Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Driving to Misty's store gave me an unexpected sense of calm. I had expected to be the most nervous I'd ever felt, but going past the warm amber street lights—even hitting more red stop lights than was ideal—I was just...calm. 

It may have been because this was my intended path in life, and I was finally on the right track. But shouldn't I have been nervous? 

Deciding not to look a gift horse in the eye, I continued to take it in stride.

I pulled up to her store. The lights were still on, but the sign out front read closed. 

I gave the horn a beep and resisted putting on some loud blaring music and leaning out the window to yell something cheesy from an eighties movie like, Hey Misty, let's blow this joint!

After a moment, she left the store, yawning as she locked it manually, like an Unchosen—or so it appeared.

She slipped the key into her leather jacket, adjusting it over her frilly black dress, readjusting the white collar to make it lay flat under the jacket.

I leaned over to open the passenger door for her, and she lifted her dress slightly, so it wouldn’t stretch over her legs when she got in. I resisted looking too long at how it slid down her thighs until she pulled the fabric back over her knees.

"Magic key?" I asked, avoiding the subject of my gaze she was bound to bring up.

"Magic key," she replied bluntly, yawning again.

"I've got something for that," I said and handed her one of the flasks of coffee I had prepared.

I saw something akin to happiness on her black lips before she glanced at me and straightened them to her trademark scowl. Then she took the coffee in both hands and sighed from its warmth. Was I actually about to receive some gratitude from her? 

To be fair, she was the one doing me a favor.

I released the handbrake and drove off down the street.

"So, where are we heading?" I asked, slowing to let some kids pass.

"Any direction out of town," she replied. "We're looking for somewhere secretive, where we won't be bothered."

"Why not at your store?"

"You need a new sight, fresh for your senses. You're too used to my place, so your mind is dulled to it."

"I don't think I'm used to your place at all. Far from it."

She took a sip of coffee. "Your brain will feel it, even if you haven't. The new place will help your mind associate it with training. It will help all around. Also, we'll have to move to a new place if things get dangerous, so we may as well do it now."

"You think I'll get that powerful?"

She took another sip. "I said, if."

More silence. 

I had turned the radio off when I showed up, and I regretted not having turned it back on, so I did, and Black Sabbath began blaring.

"What is this crap?" she asked.

"Really?" I risked shooting her a look while driving. "You don't know this band?"

She shrugged. "It's not so bad, I suppose."

Heh, I wonder what that reaction signifies. Or maybe it was just an honest reaction.

The rows of houses began thinning, and long stretches of grass replaced them until, eventually, we were met by wide swaths of dark green, broken up by some farmland and barnyards, becoming harder to spot in the darkening evening sky. The smell of the countryside began to fill the air. Fresh air, even inside the car.

"So, what's the deal with magical objects?" I asked. "Keys? I saw a guy throw a net before. Or was that magic of the order?"

"It’s a whole separate thing," she said. "Having magic gives you the potential to manipulate magic matter, new elements, and such."

"Potential?"

"Well, most of us don’t create the stuff. We just use it."

"That’s crazy. How can you have the potential and not use it?

She let out a distasteful sigh. "You guys have your scientists. Does that mean you can do science? Are you a mathematician because math exists?"

"Oh, right."

"Anyone can use the objects," she explained again, as if I didn’t understand that by now.

"Even Unchosen," I responded. "Sell a lot of those bananas, then?"

"Those bananas pay my rent," she replied.

I laughed, then the rocking guitar riffs filled the silence. 

I wondered if I could do something to put her in a better mood. Although I would really have to be a magician to do that. Also, by all accounts, this was her version of giddy. 

Still, the silence wasn’t all that comfortable.

"You know," I said, "I was thinking there was something else I could do to pay for this training."

"We'll have to see if it works first."

I ignored that and said, "Your website."

"What about it?" she asked coldly, taking another sip of coffee.

"Well, It's a little- How do I put this? Vintage?"

"Vintage is cool."

I laughed. "No, I didn't mean like that. It can still be vintage stylistically, but it's hella outdated, to the point that anyone going on your website will have a hard time giving you money. It's so difficult to navigate. They might even think the store doesn’t exist anymore because you never bothered to update your website to modern standards."

"You know a lot about this kind of thing?"

"I..." 

I was about to say, I just look this stuff up online, but I guessed being able to recognize the problem was a skill in itself, even if I took it for granted. 

