The fire is in my blood, surging through my veins. I have to know if I’m right.
I don’t stop until I’m outside our building. I lean over, resting my hands on my knees, gulping air as I wait for my heart to slow.
Someone is crouching beside me. “Are you okay?”
Laurie’s face is scrunched up. It reminds me of the day when he was nine and his pet hamster got sick.
I nod, still trying to catch my breath.
“You see, I don’t really accept that answer,” he says. “You nearly broke the sound barrier getting out of our apartment.”
I straighten. “I just . . . figured something out.”
His brows lift.
“I’ll just be gone for a little while,” I say, starting to walk away. He grabs my arm.
“Uh-uh.” Laurie turns me to face him. “What’s up?”
“Seriously,” I say. “It’s okay.”
“You’re going back to that weirdo shop with bonus library crypt, aren’t you?” he says, frowning. “That lady didn’t do anything to help us.”
“I’m not,” I say. “This is something else.”
“But something related to our quest.” He folds his arms across his chest. “Because I don’t think you’re running to the store for milk. We’re out, by the way.”
I look at him for a moment. Part of me thinks this is a solitary quest. But I’m also terrified.
I decided to meet him halfway. “It’s my drawings.”
“What about them?” he asks.
“My art is all about people who are cursed . . . at least I think it is.”
His eyes widen. “Whoa. For real?”
“I’m pretty sure . . . but I need to go for a walk.”
“How is a walk going to help?” Laurie tilts his head at me.
“I need to look at people.” It sounds really dumb as I say it. But I know it’s true. I have to watch them . . . and see.
Laurie rolls his shoulders back. “Okay. Let’s go for a walk.”
“No,” I say. “I’m going. You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do,” he says. “I’m not letting you wander through magical Manhattan on your own. Spellseeker or not, you’re a novice. I don’t want any spelltraffickers abducting your naive-ass self for nefarious purposes.”
“I really don’t think there are spelltraffickers,” I say. But I wonder. There could be anything.
He sees the thought flicker over my face. “See. You know I’m right. Think of me as your non-magical wingman.”
“Fine,” I say, not wanting to sound as relieved as I feel that he’s coming along. “But if you distract me, I’ll send you packing.”
“The non-magical wingman will never distract our heroine!” He pauses and then sighs mournfully. “Oh, man.”
“What?” I’ve taken off down the sidewalk and Laurie keeps pace at my side.
“As non-magical wingman, I am doomed,” he says, though he’s grinning at me. “The superfluous sidekicks never make it to the end of the story.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I could make references to oodles of literary and film examples to prove you wrong, but you already know I’m right.”
“You aren’t doomed,” I say, walking faster, “because I’d die before I let anything happen to you.”
He looks at his feet because he knows it’s true.
“Let’s stop here,” I say. We’re in front of a bodega with a large awning. I pretend to peruse the cartons of fruit, but I’m watching the other customers.
“What do we do?”
I shush him, but when he gives me puppy eyes, I quail. “Fine. You buy something so we look legit and then just let me figure this out.”
Happy to have a task, Laurie gets serious with the fruit inspection, fussing over the ripeness of various bananas.
I take a deep breath and try to do again what I did with Millie. I concentrate while I let the world fall away. I can’t let the blaring horns on the street or the hardness of the pavement or even the breeze pull me back into the moment. My vision gets slightly blurred. And I go there.
I don’t know where it is. Even in the couple of times I’ve managed to do it, I’m not sure what it is. I’ve started to think about it as “the background.” It’s like the regular universe that I live in is still there, but I can see what’s going on behind the scenes. And behind the scenes is where the magic lives.
Despite the wavering quality of the scene before me, I worry it’s not working. I can’t feel or see anything different about the people around me. Then I notice the woman at the curb. At first I sense the energy around her. It’s choppy, like static. I draw another slow breath and try to withdraw even further into the background. That’s when the static takes shape. It hovers around her like the shadows I sketched, amorphous, always moving, full of a life of their own. Living spells. I can see particles falling around her like bits of straw. And it’s not good. I’m beginning to grasp the mechanics of controlling my ability to see curses. I don’t think I like it.
“Anything?”
Laurie’s voice snaps me back to the bodega.
“What did I say about interruptions?” I glare at him.
“Sorry.” He offers me an apple. “But if you stare off into space for too long, it’s gonna blow our cover.”
He’s probably right, and he did manage to find a Granny Smith that looks perfect. I take a bite, enjoying its tartness.
“So what’s the deal?” he asks, looking around as if expecting evidence of the new, magical me to be lying around.
“That lady.” I nod in her direction. Laurie cranes his head to look at her. She’s trying to hail a cab. She’s been trying to hail a cab for half an hour. I know this, though I’ve only been watching her for five minutes. “She can’t get a cab,” I say, chewing thoughtfully on the apple chunk.
“Sometimes it takes a while,” Laurie says.
I smile because as weird as it is, it’s still kind of funny. “No. I mean she can’t get a cab. She’s cursed.”
Laurie snorts. “Cursed to not get a cab.”
“I know it doesn’t really make sense.” I shrug. “But that’s the curse.”