I was barefoot in black yoga pants, a white sports bra, hair in a loose bun, sitting in lotus position on the grass in Grams' backyard with my eyes closed. I'd slept like the dead after the ritual, but the moment I woke up I felt a buzzing in my mind — an itch I needed to scratch. The problem was I wasn't entirely sure what it was.
Caroline had stayed the night, and before leaving an hour ago she told me to meditate or, as she put it, "go on a witchy spiritual quest or something." That, and make a pros‑and‑cons list about the ritual.
So here I was, meditating like a hippie in the morning sun. I focused on my heartbeat, the air filling my lungs.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Then my breath caught in my throat. I gasped silently as I felt the air — around me, inside me. One moment I felt the grass under my feet, the next I was the air.
I grinned and looked at my hands.
They looked like my hands, but I didn't feel like flesh. I felt like wind — like a breeze at dusk. Hard to describe, but unmistakable.
I looked down and saw myself still sitting on the grass. Whatever I was doing, it was an out‑of‑body experience. Elemental projection, obviously. And maybe — just maybe — the hack I needed for teleportation without years of spirit‑projection training.
I mentally crossed my fingers and looked around.
Air was everywhere. So I focused on the other side of the yard and willed myself there.
Nothing happened.
Then I felt myself move — not like walking, but like being pushed by a gust of wind. When I opened my eyes, I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Conclusion: it worked when I blinked.
I could only move when I blinked.
Like a witchy Weeping Angel.
I tested it again — this time thinking of the town square — and blinked. Same push, same sensation. Distance didn't change the feeling.
I opened my eyes and saw the clock tower and the Grill. Before I could celebrate, a random woman walked straight through me.
It felt… wrong. Not like projection, where you feel nothing. More like when a stranger brushes your arm on the subway — invasive.
I moved out of the way and tried something else. Instead of a place, I thought of a person.
Caroline.
Blink.
I was in her room.
She was throwing clothes on her bed while muttering to herself.
"Ugly," she said, tossing a shirt. She held up a floral dress. "Looks like something out of Grandma Bess's closet, ugh."
I watched, amused, then tried tangibility. I reached for her phone — my hand passed through it. Tried again. Same result.
Okay, so tangible air was a bit much for day one.
But this new projection — which I was absolutely naming Blinking — was an incredible spying tool.
Caroline held up a white sundress and a denim shirt dress. The white one was cute, but it was still chilly. I wanted to tell her to pick the denim.
Air wasn't visible, but it was audible. You could hear breath. You could hear wind.
So I said loudly, "Caroline!"
She spun around. "What the hell? I swear I just heard Bonnie whisper my name."
That wasn't a whisper — that was a yell. I tried again, focusing my voice on her.
"Caroline."
She jumped. "Bonnie? Is that you?"
"Yes," I said, smiling. "Can you hear me now?"
"Where are you? Bitch, you better not be haunting me."
"New kind of projection from the ritual. Testing it. Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, but you sound weird. Say something else."
"The denim dress is the best choice. It's windy and not summer yet. The white one is cute though."
She blinked. "Your voice sounds like it's vibrating." She grabbed the denim dress. "Now get out. I have to change. And don't be late for class."
I snorted, said "Bye," and blinked.
And immediately screamed silently.
I was underwater.
Two more silent screams later, I realized I wasn't drowning. I looked around — deep water, almost pitch black except for the shimmering light above.
It was beautiful. Peaceful. Exactly the kind of thing Caroline meant by "spiritual quest."
I lay back like I was making a snow angel and stared up at the light. After a few minutes, I stood — ready to swim up — and blinked.
This blink felt different. Like being hit by a wave and thrown upward.
I surfaced in Steven's Quarry.
Of course. I was connected to water and air now. Without a destination, Blink took me to the largest body of water nearby.
I focused — and nearly lost my breath when I felt every drop of water around me.
And I wasn't wet.
Water wasn't wet — it made things wet. And right now, I wasn't in the water. I was the water.
I grinned and blinked again, thinking of my body in Grams' yard.
Suddenly I was flesh and bone again — and fell flat on my back with a shriek.
I opened my eyes to the blue sky and laughed. What an experience.
Then I heard a familiar voice.
"Damn brats these days, so happy in the mornings," Mrs. Galison muttered from her yard.
"Good morning, Mrs. Galison! Isn't it a beautiful day?" I called.
She yelped, dropped her watering can on her foot, and hobbled away muttering, "Creepy girl. How did she hear me?"
I laughed again and mentally updated my list:
Pros:
• Blinking (fast, low energy, can communicate, great for spying)
• Enhanced hearing (needs testing)
Cons:
• I already knew spirit and astral projection — could've spent months learning something else
Oh well.
I showered, dressed, and made coffee while scrolling through my phone. According to Wikipedia, vocal cords vibrate to modulate airflow when we speak. My theory? That's why Caroline said my voice sounded like a vibration — I wasn't talking, I was shaping air.
The possibilities were endless.
The machine beeped. I turned around with my coffee.
Nothing prepared me for the shock.
Sitting at Grams' kitchen table, in an ancient dress, long dark curls, and a lopsided grin, was one of the most powerful witches of all time.
The creator of the Immortality Spell.
The Cure.
The Other Side.
The original woman scorned.
Qetsiyah.
I squealed. The hot coffee in my hand instantly froze into a block of ice. It slipped from my fingers and shattered on the floor.
"Lack of control," my dead ancestor said casually. "You should add that to your list."
"What?" I squeaked.
"It means you have power. But I suppose in this millennium witches are more likely to be roasted than worshipped."
"What?" I repeated, louder.
"I think it's time we had a chat, don't you think, strange descendant of mine?" she said, fixing me with all‑knowing eyes that froze me in place.
Well.
Shit.