Chapter 4

The moment my pen lifted from the paper, a speaker near the bandstand crackled loudly, then went dead with a pop.

The music, a bland jazz combo, stuttered into silence.

A ripple of confusion went through the guests.

Ethan scowled. "What now? Can' t this place even keep the power on?"

At a table across the room, a prominent local news anchor, a man I recognized from TV, looked down at his phone, his eyes widening.

He muttered something to his companion, then stood abruptly and walked towards the exit, phone pressed to his ear. He looked agitated.

I felt the smooth river stone in my pouch. It wasn't magic. Elara always said true power wasn't in spells, but in balance, in the natural flow of things.

"Consequences, child," she' d often say. "Every action ripples outward."

A commotion started near the club' s entrance. Shouts, then the distinct, ugly sound of metal crunching.

Ethan' s head snapped up. "What the hell was that?"

He rushed towards the large windows overlooking the parking lot.

His prized sports car, a cherry-red monstrosity parked ostentatiously right by the entrance, now had a massive dent in its side. A valet was wringing his hands, babbling about a runaway catering truck with failed brakes.

"My car!" Ethan shrieked, his face turning a blotchy red. "My brand new car!"

He whirled around, his eyes, wild and furious, landing on me.

"You! This is your fault! You and your bad luck!"

He started towards me, fists clenched.

The air in the room felt thick, charged.

Little things, Elara had taught me, could tip the balance. A signature. A word. A stone.

The unraveling had begun. It was happening faster than even I had expected.