Magical Influence Book One

  Chapter 12

  “Now, before we get out of this car, I want you to think powerful thoughts,” my grandmother said as we pulled up to the curb outside of the house. “I know you can feel it, child, forces are building. The tower is about to collapse. I have protected you this far, and this car, through its monstrous size, enormous tires, and roaring engine, has kept us safe this morning. But now it is time to head back to the house. You will be exposed on the walk up to our door. You must remain solid and strong.”

  I swallowed loudly and uncomfortably as I listened to my grandmother's words.

  “You must promise me that you will think only powerful thoughts until we get into the house. Believe that you can be a strong, self-directed, powerful witch. Believe that you can get through this day. Promise me that,” she reached out, clutched my hand, and tightened her grip around it.

  I could hardly breathe, let alone reply to her. It wasn't just what she was saying, it was her general temperance as she spoke. As an influence witch, I knew that my grandmother was more than capable of gathering the magic around her and imbuing everything she did with its force. Well now the whole car seemed to pulse with it. A warning, poignant and incapable of being ignored.

  I managed a nod.

  I felt like a child, lost and lonely, incapable of looking after myself, ready to run behind the nearest adult so my sense of security would return.

  My grandmother tightened her grip, and her old fingers almost cut off the circulation in my hands. “I said think powerful thoughts.”

  I knew she couldn't read my mind exactly; she didn't have to though. As an influence witch she picked up every little sign she could, stored every fact, and could read a situation better than any other magical creature I had ever met.

  Think powerful thoughts. If only it were that easy. It really didn't help that the day had become strangely dark, that the wind now sounded less like a thing and more like a howling animal, that every time I looked over to the house, all I could see was the space where the oak tree had once been.

  “You can do this,” she affirmed.

  I guess I would have to.

  Without another word, she opened the door, looked meaningfully at me, and waived me on.

  It was one of the tensest moments of my life. Though I had been through danger before, I’d never touched on anything as frightful as this.

  My grandmother had almost guaranteed that I would be attacked on the way up to the house unless I managed to shore up my magical defenses, push out my doubt, and believe in myself.

  The second I opened the door, the wind caught it, tugged it out of my hand, and banged it open. Startled, I gave out a gasp.

  “Powerful thoughts, think only powerful thoughts, do not make startled sounds like a little girl,” my grandmother added ominously.

  Powerful thoughts, I kept on saying to myself. I am thinking only powerful thoughts.

  Once I had jumped down from the truck, it managed to close the door for me. I say it, I meant the wind. Before I could turn around and reach for the door handle, the whole thing was snapped from me in enormous gust. I jumped back just as it slammed closed and the truck shook on its monstrous tires.

  Don't be startled, I told myself. A powerful witch is not startled by something as simple as the wind.

  I tried to leave my thoughts at that, but the mutinous little things could not be helped. The wind, I knew perfectly well, could be a disastrous thing. A breeze you could ignore, a gale was a pain, but what about a tornado? A hurricane? Were those little, innocent things, or could they pick you up, slam you into a building, and bring a tree and a couple of cows smashing down over your broken body?

  Wrong thoughts.

  As soon as I thought them, I felt weakened. As soon as I felt weakened, the wind howled all the louder, that animal-like sound of it pitching high.

  I made it up onto the curb somehow, instinctively falling into step behind my grandmother.

  Then we made the usually short trip over to the fence, through the gate, and up the garden path.

  It was not short today. It felt like I was travelling the River Styx, waiting for judgment to be heaped upon my weary body.

  I was so focused on getting up to the gate, locking my eyes only on my grandmother's back, that I was surprised when I heard a voice behind me.

  I say surprised, I mean completely, deafeningly shocked. I screamed, I do mean screamed. And I jumped behind my grandmother like a scared little girl.

  Expecting the worst, believing a massive demon would be behind me, ready to spike me through the chest with its tail, I turned to see... Agent Jacob Fairweather.

  His mouth was open and he had a humorous if surprised look on his face. “Are you hiding behind your grandmother?”

  I didn't know how to answer. Because I was hiding behind my grandmother.

  “Get in the house now, dear, ignore the attractive man on the garden path,” Granny warned, clutching at my hand and tugging me along.

  Jacob snorted. He seemed to do that a lot around my grandmother.

  “I came to check on your house, I noticed the tree is already down... and the wall is fixed, are you too okay?” he asked as he followed us up the garden path.

