“I ask of you again—”
“Will you be quiet?” I cut her off. Clearly, she wasn’t going to hurt me. She could’ve done that by now. My main concern was attracting attention. The colonials might be asleep, but that didn’t mean there weren’t bandits—or worse—lurking around. If I didn’t think she was who I thought she was, I would’ve put my hand over her mouth just to keep her quiet.
I looked around, focused my hearing—remembering what Dad taught me when we went hunting in the mountains. Her question made me think of that line from Ghostbusters. When Gozer asks if they’re a god, and Ray says no, then gets blasted with lightning. Winston had looked at him and said, “When someone asks if you are a god… You say yes.”
“You dare—”
“Yes!” I whispered. “Yes, I’m your mage.” Winston would be proud of me. I wasn’t anyone’s master, but I could tell this was something supernatural—and I think I knew exactly who she was. No lightning strikes for me tonight.
The girl blinked at me. “Who is Winston?”
Oh, great, she can read minds. This was going to be fair in the slightest—
A flash of lightning hurled me backward, knocking the air from my chest. I landed hard, facing her as she lifted a finger, sparks flickering at the tip like a live outlet.
“He’s a character from a movie,” I managed, brushing off the charred marks on my shirt. I looked around again.
“Stop being paranoid. Nobody is close to us,” she said calmly, stepping closer.
This had to be a dream. I wasn’t awake. The whole day hadn’t happened. Jessica still wanted more from me. I hadn’t failed that test. I hadn’t argued with Tracy. My parents weren’t getting divorced. April and I hadn’t had that moment. We hadn’t read that spell. And I definitely hadn’t been hit by a car. I’m—
“Not dreaming,” she said, cutting into my thoughts. “All of it happened. That’s why I’m here. Because of you… mage.”
“Stop doing that,” I muttered, irritation rising with fear. I forced a smile. “Please.”
“Stop doing what?”
I sat down, exhausted. How do you tell someone who can read your mind to stop reading your mind?
“Why don’t you try?” she asked, voice teasing. “Oh, because you’re hoping ignoring me will make me stop? Afraid to confront me? You did well a moment ago when you thought others could hear us. What stops you from being bold now? Because I struck you with lightning?”
“Didn’t you ask if I was your mage?”
“And you said you were. So act like it.” She paused, turning toward the treeline as if sensing something. Then she looked back. “Please, stop reading my mind,” I asked quietly—and felt a sharp burn at the back of my neck.
Her tone softened. “Yes… mage.”
She sat down and removed the buffalo headdress. Her hair—styled like Jessica’s—fell around her shoulders. Despite her earlier lightning stunt, there was no malice in her face. She almost looked peaceful. Calm. The rain above us eased to a drizzle.
“I can’t believe that spell worked,” I said, hesitating before sitting beside her. She looked pleased.
“So, you know who I am?” she asked, eyes glinting like thunderclouds.
My heart raced. She was gorgeous, powerful—and familiar. My thoughts drifted, unbidden, to April, then Tracy, then Jessica. I wanted to be near them again. This wasn’t fair.
“Oya,” I said finally. “The Orisha of storms, death, and lightning. Protector and creator of the river Niger. That’s why the river responds to your steps.”
She smiled faintly. “So you are resourceful and knowledgeable. That’s good to know… mage.”
She raised her hand, and a gust of wind circled the river, leaves dancing in a swirling spiral. The air shimmered with power as the gust dipped low, dragging fish upward in a small tornado before setting them down beside us. The bluefish flopped helplessly.
I sighed. “If you can read minds, you already know I don’t like fish.”
“You used your mana mark to block me from reading your thoughts,” she said. Then she raised a finger toward the sky. A precise bolt of lightning struck the fish, cooking them instantly. The smell of burnt skin filled the air.
“My… mark?” I asked, crouching to inspect one of them. “What do you mean?”
“When a mage and their Piece connect, your mana binds to mine. The mark channels your intent—it’s how you issued that command without realizing it. It’s not control,” she said, looking at me with mild amusement. “It’s resonance.”
I took a cautious bite. Charred, but edible. My stomach didn’t care—it was the first thing I’d eaten since lunch at school. Twenty-four hours ago. Mom and Dad were probably losing it by now.
“So, you’re not here to kill me?” I asked through a mouthful of fish. “That’s a win. About time.”
Oya arched an eyebrow. “Kill you? No. You’re my mage. My anchor. You have no magical control, yet you’re still standing. That’s intriguing.”
“Okay, rewind. April and I read that spell. Is she your mage too? Can you talk to her?” I asked.
Oya crossed her arms. “No. Only one mage can resonate with a Piece at a time. You both summoned me, but your mana dimension answered the call. She contributed the sacrifice.”
I froze. “Sacrifice?”
Her expression turned grim. “You didn’t read the page before the spell, did you?”
“Nope.”
“There are eight parts to a summoning,” she explained. “You and April completed the first five through knowledge and respect for the Orisha. The sixth—her monthly bleeding—fulfilled the blood requirement. The seventh was your inner storm, your will to protect your way of life. And the eighth…” She looked away. “…was your acceptance of me. Together, you reached beyond your world. I answered as a storm.”
“That storm hit me with a car,” I said bitterly, stepping back. “You tried to kill me.”
Her form shimmered, then reappeared in front of me. We stood eye to eye. Her fist clenched. Mine did too. If she couldn’t take me home, what was the point?
“There he goes,” a rough voice cut through the rain.
A huge man with a brown beard stood at the edge of the clearing, drenched, wearing the same clothes I’d stolen. Beside him stood a boy—his son, younger but just as angry.
They charged.
I dodged the father, but the son tackled me to the ground. “Steal from us, you darkie demon!” he spat. I barely had time to think. Oya didn’t move—they couldn’t see her. I twisted, rolling on top of him, throwing punches like a UFC highlight reel. He threw me off, gasping, swinging. His dad just watched.
The boy came again, this time stronger. I darted toward the river. He followed, grabbing me in a chokehold. I fell backward, dragging him underwater. He thrashed, bubbles rising. Guilt stabbed at me, but survival screamed louder. His father lunged into the water, and I kicked, shoving him off-balance. Both resurfaced, knives flashing.
The son charged—and a bolt of lightning slammed down, dropping him mid-step. His father froze, kneeling beside the smoking body.
“My boy better not be dead,” he shouted, dragging him away toward the settlement.
Please, God, don’t let him be dead.
The last man cocked his rifle at me. “Get out of Bordentown, you witch!”
Wind exploded around us, ripping the weapon from his hands. He looked terrified, then bolted after the others. The rifle clattered to the ground.
“Thanks,” I said softly as Oya appeared beside me, lightning fading from her fingertips.
“You are my mage,” she said, voice steady. “Protecting you is my duty.”
I slung the rifle across my back the way Dad taught me. “We can’t stay here. The storm’ll hide our tracks.”
Oya nodded. “Of course, mage.”
And with that, we disappeared into the rain.