Observations: I’ve always thought writer’s block was a misnomer. It should be “idea” block because that’s what this is. It’s not that I can’t write. I just don’t know what to write. So I am plodding along.
In the past, I was a bit lucky because while I was doing some mundane task, dishes, vacuuming, whatever, an idea would pop up and then I’d be so excited to write it. Unfortunately my mind seems to be crowded with other things.
So, once upon a time, I said that this might be an interactive novel. Maybe the time for interaction is now. 🙂 After reading this, if you have any nuggets, regardless of how other-worldly, throw them at me.
I am hoping to have more of a writing day tomorrow. Fingers crossed.
Disclaimer: At this stage do I need to tell you? Draft, draft, draft. We’re at the poor, poor writer stage. 😉
Total word count: 26,396
1943 words behind. 😦
You can read previous sections here.
I feel a jerking on my jeans’ leg and look down to see Moira staring up at me.
“Let’s vamoose,” she says. “He’s up to something and we need to figure out what it is. I thought he was one of the good guys, but I’m not so sure right now.”
“I thought you knew everything.”
“I’m pretty great, but not that great.”
Anton is glancing from Moira to me with suspicion.
I try to give him a disarming smile and then I shrug. “She’s reminding me that I have to get up pretty early in the morning and it’s time to call it a night. This has been great, though. We have to do it again.” Not. Not until I find out exactly who and what you are and why you think you know so much about me.
He drapes an arm around my shoulders. The heaviness of it feels threatening. I try to shrug out of his touch subtly, but then his fingers tighten around my shoulder bone, squeezing until its painful. Glancing up at him, I notice the steeliness in his icy eyes.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” he says.
“Me? I live for stupid. May I should just scream.”
The smile that crosses his lips has no warmth in it. “Innocent people may get hurt. Do you want that?”
Personally, I don’t want anyone to get hurt, me included, with perhaps the exception of Anton. What’s his game? So, he thinks I’m a witch…I gulp. They burn witches, don’t they? Is that his intention?
My brain is darting around, scrambling for an idea. He’s so much bigger than me that there’s no use even trying to fight him. He could smoosh me like an ant, but if his intention is to use me in some way, that would be stupid on his part, wouldn’t it?
The cold night air jars me. Snowflakes tremble to the ground. An early snow, a very early snow. The stillness and the cold seem fitting.
“You will walk with me back to my hotel,” he says.
I jerk myself out of his grasp. Moira is at my side, even her usually placid expression is marred with fear. She hasn’t said anything, which can’t be good.
“Now, now. Behave, Sophia. Would you rather I visited Isla or one of your other sisters? They might be as talented as you. Perhaps more so.”
I stop and turn toward him, allowing bravado into my words, when I don’t feel it. “Leave my sisters alone. You’re all wrong about what you think you know. You’re just a big goon.” Well, that’s telling him, isn’t it? I mentally roll my eyes.
“Am I? There are some unsavory ways to find out your true nature and I’m not above using them.”
He reaches for me again. My anger builds, and I toss my arm out to stop him from grabbing me. An amazing thing happens. He goes flying backward with such force that his body bounces on the asphalt. My mouth drops open. The impact has rendered him unconscious. His is lying like a starfish in the glazing of snow I glance around. There is absolutely no one except Moira and me here. Who did that?
“How? I didn’t touch him.”
“Your powers. I think your anger and fear managed to raise them. Hallelujah. You might just be a powerful witch yet. I was really hoping I wasn’t going to get stuck with a weak witch who just bakes scones and makes tea. That’s so boring.”
I’m still staring at the unmoving Anton when a giggling couple stumbles out of the bar.
“Oopsie,” the woman says. “Looks like someone’s passed out in the parking lot. You better run in and tell Stella that she has a lounger. Gosh, he looks big enough that the alcohol shouldn’t have hit them. But the bigger they are, the harder they fall.” She laughs at her own joke while her male counterpart lurches inside.
I duck away and then trot to my car. Moira hops in as soon as I open the door. For a couple of minutes, I sit behind the wheel, stunned at what I just did. I flung my hand and flung a man. I glance at Moira. She seems chuffed as she sits in the passenger seat, panting, and almost smiling.
“So cool,” she says. “But I hate being wrong about someone. I thought he was a good guy.”
“I don’t think we should go home. I have a bad feeling about going to an isolated cottage. I think we’re off to Mom’s.”
Moira nods. “Good plan.”