Page 27 of A Winding Wave of Magic
“No, no, I’m good. Thank you for the dance. And the drink.” I was already turning toward the door, pushing through the swollen crowd and mentally reciting “Ode to a Nightingale” to keep as many unwanted thoughts out of my head. But as I elbowed my way through, more and more thoughts pummeled through my layers and meager mental defenses.
Watch it!
Who does she think she is?
Fucking bitch!
Thoughts jabbed again and again until finally, I landed outside in the cool night air.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes in relief.Peace.
Until everything began to spin.
This time it was even worse than the episode outside Gasson. Voice, images, and languages shot up through my boots, and when I reached out to steady myself against the brick wall, more memories rushed in, drowning out the actual sights around me. I couldn’t see the cars driving up and down the street. I couldn’t even see the streetlights marketing the corners or the outlines of buildings, much less people walking up and down the busy sidewalk.
I couldn’t even hear my own scream.
Water. I needed water. My lungs felt parched, and the world was spinning, but thankfully, I knew this neighborhood better than I knew most places in the world.
Three short blocks across the little peninsula at this southeast corner of Portland, and I’d reach the bluff trail I’d run so many times during college that I could manage it in my sleep. Through the tunnel under the train tracks, then weave my way through the alders and maple grove where coyotes and deer still congregated, even in the city.
And there it was, the Willamette River. Thick and dark with algae that tended to bloom in the summer heat, it was hardly a fount of clarity.
But even that was better than these visions that threatened to claim me.
Seconds later, I was in the water, scaring a pair of mallards sleeping in the rushes lining the bank.
The visions weren’t as bad as before—but my mind was still spinning, aching like it hadn’t. Everything seemed hypersensitive, the water pricking at my spirit.
Mentally, I sang the prayer I’d been taught.
Touch the water. Breathe the air. Feel the earth. Light the fire. Hear the silence.
I repeated the mantra to myself, hoping it would take root like Gran had always said it would.
Gran. Who was gone.Goddess, that hurt.
Touch the water, I willed myself, even as it surrounded me.Let it in.
Finally, the essence pooled through my being, washing away the visions and leaving me with just myself.
Ah, sweet silence,I hummed as I flattened myself on the surface, floating face down and giving myself up to the chill.Brigid,thank you.
Reina wouldn’t be particularly grateful when I tracked river mud into her living room later, but it was worth the silence. Calm and clarity pooled in the center of my mind, banishing the visions that somehow still haunted. The noise receded.
Even when grief struck through my heart all over again.
A voice shouted above the water’s edge. And then, something strange happened.
Something solidified under my body, as if my chest were touching the river’s floor even though I was floating like a dead man on its surface.
I scrambled, but the riverwrappedaround me like a hand making a fist. I kicked against it, but its grip only tightened as it lifted me clear off the surface, then crested in a wave that brought me back to the back and released only when my feet were firmly on muddy ground.
Then, something grabbed me by the waist.
“No!” I cried, trying to turn and beat off whoever was there.
“Hush, Cassandra. It’s me.”
