Chosen Witch (Paranormal Romance)

Chapter 9

We move a bunch of tables to the side, creating a small circular hole in the middle of the main room, which is where I stand. Jefferson is in front of me on the left and Isaac is in front of me on the right.

"The way my father taught me is to call on the magic itself, and then sort of sprinkle it on the area around me. Whichever point brings on the biggest spark is the object of your desire."

"You make it sound so simple," I say, but not unkindly. I know he's trying to help, and this is a long shot, but we're trying all our options at this point.

"I know it's not, Meredith." He takes a small step towards me, looking straight into my eyes with what I can only call Isaac intensity. "It didn't happen for me on the first try. But this is something I know, this is what I was raised for. Let me watch over you."

Just like that, there's nothing else to say. He believes in me and I believe in him. I glance over at Jefferson as Isaac takes a step back. The shifter is tense, but not skeptical. He trusts Isaac, that much is clear.

"Close your eyes," I do as the Watcher instructs, trying to keep my breathing even. "You know your magic, Meredith. You were raised for this. It's your birthright. Call upon it, and let it run through you."

Listening to his voice, I feel myself relax. I've been carrying a lot on my shoulders, even before the events of today, and I haven't spent as much time with my magic as I should. It begins waking up slowly, as if unsure of its welcome. I coax it with my mind, accepting it like an old friend. It takes a few tries, but then I feel it spreading. First within my body, then to the space beyond it.

Isaac is still talking, giving me instructions, but his voice seems somewhere far away. I'm fully concentrated on my magic now, and we're more connected than I remember being recently.

When I was younger, I meditated a lot more than I do now. I spent time with my magic, discovering it for the first time. But the older I got, the less I needed to, I guess. I relied more on my mother's instructions then on what fueled me on the inside. So often I forget that I'm a witch, because I don't use my magic as much. That's all about to change.

Listening to Isaac's instructions, I push the droplets of my magic out, sprinkling them on every surface in the library. The process takes a while, and when I'm done, I wait for something to happen. But there's nothing.

"It's not working," I say, opening my eyes. The boys haven't moved.

"You've only been at it an hour," Isaac replies, shocking me for a moment. "Try again."

"It's been an hour?"

"A very long one," Jefferson mumbles and I shoot him a glare. I must be more rusty in my magic than I've realized. Exhaling, I turn back to Isaac.

"Okay, I'm going again."

But after two more hours, it seems hopeless. I feel the possibility of this working, but I'm not making it happen.

"My mother can probably do this without trying." I snap, opening my eyes once again. Both Jefferson and Isaac are still in front of me, but they're leaning against the table now. We're all tired and hungry and irritable. Mostly with me.

"Stop thinking about your mother," the boys say in unison, shocking me speechless. They exchange a glance, before Jefferson shrugs. That is definitely his favorite response to everything.

"What we're trying to say," Isaac begins, taking a step toward me, "Is that you're so focused on comparing yourself to her, that you're not letting you have free reign of your magic. We can feel it."

I look over at Jefferson, "You can?"

"Well, he may feel it. But I can smell the self doubt on you. It's very annoying."