My Luck (Twisted Luck Book 1)

by Mel Todd

  "No. My parents are letting my brother meet me. I agreed to three pm." I'm pretty sure my panic leaked into my voice and Kadia's eyes went wide. While I didn't talk about it a lot, she knew that my parents and I were on the outs and that I'd never really met my brother.

  "Oh fudge," she whispered and looked around the shop. It was a mess, but we'd spent so much time cleaning today it wasn't too bad. A knock on the door drew our attention. Her boyfriend Lawrence, never Larry, stood outside and waved at her.

  Kadia grabbed my hand and dragged me to the door. "Lawrence, take her home, fast as you can. Then come back and pick me up. Cori, I'll get this mostly clean and we'll just deal tomorrow. Today has been insane."

  "Thank you, thank you," I babbled, even as I hit the door at a run.

  "Address?" Lawrence asked, not even asking why it was so important to get me home. Kadia had a good one here. He was pulling away from the curb before I even had my seatbelt buckled. I rattled it off, then closed my eyes. If I concentrated on breathing and didn't see or think about anything, maybe, just maybe nothing would happen to prevent us from getting there. I didn't even hope, I just focused on breathing and ignoring everything else.

  The violent jerks of the car had me clenching onto the handle, but I kept my eyes firmly shut.

  Breathe in, breathe out.

  Nothing else.

  The car came to a stop an eternity later.

  "Wow, we made good time. And I don't have any lights flashing behind me. We're here, Cori. Did you get here in time?"

  My eyes flew open and it took an interminable second to recognize my surroundings. But there was my apartment and the stairs leading up to it. Sitting there, looking small, grumpy, and the best thing I'd seen in a long time was a small figure. Even from here I could recognize the familiar hair color.

  "Yes. Thank you so much. You're the best, Lawrence."

  "No problems. Be good."

  I scrambled out of the car and I didn't sprint to the foot of the stairs, but I moved fast, my attention focused on the small figure. As I stepped on the first step, his head jerked up and he looked at me. Everything stopped and I had to fight to keep moving. The emotions in his face and eyes cut me to the core.

  "You're my sister?" His voice asked, tone full of wonder and disbelief.

  "Yes. I'm your sister."

  Chapter 20

  Magic has played so much in our recent history, a popular story trope is writing past historical events as if magic had been present, or had not been. The American Civil War finished just as more mages were emerging and there is an entire sub-genre of historical fiction that focuses solely on how the war could have been different. ~ History of Magic

  Why didn't I make them include me in their lives? In his life. It hurts when I realize how much I had missed.

  He'd followed me into the house, and no matter how badly I wanted to take a shower and get the ground coffee off that seemed to be all but embedded in my skin, I didn't. I focused all my attention on my brother. He was seven, gangly, the same eyes as my dad, and a mouth that reminded me of mom, but I couldn't remember the last time she smiled at me.

  "Want a Coke?"

  Kris's eyes brightened as he flopped onto the couch. "Sure."

  From this reaction I suspected he wasn't allowed to have soda normally. Which just made pouring him a small coke even more sweet. Yes, I was probably being a pain, but I just let myself enjoy the mini-rebellion.

  I poured the drink and handed it to him, then curled up in the chair looking at him, soaking up the presence of him here in my little apartment.

  "Why do Mom and Dad hate you?"

  His words sliced into my heart hard enough that I physically flinched. Kris just looked at me, his head tilted in a birdlike look that reminded me of his brother, oh so many years ago.

  "Do you think they hate me?"

  Why in the world did I ask that? Do I think a seven-year-old knows?

  But the words were said, and Kris considered them carefully, taking tiny sips from his glass. "Maybe. I mean they don't talk about you, but that lady said you were their daughter. They didn't say no. When I don't like someone, I pretend they don't exist. So why do they hate you?"

  My eyes closed without me consciously choosing it and I thought about the question. "Want some more coke?"

  Kris looked at his glass and drained it, then handed it to me. "Okay."

  I went back into my tiny kitchen and opened the two-liter bottle of Coke. It exploded in my hands, soaking me and the kitchen.