  I just wanted him to go away. I also wanted to get in the house. My hands were so slick with sweat and my heart so wild with fright that I knew I was seconds away from fainting. And I didn't want to faint right there in front of Jacob, not wearing a summer dress, I already had to keep one hand latched on it so it didn't fly up.

  Somehow we made it. And maybe it was the distraction of having Jacob walking up behind me, but the last few steps were not as frightening as the first few. I was no longer pressing my addled mind into thinking only powerful thoughts; I was distracted by the fact my least favorite Federal Agent was harassing me again.

  But by the time I’d walked through the doorway and into the house, I could have collapsed on the floor from relief.

  “There, that wasn't too hard,” my grandmother said under her breath. Then she turned. To face Jacob, who had followed us in, like an uninvited puppy.

  “Jacob,” she clapped her hands together, warmth returning to her smile, and just a little bit of the crazy old lady shining through. “What a dear you are for coming to check on us. Do you want a treat for your troubles?”

  Despite the situation, despite the fear and the pressure of the walk up to the house, I snorted. Because my grandmother made it sound like Jacob was a faithful dog who’d performed a fantastic trick and now needed an instant reward.

  He locked eyes on me. That cold, challenging book was back. “I just came to check that you were okay and not getting into any more trouble.”

  “Now, now, I do believe it is actually fate. Tell me, you handsome young man, are you single?” My grandmother jumped in.

  It took me a second, but I suddenly realized what she was doing.

  My eyes opened wide like she was about to light the fuse on a bomb.

  “Sorry?” Jacob gave an awkward cough.

  “Single,” my grandmother walked over, plucked up one of his hands, and checked that he wasn't wearing a ring. “You look single. You are, aren't you?”

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Fate. It's surprising how it works. I need to get my granddaughter hitched, and a lovely eligible young bachelor walks in the door. It's when you think you're at your lowest that it turns out your luck is about to blossom. Now what about that tea?”

  Jacob was now standing stiffly, the defiant look gone. Was it just me, or was his bottom lip just about wobbling?

  On account of the fact I had just spent the whole morning expecting to die and being forced to get a car I didn't want, and a job I couldn't do, I didn't jump in to tell Granny to shut up. I just stood there, feeling sick and entirely overcome.

  “I, ah, need to...” Jacob said, backing off slightly, pointing towards the door as if he had incredibly important business elsewhere. Somewhere far, far
away probably.

  My grandmother clutched a hand onto his arm and pulled him forward. Now Jacob wasn't a small boy; he was a very well-built man. But despite the fact he clearly resisted, my grandmother easily tugged him along as if he were nothing more than a rag doll. “Let's head into the kitchen, and we’ll talk.”

  It sounded as if she wanted to start up a negotiation. As if she would sit us down, confirm we were both single, pull the plastic rings off a packet of bread, and a declare us wed then and there.

  Even though I wanted to head up to my bedroom and hide under the covers, I found myself following.

  When I got into the kitchen I wasn't all that surprised to see there was no longer a hole in the wall.

  Obviously the old house had taken well to the magic spell my grandmother had cast when she had stuffed that jar full of nonsense behind the plastic and planks.

  It was fixed. If you could call it that. There was certainly no longer a hole, but in its place was a distinctly odd collection of stones, wood, and glass. It looked like a bizarre artistic motif.

  It immediately caught Jacob's attention. “That was... quick.”

  “I fancy myself somewhat of an artist. I saw the hole as a blank canvas, and I worked on it all night,” my grandmother ushered him over to a chair, then rather than ordering me to make the tea, planted her hands on my shoulders and sat me down next to him.

  If I hadn’t been on the brink of disaster, I'd tell Jacob to leave and beg my grandmother to stop acting like a fool.

  My head wasn't straight though, so I let myself sit, plucked up my skirt, and surrendered to the situation as I played with the hem.

  Jacob looked itchy, nervous, and like he wanted to kick out the French doors and run away. But for a second he looked my way. And his brow crumpled. Was that compassion, just a touch of it? Intermingled with the confusion and that red touch to his cheeks that had flared ever since Granny had asked him if he was single?

  “Now I'm going to make some very special tea,” my grandmother took a step away from the table, and as she did, I felt something. Magic. It were as if she calling it to herself in that moment.

