Black Girl Magic

Chapter 11

The months started passing, and we continued practicing. We were improving daily as a group, but I was running into many roadblocks alone. This was a problem in several ways. First, I could barely control it and hold it back, but using it and molding it to fight for me was out of my reach. For some reason, I couldn't get past myself and couldn't figure out why. I mean, I had my strong points; I excelled at making charms and reading people's aura, but actual defensive magic was elusive, and it was so very frustrating.

The second problem was Armand.

I was sticking to our truce. I treated him fairly, at least most of the time. Much of our time together was spent trading barbs and always talking shit. He had such a smart-ass mouth, and so did I, and neither of us was ever willing to back down. Mostly it annoyed me, but a small part of me, dare I say it, liked it. What's worse is that I think a tiny, minuscule part of me liked him.

I know, I was disgusted with my damn self, but I wasn't stupid; I knew what all my little reactions were building up to me. I looked forward to every weekend he would come and pick me up. I got excited about the idea of spending time alone with him during our drives. I liked that we could talk shit about each other without being offended. It was like our special way of flirting. I felt a smug bit of pride when he would give short answers or ignore the apparent flirtation of some of the other girls. And I felt a warm surge through my body every time I caught him looking at me as if I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.

I repeatedly told myself this was not the road I wanted to travel down. There were so many reasons that this man should be handed off-limits, his mom tried to kill me, his mother killed my dad, he was the grandson of another council member, we had to work together, and if it went south, it would be all bad. I tried to convince myself that he didn't like me, but he only wanted to fuck me, and once he had, he would drop me like a bad habit. I tried to convince myself that the bad boy trope was not the type of thing you looked for in a guy long term. Every book, movie, and southern parent will tell you that bad boys do not make good boyfriends or husbands. Then I would groan and get mad at myself that I was even picturing him as a boyfriend.

So as one can see, I had several dilemmas, and I was not happy at all. When I told Stella about it, she squealed in glee and said to me that in no uncertain terms was I to miss this opportunity and reminded me of it frequently. It was the second week of January, and she and I were sitting in my bedroom on another Friday, waiting for him to come to pick me up.

It was pretty chilly outside this time of year, and I was wearing tight skinny jeans and a long sleeve purple turtleneck. I was going to put on my black thigh-high boots and leather jacket when it was time to leave. The great thing about the south is that we didn't get those freezing, snowy winters, although this was still too cold for most of us. The majority of the week, it had been around 40-50 degrees. Entirely too hard but perfect for my fall wardrobe, which I was quite proud of.

"Girl, nobody is telling you to get married to the man, but I think you should give it a shot. It's clear he likes you; what's the big deal to see what happens?" I sighed, threw myself back on the pillows on my bed, and said, "Besides the fact that he reeks of fuck boy vibes, and he is more likely to fuck me and leave me than to date me? Probably the fact that his mother wants to torture me slowly and then murder me with a smile on her face."

Stella sighed deeply and rolled her eyes, saying, "Girl, the boy is not his mom. O; he doesn't want to murder you, more like fuck you silly." I said, "That's exactly the problem; I'm not just trying to get fucked and left."

Stella said, "That's the thing; I don't think he will leave you. He seems to like you, girl, genuinely. Besides, isn't he what you were looking for? Someone that you could share all parts of your life with; he knows about your powers, your family, and what you're going through. You wouldn't have to keep secrets." I looked at her and said, "Stella says you're right, and he doesn't mean any harm. Either way, I have much bigger problems I need to focus on, and the son of my biggest problem doesn't seem like a good idea. So, whatever feelings I have, I will squash them. I have to focus. I refuse to let Armand Saint-Clair be a distraction."