I didn't mention that I knew nothing about coding. I knew there were websites you could go on to make your own website, better than I could've done trying to put Myspace-profile style coding together.

Was she even old enough to remember Myspace? I dared not ask. 

I risked a stare at her. Beneath the tiredness in her eyes, there was a youthfulness to her. I guessed perhaps twenty-one, twenty-two. Based on her edgelord angst. Or rather, edgelady? She was like a real-life Aubrey Plaza character.

"Here," she said, pointing to a dark square in the distance.

With no more explanation than that, I decided to trust her freaky eyes, and we left the main road to drive down a long winding one. Thankfully, it still wasn't dirt.

When we did reach a curving dirt path, we found a gate—old, rusted, and locked for what must've been decades.

When we were out of the car and the doors were locked, she stretched her arms and looked wistfully at the coffee left in the car, but she didn’t ask me to get it. No, she dare never ask me for anything.

"Can you break down that lock?" I asked about the gate.

"I can do better," she said and climbed over.

I laughed and did the same, then we walked down the dark dirt path, with old yellowed crops on either side.

"You can fix my website," she said as she pulled her long ebony hair back and affixed it into a ponytail. 

It wasn't exactly a demand, but it wasn't a question either.

So, while Misty was going to teach me magic, I would be her tech support. As far as I saw it, it was quite a one-sided trade in my favor. 

She probably felt the same going her way.

Good, we can use each other. That's fine by me.

Now her hair was tied back, a long curtain of black hair remained, covering one of her eyes. The eye visible was now dark, yet reflected sparks of silver from the newly emerging moon, like a star in her eyes.

I really need to ask what’s up with them.

But later.

We finally approached a run down barn with another typical rusted lock on the doors.

"We'll do it outside to start with," she said. 

"I'm ready." Nerves filled my stomach. The dusty ground felt uneven beneath my feet.

"Are you sure you're ready for what's about to come?" she asked. "Once we start, there's no going back. The world as you know it will never be the same again."

"That's not funny," I said darkly.

"Mr. Anderson."

"Shut up, Misty."

She scoffed.

And then I said, "There is no banana."

That earned a laugh from her. "Enough fucking about," she said. "Go stand there."

She pointed a black-nailed finger inside the field. I did dutifully as I was told, the long wheat tickling my legs.

She came to stand on the edge and said, "Magic is a sixth sense—Yes, Bruce Willis style. To get in touch with it, you must first meet the other five. So, tell me what you see. Take it in like you've never seen before."

I took a deep breath and looked out to the endless swaths of wheat, then green beyond it, leading to a bushy green horizon of trees and a bright moon making its way to the top of the sky. The sun had newly set. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

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I expressed this as such.

"That's pretty poetic, pal. Close your eyes. What do you hear?" Match it with the sight, and make it become one."

"Buzzing crickets and insects flying," I said, "between the reeds of wheat, and the grass."

"What else?"

"The insects fly through fresh air. The crickets jump and both their buzzes mix with the wind. I smell the cold of it and the distant cowpats."

"Good. What else do you hear?" 

"The light rush of wind. Gently tickling the grass, rustling the leaves." 

"Hmm." 

"What?" I frowned.

"What do you feel? Bring it together."

I put my hand to the wheat and touched the edges. "The cold brush of air, the tickling of wheat. The cold stare of a goth, burning into the back of my head."

"Be serious."

"I am."

The sound of bristling wheat stems told me she was climbing through towards me, as did her yelp as perhaps something sharp bit at her on the ankle.

She came to stand before me. 

My eyes were still closed.

"What do you taste?" she asked.

"Coffee beans, lingering on my tongue."

"Is that all?"

"Was there supposed to be something else?"

I was starting to doubt Misty's methods. However, there was never any indication that she would be a good teacher.

"No apple for you," I murmured. 

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What you saw," she said, ignoring me, "what you heard, what you touched, smelled, tasted, felt; roll it together as if it were an orb."

I did as such, trying to roll it in an orb, finding the sensation actually quite tactile in my body, like it was happening in the back of my chest.

"Roll it, sphere it, turn it in your mind, the entire concept. Make it real, tangible. Feel it spinning down your body, past your chest, growing ever slightly as it goes, glowing, going warm, tasting on your tongue the power, hearing its sounds."