  "Oh wow! You okay?" Kris spoke from just the other side of the counter, looking at me, his eyes wide.

  "Yeah," I muttered, my voice not quite a sigh. I reached for towels and mopped it up. I'd have to clean later because everything was still sticky. "So much for Coke for you. Sorry." My shoulder was starting to hurt, and I found that I really just wanted to cry. I pushed everything down and smiled at Kris.

  "That was cool. Messy but cool." He'd grabbed a towel and helped mop up.

  "That is my life. Messy but cool." I headed back to the sitting area, but this time perched on my stool, less stuff to clean up later. "I don't know if they hate me. I hope they don't. But I know, or at least I think I know, why I make them so unhappy."

  "Why? 'Cause they make me happy. What did you do?"

  "I didn't save my brother."

  "Huh? You're my sister. You're not a guy, are you? Is that why they're mad?" His leap of logic caused a laugh to burst out.

  "No. That might be easier." I frowned. "You're in second grade—how do you know about transgender?"

  Kris shrugged. "TV, news. People are weird. So back to you."

  The kid was like a dog with a really good bone. He wasn't letting go for anything. I kind of admired that. I got sidetracked so easily with all the drama that went on.

  "I had a twin brother, Stevie. When we were almost twelve, something happened and he died. No one knows why. Estella and Rafael, your mom and dad,"—I clarified when he looked at me funny—"cried a lot. And I think they either blamed me for it or just couldn't stand to be around me because I lived and Stevie didn't. "

  Or they hated me and even looking at me made them sick.

  That I didn't say, trying, at least for Kris, to give them the benefit of the doubt. He didn't need to know my levels of guilt. Surely there must have been something I could have done. Maybe it was my fault? That secret guilt always ate at me.

  "Did a drunk driver hit him?"

  The question surprised me, and I looked at him. My face must have conveyed my confusion because he shrugged. "Tory had her big sister killed by a drunk driver."

  "Ah. No. He just died. And I was there. I couldn't do anything."

  We sat silent for a bit while he digested that. "So Mom and Dad blame you?"

  I shook my head. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. But I know it hurts them to see me. They've distanced themselves from me."

  "But they don't do that to me."

  "No. You weren't even an idea when all this happened. And before that they were pretty great parents." I didn't want to talk about this anymore. It hurt too much, seeing the happiness and how much he loved the parents that had turned their backs on me.

  "So, tell me all about you. How do you like school? Who are your friends? What do you want to be when you grow up?"

  His face lit up and he started to babble. I just sat and listened to him talk about friends, math, driving fast cars, and mostly him being a kid. Time disappeared as I got to know him. He was smart, stubborn, never let anything go, grudges or loyalty, and I hated how much of his life I'd missed.

  The strident beep of my phone jolted both of us out of our daze. "Huh, let me check that. I glanced first at the time, as I had notifications hidden so they never said who was texting or messaging me. The time of five-fifteen surprised me. "Wow we've been talking for almost two hours."

  His eyes widened. "Oh. I better get home. Was that Mom?"

  I looked at the text. *Yo! How goes it? Want to come
over for dinner?*

  "No. It's a friend. But yes, you should probably get going." I stood up and he popped up off the couch. "I enjoyed talking to you. I'd like to do it again. Maybe a picnic?"

  His eyes brightened. "Could you take me to the movies? Mom and Dad don't like comic book stuff."

  I grinned at him and wrinkled my nose. "I love comic book stuff. As long as they approve I will." I walked down the stairs with him. "Kris. I want to get to know you, but I won't go behind their backs. They need to approve your spending time with me. If the past has taught me anything, it is that your parents' love is important. You don't want to lie to them or run around. They are too important. I'd love to take you to the movies and get to hang with you. But only if they are okay with that." I tried to sound calm and logical, but I wanted to be a part of his life. "You know where I live. You are always free to come over."