  I had been a witch for long enough to know what she was doing.

  She was getting ready to cast a spell.

  It took a moment, but my mind caught up.

  It wouldn't just be any spell. Because it wouldn't just be any pot of tea she was about to make.

  Darling Grandma was about to make a love potion.

  I stood up as fast as I could, my chair tumbling out from behind me. “What are you doing? He doesn't want tea. He really doesn't look like the kind of man I want to share tea with,” I added pointedly as I ran over to her.

  “Yes he does,” my grandmother looked calmly from me to Jacob, then back to me. “I am sure he likes tea.”

  “He definitely does not like tea,” I pointed emphatically at him. “And I really don't want to share any with him.”

  “Um, what's going on? I don't mind tea. I'm not much of a coffee drinker. But there are other matters I need to attend to,” he said as he tried to stand up.

  He looked like he wanted to head out the kitchen door, but at that exact moment a gust of wind slammed it closed. The wind came from nowhere, and dwindled in an instant.

  “Oh my dear, what a startling wind,” my grandmother said as she put her wrist up to her head in the classic move of a damsel in distress. “We are just two frightened ladies in this house. It's so big, and so run down,” she blinked her eyes compellingly at Jacob, “I really do get so frightened in the wind.” It was patently clear that my grandmother was trying to manipulate Jacob, and at first I thought it wouldn't work. After all, he was the Federal Agent who had tried to get her thrown in jail for 20 years for ridiculously, stupidly importing a kilogram of cocaine to her front door.

  But I watched him waver.

  “Officer Fairweather, I mean Agent, I mean Jacob,” I turned around to him, clutching my hands together as I rubbed them quickly, “we are totally fine here. I understand if you need to go and...” I really wanted to say “harass someone else,” but I was trying to get him on side here.

  He latched a hand on his tie, smoothed it down with his palm, and cleared his throat. I may have once found that move intimidating, but right now I could read between the lines, and I could see the flicker of unease in his gaze. “There are some things I need to get done.”

  I was so relieved I could have run over and hugged him. I turned back to my grandmother though, a curling smile parting my lips. “There will be no tea today.”

  As soon as Jacob was out of the house, I was going to grab her by the ear, drag her to a chair, and give her a good telling off. She had spent the past five years solidly not meddling in my life. Now she was pulling out every stop in order to craft me a new existence to her liking. Fair enough, it was more complicated than that; she was trying to protect me from dark and evil and malignant magical forces. But from where I sat, it was totally unjustified to randomly pick a man of the street and attempt to hitch us up. Especially when that man was Agent Jacob Fairweather, someone who had already proven to be an effective spine in my side.

  “I really don't suggest you go out in this storm, dear,” my grandmother looked at me for all of a second, then marched right over to Jacob. Again her demeanor had changed. Gone was the sweet old lady, in her place stood a woman with a face hooded in shadow, promising danger on the horizon.

  Jacob no doubt noted the change. His eyebrows lifted in a somewhat cute way, and he latched that hand right back onto his tie. “I'll be fine.”

  My grandmother pointed out the French doors with one gnarled finger. “You hear that wind? By my judge, we’re about to be in for a hurricane.”

  “We are inland,” Jacob pointed out plainly, taking a step back.

  Was that real fear in his eyes? Would he be reaching for his gun in a second? Had he finally decided the two weird ladies in the old house were too much for him?

  Clearing his throat again, he didn't even bother to make eye contact with me before he whirled around on his feet, yanked open the kitchen door, and headed for the hall. My grandmother was right behind him like a shadow though. “The wind is ferocious,” as soon as she said it, a gust so powerful it shook the whole house rattled through the neighborhood.

  Jacob paused. Then he practically dashed for the door. Just as his hand closed around the handle and he tugged it open, my grandmother got to his side again.

  Looking up at him, fixing him with the kind of gaze you didn't see this side of hell, she shook her head. “It's about to rain, we’re seconds away from lightning, and the wind will soon double in speed.”

  As if on cue, a clap of thunder roared from outside, rain started to pelt against the roof, and the wind picked up to a tremendous, frightening speed.

  His hand shook. I swear it did. As he pulled the door open and faced the brunt of the weather, maybe Jacob Fairweather, the previously competent Federal Agent, realized he was dealing with more than he could handle.

  But I gave him credit for one thing; he sure was brave. Ignoring my grandmother's warnings, he mumbled goodbye and walked right out into the ferocious, vicious weather.