It had a…warm electric smell, not unlike her shop. The taste, like pennies coated with something I couldn't explain. It was warm inside me, like I had just drunk coffee, and it gave off a faint humming. 

Miraculously, as if commanded by her voice, the orb did everything she said.

Was it really going to be this easy? Don't think that. You'll ruin it.

"Hold out your hand, palm to the sky," she said.

I did so and found my hand shaking.

"Where is the orb?" she asked.

"In-in my chest," my voice shook. All I could see was blackness—blackness and the orb.

"Lower," she said.

It traveled at her command, though it was my will also, going further past my navel. 

It reminded me of when she threw the laptop on my junk. Now, I felt a flicker of warmth akin to pleasure. It tickled, stroking inside myself. 

I pulled the orb back up, finding that inappropriate. 

"Don’t do that," Misty said. "You won’t get many chances to do this, don’t spend them on your dick. I mean it, pal, even when you get home—unless you want your dick to be your wand and everyone to know about what you did in your special private time." 

I winced. Misty knew it would happen and read my expression.

"It’s like painting," she continued as if she had never said the last words, "the orb travels and leaves its mark where it goes. Now, your whole top half should feel full. Bring the orb up to your shoulder, slowly now."

I nodded, lip trembling as it pulled up to my shoulder and then began traveling down my arm, of the outstretched hand, before she had even told me to. She didn't need to ask me to.

"Now, it should be at your elbow. Slide it to your hand, bring the orb to your palm, and when it's there, open your eyes."

Like a ball in my hand, the orb stayed in the middle of my palm. 

I opened my eyes to see Misty staring intently at my hand. She wiped the curtain of black hair behind her ear to expose all of her face, and god, she was beautiful. I couldn’t help thinking it. 

"You know what to do," she said. "You always knew. It was always in you. Now do it."

I stared at my palm, nothing happening, my fingers shaking as they cradled the nothingness.

The orb was fading, becoming smaller, fainter, the humming quietening. "It's..."

"Do it."

She sounded like Palpatine. I tried to put that image in the back of my mind. Why did she have to say it so venomously?

"Do it, please," she said again, this time softer, sweeter—sweeter than I had ever heard her voice. 

In the middle of my shaking hand, like a single strand of string, a spark darted out from my palm with a definitively feeble zap, never to return, akin to a failed middle school science project. 

The orb inside me disappeared, and I was suddenly empty, like I didn't even have bones. My legs shook, struggling to keep up my weight, and searing tiredness overcame me.

I blinked and stepped back, finding the exhaustion crashing over me, and I began to pass out where I stood.

"Wake up!" Misty gave me a shove.

It brought me back. Luckily, I had bones again and could stand, but barely. Her hands were on my arms, trying to hold me up, but though she acted tough, she was smaller than I, only coming up to my shoulders. 

"Can you drive?" I asked her, stifling a yawn.

"No. You'll be okay in an hour. Just go have a nap in your car. It's not real tiredness. You won't need a full rest."

"It feels pretty real to me."

"Buddy," she said, putting her hands on her hips, "I thought you'd be happier. Your dreams have come true."

I noticed a red graze on her calf, just above her filthy Converse.

"Yeah, it's pretty amazing. Was that chaos magic?"

"Mmhmm. You're a chaos mage."

"Just like I always wanted." My heart was beating slowly, and I yawned again. "That took so much out of me," I said as I stumbled towards the locked gate. "I take it we won't be trying that again."

"I don't feel like carrying you, so no."

We walked in silence, my eyes barely able to keep open. 

Finally, we got to the fence, and I managed to pull myself over with a whole heap of effort. I dug into my pocket for the keys to my car, beeping it unlocked. I fell into the driver's seat and crashed, finding the tiredness overwhelming.

She got in the passenger seat, pulling the door closed.

"So, is it still baby magic?" I asked, closing my eyes.

"Nah, buddy. I’d say it’s child magic now."

"That’s progress."

"It is."

And just before my nap took over, I said, "Hey, why do you keep calling me buddy?"

"You never told me your name."

Oh.

"You never asked," I replied. "It’s Pete, by the way."

"Okay, Pete. You can just call me Misty."

"That’s not your name?"

"No, but it’s badass alliteration."

Misty’s Magical Menagerie.

"Yeah, it is pretty badass," I admitted, beginning to fade out.

She took a sip of coffee, and said, "So very badass."

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