  We stopped at the bottom stair and he gave me a look that was a bit too old for him. "If I was older, would I need them to say okay?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe. Eighteen, no. Otherwise, I don't know. You aren't, so it doesn't matter." I looked over towards the house. Lights were on and I couldn't see them looking out the windows, but I could feel their gaze on me. "Go. I'm sure they're worried."

  To my surprise he threw his arms around me and hugged tight. His head landed at chest level, and probably got sticky soda coffee mix on him. Tall kid. "I'm glad your friend's mom came over and yelled at them. I always wanted a big sister. I had one, I just didn't know it. I'll see you later?" he asked as he pulled back.

  "I'll always be around if you need me."

  "Cool." He hesitated, shifting from foot to foot, then, "Bye!" And he took off at a run across the yard. So much energy. Maybe when I was that age I'd had that much energy too.

  A whiff of coffee, Coke, sweat, and just exhaustion rose up from me and I groaned.

  He probably thought I stank. Shower first.

  Climbing the stairs slowly, I texted Jo back. *need shower, have homework. Tomorrow. Tell you about Kris.*

  *KK silly. We have housing planning to do.*

  *I need a job first*

  *Pfft. I have faith. You're the awesomenest.*

  *Right now am coffee and Coke covered, talk later.* I put my phone on the counter and headed into the bathroom. My clothes stuck to me. By the time I was clean I was almost out of hot water, but at least I didn't smell like a Coke/coffee mix anymore. The vanilla of my body wash was a definite relief, not to mention the five minutes I spent scratching my head until I couldn't feel any more build up. And I was starving. I couldn't gain weight, and it felt like I was always on the border of starvation. I totally envied Jo her impressive chest and curves.

  Dressed in night clothes I ate first, sending silent blessings to Marisol as I inhaled two dinners. As I did that, I reviewed one of the textbooks on my e-reader. To my relief the cheap e-readers were tough enough to withstand my weirdness, so I read and ate, figuring out how to write the ten-page paper on the assigned topic. I connected myself to my computer, moving carefully. Once I had everything secured, I started on the paper about ethical considerations compared to a patient in the clinic, in the ambulance, and as a police officer.

  But my mind kept drifting to Kris's question. Had I done something? Or maybe not done something? I thought back to the time after Stevie died. I tended to focus on the moments surrounding his death, not the days following, but this time I did. Trying to remember what had happened.

  I thought back. There were people in and out of the house, my parents crying a lot. People I couldn't put names to giving me hugs. But I had been so sick. That idea made me frown. Sick? Not sick really. I think everyone then had put it down to grief, but I tried to remember. Grief yes. It seemed there were days I couldn't stop crying. But I had felt heavy, swollen almost like a water balloon, overinflated, and about to pop.

  I didn't remember telling anyone that. I just laid in my room and cried. It took about three days to feel well enough that I didn't have a queasy world off-kilter feeling, but even then I thought it was just missing Stevie. He'd always been there and his lack felt like a missing tooth I couldn't help but poke and prod at, as if doing that might bring him back. It didn't. The days and weeks after my parents and I drifted further apart. Looking back, I could see that now. Then I was so wrapped up in my own grief, and dealing with the weird feeling settling around me, that now I couldn't remember what I had felt like before.

  Huh. That's an odd thought. I feel like me. Don't I?

  I closed my eyes and actually tried to feel through my body and myself. My mind? Whatever. But I just felt like me. Nothing felt off other than a lingering headache from a crazy hectic day and the ache in my shoulder. I needed to remember to take another pill.

  It must have just been grief and trauma. Training had taken us through the various ways shock can express itself. While lots of people went clammy and silent, others were hyperactive and babbled, still others wouldn't act different until they stopped, then it was like someone cut a puppet's strings and they just collapsed. Either way, what I felt then was probably shock, allergies, grief, maybe even a low-level infection from all the strangers touching me.

  That led me back to the question - had I done anything? Looking back over that time, I didn't think so. I'd just withdrawn, they'd withdrawn and neither of us had tried too hard to pull the other back into the fold. And by the time I needed them we didn't know how to talk anymore, so I kept just dealing and they leaned on each other. Me, I leaned on Jo.

