The silence that followed my "Happy birthday to me, I guess" was heavier than any sound. It pressed in on me, a suffocating blanket woven from the absence of Mittens' caterwaul and the jazz music. I was still sprawled on the floor, surrounded by the wreckage of my mundane life: the exploded lamp, the gushing water from the burst pipe, the spiderweb crack on the windowpane with its impossible sheet of ice. My apartment, my sanctuary, now looked like a very small, very localized war zone.
My eyes still pulsed, a terrifying kaleidoscope of violet and silver. I stared at my trembling hands, then at the intricate, swirling echo pattern now permanently etched onto my forearm. It glowed faintly, a soft, internal light that made my skin feel both alive and utterly alien. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't a hallucination. This was real. And it was all my fault.
"Okay, Cassie," I muttered to myself, my voice a shaky whisper. "Deep breaths. Just… deep breaths. You just accidentally reality-warped your living room. No big deal. Happens to everyone on their eighteenth, right?" The sarcasm felt hollow, a flimsy shield against the tidal wave of panic threatening to drown me.
I tried to stand, my legs feeling like jelly. Every muscle screamed in protest, as if I'd run a marathon while simultaneously wrestling a bear. The sheer drain of whatever I'd done left me weak, nauseous. I pushed myself up, leaning heavily against the water-soaked wall, the cold seeping through my pajamas. The pipe was still gushing, a miniature waterfall cascading into my kitchen.
"Water. Stop," I tried, my voice barely a croak. Nothing. The water kept flowing, mocking my pathetic attempt at control. My eyes didn't even flicker. "Oh, for the love of… why did I get the 'destroy everything' power and not the 'fix leaky pipes' power?" I groaned, running a hand through my damp, tangled hair.
Just then, a sharp, insistent knock echoed from my apartment door.
My heart leaped into my throat. Who the hell could that be at midnight? Mrs. Gable, complaining about the silence? The landlord, sensing a disturbance in the force (or, more accurately, the plumbing)? I froze, suddenly acutely aware of the chaos behind me. I couldn't let anyone see this. They'd think I'd finally snapped. Or worse, they'd think I was a witch. Which, apparently, I was.
The knocking came again, louder this time, accompanied by a calm, melodic voice. "Cassandra Vance? I assure you, it's safer if you open the door. We felt the surge."
Felt the surge? My blood ran cold. We?
"Look, whoever you are, I think you have the wrong apartment," I yelled back, trying to sound normal, but my voice trembled. "It's… uh… a really bad time for a census taker!"
A soft sigh came from the other side of the door. "Cassandra, you've just manifested enough raw power to ripple the veil between Elara and the Mundane. Your apartment is currently experiencing a localized temporal anomaly and a minor elemental cascade. And I can hear your pipes weeping. I assure you, I have the right apartment." The voice was calm, almost amused, but there was an underlying current of authority that made my stomach clench.