  He didn't get far.

  Before I could close the door, lock it, turn to my grandmother, and tell her exactly why it was so dangerous to bait a man like Jacob, something happened.

  Yes, of course I felt it before it did. A powerful spike drove through me, as if someone had stabbed me through the back and the heart at the same time. Clutching a hand to my chest, I looked up just as a strike of lightning raced down from the sky. I swear time ground to a halt in that moment, I swear instead of slamming towards the ground with the force and speed lightning travelled at, it inched forward like a snail. I saw every frame as if I were watching a series of still pictures.

  The lightning did not strike Jacob. It struck the other oak tree by the side of our house. The last remaining sentinel.

  It really did feel like being sta
bbed through the heart.

  Though Jacob had already taken several steps before the lightning strike, he had not moved on far enough; the force of it sent him flying off his feet. In a moment of searing light, force, and power, I crumpled onto the floor, as the house shook around me and a fleeting vision of Jacob being thrown clear haunted my vision.

  The sound of it was so deafening that it felt as if my hearing would give up; being replaced with nothing more than a buzzing and ringing in my ears.

  My grandmother was the first on her feet. Of course she was. Despite her decrepit, old nature, she was the super powerful witch here; I was just the recently-employed, monster-truck-owning PI, and Jacob was just the Federal Agent.

  With a speed that belied her age, she ran into the storm. Moments later she returned with a body over her shoulders.

  I still hadn't moved, and all I could do was look up slowly, bottom lip wobbling as my dear old grandmother walked in with a man slung over her back.

  Another strike of lightning outside produced a burst of illumination. Even though it was still technically midday, that blasted storm had come in so low that it might as well have been midnight.

  As the lightning flashed, my grandmother was lit up, the scene seeming far more dramatic as the shadows under her chin and eyes grew deep.

  “Close the door behind me, find any magical statues we own, and place them in front of it. Attend to every window, the back door, the patios. Place magical tomes in front of them all. Do it now,” my grandmother walked past me, carrying the comatose form of Jacob towards the lounge room. I say comatose; it was less of a statement and more of wish. I had no idea how close he’d been to the lightning, and considering I had all but crumpled after the incident, I had no way of knowing if he was injured or would ever wake up.

  And then the situation caught up to me.

  Our oak tree. Our last remaining guard. It had exploded. In a ferocious display of power, lightning smiting it from the heavens. The last source of protection we could rely on for the house had been destroyed.

  Shaking, I forced myself to my feet.

  “Hurry,” my grandma's voice drifted back to me through the hall.

  My eyes were wide, pleading. I didn't understand. Why should I? Everything was happening so fast. One moment I was in the kitchen begging my grandmother not to make a love potion for the man who had all but ruined my week. The next I was shaking in the hallway, coming to terms with the fact that if I didn't do everything I could to close the house off from attack, every denizen of hell would be at my doorstep in minutes.

  I wasn’t built for this kind of stress. I'd come to that conclusion five years ago when I had moved in with my grandmother. I liked magic, I really did. And I also enjoyed helping people. But I didn't have the balls, like my grandmother, to ignore all the dark out there, and help someone, despite the fact it would anger others.

  Get to your feet, I tried to convince myself. We are running out of time.

  So I got to my feet. Though I could hardly stand, I ran over to the bookcase at the opposite end of the hallway and started pulling books out and cramming them into my arms.

  Without bothering to place them neatly, I skidded over to the front door, ensured it was locked, and dumped them in front of it. Then I ran back to the bookcase, filled my arms again, and headed to the kitchen.

  In like fashion, I attended to every possible entry into the house. It really was a big house, which meant a lot of windows, a lot of patios, balconies, doorways, and back entrances.

  I had no idea how long it took me, but by the time I was finished, I practically crawled into the lounge room to find my grandmother nursing Jacob.

  I looked over at him.

  He was propped up on the banana lounge, one silk cushion behind his head while a cheery throw was neatly tucked in around his body.

  “Is he okay?” I asked through an unsteady breath.

  “If you mean that will he live? Of course he’s going to live. He will, however, have a fantastic headache, and his first lesson of why it is important never to ignore a witch.”

  As soon as she mentioned the word witch, my nose crumpled up. “Grandma, you can't say that around him,” I really shouldn't have had to remind her of that, but maybe the storm and the fact the house was now completely open to attack was getting to her.