  No, I hadn't done anything. We just broke under the weight. One of my classes had a session on grief and lots of relationships broke under it. No big surprise ours had, it just had lingering effects.

  The realization helped ease the pain a bit. Oh, it still hurt, they were the adults then. They should have tried or at least seen, but I don't think it had been on purpose. Just happened.

  I finished the paper, really ethics were ethics, not that hard to do, though as an EMT I could see patient information getting out easier. You didn't have time to make sure no one could overhear you when a life was on the line. I did add a note that certain things that might be seen as socially impactful should get more consideration if in a public place, but the patient's life came first.

  Chapter 21

  Two of the abilities that relate to the more traditional idea of spells lay under the Relativity branch of Spirit. They are called Murphy's Cloak and Lady Luck. They are one of the few that can be actively cast on someone else. While they are normally short lived, as keeping them active requires constant offerings, they can be used to pester someone for short amounts of time and are hard to detect once the spell has faded. ~Magic Explained

  A quiet, normal day. I am so glad. I'm not sure I could have handled another Saturday.

  Oh, I could have, but having Sunday morning be light enough for us to get the place cleaned up to sparkling, get the storeroom back to its orderly existence, and make some really good tips with extra nice service helped. In fact, the only weird thing that happened that day was no drama, nothing broke, no one had a fit, and no Shay. It was a nice change.

  "So, lesson learned. I run the back, and keep Lori and Carl out of it," Kadia said, her beads clacking a bit as she nodded her head.

  "That would be appreciated. But is Carl coming back? Thought you said he broke his leg."

  "His leg is, but I'm pretty sure we can set a stool up for him and set him there at the counter. Makes my life easier as he won't be able to move much, but I'm getting more of the tips." She grinned at that last part and I laughed. "Besides, if Molly has to work the morning rushes, she'll be a basket case."

  "No argument from me, but then Carl is the one you'll need to argue with. We've got, what, an hour until close?" I looked at the clock then my phone to make sure of the time. Clocks and I were always dicey, but they both agreed it was one in the afternoon.

  "Yep. So, tell me how it went with Kris." It was the first time we had any down time to talk and sh
e looked interested.

  "It was really nice. I'm hoping to get to take him to the movies." I wanted to talk about it, but with Jo, so I changed the subject. "I like Lawrence. He's nice and didn't even get a ticket yesterday."

  Her face lit up and her mage symbol gleamed from her earrings. "Yeah. I really like him. He's not a mage, but since I'm a hedgie it doesn't really matter. We're both going to get our food services certifications. We'd like to start a restaurant in a few years. He's an awesome cook. I'm just decent, but I can organize." She waved her hand around the shop.

  "That you can. Hey, can I ask a question?" Kadia nodded at me as she tilted her head, watching me. "You're only a hedge, so why wear the jewelry. Why advertise? You already said you really won't bother getting trained."

  She blinked at me, surprised by the question, then shrugged. "Oh, I'll train a little. Food service courses have an elective for us hedgies, though I'm totally owning the crone tag when I'm older. They teach us how to do the offerings in a way not harmful to us. And Fire is a good match, but most of the time the cost will be too high unless I'm trying to save a dish. One of the reasons I'm letting my hair grow so long is so I have lots to sacrifice as I learn how to do it. But as to why I wear it?" She shook her head. "From tattoos and jewelry you only know the following - someone is a mage, what type of mage and their strengths, and if they are a magician or higher, or if they're a merlin. But a hedge can be as deadly as an archie if they want. People tend to be nicer if they think you could do something very painful to them. So, I wear it because all they know is, I'm a hedgie or a poser. Either way people treat me differently."

  "They do?" I was surprised. I mean it made sense, there was lots of discussion about equality in high school civics, but I'd never really noticed.

  "Oh, it isn't obvious, but people are nicer when they realize you might be able to boil the blood in their veins." She flashed another smile as she boxed up the left-over pastries. "Granted, you do that, and you'll end up in government servitude, but still. People act nicer."