Psychic

“What? Are you telling me Scarface might be my dad? You know, the guy who’s been basically trying to find me so he can make sure I don’t reach sixteen (which means murdering me in cold blood) so I don’t complete some prophecy spoken through the ramblings of a madwoman? Are we talking about that guy?”

“Liv-“

“The guy who most definitely might be trying to kill me because I just might destroy this stupid community that I just now learned even existed? If he hadn’t come looking for me, I would never have even known all of this shit in the first place! He’d kill someone who might be his daughter just so he can protect his leadership in that place? I mean, who is that self-centered?”

“Liv!” he yelled, stopping my rampage of questions and assumtions.

“What?”

He took a breath and looked me in the eyes. “Liv, it could just be a coincidence. I mean, what are the chances? People have the same name all the time. I mean, our history class alone has four Samantha’s.”

I lifted my eyebrows and starred him down. “Have you ever read a book? Or seen a movie?” His stare was blank, meaning either he thought I was overreacting or he actually hadn’t seen that many pop culture movies and books. “Whenever there is situation like this, people always turn out to be related.” I lifted up my fingers and started to count off references, “Star Wars, Harry Potter, Percy Jackson, the Lunar Chronicles, the Lion King-“

“Okay, okay. I get it.” Magnus jumps in, stopping my list. “But this isn’t some story, this is real life. And, in real life, things like this are normally just that, coincidences. I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. Besides, if your parents did hide you from Hawthorne, they probably would’ve changed your name to protect your identity, meaning Olivia was probably not your birth name. I only freaked out a bit that first day because of the coincidence.”

I nodded, but mostly for his benefit. If I was his daughter, it would make a ton of sense. Why else would he start searching harder for the next psychic instead of his own daughter, unless they were the same person?

But if I was his daughter, why would he still be after me? Why would he still be trying to kill me? Wasn’t family supposed to mean something? Even to maniacs?

I mentally shook those thoughts out of my head. As of now, Magnus still had a lot of explaining to do about everything.

“Okay, besides that whole issue, you still have some explaining to do.” I voiced my thoughts. “So, if you are . . . a Warlock, doesn’t that mean that there are, like, a lot more of you out there? Do you guys go to a special school like in Harry Potter or something?”

He laughed. “No, not really. My family is a long line of successful Warlocks, names you wouldn’t know, but who quite possibly changed the course of mundane history. Ever since I got my amulet, I was treated differently. I might not have known what my amulet meant, but they all sure did. My parents expected me to be even more perfect than my brother, who was the top student in our training school. I got out early due to the fact that my ‘talents’ would help the better good of The Counselor. My brother and I got assigned as soon as we were done with training, except his was more of a permanent station to guard Hawthorne while mine was to be shipped off to wherever the next tip came from and confirm whether or not the psychic was there. At the time I thought I was just hunting some random fugitive.

“A couple times I refused. And a couple times . . . well, let’s just say that I ran into some trouble. It’s why Hawthorne put me on probation. I can only be a full member of the Court once I complete my task, taking you in.”

Magnus didn’t seem happy talking about his family or his days in training. But that did get me curious. I remembered Hawthorne’s words during one of my dreams. You don’t want to be outdone by your brother again, do you? It was obvious that his brother must’ve been a prominent member of their ‘society’, something Magnus obviously wanted.

I couldn’t relate to sibling drama, seeing as I was an only child as far as I knew, but I could see how Magnus felt about his brother. He was always living under his shadow, and the only way out was to do what everyone expected him to do, find me and take me in so that everyone can live without fear of a rogue psychic among them.

“But why do you want to be one of them so bad?” I questioned. Obviously he didn’t think like the rest of the bloodthirsty Warlocks who wanted me dead just because I might be a threat.

He sighed, “It’s complicated.”

I turned so my body was fully facing him, so he had no choice but to look at me. “What’s so great about being one of them? They only want you to find me. After that, they probably won’t care about you. Besides, you haven’t even tried to turn me in. That must mean that there is a part of you that knows what they want is wrong, am I right?”

He looked down and tapped a short beat on his thigh before looking back up at me. “If I don’t turn you in, I’ll be an outcast with my own people. Hawthorne is the most powerful and influential warlock ever, completing this mission would mean being in his good graces, finally doing something of worth in their eyes.”

