Magical Influence Book One Read Free Page A

engaged in
some kind of spell. You just had to know what to look
for.
    Flicking my eyes up at the flock of
birds as they flew out of view, I scratched my neck. I wasn't so
angry at my grandmother and the mess that she had created to forget
that I was a witch. And I could clearly see the exact path the
birds flew through the sky, the speed, the angle, everything, and I
understood what it meant.
    Rain. I didn't have to look up the
weather report to confirm that fact. I just understood
it.
    It was instinctive.
    It also made me rub my brow even
harder. Rain meant more mud. Because no doubt the moment I left for
work tomorrow morning, my grandmother would trot out to the shed,
pluck up the spade, dig holes in the garden, and get up to more
mischief. And even though I didn't particularly care about the
state of the yard, I didn't want mud everywhere.
    Deciding it was thoroughly time to
give up, I waved a hand at my grandmother, walked out of the
kitchen, up the stairs, and to the shower.
    I was lucky enough that our house was
so large that I practically had an entire level to myself. A level
where my grandmother hardly ever went, and one I could keep just as
clean as I liked it. It was beautifully decorated too, a testament
to all of the lovely objects that I had collected over my life;
silk cushions from India, paintings and prints from Paris, carved
statues from Thailand, and mahogany furniture from
Britain.
    It was my oasis away from the crazy,
the mud, and the purple-rinse curls.
    By the time I made it into the shower,
I was finally calming down. I was sure to let the water practice
its magic. It had a unique way of washing over you, collecting not
just the mud and grime, but the sorrows and sadness and troubles,
and flushing them down the drain.
    It wouldn't last forever; I lived in a
rundown mansion with a perpetually crazy grandmother, and we were
both witches. Trouble had a way of stalking me.
    But for those few minutes I was
happy.
     

Chapter 2
    I rolled out of bed that morning with
a hint of a strange dream haunting me. It was just a feeling at
first, a presence, like a shadow at the edge of my
vision.
    If I’d had the time, I would
have plucked up my dream journal, written about it, possibly
meditated, maybe tried to draw a picture, even selected a color and a word to
describe the feeling that was building up within me.
    Dream magic, after all, was some of
the most rewarding that you could practice.
    I didn't have the time though. Instead
I pushed myself up, made my bed neatly, chose some work clothes,
and trotted down the stairs, growling softly when one of them
practically cracked underneath my foot.
    This house really needed a lot of
work. Far more than I could afford.
    “I'm heading out early this morning,” I
said loudly as I walked towards the kitchen, hoping my grandmother
would be somewhere close by, but not willing to track her down.
“Don't get into any trouble.”
    There was no reply.
    I grabbed some toast quickly, downed a
glass of water, tugged my bag onto my shoulder, and headed to the
door.
    As I reached towards it, turning the
door handle, I felt a sense.
    Just a feeling.
    Quick, sharp, and gone in a
second.
    I knew what it was. Any witch would. A
beginning, of sorts. A subtle but perceptible change in energy, as
if the first dice had been cast in a new game.
    Tugging the door open, I wasn't that
surprised to see somebody standing there, hand raised as if they
were ready to start knocking.
    I wasn't surprised, but that didn't
stop me from quickly frowning. I cast my eyes over the man, and
instantly noted the badge neatly tucked into his belt.
    A police badge.
    Whoever he was, he was in a nice suit,
though it didn't quite fit over the shoulders. He had short, brown
hair, eyes to match, and a faint shadow of stubble over his chin.
He had a particularly piercing look about him. As if he weren't so
much a man but a scalpel, or a laser, or a particularly powerful
torch beam.
    I wasn't the kind of girl
who