  “Relax, child, he is unconscious. Plus, I have the feeling that before this night is through, he will know of our kind and our secret.”

  I could have fallen over at that admission. There was nothing more essential than keeping who we were secret. To a magical creature, it was one of the most important things they would ever do. And yet here my grandmother was making the prediction that before this storm was over, a Federal bloody Agent would know exactly who we were.

  “You look like you have swallowed a fish. Place you lips together, stand up straighter, push your head back, and fix your hair. We may have found your man, but that is not the last item on my list. In order to offer you the protection you so desperately require, it is time to make you into a powerful witch.”

  There were a lot of things that were wrong with what my grandmother had just said. First and foremost was the fact she had plainly indicated that the comatose Jacob Fairweather was my man, and that she had gotten him for me. As if the fact she had rescued him from the storm meant that now I owned him and we would be married before dinner. The other thing that was wrong was that she was still trying to make me powerful. As if that would help the situation.

  My grandmother looked at me keenly, probably aware that I was pulling apart her statement and getting ready to argue with her. One single arch of her eyebrow told me not to bother.

  She was in a challenging mood. Why wouldn't she be? Our last oak tree that had stood sentinel by our house for almost 100 years was gone.

  It was gone.

  I had to come to terms with what that really meant.

  Again my arms and hands started to shake softly, and I managed to find my way over to one of the recliners. Sitting on the edge, I grabbed one of the cushions and began to hug it tightly. “Can we get through this?”

  “For a child of magic, that is a ridiculous question; anything is possible, we just have to find a way to make it so.”

  Technically I guess she was right. But it wasn’t a comfort. While everything was possible, some things were very, very unlikely. And as I looked up past my grandmother and out through one of the windows behind, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was just no way we could get through this safely.

  “I am going into the kitchen to make Jacob a healing potion. Look after him. It will give you a chance to grow accustomed to your future husband,” she added as she walked past me, heading for the door.

  I really wanted to dismiss her statement on the basis she was demented, but as I saw her expression, I appreciated just how serious, intelligent, and aware she was.

  But this was still mad; I wasn't going to marry Jacob Fairweather. Hell, I’d barely had three conversations with the man, and they’d all been uncomfortable and accusatory.

  That didn't, however, mean that I was going to grab him up and chuck him outside. I may not have agreed with what my grandmother had in store, but as I looked down at Jacob, I realized he was needlessly caught up in this situation. Regardless of the fact that I didn't like him, that didn't mean he deserved to be here, facing the same potential fate as my grandmother and I.

  “You should get out while you still can,” I mumbled under my breath as that bright blue tie of his caught my gaze.

  A part of me expected him to answer, and I had no idea why. I could see that he was lying there, very comatose, tucked under that patchwork quilt. Yet the sense still rose in me like a wave rushing to shore.

  I crumpled my eyes half closed, took a step back, turned, and stared out the windows.

  Then I saw it.

  The shadow.

  The shadow pressed up against the glass.

  I screamed. A full, pitching sou
nd rocketed up through my throat and shook its way out of my mouth.

  It seemed that my grandmother was by my side in an instant. The first thing she did was not pull up her sleeves, tug open the window, clamber outside, and punch that shadow on the nose. Instead she untied the massive velvet curtains and tugged them closed in an instant.

  We hardly ever closed those curtains, and as they were moved clouds of dust erupted from them, travelling across the room like avalanches.

  But I hardly noticed it, and neither did I bring my hands up to bat at it. Instead I stared at my grandmother's back until she turned to face me.

  “They are here,” was all she managed. She stood and stared at me for several moments longer, but neither of us seemed capable of sharing any more words. Instead she moved on, back to the kitchen, but was not gone long. When she returned, she had a brightly colored liquid in an old ice cream container. She walked it over to Jacob, leaned down on her knees beside him, grabbed at the corner of the patchwork quilt, dipped it in the liquid, and then started to pat his brow with it.

  For all intents and purposes it looked as if she had filled up an old plastic container with food dye and was now trying to ruin a perfectly good quilt with it.

  I knew more. I also knew that my grandmother was particularly good at potions, everything from healing drafts to cups of love tea – she was a renowned witch in her field.

  It didn't surprise me then that within moments of her dabbing the liquid on, Jacob began to stir.

