Short Story: Wind chimes

Staring out the window was hardly the most productive use of time, but it’s all Cordy wanted to do today.  It was just cloudy enough to be gloomy, with a pallor that it might rain any moment.  It was just cold enough to make a t-shirt too light and a sweater too heavy.  In all, it was the worst sort of day in her opinion.

On the other hand, it was exactly the kind of weather which was most useful to her particular brand of magic.  In those moments before the rain broke, the equilibrium of the world hung in balance and if she could time everything right, Cordy could change the world.

Most witches had to use potions or long complicated spells.  Cordy had spent years struggling with why sometimes her spells were powerful and sometimes they didn’t work at all.  It had been something of an accident when she figured out she was linked to the weather.

She had been sitting in her living room with a scrying bowl, trying to seek her next car.  It wasn’t as simple as going to the local dealership; a witch needed a car that wouldn’t dull her magical senses and wouldn’t fight her every time she did something a little funny to the universe.  There was a running joke that cars were harder to find than cats among witches.

Cordy had just entered her trance when thunder boomed.  It rattled the windows on her apartment and made the wind chimes she’d hung on the porch screech in a jangle of metal.  But the power which flowered through her was intense; and she instantly saw her car.  It wasn’t anything special, just a blue Toyota; but it would be the car that wouldn’t get upset about magic and wouldn’t crap out on her.

It took some experiments to figure out that it was change that empowered Cordy; weather or construction had both proven useful. Recent road work near her house had been like there was a river of power flowing past her daily.  She’d never heard of a witch empowered by change.  Just think what she could do during times of civil unrest? Civil war would give her the kind of power people only attributed to Rasputin or Charlegmagne or Ceaser.


I know this isn’t a story with a plot; but it’s been rattling in my mind that IF there were urban witches, why aren’t they powerful? Why aren’t they turning people into frogs and whatnot?  Well, what if they used their power wrong.  So this isn’t as much a “short story” as a bit of exploration in a character/idea/magic concept.   It’s also a “I swore I’d get something blogged this week” post….



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