Rene leftme to my notes and the dusty books, but I swore that the longer I stared at the words, the more cross-eyed I became. Not to mention, I could hardly focus on anything with Rene’s words bouncing around in the back of my head.
Caged magic? Yes, I wondered if I was cursed… but maybe I hadn’t wanted to admit it to myself just yet either.
I rubbed circles on my temples as I tried to clear my head. Maybe she was just trying to soften the blow her kids had delivered. Maybe she was just trying to make me feel better. Sheseemed like the type… kind of. The nurturer who didn’t want anyone hurting.
I leaned back in the chair and stared up at the vaulted ceiling. Dust drifted lazily in the sunlight streaming through the high windows, and the silence of the library wrapped around me like a blanket. It was comforting. But not enough to silence the storm inside my head.
I didn’t want false hope. I didn’t want comfort for the sake of comfort. I wanted the truth.
And yet… part of me, a part I’d kept buried for years, stirred at the possibility.
What if Rene was right?
I’d always assumed my magic was broken. But what if it wasn’t? What if it had been locked away somehow—by fear, or family, or something else entirely? What if all these years of trying and failing weren’t a lack of magic…
I shook my head hard. I’d given myself enough hope over the years. I’d tried my best to fit in for long enough. It was useless and wouldn’t do anything to help me.
I unfolded my body from the chair and stretched out my stiff limbs.
I scanned the scattered pages across the table, my notes a chaotic mosaic of lines, arrows, and scribbled thoughts. Somewhere in this mess was a truth no one else had bothered to find. I wasn’t looking for magic anymore. I was looking for answers, but they weren’t in my notes.
Maybe I was looking for the wrong thing. I turned back to what seemed to be never-ending shelves of books and ran my fingers over the dusty, worn spines until I stopped on the one I’d seen a few days ago.
Curses and bindings.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it? It wasn’t something that had ever occurred to me before, and it was also something I’dnever seen a book on in my family’s library back at home. A coincidence, or was it done on purpose so I could never find out?
The spine cracked as I opened the book, and as quickly as I could, I skimmed through the pages.
My breath caught as my eyes snagged on a passage at the end of the book.
“Magical bindings are possible but only through familial bonds. Bindings not only require a powerful witch, but also require a sacrifice of one’s own magic or even their life.”
Only through familial bonds.
My throat went dry. I read the line again.
A sacrifice of one’s own magic.
“To bind another’s magic through blood, the caster must believe the magic to be dangerous or undeserved. Motivations vary—fear, control, protection—but the result is the same: the subject’s connection to their power is severed. Oftentimes, it can be regained, but not usually. ”
Was this what had happened to me? Someone thought I was undeserving of my magic, and they took it from me? My head swam, and the room spun.
Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
I scanned the page further until I found another line that stood out.
“The only magical affinity that can remove another’s magic is death magic.”
Relief seemed to crash through me. My mother and father weren’t death witches. The relief quickly disappeared as I frowned.
The realization slapped me in the face. I physically reared back as if the thought struck me. My grandmother was the last death witch, and she disappeared with my grandfather after mymagic claiming ceremony, when everything went wrong… They didn’t practice magic again.
I bit into my fist as the thoughts raged war inside of my head. My own blood had done this to me, and then they left. There weren’t books on death witches in my coven. There weren’t books on magical bindings or curses. My parents knew. They’d left me to believe something was wrong with me all of these years.
The room spun faster and faster as I gripped the back of the chair and tried to stay upright. My magic wasn’t lost or gone… It had been stolen from me.
A strangled sound clawed its way up my throat. I didn’t know if it was a sob or a scream.