“Like your brother.” I stated, taking a leap of faith.

He tilted his head, “How’d you know that?”

“I guessed. You said he was better than you, and Hawthorne used the fact that he is in a higher position to infuriate you.”

Magnus nodded, “Well, then just like my brother. My parents thought he was the perfect child, which made it harder for me to even compare. I want to prove to them that I’m as good as he is.”

“But you don’t have to prove anything to them,” I urged. “You’re already a better person than they are if they think turning in an innocent girl is the right thing to do. I mean, how can they even believe what Victoria said?”

“You don’t get it.” He said, shaking his head, “My whole life has been leading up to this. And now that I’ve found you, I can’t even build up the courage to turn you in. I’m a sad excuse for a warlock, and Hawthorne knows it.” He tilted his head back in frustration. “Any other Warlock would’ve turned you in the moment they figured it out, but I just had to go and chicken out.”

I sat silent for a moment. There was nothing for me to say. The only solution would be for Magnus to give me to Hawthorne, which I knew would definitely not be pretty for me at all.

“And what if you had done it?” I asked. “What if you had turned me in to Hawthorne that first day, when your suspicions first arose and your amulet confirmed I was who you were looking for? You would’ve been just as blind as everyone else you’ve been talking about is. You wouldn’t have known that I’m innocent in this. But, you aren’t like them. You had second thoughts on your good conscience. You knew it would be idiotic to turn me in without knowing why.”

He sighed. “But that’s the point, isn’t it? If I had turned you in that first day, I wouldn’t feel all of this guilt. I’ve finally found you, Hawthorne knows I’ve found you, but I still refuse to turn you in. I’m stuck in a corner. I either turn you in, knowing that you’re not some monster, but a real person who means no harm, or I could try and run from Hawthorne and you’d still be eventually weeded out by some other agent.”

We were really at a crossroads now.

“How did you know about my amulet?” he said suddenly, changing the conversation to a softer topic. “When I started to talk about it, you didn’t seem surprised.”

“Well,” I started, “I found this book over at Bella’s house. Her father knows about my ability and since he’s a brain scientist, he likes to learn about it. I was trying to find out about all of this madness when I stumbled upon this leather bound book in his office, one I had never seen before. Inside it had descriptions about magical creatures and such. One page talked about your amulet, or potentia Source.”

Magnus stopped me, “Wait, you found a hunter’s manual?”

“A what?”

Magnus took a breath and gave me an unbelieving look. “You must have the worst or the best luck in the world, Liv. How you managed to stumble upon a hunter’s manual, or perhaps how Bella’s father did, is beyond me. Hunters like to generally hunt the more animalistic magical creatures, like werewolves, vampires, and faeries, but they still like to have information on us warlocks.”

He saw my blank expression and decided to clarify. “Hunters are a nuisance. They think that it’s their divine duty to hunt everything unnatural in this world, which includes everything magical. They generally avoid warlocks, but if they start gaining too much of a body count on certain clans of magical creatures, we step in and make sure those hunters can never hunt again. It’s an imbalance if there are too many of them and not enough of us.”

His tone had gotten dark and it made me wonder if he had ever met a hunter. Maybe he met one during one of his slip ups whilst trying to find me, and it must’ve been a bad experience by the way he talked about them.

“It didn’t have anything on psychics in there though.” I said, more as a question than anything.

“Like I said before, psychic are rare. Hunters barely even know much about warlocks besides the fact of our potentia Sources. Most of the general magical community barely even knows about psychics anymore.” He said gravely.

I nodded, but was a bit distracted. Now that I knew other things existed in this world that weren’t too pretty, the waning light was getting creepy. The afterschool tutoring excuse wasn’t going to convince the Andrews for long, I should probably be heading home.

Magnus must’ve noticed my wariness.

“Hey, it’s getting late. Maybe you should start heading home. I’m sure your foster parents will be getting worried soon.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” I replied.

Magnus walked me back to the edge of the forest before saying his goodbyes. It didn’t occur to me to ever ask where in the world he lived, but when I turned back to ask which street he was heading towards, he was already gone.

Magnus was one mysterious teenage boy.

By the time I got home, it was just in time for dinner. Amy and Rick didn’t ask questions about my time at ‘tutoring’, which I was grateful for. I wasn’t very good at making up lies on the spot.

