feel different? Do you feel different?”
His question took her aback. She shuffled on her seat and rubbed the back of her neck without meeting Jackson’s eyes.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered, “I notice things more.” Like the music at last night’s party, or the noises in the street. Even the coffee she had just drunk tasted stronger, deeper, fuller. “My senses are heightened. Maybe, I don’t know, I’m making all this stuff up because I think about it too much. How do you know about all this magic madness anyway?”
He burst into laughter. “I’ve always been fascinated by the occult, witchcraft or magic, whatever you call it. When I was sixteen, my grandmother told me about an ancestor of ours, who was hung for being a witch. It was 1693, in Salem.” He paused, maybe thinking of that poor woman and her final moments, then continued. “I’m from Boston. So I spent a lot of time researching the Salem witch trials, and from there I read a lot about all these things that can’t be explained by science or reason.”
He stood and walked around his desk. From one of the shelves covering the wall he grabbed a thick, glossy book. He dropped it on his desk to land with a woompf in front of Madison.
“Move the book,” he ordered her.
Madison tried to swallow, but she choked. She didn’t have to articulate her shock because her puzzled face must have conveyed the message.
“If you can control and gather enough energy to throw fire, you should be able to move objects around with the power of your mind. Why not?”
Why the freakin’ hell not?
Jackson challenged her with his stare. And she was curious, intrigued by all the new possibilities.
She stood and planted her feet wide apart, as if to anchor and strengthen her body. Slowly she waved her right hand, the palm wide open. She shut her eyes, visualized the book and her hand, and imagined a stream of energy flowing from one to the other.
Her breathing stopped. She kept her eyes shut, blocking everything else around her. The lack of oxygen started making her dizzy. She exhaled loudly and drank more air back into her lungs.
“It’s not working.”
Jackson wasn’t satisfied with her answer. He replaced the book on the shelf and took out a smaller, lighter volume.
Placing the book on the desk, he said, “Try again.”
As much as she was grateful for Jackson’s help, she wanted to tell him that he was pushing the experiment too far. But she was the one who had come to see him, and made the confession about what she’d done. The dude hadn’t called the police or the medics. She owed him big time.
Her eyes refocused on the book. She shook out her hands, like an athlete before a race, and rolled her shoulders. This time she took a deep, long breath. She didn’t try to think, didn’t try to focus.
She waved her hand again, but the experience was now different. Her fingertips tingled and waves of electricity prickled across her skin.
She arched her arm, and the book started a slow ascent, mimicking her movement. The shock at her accomplishment forced Madison to shout, “What the hell!”
Her interruption broke off the stream of energy linking her to the book and caused the volume to crash back to the desk.
“Amazing.” Jackson’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“I can’t believe I did that. I would never have thought, Mamie never mentioned …” she babbled, restraining herself from bouncing from one foot to the other. Not even her grandmother could do that.
Jackson had now started pacing the small width of his office. After a minute of striding back and forth, he stopped in front of the French window that overlooked George Street and stared through the morning haze. He stepped back to stand in front of her.
“You can’t keep on ignoring these powers of yours,” he murmured, an intent look on his face.
Madison ran a jerky hand through her hair and rubbed her cheeks. “Why not? I’ve managed to live without them until now. Actually,
His question took her aback. She shuffled on her seat and rubbed the back of her neck without meeting Jackson’s eyes.
“Y-yes,” she stuttered, “I notice things more.” Like the music at last night’s party, or the noises in the street. Even the coffee she had just drunk tasted stronger, deeper, fuller. “My senses are heightened. Maybe, I don’t know, I’m making all this stuff up because I think about it too much. How do you know about all this magic madness anyway?”
He burst into laughter. “I’ve always been fascinated by the occult, witchcraft or magic, whatever you call it. When I was sixteen, my grandmother told me about an ancestor of ours, who was hung for being a witch. It was 1693, in Salem.” He paused, maybe thinking of that poor woman and her final moments, then continued. “I’m from Boston. So I spent a lot of time researching the Salem witch trials, and from there I read a lot about all these things that can’t be explained by science or reason.”
He stood and walked around his desk. From one of the shelves covering the wall he grabbed a thick, glossy book. He dropped it on his desk to land with a woompf in front of Madison.
“Move the book,” he ordered her.
Madison tried to swallow, but she choked. She didn’t have to articulate her shock because her puzzled face must have conveyed the message.
“If you can control and gather enough energy to throw fire, you should be able to move objects around with the power of your mind. Why not?”
Why the freakin’ hell not?
Jackson challenged her with his stare. And she was curious, intrigued by all the new possibilities.
She stood and planted her feet wide apart, as if to anchor and strengthen her body. Slowly she waved her right hand, the palm wide open. She shut her eyes, visualized the book and her hand, and imagined a stream of energy flowing from one to the other.
Her breathing stopped. She kept her eyes shut, blocking everything else around her. The lack of oxygen started making her dizzy. She exhaled loudly and drank more air back into her lungs.
“It’s not working.”
Jackson wasn’t satisfied with her answer. He replaced the book on the shelf and took out a smaller, lighter volume.
Placing the book on the desk, he said, “Try again.”
As much as she was grateful for Jackson’s help, she wanted to tell him that he was pushing the experiment too far. But she was the one who had come to see him, and made the confession about what she’d done. The dude hadn’t called the police or the medics. She owed him big time.
Her eyes refocused on the book. She shook out her hands, like an athlete before a race, and rolled her shoulders. This time she took a deep, long breath. She didn’t try to think, didn’t try to focus.
She waved her hand again, but the experience was now different. Her fingertips tingled and waves of electricity prickled across her skin.
She arched her arm, and the book started a slow ascent, mimicking her movement. The shock at her accomplishment forced Madison to shout, “What the hell!”
Her interruption broke off the stream of energy linking her to the book and caused the volume to crash back to the desk.
“Amazing.” Jackson’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
“I can’t believe I did that. I would never have thought, Mamie never mentioned …” she babbled, restraining herself from bouncing from one foot to the other. Not even her grandmother could do that.
Jackson had now started pacing the small width of his office. After a minute of striding back and forth, he stopped in front of the French window that overlooked George Street and stared through the morning haze. He stepped back to stand in front of her.
“You can’t keep on ignoring these powers of yours,” he murmured, an intent look on his face.
Madison ran a jerky hand through her hair and rubbed her cheeks. “Why not? I’ve managed to live without them until now. Actually,
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