“Jacinta! Jacinta!” Hands and fingers wound around her shoulders; a face above hers. Sloped nose, dark eyes, thick brows. A swoop of raven-black hair. Flutter of magic and wings and an angry hiss in Farsi.
“I’m up! Fuck, f—fuck, what—” Jacinta’s hands flew over herself, digging beneath fabric, feeling her body. She was grown. Herself. Her body, her limbs, her head—even and strong enough to hold up and be fine and—
She was okay.
Jacinta coughed, feeling bile along her throat, bitter brimstone and sulfur. She scowled, swiped the back of her hand along her lips, wiping off foamy saliva. Ew.
“You were having a seizure.”
Jacinta winced. “Shit. I’m so sorry, Banu; I…thank you for waking me up. Fuck, I think—I mean, I needed to see—she’s so fucking scared…”
“Alright, you tell me what and why you just drove yourself into a seizure.” Banu raised a brow, humming. Jacinta winced and nodded, moving to stand—Banu helped pull her up—but Jacinta’s limbs weren’t moving properly. She stumbled backward, joints locking; Banu was careful, helping her slip into a chair. Jacinta mumbled a few times before stopping, holding up an index finger, drinking some cold water, and starting again.
“Olivia was taken. I—I don’t know how.” Jacinta explained it as best as she could; she avoided the details on Silas working with SEE, and just said he was a…friend instead. With the pause. And she blurted out about her grandmother’s death, and swallowed, leaned back, swallowed her sob.
Banu recognized that there were gaps, but she said nothing. She just strode forward and squeezed Jacinta, wrapping her shimmery wings around her. It was impossibly warm and comforting—Jacinta briefly saw herself in a calm brook, serene, soft piano in her ears, and—magic. Good magic, to help calm her down. Banu held, released—her hands lingered on Jacinta’s for a moment, supportively.
“I’m so sorry, Jaci. Not her too—your sister’s the sweetest…is there anything I can do? I made some tahdig, if you need f—”
“I’m good.” Jacinta smiled, averting her gaze, slipping out from Banu’s hold. She wiped her clammy hands on her pants. “You do great wards over the apartment…if you can just strengthen them for a little, that’d be perfect. Just until everything boils down.”
“Oh yeah, the whole giant-rat-thing’s not making anyone feel at-ease…” Banu rolled her eyes. “I personally find them adorable…if they wouldn’t want to eat my face. But look—whoever did that to your sister…they’ll be found. You’ll get justice. And Olivia, she’s so strong, just like you—she’ll hold on as long as needed. Did you…scry?” Banu eyed the mirror on the floor. Jacinta followed her gaze. The glass was cracked. Shit…
“Yeah. I did. I saw something—she’s in another dimension. As a fucking baby. I—I’m glad she at least has a caretaker, but it’s so fucking weird…”
Jacinta’s breathing worsened. The seizure was bad enough—sometimes divination magic brought those on; just an unfortunate side-effect—but her bad lungs were making it harder. She coughed, scowled, hand against her chest. Her inhaler was back in her room. Did she take her meds? Yes. She blinked, opened her mouth, inhaling, exhaling.
“Some people with stolen magic are dragging supernaturals into…another realm. For reasons.” She explained as many details as she knew, keeping SEE out of it.
“My god…I guess you’ve just answered the multiverse question. Pardon me while I suffer from some deep existential dread alone.” Banu laughed, trying to be supportive; Jacinta cracked a smile, but she wasn’t—couldn’t—be cheery.
She needed to see more.
“You happen to do divination magic?”
Banu shook her head. “I use my magic like a MouseCorp Princess: befriend animals, turn into city doves, sing enchantingly, look extra-gorgeous (but still maintain my own agency outside of romantic relationships), and protect myself and my friends from assholes. Not in that order. But I don’t delve into that type, sorry. I’ll keep my own seizures to a minimum.”
Jacinta’s lip quirked. City doves were pigeons. Banu was committed to nature, the protection of Earth…and was basically a MouseCorp Princess in her own right. She stared for a moment, cursed internally, glanced down at the Atlas.
“Well…thanks for waking me up. But you broke up the vision. But! I—I got what I needed, though.” She quickly corrected herself, not wanting to have Banu regret waking her up. “Thanks for shaking me out of it. I…uh—yeah.”
Ivy strode out of her room, elegant and slow. Her locs were nearly down to the floor, fully rooted and slender, woven in with vines, different plants, and gems. A few butterflies flitted around her head. She looked like a nature goddess; she had an Odessa Calla Lily in her ear, green stem looped around it. Her skin matched the flower’s dark, purplish-reddish tone; her dark eyes were flecked with gold.
“Hey.” She said simply, staring at the space between them both for a moment. Her voice was airy, distant. “Nice job with the…mirror. I have…something for seizures…”
Ivy spoke only in incompletions—Jacinta always expected her to say more, add to her sentences. It wasn’t the wording, but the tone, the even spacing and monotone—but no. She ended without warning. Jacinta took too long to respond and smiled awkwardly, nodding. “Uh, thanks…? But no thanks. I—bad lungs. Yeah.”
The elemental spirit nodded and exited the apartment, bag in-hand.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
Jacinta blinked, then stood—wobbly, but fine—and grabbed the mirror and Atlas, setting it back onto her ear.
Atlas reattached.
Spell Success:
Scrying (on personal object, mirror).
Previously practiced through crystals.
Mana reduced 20%.
Current Mana: 64/80.
Status condition: nausea; former seizure.
-5% closer to Adept class in Divination magic.
-92% remaining until Adept—currently Apprentice class in Divination magic.