It wasn’t until I went to sleep did the weirdness start.

In my dream, I was little, not even two feet tall yet. I was in a house that I didn’t recognize as any of my previous foster homes. Two people were standing in the kitchen. The woman had wrinkles near her mouth from smiling too often, even if her expression was grave at that moment. Her fiery red hair reminded me of my own, but it was more vibrant and brought out her other features instead of dulling them.

The other person was a man. He was most likely a bit older than the woman, with scruffy black hair and a fierce expression. It took me a moment to realize that it was Hawthorne pre-scar and ten years younger.

“What have you been hiding from me, Cassandra?” Young Hawthorne asked.

“Nothing.” She urged.

I can’t tell him, her voice echoed in my mind.

“What can’t you tell him, mommy?” I asked in a high pitched voice.

Her expression was fearful as Young Hawthorne looked between the two of us in suspicion.

“Cassandra, is she . . .”

“No,” she cut him off, “your daughter is just very observant. Your brain is just rattled from work.”

The scene shifted and suddenly I was in a bedroom. The Cassandra woman was packing a suitcase and talking on the phone quite urgently.

“Listen, Marcia. I understand your concern, but I’m sure of it. He knows . . . Yes, why else would I call you using mundane technology, he can’t trace it . . . okay, just don’t let him know where we’re going, alright? The only safe place for her is with me.”

In the dream I tilted my head in confusion before the scene changed again. This time I was with Cassandra in what looked like an apartment. She was chanting words while the ring on her right hand glowed intently. A loud pound on the door caused her to stop her chanting and turn to me.

“Olivia, listen to me.” She said, kneeling down to my level. “I’m going to speak in the funny language again, okay? It’ll make you forget some things, alright? When the door knocks down I need you to run. Run as far as you can.”

I felt myself nod at her words at the same time the door came crashing down. Hawthorne and three other men came barging in the room, dressed in all black with angry expressions.

“Cassandra, hand her over.” Young Hawthorne said, his voice steady and cruel.

She stood up and faced him defiantly, blocking me from them. “No. She hasn’t done anything. She’s your daughter, she’s not a monster.”

“She’ll grow up to be one. You know as well as I do what harm creatures like her are.”

Cassandra got angry. “She is not some creature, Hawthorne! Victoria was no creature either! You’re the only monster in this room that I can see. You killed the royal family for their power and blamed it on poor Victoria! You used her little crush on you against her and turned everyone against psychics for no reason! Olivia is just a girl, she can’t hurt anybody!”

Hawthorne’s exterior never wavered. “You are an enemy of us all, Cassandra. You harbored a wanted criminal-“

“She’s just a child!”

“-and threatened your Counselor-“

“I’m your wife!”

“-You will now be taken under custody by the court guard under suspicion of plotting against your leadership-“

“I did no such thing!”

“-and now the criminal will face death.”

The larger man next to Hawthorne raised his hand and mumbled some Latin. Cassandra ran in front of me and the bolt of light that came out of his hand hit her instead of me. She fell to the ground and I immediately ran to her side.

“Mommy!” I screamed.

She looked up at me and touched her hand to my head and said, “Oblitus,” before falling down limp and unmoving. Even my young brain could figure what this meant. My mother was not coming back.

My head started to go foggy, but not before I stood up and faced Hawthorne. He looked down at Cassandra’s limp body in shock and horror. The man raised his hand at me again, but I was filled with rage at the woman’s death.

I screamed and the men all suddenly clutched their heads in agony. I was letting out all of my anger at her death, and somehow I was affecting them.

Young Hawthorne tried to mumble something, but it only set my anger off more. The flash of red light he had meant to hit me hit the wall instead and a raging red fire soon swarmed around us. A piece of the roof fell down and hit Hawthorne in the face before he could mutter more Latin.

But suddenly the fog in my head spread and I fell to the floor. The scene changed and I was in an office. I recognized it as one of my earliest memories, Child Protective Services.

The voices in my head were coming head-on.

She looks so lost

She has no known family

What a tragedy

I clutched my head, trying to drown out the voices.

Suddenly I was awake, breathing heavily and clutching my sheets.

Several questions ran through my mind. What just happened to me? Were those memories? And, most importantly, if they were memories, did they mean what I thought they did?