Spells & Life

howl was followed by the weakening of his grip. He wasn’t as strong now, was he?
The mask had revealed a square jaw covered in ginger bristles. That was all I could see before he shoved the mask back on with a curse.
Managing to rip away from him, I stumbled until my feet were steady. Sucking in as much magic as possible, I threw it at him, the energy turning to tiny blades of ice. They pounded into him, causing him to fly back to the ground. Weakened, he groaned.
“Don’t...” I huffed as my legs grew wobbly. “...mess...” Shit, my energy was gone, I had to leave. “...with me.”
Turning before he could get up, I mustered the last amount of magic I had and flashed to my front door. Rooting in my pocket with incredibly shaky hands, I sucked in a sob as I tugged out a key. It was in the lock, the door opened, slammed shut and relocked within a second.
“What the fuck?” I cried to myself.
Careening through the hall, I went up the stairs on my hands and knees. The carpet rubbed my palms as I pushed on, determined to get to safety. I was safe. My home was safe. I would always be safe.
My phone burst into noise as I made it to the top of the stairs. Ignoring it, I used the wall to keep me upright as I went to my room. As soon as the door was closed, I collapsed on my double bed.
“Leave me alone,” I whispered as the phone rang again.
Staring up at the ceiling as I got my breath back, I studied the book posters. Yes, when I’d been allowed my freedom, I’d instantly moved in to my own place. I was eighteen at the time, which meant I still stuck posters on my ceiling. Maybe it was time to grow up considering Twilight had gone completely out of fashion.
Unable to stand the incessant ringing of my phone, I took it out and looked at the name. Great, Dave.
“Hello?”
“I’m at your front door, let me in.”
“No.”
His angry sigh puffed down the phone. As if I would allow him to berate me when I had almost died. Okay, maybe not, but still.
“Gemma,” he said, clearly trying to be patient, and failing. “You shouldn’t be out of the infirmary yet. The doctor wanted you to be monitored for another day.”
“Leave me alone.”
The pathetic words rang in my ears, the weak sound of my voice making the skin on my arms heat.
“No.”
His insistence was irritating, but it was also the kick up the arse I needed. Flicking my fingers, I released the lock on the front door, unable to move from the bed. He hung up, obviously hearing that I’d allowed him access to my home. For the first time ever.
The thudding of his footsteps made me close my eyes, grab the nearest pillow and hold it over my face. When the door opened, I didn’t even bother to move it.
“I knew you liked your books, but I didn’t know you were a teen in a woman’s body. Jeez.”
Launching the pillow at his head, I sat up and screamed. Loud. Okay, so it didn’t help that I was acting like a teen either. He stood there, his face expressionless, the pillow caught in his hand. Why did he have to be so grown up?
Seeing my bedroom as if I’d just walked in for the first time, I could understand why he’d made the comment. Still, it bristled that he criticised my home.
“I need to take the posters down,” I muttered as I lay back on the bed.
Slowly, he took a cautionary step towards the bed. I had no fight left in me. My brain was lost. So very lost. I didn’t even protest when he motioned for me to move over, which for some crazy reason, I did. Lowering himself onto the bed, he laid next to me. The muscles of my body froze. I had a man in my bed. Okay, so we were currently staring up at a ceiling full of book posters, not exactly romantic, but I still had a man in my bed.
“It’s time for me to grow up,” I blurted.
His arm moved to bury under my neck, his other hand very gently guiding me to lay on his chest. My cheek rested on the black T-shirt, right on his pec. It was a very hard pec, although strangely comforting.
“You’ve been through a trauma, you must allow yourself some time.”
Always diplomatic, Dave the desk friend. He sat behind a desk most of the time because his lack of magic made him unpredictable in the field. As an illusionist witch, he could take magic from any source and cast spells that most people couldn’t. Technically, he was a trickster. When a spell was cast by an illusionist, it was rarely real.
“When did you find out that you had no magic?”
My question made his chest expand as he sucked in a breath. What was wrong with me? Did feeling vulnerable myself make me want him to feel it too? I needed a brain transplant. I knew that, just from the fact that I was allowing Dave to cuddle me on my bed without even telling him about the fight that had just occurred.
“My parents realised when I grabbed my father’s hand once, burning him as I unconsciously stole some of his magic. They took me to their coven leader. He tried to get me to do a spell, but I couldn’t. I was six. He then asked me to take his hand, his eyes instantly glaring when I took some of his magic by accident.”
Although Dave’s voice was strong, his breath was shallower than usual. The pain that laced his tone filtered into my chest, piercing my heart. I couldn’t even imagine being a witch who didn’t have their own magic. It was the ultimate failure according to our elders.
“Have you suffered?” I whispered, lifting my head to look at him.
Avoiding my