I should tell her. I should just tell her what happened.
"What is it, child?" Elizabet asked, as though reading her thoughts—which she probably was, Kayla reflected wryly.
"Something happened tonight," Kayla began hesitantly. "Something really awful."
Elizabet listened as Kayla told her what had happened earlier that night at the apartment. She felt her stomach turn over and took several deep breaths as she described what she had done to the young man, the T-Man who had nearly died.
Elizabet was silent for a long time after Kayla finished the story. "I should be saying I told you so," she said, "but you know that already, don't you? The magic within you doesn't have a conscience of its own. You can hurt people or help them. You're the one who has to decide which."
Yes, but . . . "But I couldn't stop it," Kayla said. "I couldn't do anything about it."
"You'll have to learn to control it," Elizabet said. "The magic isn't going to go away. It's a part of you now, a part of what makes you yourself. Right now, your magic is as dangerous as a loaded shotgun in the hands of a three-year-old. But we can change that." She glanced up quickly. "Oh Lord, the chocolate is burning!" Elizabet moved quickly to the stove, turning off the burner as the room filled with the smell of burnt chocolate.
"So much for the hot cocoa," she said, returning to the table.
"What do you mean, we can change that?" Kayla asked, wrinkling her nose at the burnt smell. She yawned and rubbed at her eyes.
Elizabet smiled. "My grandmother, she was the one who taught me. Of course, my talent isn't anything compared to yours, but I should be able to teach you a few things that she taught me. Gram was an amazing lady. I wish you could have met her." She looked up at the clock as Kayla yawned again. "It's definitely past your bedtime, though," she said. "We'll talk more about this in the morning."
Kayla hesitated for a moment at the open door to the spare bedroom. She stood there, toweling her hair dry and wiping the last of the water from her face. Looking into the bedroom, it really did feel as though the last few days hadn't happened at all. There was the bed, still slightly rumpled from when she'd been reading a book the night that Carlos and Ramon had come to the house. In a way, it feels like a dream, she thought. Like I'm waking up from an awful nightmare. But now it's okay, I'm home. She stopped short at that thought.
Home? I guess that's what this is now. It feels like home. And Elizabet? I don't think she'll ever be like my mother. I don't think I'll ever feel she's my parent, but my friend, definitely my teacher. Someone who can help me figure all of this out and make sense from my life.
She put on a pair of pajamas and, on an impulse, moved to the bookshelf that lined one wall of the small bedroom. Just as she'd hoped, there it was: the book about the dragons. Smiling, she took it back to bed with her, opening up to the page where she'd stopped reading before.
She awakened with a start at some noise she couldn't identify. The room was still dark, with only a hint of light filtering in through the closed curtains. She reached out, and her hand brushed against the novel on the pillow next to her, lying where she'd left it before she fell asleep. She heard another sound, a rustling of the bedsheets. Someone was in the room with her—no, someone was sitting on the edge of the bed. . . .
She picked up the book and threw it hard in the direction of the noise.
She could see the person now, a dim outline in the faint light. The book flew through the air and then through the person, bouncing off the far wall.
Oh no . . . it's something magical again, I know it, it's something magical . . . can't I even get a night's sleep without something weird happening around me?
"That ain't very polite, girl," the person said with a laugh, in a woman's low, rich voice, heavy with a Southern accent. "I would think that Elizabet might've taught you better manners. Then again, you ain't been Elizabet's ward for very long now, eh? Just a couple days?" She stood and moved closer. Kayla blinked.
The old woman, her wrinkled black face creased with a broad smile, was only an outline of pale blue light, nothing more than that. I'm going crazy . . . that's it, it's all finally hit me and I'm going crazy . . . now I'm seeing ghosts.
"You're . . . you're . . ." Kayla's voice wasn't working quite right.
"Elizabet's gram, that's right."
"But you're . . . you're dead!"
Gram chuckled. "I think that's obvious, girl. Most normal folks don't go around floatin' through walls, y'know."
"But you're dead!"
"Been that way for a few years, now."
"But . . . you're . . ."