Dancing on the Dark Side

3 Talking to the Dead

The gentle sounds of strings being played echo around me as the room blurs into focus. I swallow against the raw emotions that start up in my heart, the sight of the room would normally bring me to tears. If it were real. My jaw works as the sting behind my eyes fades and tightness of my throat clears.

It's the kitchen of my Abuela's house. I'm sitting on my favorite chair, the one by the wall, just low enough that I can see under the light-wood cabinets and high enough that the counter rests comfortably under my elbows. A woman with silvery-grey hair, twisted in a loose bun atop her head, is stirring at something in a large pot. The scents of cinnamon and rice hanging with rich promise in the air. My mouth starts to water.

"Welcome back, mija." Abuela hums to me over the music. She's swaying to the music, humming along with the instrumental version of the song with her eyes closed. Her hands move on autopilot, hovering over the pot, but moving in a soothing clockwise fashion. I smirk at the sight, not bothering to ask her why she's decided to cook with magic now that I know what we are. It's a tired conversation at this point.

"Glad to be back, Abuela." I tell her honestly, resting my face in my palms as I lean forward, a sad smile moving to cover my mouth. "Arroz con leche?" I guess, nodding at the pot she's stirring. Abuela smiles, eyes still closed as she nods in confirmation.

I chew on my bottom lip in anticipation of the sweetened cinnamon-and-rice treat. Similar to oatmeal, but made with rice and condensed milk, the way my abuela used to prepare it was perfect. Not too sweet, with the rice just well cooked enough that it was tender and not mushy. I still haven't been able to make it myself.

"Why am I here?" I ask after another minute of reminiscing. "I thought you said it was bad for me to keep seeing you." I try not to letting any of the bitterness I feel leak into my voice. Abuela stops moving, her eyes slowly opening to look into the pot somberly. The music stops playing as well, only the sounds of the softly bubbling arroz in the pot filling the silence.

"There's still so much you need to learn," Abuela sighs, turning to face me. Her eyes are more violet than grey, the hue burning softly with an almost ethereal light. The edges of her form blur slightly, becoming a little more transparent before snapping back into focus. "So much I should have taught you," She murmurs, a little more quietly, her eyes loosing focus for another moment before she seems to recall I'm not really here. "You need a teacher." She's suddenly pointing a ladle at me, the thing popping into her hand from thin air.

"I thought you didn't want me to learn anything about Dark Magic." I remind her dryly, recalling out last conversation. It was part of her reason for me not to contact her again. She hadn't wanted the 'temptation' of the power to 'corrupt' me.

"Things change," She grimaces at me, her head tilting to the side and lips pressing into a thin line. I know this as her 'listening to the other side' motion. "You need to be prepared." She adds slowly, her eyes narrowing a bit. "Something is coming, Fi." Her cryptic warning sends shivers down my spine.

"Something like..." I try to prompt her as she moves to pull two bowls from a cabinet beside the stove. One with ornately painted olive trees in gorgeous earth tones, the lacquer on the ceramic surface visibly cracked with age. My favorite bowl, the real one having been broken many years ago when I had still lived with Abuela. The other is a gentle array of pastel blues and purples and reds that seem to shimmer and blend into each other. It's something that still exists in the real world. Normally, the bowl would never be used. Abuela had insisted on it for years, saying the dish was too precious to simply eat out of.

"You know I can't say anything, Fi." She warns me, scooping two servings into the bowls and coming around to sit beside me in the stool that used to be hers. Would always be hers in reality. I grimace at the bowl she sets before me, not bothering to point out the lack of a spoon. Abuela just gives me one of her beatific, all-too-innocent smiles as she plucks a singular spoon from mid air and starts eating from her bowl.

"And you know I still can't cast." I tell her, gesturing to the spoon she had called into being with her magic. This had been on of her more preferred methods of trying to get me to use and practice my magic when we'd meet like this. Even in this alternate reality - a dreamscape - we could both, supposedly, use magic. Abuela used magic fairly often when I visited her here before, but I've never been able too. No matter how hard I tried.

"You will...if you practiced... And got a teacher." Abuela sings at me, her worn voice matching that of the strings music. I sigh and look at the steaming, slightly pink serving of arroz con leche, my stomach growling audibly.

"This is just cruel," I mutter to myself as my mouth begins to water. I chew my lip and consider just lifting the bowl to my mouth, but the last time I tried to eat without utensils around my abuela she'd sent me to bed without dinner. It was a hard lesson for a four year old to learn, but I never once tried it after that. And I'm not about to try it again. Even if I am twenty five now.

"Just give it a try, muñeca." Abuela sighs, raising another spoonful to her thin lips. I narrow my eyes at her as she lets out a happy humming sound as she takes in the spoonful.

"This feels a lot like torture." I huff, pressing my palms together and breathe against the chilled feel of my skin. I'm always weirdly cold in this reality, like I'm not completely here or alive. I flex my fingers and pop the knuckles, rolling my shoulders like I'm about to go a few rounds with a punching bag.

"Just relax, Fi. Let it come to you." Abuela instructs - as she has done for the last twenty-something times. I growl under my breath at the futility of her words. Without another word, I close my eyes and pull my legs up and into a cross-legged sitting position. I take a deep breath, focusing on the gentle sounds of the orchestral music floating through the air and try to 'let it come' to me.

Nothing happens. Tension begins building in my spine and the urge to move around makes my knees slowly begin to wobble...then jiggle. There's a light smack on my thigh and I open my eyes to glare at Abuela. She looks pointedly at my moving knees, a disapproving frown on her mouth.

"Ugh," I groan and let my knees drop out of the attempted 'concentration' pose. "I can't do it, Abuela." I try not to sound like a whiney toddler.

"No. You can. But you don't want it." She surmises from my words. Just as she has been able to do since I was a child. I huff, not bothering to argue with her - especially since she's right. I don't want it. Not any of it. I'm still adjusting to the idea that magic is real, trying to avoid thinking back to the nightmarish results from the night of the spike. I don't want to accidentally call those things back.

"How've you been?" I ask instead of answering her.

"Subtle, muñeca." Abuela notes and sets her spoon back into her bowl, turning to face me completely. "You want to know where I am now that I've moved on." She sums up my true intentions as easily as she'd pulled the spoon from the air.

"Well," I prompt her, raising my eyebrows as I wait for her usual hedged response.

"You know I can't tell you." She doesn't disappoint to provide the same excuse as always and I let out my normal disapproving hm. There's a long beat of silence when I half expect the dream to abruptly end - as it had always done before when I'd asked the same question. "There's an independent witch who could be a good option as an instructor for you. Their family name is Trix." Abuela says suddenly, giving a slight emphasis on the 'i' - turning the sound into 'ee' - to make it sound more professional and less ordinary. I still frown at her.

"Trix." I repeat, using that same pronunciation. Goosebumps crawls along my forearms and I fight the urge to shiver. Names have power. Abuela's echoing words murmur in the back of my head.

"The remaining independent has a mark against them for...lets say a previous incursion. But their magic isn't as tainted as the Alumno assume. They would make a suitable teacher for you." Not as tainted. That little bit sticks out in my head. I don't bother to point out that Abuela's suggested instructor for me seems to have tainted magic. I'm not sure I could claim to have spotless magic myself. It's not like I have a right to judge. I let out a humming sound instead as I consider her words and think it out.

"Fine." I finally agree with her words. I trust my abuela enough that I know she wouldn't mislead me or hurt me - even from beyond the grave. Abuela smiles at me, and just as abruptly as it used to, the world tumbles away from me.