  He mumbled something incomprehensible at first, then accompanied it with a low and loud groan.

  The second he blinked his eyes open I was filled at once with relief and yet fright.

  Because, seriously, Jacob Fairweather was sitting on my couch.

  While both my grandmother and I were aware of the fact he had been thrown off his feet by a nearby strike of lightning, I doubted he'd remember that. And I'm sure the competent Federal Agent could come up with all sorts of theories as to why he had ended up on the sofa in the living room of the two crazy ladies he'd been trying to get away from.

  I backed off a little, clasped my hands together, and ran my fingers over my nails.

  “Young man, I did warn you not to go out in that storm,” Granny stood up, the plastic ice cream container still in her hand as she dipped her fingers in and sprinkled some more potion over Jacob.

  Clearly confused, he winced a little, then it were as if his brain came back online in a flash. He realized he was on the couch, no doubt looked up to ascertain that my grandmother really was flicking colored water at him from an ice cream container, and then his eyes sought me out, locked onto me, and narrowed. “What the hell is going on here?” he croaked.

  “You ignored the advice of a witch,” my grandmother finally stopped flicking liquid at him and glowered down at him instead.

  I spluttered, I choked, and I could have chosen that exact moment to fall over and faint.

  She had said it. My grandmother had just revealed what she was to an ordinary human being.

  I needn't have worried however. Because Jacob didn't suddenly jump to his feet, look comically surprised, and demand to see her broom and wand. He tried to push himself up and he did sneer however. “How the hell did I get on this couch? And why does my head pound like this?”

  “You got on that couch because I carried you. Speaking of which, perhaps you need to lose a little weight, young man; you are heavier than you look. And as for what happened to you. You were walking far too close to an oak tree in a storm. And I don't need to tell you, or perhaps I do, that oaks are the tree that is most often struck by lightning. Young man, you were unlucky, and right now you are resting.”

  Jacob didn't immediately call her bullshit, jump up, rush past her, and run for the door. He did plant a hand on his head, wince his eyes closed, then blink one open again. “Struck by lightning? Are you out of your mind? The house would have been destroyed if your oak tree had been struck by lightning.”

  My grandmother straightened. It was a sudden and chilling move. “It hasn't been destroyed yet, but we’ll see what happens tonight. And yes, that tree was struck by lightning. If you care to stand and walk over to the opposite window and pull back the curtains, you'll see what I'm talking about. You were lucky, now rest, and while you're there, stop questioning me,” with that Granny patted down her skirt and headed out of the room.

  Half an hour ago she had been nothing but sweetness and light to Jacob. A sweet old dear whose only desire had been to make him chug down a love potion and fall for her granddaughter. Now she was this statuesque, powerful, frankly frightening woman.

  As soon as she was out of the room, Jacob tried to get to his feet.

  I say try, because he was unsuccessful. He kind of fell back against the couch, and as I moved to step forward to help him, he shot me with a dark, deadly look.

  “Whatever you’re planning to do here,” he began.

  I put my hands up quickly. “I'm not planning to do anything. My grandmother's right; you were standing near the oak tree when it got struck by lightning,” even though I didn't want to, I walked over to the window that looked out onto the side of the house, and tugged open the curtains. It showed exactly what it should. Our yard, with the remnants of the old oak tree blasted around it.

  It was a startling sight. It honestly did look as if God had reached down and smote the tree in all his wonder.

  Though he hadn't managed to stand before, somehow Jacob got to his feet, and warily made his way over to me. Though he stood an obvious two meters to my side, I turned around to see as his face crumpled in confusion.

  “Christ,” he managed.

  I hope that meant he now believed our story, and wasn't about to call his superiors and get every local police officer to surround our house and take us to prison.

  “Hold on though, if I was so close to lightning, why on earth can I still hear?” He brought a hand up and tapped his ear, turning to me, that challenging look back on his face in full fury. “A blast like that would have left me deaf, possibly permanently. And what about the house? It doesn't look damaged. And how about you, where were you when it exploded?”

  His barrage of questions felt a little like machine gun fire. Even though the first thing I wanted to do was shove him back in his chair and tell him to shut up, I didn't get the chance.

  Because I felt something. At first it was niggling, easy to ignore, and nothing more than a transient sensation tracing its way over my back.

