I sat outside in the carriage
until Hoover whined, restless in his rig. I shook my head and climbed down,
unclipped the three clasps that held the harness in place along his long spine,
and let it fall to the ground. He ran into the darkness without a second
glance, and I walked away. It would all have to wait.
Inside, Jackson coo’d and rubbed
against my calves as I made tea in the kitchen. I said nothing, choosing to
leave the house quiet while I did everything myself. I even washed out the strainer
and set it on the ledge to dry. Carrying the tea into the den, I almost spoke
out of habit, but bit my tongue and started the fire with a flick of my finger
rather than a waking spell. I sank down on the cushions, balancing my tea as I
sipped the fragrant brew. I closed my eyes and tried to remember the scent of
Earth teas. I called them by name, but none of the flavors remained in my
memory.
I began to cry, racking sobs that
pushed against my chest and tightened my forehead in a vise. Jackson pressed up
against me, cooing concern. I couldn’t even stroke him for comfort. I gripped
the tea mug so tightly I thought I might crush it between my palms. “I hate
crying,” I ground out, gasping for breath and trying to relax and bring myself
under control. I couldn’t spell this way, that was for sure. Who knew what I
might do, trying for the simplest boiling water or bedside lamp?
It didn’t last long. Years of
control slipped back in place, deep breathing calming my rapid heart and
loosening the grip around my head. I gestured with my left pinkie and drew
tissues out of the aether, blowing my nose and grimacing as my sinuses drained.
I hated crying.
“Now,” I said to the room, when I
was breathing calmly, with no trace of hiccups. “Let’s fix this…”
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Dogs in House
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Houdini
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Time writing
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20 minutes
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February word
count
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11,243
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