Fatal Fiona

Chapter 3: I Go to a Stupid Park

It's two o'clock in the afternoon by the time I make my way to Washington Square.

After waking up violently hungover and feeling every one of my seven decades, I mixed a magical cure-all, took a luxurious shower, smoked another fat joint and pulled myself together. I was a creature on a mission and I refused to be put off by alcohol poisoning.

And now that I'm outside, I'm very pleased I rallied.

It's one of those early fall days that are both invigorating and bittersweetly nostalgic. The sky is a cloudless, brilliant cerulean and the trees are just starting to turn from the deep greens of summer to the vibrant reds of an east coast autumn. The wind is chilled, but the sun is warm, and I bask in it as I lay on top of the Washington Arch, my tail lazily twitching back and forth.

No normal cat could have scaled the carved marble behemoth. But of course, I'm no normal cat.

In this form, I'm what one would call a Bombay black cat. And I'm absolutely stunning, if I do say so myself. My torso is sleek and well-muscled, my silky fur glossy almost to a polished sheen, and my wide, green eyes sparkle even in the lowest of lights.

Yet, despite the pretty packaging, most humans tend to avoid me when I'm spotted. My gaze is too intelligent. My grace too otherworldly. I look too perfect. And humans don't trust perfect things.

But this feline form is my true form, my First Witch's spirit animal. All Familiars are creatures first, humanoids second. And Greer always had a feline soul: brilliant, narcissistic, too curious for her own good.

I shake my head at the thought of her and sneeze to force the thought farther away. I don't have time to wallow in my centuries-long heartache at the moment. Not when I need to focus on the vat of potential milling below me. 

College is in full swing, so the students are out in droves, shouting, studying and skateboarding. By opening my Third Eye, a magical filter that clicks into place when I blink, I can see the multihued auras radiating off them all, consuming and contouring to their bodies like gaseous, licking flames.

A neon pink aura emanates from a fabulous girl with a fashion ponytail and blazer the same color teal as her lipstick. Twin red ones flow from a couple making out under a tree. Silvers and browns trickle from a group of what I could only describe as frat boys and I wrinkle my nose at those.

Auras are tricky to classify as they are always changing, morphing with a particular mood or flaring with maturity. So, to gauge magical promise, it's best to go with the three S's: Shine, Solidity and Scope. Because bright, dense and expansive auras are all markers of a truly powerful Witch.

And this park is a kaleidoscope to those who care to look.

Shockingly, there already seem to be a couple of interesting candidates.

A young teen doing ollies by the fountain has a vivid, pulsating green aura. But nah, too young. Two brunettes sitting on a bench have identical auras the color of a sunset and, on second inspection, identical faces. As much as I'm tempted by a matched set, two Witches would be too much when it came to sneaking around for training. A deep blue blazes over the body of an older, clearly homeless gentleman napping on a bench but I don't do charity cases. I'm not that altruistic. A couple of even brighter auras wink at me from the dog park but there's no way in hell I'm going over there.

Eager as I am, I remind myself that I have other sites to hit. And plenty of time in which to do so. I don't need to jump on the first thing I see. I can be choosy. No matter how boring it gets.

But after a few hours of waiting, observing and, let's be honest, napping, I finally spot something worthy of my attention. Something bright and beautiful enough to give me hope that my search has come to a tidy end.