  Then it twisted around and burrowed in like a parasite. Flinching, taking a step back in surprise and pain, my eyes locked on the view outside of the window just in time to see the shadow move up and press its way against the glass.

  First Jacob was looking at me, then finally he glanced towards the window.

  I would always remember that moment. Because it was a defining one. Something you look back at when you're old and grey and have the time to reminisce. The point your life changed.

  Not everyone can see magic. Hell, if they could, more people would know about it. It's not enough that us magical creatures simply keep our abilities and our world secret; magic itself is persistently hard to track, hard to see, and hard to isolate. I had spent my entire life growing accustomed to it, but for the uninitiated, it could take years before they could see the occult side to life.

  Jacob saw it immediately.

  His skin paled. Quicker than a flash. He reached for his gun, brought it forward, and pointed it straight at the window.

  “What the hell is that?” He took a step forward, gun still pointed right at the glass. “What is it trying to do?”

  A part of me was too surprised at Jacob's unexpected reaction; the rest of me knew exactly what I had to do.

  Though I didn't want to near the window for fear of the creature reaching in and plucking me out, I jumped forward, loosened the ties of the curtains, and tugged them close.

  Even though I wasn't fighting it, even though it was outside and I wa
sn't, that was one of the most frightening things I'd ever done.

  Don't ask me why. Maybe it was the mere thought that the only thing protecting me from the creature outside was a couple of centimeters of old, moth eaten green velvet.

  Seconds later, my grandmother was back in the room, and she marched right over to me, latched a hand on my shoulder, and pulled me back, settling me somewhere in the center of the room before she walked over to the window, tugged the curtain open slightly, brought her hand up and wrote something on the glass.

  Seconds later there was a hiss like steam escaping a pressurized pipe.

  “What's going on here? And what the hell was that?” Jacob still had his gun in his hand.

  I wasn’t usually a particularly good judge of character; my grandmother said that I didn't have enough life experience to be going around trying to judge others who had more. But I knew enough to tell that Jacob was not reacting how he should.

  All I had seen was a shadow at the window. Something dark, something that I had felt should not be there, and something that my witchly senses had told me was trying to make its nefarious way into the house. While Jacob was acting as if he had seen an assailant. A monster, something other than a swarm of dark light.

  Perhaps my grandmother realized this also, because she turned sharply and stared at Jacob. And for the first time it appeared as if she were actually looking at him. She didn't seem to be taken by the fact he was handsome, by the fact he was an eligible bachelor, and by the fact she could try to drug him into joining the family. Now she looked past that to what was inside.

  Jacob swallowed, finally letting his gun drop, but not settling it back in his holster as he stared back at my grandmother.

  “What did you see?” Granny crossed her arms. “Tell me everything.”

  It sounded as if she were trying to play the psychiatrist; getting the confused and frightened man to admit to whatever illusion was chasing around his mind.

  “What's going on here?” he repeated, darting his gaze around the room, then nestling it back on those green velvet curtains and whatever evil prospect lay beyond.

  “Young man, what you did see?” my grandmother asked again, but this time her voice was laced with something more than frustration and force. Magic, a startling amount of it. The air even sizzled from it.

  His lips dropped open with a jerk, as if someone had tugged them free with string. “A man, with a knife in his hand, and black wings, a spider crawling across his hand, a scorpion on his cheek,” Jacob answered, except his voice didn't seem his own. It sounded like my grandmother's.

  I knew what she was doing. She was using her magic to reach inside his mind, and use him like a marionette.

  It was something she would never do under ordinary circumstances, especially not to a normal human.

  These were not ordinary circumstances.

  And as I looked at Jacob, I wondered if he were even an ordinary human; where I had seen nothing but a shadow, he had seen a fully formed apparition.

  My grandmother's eyes narrowed carefully, and she took a step forward, leaning her head down as she appeared to appraise Jacob carefully. “Any history of magic in your family?”

  “What are you talking about?” Jacob apparently had control of his voice again, and it was shaking.

  “Probably not, I think I would know if you were holding something like that back from me. Which means, my dear Agent Jacob Fairweather, that you have natural talent.”

  I balked at the phrase natural talent.

  “Where my granddaughter saw nothing but shadow, you saw what was really there. You certainly are the perfect addition to the Sinclair family,” a small but satisfied-looking smile spread her lips.

  Jacob shook his head. It was clear he had no idea what was going on, and why should he? I was a witch, I was related to my grandmother, and I had no idea either.