She blinked away the notifications and sank back on their common area’s couch, rubbing her eyes. How did she get out of her room? She must’ve…sleepwalked? Seizure-walked? Before she’d had the seizure, she must’ve moved, then…
Banu was still watching her. Jacinta cleared her throat, remembering she wasn’t alone. She was off-kilter, the world spun sideways, it felt like—her anchors, her last family members, were ripped from the ground and flung to the sky. She sank forward, holding the mirror, eyeing her shattered reflection. At least. The sections of glass remained glued to the plastic; at least they didn't fall out.
“Uh—do you know anyone who can help me out? A psychic or mystic…?” Jacinta asked, leaning forward again. She pulled her phone from her pocket, ready to take notes.
“In an Underland, yeah.” Banu raised a brow.
Jacinta knew what that meant—a distinguished space within a passage portal. Space outside space. She’d need to dip into the underworld she was so scared of; she’d already skated death once. Her sister, not so lucky.
So she’d go. For her. Just for now, then…out.
She wouldn’t mourn. Olivia was alive. Jacinta wouldn’t mourn. She promised herself it, repeated it, as she stared at the flickering line of the cursor. Mourning wasn't meant to be felt alone, so she wouldn't mourn.
Banu gave Jacinta the details, what she recalled of the woman’s store. Jacinta thanked her, hugged her in thanks. “You’re a good friend. And roommate. And the tahdig, it smells delicious.” Rich, like saffron, paired with toasted rice and . “I’m not hungry now…but…I’ll take you offer on it later.” Hugging Banu was like taking a hit of Fairy Dust—only not dangerous and addictive. Jacinta’s body buzzed.
She returned to her room, readied everything for sleep, and sat, face-up, eyeing the ceiling. The plastic blinds rattled above her window air conditioner; slats of city lights peeped through. She just sat and stared; the gray popcorn ceiling lit, faded, lit. The plastic blinds jangled. She twisted her head to the side, eyeing her room. A disorganized, but not messy collection of trinkets, materials, and books, as well as general stacks of papers she’d collected, set atop shelves and small tables, a few alejibres scattered around. She had a makeshift, lean ofrenda, photos of her deceased family—her mother, her grandpa—on it, surrounded with plastic flowers, a bottle of water, a bag of snacks, candles, and other items, of course including the colorful papel picado that Olivia made for her. Her closet was off to the side, sewing machine tucked in the corner. She had photos, old frames, and a few paintings she’d ‘commissioned’ by Olivia; otherwise, the walls were bare. Jacinta’s room got busier the closer it was to the floor—she had collected much of the past, but had little of her recent self. She just had books, papers—things to do, to read, to learn. But it was hers.
Thankfully the roommates allowed Oregon’s litter to be in their shared bathroom. Jacinta kept it clean, so it wasn’t an issue.
Olivia. Olivia. Olivia.
Being trapped as a baby, helpless and stupid, was a certain kind of hell that Jacinta wouldn’t want to experience. She shuddered, pulled the sheets over herself. Would she forget everything? A reversion to that mental capacity, that being—babies didn’t hold their earliest memories. Jacinta couldn’t really remember anything before when she was…what, seven? Five, maybe?
Every second was a second there, lost. A section of Olivia, chipped at. She’d need to ask Silas. Was he mostly the Silas of this world, Earth, or was he mostly now the Silas of his latest ‘rebirth?’ A person’s selfhood was just as dependent on their upbringing as it was on their biology—maybe even less so, the latter. Nature versus nurture. Jacinta thought nature was the biggest thing—a good upbringing was…everything.
But Olivia had a good home there, in the meantime. Or the illusion of one.
Or it wasn’t real at all, and Jacinta was fooling herself.
Or—
Oregon padded onto her chest and flopped down—she didn’t mind the nine pounds on her stomach, though it wasn’t great on her lungs.
“Doña can help.” Jacinta said aloud. “When Gore’s out of his Atlas space…we’ll do a séance. Or, Doña, if you’re listening…I can really use your help here. Olivia’s missing. I…don’t know how the whole ‘dead spirit family’ thing works, honestly…uh—” was she supposed to pray? She genuflected, just in case. “But a message or sign would be nice. Shit—the ofrenda—”
She stared at it for a moment. A rectangle of light was on the photo of her mother. Huh…
Jacinta stared up, hoping to parse Doña Francesca’s face from the popcorn…but the ceiling remained still.
“I promise I’ll get to the ofrenda when I have the chance.” She didn’t have a printer in her apartment, and Olivia took all of the visual artistic skill in her family. “I totally haven’t forgotten. Nope. Not at all. Promise. And thanks for the tamales. I had them for breakfast—delicious.”
She waited for a sign. Something. Anything.
But not even a compliment on her food worked, at least immediately. Jacinta exhaled, stared at the ceiling, imagining each bump of stucco as a universe in an endless wall of them, stretching out in all directions. God.
The existential dread sank into her bones. Another shudder, deeper. She tried to think of something else, anything else, but was then reminded of Olivia in a cradle, caged by wooden bars, or—perhaps her own self as a baby, or a seed in Verdance, or the endless selves she was being reborn as each second, millisecond, microsecond, nanosecond, beyond. Jacinta was an endless multiverse of other selves.
But she was the one Jacinta here. Here, living, breathing—with a sister who needed saving and a mess of an existence that was only worsening by the day, the second, the moment.
She grabbed her phone and watched stupid videos and memes in the meantime, staring at the blisteringly bright screen, before she eventually fell asleep, reimagining the images and experiences caught in shattered glass, refracted and twisted and repeated and again, again, again.