“Dixie,” she hissed, flinging her arms out in alarm and narrowly missing the old woman’s head. “You can’t just sneak up on me like that!”
“How is walking up to you in broad daylight carrying a hundred pound bleeding dog sneaking up on you?” I shot back.
“That’s a dog?” She got up to examine Steve.
“Of course it’s a dog. Well, I think it’s a dog,” I offered lamely. “Where have you been?”
“I have stuff I have to do,” she snapped. She almost beat my grandpa for the top prize in avoidance of questions. She peered at the furry mess in my arms, successfully distracting me from my interrogation. “What happened to it?”
“I don’t know, but I love him and I’m keeping him and his name is Steve.”
“That’s an awesome name.”
“I know,” I grinned. “Isn’t it?”
“Steve looks kind of dead.” Blanche circled me, checking Steve from all angles.
“He’s not dead,” I insisted. “Your friend on the bench looks more dead than Steve.”
We both stared at the old woman on the bench for a moment. “She’s too pink to be dead. Besides, if you look really close her chest is moving,” Blanche whispered, checking the old lady out.
“Fine.” I nodded. “She’s not dead and neither is Steve. He’s hurt. Can you fix him?”
“I don’t know,” she began.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” I narrowed my eyes at her as I gently laid my dog on the ground at my feet. “You can turn into a book and a tornado. You can disappear and reappear whenever you feel like it. Why in the Hell can’t you fix my dog?”
“I don’t have healing magic,” she retorted angrily.
“What does that even mean? How can there be a difference in mag. . .”
“But you do,” she cut me off.
“I do what?” Lucifer, she was exasperating. Steve was beginning to cough up blood and my heart constricted in my throat.
“You have healing magic from your mother,” Blanche informed me.
“Holy Hell,” I shouted. Fear for Steve and anger at Blanche was knotting me up inside. “Do you know who my mother is too?”
“No, I don’t know who she is for Satan’s sake, and if I did I would tell you.” She glared at me. “I don’t know how I know but I’m sure you can heal things.”
“How do I do it?”
She paused for too long. “I have no idea,” she mumbled.
“You’re joking.” I held my raw emotion in check. Surely I misunderstood her. She was supposed to teach me how to use my power.
Her icy blue eyes clouded over with tears. “I’m not joking.”
I swallowed the firestorm of swear words I wanted to hurl at her. I knelt down on the ground by Steve and tried to heal him. I closed my eyes, hoping desperately that my healing magic would come to me. I felt no tingle, no spark. Damn it. I tried visualizing my dog whole and healthy. . .Nothing.
“It’s not working, Blanche.” I attempted to hide the feeling of dread inside but I couldn’t. Why was this dog’s future affecting me so much? Was he more than a dog?
“Because you need something to love you,” Blanche replied to my thought.
I didn’t have the energy to tell her to get out of my head. I wasn’t sure if that was even a possibility.
“I’m so sorry, Steve.” I gulped hard and tried to hold back my tears. No such luck. Grandpa said tears were strength and I decided to believe him. Steve was dying and despite all my hoo-doo voo-doo gifts, I was useless. I leaned over him and stroked his big head, my tears falling unchecked all over him. I rocked back and forth. The pain I felt was intense. I was still unsure why his death was hurting me like this. I’d known him for less than an hour. Maybe Blanche was right. I did need something to love me.
“No way,” Blanche gasped. “How can it be so simple? Heal with pain,” she muttered. “Your pain heals.”
What in the Hell was she talking about? My dog was dying and she was babbling nonsense. I turned to look at her.
“No,” she barked. “Keep your eyes over Steve and cry.” She was fascinated. “Your tears are healing him. It’s your tears, Dixie. Your tears have magic. Look.”
She was right. My tears that had burned my grandpa were healing my dog. His ridiculous cryptic clues were beginning to make sense. Everywhere my tears landed on Steve, his wounds knitted themselves shut. I cautiously began to massage my teardrops all over his broken body—every open wound, bruise and cut. Adrenaline shot through me and sparks began to appear at my fingertips. I quickly clapped my hands as I didn’t want to set Steve on fire. My tears had changed to ones of joy, but that didn’t matter. The healing properties seemed the same. I had done it. I saved my dog. He looked up at me with gratitude and something else in his eyes. A noise and the scent of gardenias knocked me back from my magic high.#p#分页标题#e#