I plant my feet on the platform and feel the heat course up my legs, telling me that I’m up, like a teacher scolding you for being late.
Mizzo is in front of me and she doesn’t hide her anger on her face, her beautiful face. I didn’t get a chance to speak with her, to give her my apology, filled with the right words. I hoped they were right.
I spread my hands like a conductor ending a symphony and send out five bolts made of light. In each one, I put one of her favorite smells, like jasmine and old tomes that never get read.
They fly at her and she gives a smirk. With a piercing series of snaps and a wave of her hands, she summons five little demons who swallow each bolt and let out a series of gags, each trying to outdo the other.
She rubs her hands together and makes a fist in each manicured hand while humming something low and guttural like an ancient dirge. She opens her mouth and a stream of hideous, malformed ghosts pour out of her, and I can hear them scream. At first, it just sounds like noise, but then I hear them clearly. She’s replaying all the hurtful words I said the last time we were together. "You are nothing. Our love was a lie." And the last one, the ghosts say in unison, "You deserve to be alone."
I stagger a bit before the magic even has a chance to hit me, but I come to my senses. I raise my hands up as if I’m playing a flute and capture the ghosts in my song. I change their tones and voices to say over and over, "What a fool I am," and turn them away.
I see Mizzo take a small step back but then immediately get back into her defensive position. My hands are tingling already, announcing that I’m tapping a bit too much into my magic reserve. The minute I start my next incantation, I can see her position change and her head tilt in that sweet way when she doesn’t understand something and can’t look away. I summon storm clouds above her and she creates a barrier of gravestone above her head. When the spell goes off, it starts to rain nightblossom and witch hazel, but when each one hits the ground, a puff of poison explodes out. It was just like that night in Hell’s Graveyard.
With her usual deft, she banishes each flower, uttering words I said to her in anger, and the malaise of poison around her and gets her next spell ready. But I can see her right hand tremble, and I know she’d do her best to hide it, so it must be bad, at her limit.
I watch her almost march to the end of the platform, gritting her teeth. She kneels down at the edge of it with her hands gripping its edge, her hands firmly covering some of the ancient sigils and I hear her chant. I can feel the platform’s confusion come through my feet—she isn’t attacking me directly so it gives me the go-ahead to throw my spell at her.
Her platform starts to wobble and change, shift and alter. The runes look as if they’ve been filled with lava or ice. I can hear my platform drive fear through me and I watch as a bit of Mizzo’s platform starts to grow towards me, reaching out to its twin. Mizzo looks up at me and I can see her pained face. She gives me the allowance to finish her off, to take my prize and climb the steps like I’ve always dreamed.
I run to the edge of my platform and join her in her ritual, desperately trying to catch up. I pour what’s left of my reserve into the spell, taking some of the burden off of her. I can hear her finally inhale and the platforms start to buckle as they realize that their merging is inevitable. The platforms become almost mercury-like but as soon as they join, they stabilize into one large platform with new runes of our creation. And I look up, and Mizzo’s face is inches from mine and for the first time, I see her true smile.
If someone shared this with you, I publish a weekly(ish) newsletter where you can get my fiction, recommendations and just commentary on the writing world. You can sign up for it at the link above.