Page 56 of A Shade of Myself
Ignoring the nasty gash and bleeding, Sadie finished her circuit, a determined look on her face. She was panting, her face beet red. “Nailed it, right?”
Laurent shot me a pointed look before replying, “You’re a natural.”
I ended the training session, not because it was my turn, but because my kid needed to wash gravel and blood off her leg and get some Polysporin on it. Laurent didn’t argue, though I could tell from the stubborn set of his chin that I wasn’t getting out of it altogether.
When we got back, I gave Sadie the keys and told her I’d be inside momentarily.
“Sorry you didn’t get your cold shower run,” I said to Laurent. “And next time let’s skip the pop psychology of me and my kid, shall we?”
“Not wanting to hear it doesn’t make it any less true,” he said. “Trust me, I know. See you, Mitzi.” He pivoted around, falling into a loping stride that looked casual and relaxed but was incredibly fast.
I snorted. He even ran like a wolf.
I headed inside to make sure Sadie tended to her cut properly. And to possibly hug her three or seven more times than her injuries required to the point where she pushed me away in annoyance with a huffed “I’m fine. Geez,” then stomped out of the bathroom.
If she was that exasperated, she was okay. I put the first aid kit away and washed my hands.
Laurent had me thinking, not about Sadie, but about Giselle. I’d ruled out magic on the necklace, which left my hypothesis that some past trauma was trying to make its way to the forefront of her consciousness.
I said bye to my kid as she left for work, then hopped in a hot shower, lathering up with my foamy shampoo.
If the discomfort that Giselle was experiencing was tied to memories trying to resurface, could there be more than psychology at play? Had she’d gone so far as to have someone magically block out something that had happened to her? Call them Person Y. Giselle had empathy magic, so she hadn’t done this to herself, though her powers might be part of why she was tapping into the sensation that something was wrong.
I wrung the water from my hair before massaging conditioner in.
Could Person Y have slapped me with the illusion of Sadie’s death to try to clue me in to what was going on? Were they trying to help Giselle?
I soaped up my legs, running my razor over them.
I’d broken through that false reality easily enough, but maybe without a hard push, she wouldn’t be able to. In which case she’d never be able to heal from what had happened.
This hypothesis had a ton of what-ifs, but I’d ruled out the easiest possibility, which was magic on the necklace. Giselle was upset enough to have sought Tatiana out even after being turned down by Kadeem, so I refused to discount what she was experiencing. Either magic, her subconscious, or both were trying to force her to face the truth.
Person Y hadn’t shown themselves to me, and Nav hadn’t texted, which meant his trackers hadn’t found anyone. Whomever this illusionist was, they didn’t want to be found. What was Person Y’s stake in all this and why couldn’t they approach me directly? There weren’t a ton of Ohrists with that ability, but tracking everyone down who was capable of casting illusions would still take time.
I rinsed off and stepped into my steamy bathroom to dry myself. Giselle was no help, but if I could speak with a close friend of hers, maybe I could get answers.
But first, back in the realm of my personal life, I had to find out what Uncle Jake’s key opened if anything. After I’d gotten dressed and quickly scarfed another muffin, I grabbed the memento box stored at the back of my closet shelf and dumped the contents onto my bed, searching for the last birthday card he’d sent.
It was buried halfway down the pile. I flipped the card open, nodding in relief that the key was still taped to the inside. It was too large to open a safety deposit box. Jake had died a year and a half ago and his house had been sold so if it was directing me to something on his property, I’d have to break into a stranger’s home.
Following a hunch, I looked up self-storage businesses in my old hometown up north. There was only one. It was doubtful that he’d paid past his death for a unit, but easy enough to eliminate that place as a possibility. I pocketed the key in my capris.
Right before I stepped into the KH, there was a knock on the door.
Ryann was there, her expression especially grim when compared to her rainbow-colored skirt and bright purple shirt. Guess she’d done laundry.
“What’s wrong?” I motioned for her to come in, but she shook her head.
“We identified the man from the beach.” She stifled a yawn, sipping from a travel mug.
“That’s great. Who is he?”
“James Learsdon.”
“And?” I pressed my fingertips against my throbbing temples, my anxiety flaring up.
“Still no sign of him.” She popped the lid back on the cup with a firm thwack. “We’ll find him. We’ve verified that he’s too young to have killed your parents and he only has low-level healing magic, so he didn’t murder Fred McMurtry either.”
