C3 Aria

I was very drunk. Even so, I could tell my sister was acting weird. She rushed the employees several times, glancing over her shoulder, tapping her fingers on the bar, and shaking her legs. She pointed to the back of the room, but she wouldn’t or couldn’t elaborate. An orange and burned yellow smokey mist flared around her body, bright and intense. She’s anxious. Anxious and sad. The sadness that comes with intense grief.

Someone in this room was feeling deep emotions, and she couldn’t control it. Based on the way the flame danced, it was only a matter of time before it was freed, spreading until everyone in its path is consumed. None of these people would know it came from her. It would feel like it belonged to them, or maybe the alcohol and music. Either way, the vibe would drastically change.

Negative energy and alcohol have never been a great combination, even worse for us.

I reached for her tapping fingers. When I touched her, she flinched like she was expecting some force of pain. Her wide, panicked eyes clung to mine. I took deep breaths a few times, urging her to copy me. I usually added some funny faces, but the flame was too bright, and I knew it wouldn’t help. She did it with me, but the flame only went down slightly.

Something behind my head caught her attention. Her entire body seemed to inflate and tense. She jumped off the bar stool, spinning and frantic. She scanned the room, flexing and unflexing her fingers. The flame mixed with a paler orange at the base now. She’s scared. It was too late.

The flame exploded like a bomb. The flame was so big and bright that I had to feign a headache. No one could see it but me. I learned that the hard way. The first time it happened, I was on the playground with my boyfriend, Lance Russo. A kid got hurt and a bright reddish-pink and pale yellow flame engulfed them. Colors I now know mean mad and hurt. I thought they were on fire and screamed.

I went on about getting water to Lance, but he didn’t see the flame. He thought I was crazy and broke up with me on the spot. It wasn’t hard to convince the teacher I was sick after that. Especially when I kept gawking at everyone as she walked me to the nurse’s office. I almost didn’t release my tight grip on her arm; I was so scared. And now, my sister’s scared. Scared, anxious, and grief-stricken; and she just shared all those emotions with everyone in the room but me.

The singers started wailing their song or choking on the emotions Amelia Rose was channeling. A few people in the room, including Caylie, cried. Some loudly, some with soft sniffles. Caylie looked at me.

“He doesn’t love me anymore, does he?” She turned her camera around and snapped a photo of herself crying and groaning when she saw it.

A man ran up to the bar, asking for another drink, babbling about how he cheated on his wife and now he had to endure this trip with her to convince her he still loved her so she wouldn’t take the kids away. The bartender, barely listening, tapped his fingers on the bar. Things were spiraling fast.

I nodded toward the corner of the room by the stairs. It was the darkest part of the room, perfect for cover, keeping the family secret and all that. I grabbed her hand to guide her over. Halfway, she jerked out of my hand. A crying woman had yanked her away and slapped her. Amelia Rose stared at her, eyebrows scrunched together. Then she looked at me like I had an explanation. I shrugged. I was just as clueless as she was.

“W-, why did you just slap me?”

“My husband keeps eyeing you. He’s been cheating. It’s you, isn’t it? Have you been following us this whole trip, sneaking time with him? This-This was all one big scheme!” She choked on her words, sobbing.

“What? No! I don’t know you or your husband.”

“If he,” I pointed over my shoulder toward the guy at the bar confessing his sins, “is cheating with someone here; it isn’t with my sister. Go slap him, and make his eyeballs pop out so he can’t ogle anyone else. And then take all his money, girl.” I snapped my fingers. “But Geez.” Amelia Rose rubbed her face. “Ask questions first, next time.” I scrunched my face, rolled my eyes, and turned away from her.

I pulled my sister away from the crazy lady with now red cheeks. She walked over to the man at the bar, and she did indeed slap him as instructed. In front of us, a tall man with his sleeves rolled up was pacing back and forth by the window. He would stop, look out the window, and then pace again, mumbling to himself. He noticed us and froze, tears glittering in his eyes.

“I think it’s dead.” He looked pointedly out the window at the roadkill in the road. “How could anyone run over an animal?” The

tear in his eye fell fast, like it had been desperate to escape, and finally made it.

“I’m so sorry. Maybe you should bury it and give it a small memorial.” Amelia Rose side-eyed me, but the man perked up a little, too drunk to hear my sarcasm. I hate to be rude, but we had a big problem on our hands, and I struggle with negative emotions I can’t get rid of with laughter.

“Yeah, you right.” He nodded his head and walked out the door.

“Ugh, my work is never done.” I shook my head, smiling despite the chaos our little family secret had caused us yet again. My familial line can sense and control emotions. I see emotional auras. Amelia Rose feels them like they are hers. Our father smelled them and our grandmother could taste them. I’m told her mother had some kind of sensory touch ability.

After training, we only sense strong emotions without us reaching out to them. Amelia Rose and I decided we didn’t want to control others’ emotions and refused to practice that part of our power. That choice came with a quick realization that we couldn’t allow ourselves to have strong emotions, or they would spread to others whether or not we wanted them to. Kind of like they just did. So, we trained.

When we got to the dark corner, I yelled as loud as I could and still be whispering. “What’s going on?” Her shoulders slumped as she exhaled. I softened a little, slumping mine too. I knew she wasn’t doing it on purpose and didn’t want to push more anxiety into her. She pressed her fingers together, rubbing them, hard.“How can I help?”

“The man in the corner.” She pointed over her shoulder.

“Shoot. I think Caylie’s coming.” Caylie stumbled toward us. We took two deep breaths together.

“I’ve had too much to drink. I can’t calm down.” Tears welled in her eyes. This man’s grief was fighting for control. Caylie wrapped her arms around our shoulders. If she doesn’t find a way to control her power there will be another emotional bomb.

“I hate him.” Caylie looked back and forth between us. Tears and mascara streamed freely. “That’s not true.” She shook her head. “I love him.”

“How about we go lay down and dream up better men?” I wrapped my arm around her waist and started walking toward the stairs. “Scratch that. Ryan is already perfect.” I bit my lip, fighting a smile. Now wasn’t the time. “Just dream happy dreams of dreamy men.” Caylie smiled, but the tears didn’t stop. Amelia Rose side-eyed me. I hoped going to the room would be far enough away to break this man’s emotional hold on her, thus breaking her hold on everyone else. As they sobered so would the magic. How sobering it is to resolve a catastrophe.

Caylie refused to let us go, so we struggled to climb the stairs. We almost fell backward on the third step. Amelia Rose unlocked the door, and we all collapsed face-first on the bed. Even tangled up, I was grateful to be lying down. The alcohol thrummed in my head, lulling me to collapse my body and brain.

I couldn’t rest though, not until I knew Amelia Rose and everyone else would be alright. I lifted my head a little to see over Caylie. The flame was going down. It worked. I let out a long breath. Another incident, another victory. I caught Amelia Rose’s eyes and waggled my eyebrows in celebration. She gave me a small smile and then turned on her side. We were fading fast; the alcohol and magic demanding us to sleep.

In the night, I got up for my nightly bathroom break and noticed my sister staring at the door. I thought she was sleeping with her eyes open or dead; she was taking way too long to blink.