice for a week in retaliation, so I doubt she will ever tell me.

  Cory walks back in the kitchen fully dressed with light eye make-up, which means we are going out. I take a moment to think before I use my magic to change my clothes. A second later I am in flip-flops, green cargo pants, and a tan t-shirt. I can make any of my clothes transform into new clothes, a wonderful trick I learned in junior high after I sat in gum.

  I gave her a questioning look as I placed a coffee liner in the coffee pot.

  "How about we get coffee from the Tasty Pastry?" She offers. Then she looks me over and says, "I can wait for you to take a shower if you want."

  "What? I don't smell good enough for you?" I ask, as if I am offended even though I would love for nothing more than to take a shower.

  Cory scrunches her nose, "You stink. You really should take a shower. And it’s not like you can magically do that."

  With a snort I walk out of the kitchen and head to the shower. She's right about that one.

  After a shower, a new set of clothes, and a touch of make-up, we begin the day. In the car, Cory is rummaging through her oversized purse. I focus back on the road tempting myself with the idea that if I freeze time I could take a nap and Cory would never know her birthday lasted an extra four hours.

  I pull into the Tasty Pastry's drive-through and order a large nonfat café latte with hazelnut for the birthday girl, and a black coffee for me. I will need all the energy I can get.

  I pay the lady at the first window and she hands me the black coffee first. I set it in the drink holder and reach out for the second cup.

  “Ask for some napkins.” Cory snapped.

  So I did. When I turned around with the latte and a handful of napkins I see an odd expression on Cory’s face, kind of like the cat who ate the canary. I narrow my eyes at her, warning her that now is not a good time to piss me off. The shady smile does nothing to comfort me. I plan on giving her the silent treatment until she tells me what is going on, but as soon as that thought is created it breaks due to the impatient jerk behind me. He has his hand hard-fasted on his horn.

  It’s far too early for this shit.

  I mentally picture a horn in my mind and melt it. Milliseconds later the horn stops blowing and my shoulders relax. I smile and forget all about canary-in-the-mouth Cory, and take a sip of my coffee.

  Right now a few things are very apparent. First, it feels like I just swallowed liquid nitrogen. It's so cold it burns. Second, my insides are igniting. The fire that usually lives in my veins is under attack. Third, I can’t move. I am frozen in place. I can feel every pop and sizzle in my body with the addition of light pressure on my hand, as Cory tries to take the coffee out of my hand, but the cup won’t budge from my death grip and my thighs are also on fire now.

  "Oh crap!” Cory panics, looking at my legs to which I assume are covered in my black coffee by the feel of it.

  Time has slowed down for me, and I can feel my insides battling between the rigid cool burn and the live fire. Then it feels like several million bubbles are swimming in my stomach. I feel it coming up and I burp loud. It tasted like exhaust, or something equally nasty and vile. The fire in my blood is attacking the liquid nitrogen, or whatever it was that I ingested.

  As my body begins to feel normal again I try to focus on my surroundings. There is a tingling feeling roaming over my skin, including the dull irritation on my thighs. I can feel the paper cup with my left hand and I am gripping it for dear life. My heart is pounding like I am in a boxing ring, high on adrenalin, and ready to go toe to toe with anyone and everyone.

  I grab the steering wheel. Before I can ask, "What the hell was that?" my light grab of the steering wheel turns into a hulk squeeze.

  Crap.

  "Was that liquid nitrogen?" I babble, still staring at the malformed steering wheel. “Did you just try and poison me?” I meant it to come out sounding harsh and threatening, but my voice was shaky.

  “I thought it would help?” Cory said, while taking her coffee from the drink holder.

  “What did you think would help?” I ask between my teeth chattering.

  Opening her mouth to answer, a loud knock sounds on my window. Cory and I jump and she drops her coffee onto her lap and all over my passenger seat. I can hear the hiss when she inhales.

  My fire begins heating in my chest. I turn back towards the window, glaring at the jackass who dared to get impatient with me. My nostrils flare as I breathe against the driver side window. All this prick has to do is say one word, and he will successfully set me off, and I will end his world.

  My look tells him to piss off and that is exactly what he does. He holds up his hands, backing away slowly.