  “That's it, you really have to tell me what's going on now, or I am going to call the authorities,” Jacob backed off.

  “I have already told you what is going on,” my grandmother replied coldly, casting her glance back to the green curtains for a moment. “My granddaughter and I are witches. Due to my granddaughter’s persistent complaining and whingeing, she has brought a rift into her life. A rift that has left her open for attack. Now that both of the oak trees that had previously held guard at this property have been destroyed, we are under real threat of attack. What you saw at the window was the first wave.”

  So much for telling him what was going on; even I had trouble understanding her disjointed account of affairs.

  To Jacob's credit, he didn't pull up his gun and shoot us both though. “You drugged me,” he suddenly came up with his own conclusion. As he did, his cheeks paled, and he brought his gun up in a swinging, quick motion. “Jesus Christ, you put something in those biscuits, didn't you?”

  “I haven’t drugged you yet,” my grandmother defended herself.

  Jacob acted predictably on the term “yet.”

  He stepped back, brought his other hand up to his gun, held it exactly as a professional should, and pointed it over at me. “You two are going to prison this time.”

  “Look, it's just a misunderstanding,” I tried fruitlessly.

  My grandmother waved me off into silence.

  “I knew there was something up with you too,” Jacob stated through clenched teeth.

  My grandmother's expressions soured. “Is this the thanks I get for hauling you out of that storm and healing your injuries? Young man, you need to learn some manners. “

  “Stay exactly where you are,” Jacob took one hand off his gun and reached into his pocket and then plucked out his mobile phone.

  Great, the cavalry was about to get involved.

  “Good luck trying to get any reception; I imagine the only thing you're going to hear when you open up that is the chatter of demons and lost souls,” Granny crossed her arms.

  Jacob did not take her warning. He opened the phone, expression a severe one, then dialed the number. Seconds later he pressed it to his ear.

  Then he all but dropped it as he gave an involuntary shudder.

  Eyes widening in obvious fear, he took a step back from it. “What the hell is that sound?”

  “I told you, demons and lost souls. Now it is clear that you have a talent for witnessing magic, I'm afraid you are going to be in for a rough ride. Our house, whether you like it or not, is currently being assailed by every magical creature with any claim to the dark side. If you choose to walk out the door or clamber out a window, I suggest you prepare yourself to fight off the ghosts and trolls. Should you try to call anyone, or send off an email, expect to hear nothing but the replies of the crushed and doomed straight from hell.”

  I doubted Jacob actually believed what my grandma was saying, but the edge to his expression was gone. The self-righteousness, the anger. In its place was nothing but confusion and just a grain of determination. He was still holding onto his gun, after all.

  Keeping my hands in the air as if in surrender, I tried for a smile. “Look, honestly, this is all just a misunderstanding,” I said again. It was never going to work though.

  The two of them simply ignored me as if I were no longer in the room.

  “What was in that... potion you gave me? What have you done to me? Am I hallucinating?” Jacob brought a hand up and touched his ear, as if expecting to find a couple of streaks of cocaine dabbed across his face.

  Granny snorted. “You don't want to know what was in that potion, neither could you comprehend it. But you can thank me for the fact you still have your hearing and that although you have a headache it is only mild.”

  “Please, can't we just sit down, discuss this,” I suggested, but my voice could hardly be heard over the two as they continued to bicker.

  I took several steps back. This was... beyond unbelievable. This situation had become dangerous very, very quickly. And I wasn't just talking about the fact this house was now open for attack. I was
talking about Jacob, the angry, armed Federal Agent. The one my grandmother had admitted we were witches to. The one my grandmother seemed content to goad at every moment with magical explanations and potions.

  I brought my hands up, locked them on my cheeks, and felt how frigid cold my fingertips were.

  Honestly, I wasn't built for stress like this. I liked the quiet life, not one filled with shadows at the window and remarkably perceptive men with guns.

  I had to do something.

  Didn't I? That was the point. Even though I was trying to resist my grandmother's meddling, I understood what lay underneath. If I wanted my life to get back to normal, I had to take charge.

  Take charge.

  I latched onto that thought, and took a deliberate step backwards, turning and heading out the door.

  My grandmother was not the only witch here. And as I headed through the kitchen, a plan formulated in my mind.

  Unfortunately it would turn out to be the worst thing I had ever thought of.