Twisted Magic (Book 2 of the Ink Series)

Empathy for none

I stared at the ceiling. The many cracks stared right back. Cracks were flaws. We all were proud owners of flaws. Some of us were just better at showing them. Others tried to hide them.

I couldn't forget the kiss I saw between Slade and Audrey. And even though I thought I was finished feeling bad about Slade's action. The kiss opened up my old wound, and there I sat bleeding out.

A gnawing anger nipped at my conscience. I never wanted Audrey to win Slade over. I never imagined it would be so easy. Was I replaceable? Was I forgettable?

I curled up in a tight ball and let the tears escape. Warm trickles slid down my skin wetting my pillowcase. I groaned, wiping them away with my fingertips.

How was I upset? Why did I care when everything told me to steer clear of Slade? Nevertheless, like every girl before me, I was drawn to his bad-boy ways.

Now I was in bed sobbing like a loser over a guy who shoved his tongue down another girl's throat when I was there to see it. If that didn't spell out the truth, I didn't know what would.

I sat up, my heart pounding out a stubborn beat in my chest. Now I was angry.

I flipped page after page in the book Hutch gave me, and hour after hour, I poured every ounce of belief into every single word I read. I believed them like I believed in disappointment. I read over each spell until I could recite it without a glance in the book's direction.

I closed off the world and sat in my bedroom teaching myself everything I could learn. Things I didn't know anything about, things I never wanted to know anything about.

I read until my brain hurt, until my muscles ached from the position I sat on the floor.

I read until I was angry all over again, and I read some more until I accepted Slade's choice.

I dropped the book in my lap and shut it, letting out an exhausted sigh. It was four in the morning. I raised my arms above my head getting in a good stretch.

"Now what?" I said. I stood, my legs stiff and rigid from the Indian style position I forced them to endure hours on end.

I raked a hand through my untidy hair and shoved my feet into my shoes. I took off out of my bedroom, passing through the dark hallway and slipped out the door and hurried down the steps.

The only light was from the moon. I ran across the deserted beach toward the hiss of the ocean. I breathed in the salty air. The wind slipped past my face. It was calming and gentle.

I took a seat in the damp sand, the cool wetness nipped at my shorts, and I didn't care. I pulled out the only candle in my room and set it before me in the sand.

By the moon and the light

Through the trees

Through the night

I ask for the strength

I ask for the might

Build me up

And tear her down

Grant me the power

Grant me the power

Grant me the power

To take her down

The candle's flame glowed bright. I repeated the verse, each time the flame roared to life taller and taller, changing from orange to blue to violet. I opened my eyes and waved a hand over the candle. The flame died out, leaving a faint gray smoke wafting away.