  I watch him in my side mirror as he gets back in his car. Satisfied with him inside his vehicle, and calm enough to drive, I slowly roll out of the drive-through and park the car.

  Taking a few moments, I focus all my energy on Cory. "You have three seconds," I threaten her with both words and tone.

  "I just wanted to help you feel better. You looked tired so I thought I could give the coffee a boost." She has pushed herself as far back into the crack of the passenger seat and door, with a worry in her lip and her eyes the size of saucers.

  I want to strangle her. I want to pummel her without actually hurting her.

  Gah!

  "What did you put in my coffee?"

  "Something I have been tinkering with," Cory looks away. I purse my lips at her, half because I want to strangle her and half because she is cowering to me. I would never hurt her.

  Not really.

  It's complicated. And a sister thing.

  I take my tainted coffee in hand and open the driver's side door, to pour out the remaining drops. Then I take the empty cup in Cory’s hand, step out of the car and slam the door hard, making sure that Cory has no doubt of how truly pissed off I am. I fix my clothes as I walk inside the Tasty Pastry for another coffee latte. I am not doing it to be nice and forgive her for that stunt she just pulled. I am doing it to calm the fuck down so that I don’t say something I will regret later. I may not be ready to combust, but I am still pissed. And the fire inside me is not totally subdued. Thankfully, I have enough control over my magic that I didn’t just have an accident.

  Back in the car I magically change my car’s upholstery, which is the closest thing I can do to clean the coffee stains. And then, at Cory’s pleading look, I touch her shirt and pants and change them, too.

  “Where am I going?” I ask in a deadpanned tone, not bothering to look her way.

  Cory pulls out a folded paper from her purse and hands it to me. Hesitating, I take it and lean back to unfold the paper that I am sure is a list of her birthday wishes.

  I shudder, “This is a job application for the Amber Line.” I peer over at Cory, wondering what exactly she is thinking.

  "I want a job at The Amber Line," she said, thumbing small circles on the lid of her coffee.

  “You already have a job,” I fold up the paper slowly and toss it back at her. The paper hits the window with a thunk before it drops into her lap. “A good job in fact, at the National Laboratory for Safety and Prevention, where you are paid a good deal of money to work on that micro stuff you actually studied in school!” My temper was rising and I knew I shouldn’t be yelling but I couldn’t help it. “So tell me Cory, tell me why you want to toss that good job out the fucking door to work at a sleazy bar for a quarter of what you bring how home now? Huh? Tell me Cory!”

  If she really wants to work at that piece of shit bar I was going to actu
ally shake her until her brain reset. I would slap her so hard she was going to fast-forward to next week. I would think of something to do to her to convince her how bad this idea was.

  Hell, I spent hours with her while she used me to quiz her for her tests. She graduated high school early and was already attending Pomona University when I found her, after I left my parents. I moved in to her one-room apartment that day and said a few words in my blood language to become a new student. We both got Master’s degrees. I got a job at Nat Lab while Cory started her doctorate in microbiology, specifically with research concentrating on carcinogens. My degree is in business management. When she graduated I had already lined up her job with the National Laboratory for Safety and Prevention, but we just call it Nat Lab.

  Nat Lab is a good job with great pay and I get to work with my sister. But right now she was thinking of ruining all of that. I know it’s not because she wants to change jobs. I know the driving force is none other than that rat bastard Shane, the Amber Line’s bartender.

  Not that I am against her dating, but there is something about him that doesn't feel right. I don't know what it is about him that rubs me the wrong way, but I knew there was something wrong with him the moment I saw him. Adding to the fact that her interest in him is pushing her away from her real job makes me dislike him even further.

  Going to the bar just to watch him was borderline creepy, but this, this! I wasn’t going to let this slide. This was stupid and this was so beneath her that I refuse to even think of it.

  "You know Cory, if you want to get to know the bartender it would be a hell of a lot easier to just ask for his number. You do realize that, don’t you?"

  Cory's face turns cherry red. "No. I just want to work at the bar on the weekends. I could use the extra cash."

  I eye her suspiciously. "You don’t need the money, Cory." I said it, hoping it was true. I am not sure if she needs the cash but I was banking on my theory that it was all about the bartender.