Read Online The Third Magic by Molly Cochran - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Molly Cochran
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great distance to do, but feeling compelled to feel once again the healing warmth of the cup.
For she had experienced its power before. Long before the cup had found its way to its underground place in this unsophisticated town, when it was still an object known to men who were willing to kill for it, Emily had been shot point-blank in the middle of her chest and left for dead.
She had been past all hope of survival when the cup had touched her. That was all it had been, a touch, yet it had been enough to heal the massive wound from the inside out, leaving nothing but smooth skin and a blood-soaked blouse.
The cup, like all miraculous objects, had caused so much trouble that Emily had been glad to learn that it was gone forever. And yet now, waiting her turn in the line of pilgrims, hope surged through her body, her heart pounding as she drew closer to the healing waters, her face flushing, her hands trembling with excitement.
And then her turn came to touch the magic water, to splash it on the grotesque scars that had transformed her from an ordinary, forgettable woman into a pitiable monster whom people avoided because they did not know where to look when they talked with her. She poured the water on herself, she drank it, she held it to her throat like a poultice as others behind her craned their necks to watch the expected miracle of her transformation.
But there had been no miracle. Emily had known from the first moment that the cup was not working for her. There was no warmth. The last time she had been touched by it, her whole body had vibrated with its intense power.
But not this time.
For a moment, the entire crowd at the creek gasped and moaned with dismay at Emily's unchanged appearance. But their concern was soon superseded by their desire to experience their own healing, and within minutes she found herself completely edged out, standing alone outside the periphery of the group as they once again shouted in amazement at the miracle water.
Maybe it's not the cup after all, she thought, shaking with disappointment. She knew that the cup worked. It had worked on her before.
A woman rose out of a wheelchair and walked through the parted crowd with tears streaming down her face. "It was warm!" she cried. "It was warm, like a living thing."
Like a living thing. Yes, that was how the cup had felt before, those years ago, warm and living.
Emily made way for the woman, who walked past her as if she did not exist. There was no room in the hearts of the faithful for reminders of failure. The secret of Miller's Creek was indeed the cup, and the cup still worked.
Just not for her.
She gathered her strength, steadying herself as others filed past her without a glance, pretending she did not exist. Then she wiped her face with a tissue, threw back her shoulders, and walked into the building where Zack Diamond sat at his desk surrounded by papers.
Now, four years later, she no longer wept over the scars that covered her body, just as she no longer wept over the loss of Arthur, or her guilt, or her broken love for Hal, who had left her without a word of good-bye.
She had a job and lived her small life, and tried to accept those things as enough.
A week after Ginger Ranier's disappointing pilgrimage to Miller's Creek, her daughter Gwen came to visit Ms. B.
"The water didn't work on my mother," she said, thumping a tattered scrapbook on the comer of the desk.
"Hmmm." Emily was absorbed in double-entry bookkeeping. There had been a number of sizeable donations that month.
"It wasn't a big deal, though. She only had a couple of bruises. They went away by themselves."
"Good."
"And her boyfriend never came back."
"I see."
"He was a brainless prick."
"Are you trying to shock me?" she said without looking up.
Gwen laughed. "Just seeing if you were paying attention."
"Well, I'm not, unless you come up with something at least mildly interesting."
Gwen folded her hands. She bit her lips.
Ms. B looked up.
For she had experienced its power before. Long before the cup had found its way to its underground place in this unsophisticated town, when it was still an object known to men who were willing to kill for it, Emily had been shot point-blank in the middle of her chest and left for dead.
She had been past all hope of survival when the cup had touched her. That was all it had been, a touch, yet it had been enough to heal the massive wound from the inside out, leaving nothing but smooth skin and a blood-soaked blouse.
The cup, like all miraculous objects, had caused so much trouble that Emily had been glad to learn that it was gone forever. And yet now, waiting her turn in the line of pilgrims, hope surged through her body, her heart pounding as she drew closer to the healing waters, her face flushing, her hands trembling with excitement.
And then her turn came to touch the magic water, to splash it on the grotesque scars that had transformed her from an ordinary, forgettable woman into a pitiable monster whom people avoided because they did not know where to look when they talked with her. She poured the water on herself, she drank it, she held it to her throat like a poultice as others behind her craned their necks to watch the expected miracle of her transformation.
But there had been no miracle. Emily had known from the first moment that the cup was not working for her. There was no warmth. The last time she had been touched by it, her whole body had vibrated with its intense power.
But not this time.
For a moment, the entire crowd at the creek gasped and moaned with dismay at Emily's unchanged appearance. But their concern was soon superseded by their desire to experience their own healing, and within minutes she found herself completely edged out, standing alone outside the periphery of the group as they once again shouted in amazement at the miracle water.
Maybe it's not the cup after all, she thought, shaking with disappointment. She knew that the cup worked. It had worked on her before.
A woman rose out of a wheelchair and walked through the parted crowd with tears streaming down her face. "It was warm!" she cried. "It was warm, like a living thing."
Like a living thing. Yes, that was how the cup had felt before, those years ago, warm and living.
Emily made way for the woman, who walked past her as if she did not exist. There was no room in the hearts of the faithful for reminders of failure. The secret of Miller's Creek was indeed the cup, and the cup still worked.
Just not for her.
She gathered her strength, steadying herself as others filed past her without a glance, pretending she did not exist. Then she wiped her face with a tissue, threw back her shoulders, and walked into the building where Zack Diamond sat at his desk surrounded by papers.
Now, four years later, she no longer wept over the scars that covered her body, just as she no longer wept over the loss of Arthur, or her guilt, or her broken love for Hal, who had left her without a word of good-bye.
She had a job and lived her small life, and tried to accept those things as enough.
A week after Ginger Ranier's disappointing pilgrimage to Miller's Creek, her daughter Gwen came to visit Ms. B.
"The water didn't work on my mother," she said, thumping a tattered scrapbook on the comer of the desk.
"Hmmm." Emily was absorbed in double-entry bookkeeping. There had been a number of sizeable donations that month.
"It wasn't a big deal, though. She only had a couple of bruises. They went away by themselves."
"Good."
"And her boyfriend never came back."
"I see."
"He was a brainless prick."
"Are you trying to shock me?" she said without looking up.
Gwen laughed. "Just seeing if you were paying attention."
"Well, I'm not, unless you come up with something at least mildly interesting."
Gwen folded her hands. She bit her lips.
Ms. B looked up.
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