Page 2 of Her Dreadful Will
“Yeah.” He ambled down the steps of his house and approached her. “I’ll be over to trim your grass this afternoon.”
Landon was one of her newer contacts, so Soleil paused for a second, checking in with the tenor of his will. Just three weeks ago he’d been addicted to his younger brother’s ADD medication. After a couple of encounters with Soleil and her magic, he was clean, and working hard at two summer jobs.
Face to face, Soleil could sense a person’s volisphere, the cast of their will and motivations, once she came within a dozen feet or so. For some, the sphere was wide and weak, far-flung and searching for someone to secure it, to take charge. In others, the will was tightly wound, a solid little circle with a radius no longer than an arm’s length.
Landon’s will formed a loose circle, discernible from about ten feet away. The mind-flex magic Soleil had implemented was still in place, boosting his confidence, subduing his self-doubt and anxiety.
“Thank you, Landon,” she said. “Not too close a cut, please. I like my grass a bit longer.”
“Sure thing.” He gave her a two-fingered salute.
Some witches might have chosen to control the length and lushness of their lawn with magic alone; but Soleil couldn’t spare the resources for that. She needed every spare bit of her magical energy—her radiance—to exercise her unique gift.
Mind-flex magic, the most rare and divisive of powers.
She hadn’t even known what to call it until her sophomore year in college, when she was discovered by another witch and recruited for the Institute of Magic. When she joined the online school, some of the professors had refused to teach her. Others seemed to admire or envy her gift; but none of them had advised what she shoulddowith it. No matter, because Soleil had formulated a plan on her own, and had gleaned what she needed to make it work. Side benefit—going to business classes by day and attending a secret online institute by night had prepared her for the double life she led now.
Soleil quickened her pace, waving to another neighbor driving past on his way to work. There were some things magic couldn’t achieve, and opening her thrift shop on time was one of them. Besides, she needed a few extra minutes to check the donation box for new inventory. If she hurried, she’d have just enough time to grab a danish at Sugar Crush first.
When she swung through the frosted pink door into the bakery, she saw three people in line and groaned inwardly. It took all her self-control not to magic her way to the front of the line. It would be so easy. Just a flick of her power, and the woman ahead of her would quit craving donuts, while another customer would suddenly be compelled to hurry off to work without his coffee.
No, Soleil told herself sternly.Only unselfish good. Only unselfish good.
Those three words had become her mantra, and they formed the core of her thesis—that mind-flex magic wasn’t intrinsically wrong, that it could be used purely for the good of others. Highwitch Erlich, her mentor at the Institute, had been intrigued by her thesis proposal—to spend one full year in a town, using her mind-flex ability solely for the good of its inhabitants, and not for her own benefit.
To prove her thesis, she would have to amass thorough documentation, pass an in-person review, and write a convincing paper for the Institute Levels Board. If successful, she’d be granted the title of Highwitch.
Soleil Marie-Claude Epinette, Highwitch of the Eldritch Convocation of Magic.
She repeated the title over and over as she tapped her toe, waiting for her turn. The older man was taking insufferably long with his coffee order. He kept changing his mind. If only she could make it up for him—
But the Highwitches would know if she broke her own rules. Soleil had taken a magical vow, bound to the wire-thin ring on her left pinkie finger. If she strayed into selfish performances of magic, the ring would react—she wasn’t sure how—and there would be consequences. Failure. Disqualification. The death of her dream.
“Miss Epinette?” A voice behind her made Soleil jump.
“Sorry I startled you,” said the man. A smile creased his leathery face.
“Mr. Harmon! No problem, I was just deep in thought. How are you?”
“Fine, fine. Just wanted to say how much Ellie appreciated the lemongrass plant you brought over. She already planted it. Says she’s gonna use the leaves for some kinda health tea.”
“That sounds lovely.” Soleil’s fingers drifted to the chain around her neck. Dangling from it, locked into a pair of clasping silver hands, was Ellie Harmon’s hyacle—a darkly swirled marble with a crimson slash through the center and a sprinkling of snowy dots along one side. To anyone else it looked like a pretty stone, polished into a pendant, but in reality it was a powerful magical tether.
In a human’s presence, within the radius of their volisphere, Soleil could use her innate gift to tune their will; but the only way to influence someone from a distance was through a magical tether. When she was at home, Soleil monitored her contacts using their individual hyacles, each one painstakingly crafted according to Highwitch Erlich’s recipe. Focused thoughts and targeted pressure on a hyacle’s glossy surface created a link to the person’s consciousness.
Soleil had taken to carrying Ellie Harmon’s hyacle around lately. Ellie’s addiction wasn’t a recent thing, like Landon’s—it was alcoholism steeped in years of habit, deepened by the loss of her first child, with the ache of her father’s abuse at its core. Soleil checked in on Ellie frequently, muffling the old melancholy tune with its harsh note of craving, amplifying the brighter, sweeter impulses.
“Next!” snapped the cashier, and Soleil realized she’d been staring vacantly, touching the hyacle. She had almost slipped into the mental ether and lost herself in Ellie’s consciousness. And that was something she must never do in public.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, with an apologetic nod to Mr. Harmon and a smile at the cashier. “I obviously haven’t drunk enough coffee yet.”
The cashier’s face relaxed, and he took her order with a pleasant smile. Soleil had found coffee to be a nearly universal language, an excuse for all sorts of odd moments she might have. Did she accidentally enter a recovery trance in a class full of human college students?Not enoughcoffee. Did she do something borderline extraordinary, something alarming to normal humans? Well, she had obviously hadtoo muchcoffee.
She collected her strawberry danish and walked out of Sugar Crush, waving to Mr. Harmon on the way.
“Bless you, coffee,” she whispered, lifting her thermos to her lips. “You save me every time.”
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