With Luck, the Storm Will Come
“Luck can happen to anyone, I know, but what about people who aren’t naturally lucky?“
Stifling an urge to roll her eyes, my mentor shook her head and retrieved another vial. “Lady Luck cannot be rushed,” she clicked her tongue against her teeth as the mist began to project a new image.
Hazel Woolfe had never slept well. At least, not since the morning she woke to find her world and her home changed forever. Before that, she didn’t remember how she slept. A new life had started that day, one she was eager to leave behind her. The sound of the crash that killed her mother had been played on the news broadcasts all over the globe, and too often for Hazel’s comfort. But as the thunder rumbled in the distance, Hazel waited for the crash of lightning that would make things make sense again.
Each night since setting her plan into place, just waiting for the weather to change, Hazel slipped into a pink tracksuit and kept her sneakers by her bed. She prayed to Merlin, to Thor, to the Neon Stick People, to the Flying Spaghetti Muncher, to the nice Episcapalian reverend who blessed her father’s new marriage, and to any god or goddess she could think of to send her a storm. Her mind was ready, her heart was ready, and her potion was ready. Still, the only storm for weeks had been the one that raged inside her.
Just as she thought she might drift into sleep, lulled by the stillness, her room lit up with the flash of a summer storm. She retrieved the note written long in advance from her journal, left it on her unmade bed, and was climbing down the fire escape before the thunder could gather another blow.
Jumping from the last step, she sprinted through puddles and through the alleyways to the bushes where she had hidden the crystal phial at the south end of Central Park.
Taking shelter beneath the tree, she pulled the potion from its place under a loosened root. Pointing her wand to her chest, she began to repeat Amato Animo Animato Animagus, growing louder as if in competition with the wind that howled and churned the pond against the rain. Still, as the storm raged, Hazel’s words rang out as she chanted fearlessly above the din. Amato Animo Animato Animagus.
A bolt of lightning crashed into the pond as the spell began to take its course on Hazel’s small frame. It had only been a matter of months since she had received the letter that would upend her life, and many months to go before she would travel across the sea to a new school. She was small and had hoped her youthfulness would somehow make the transition easier, still the pain burned through her and brought her voice to a whimper as she chanted the incantation a final time.
Taking a deep breath, Hazel focused on her heartbeat, waiting for confirmation. Ba-bump, ba-bump. Until the last piece of the transformation fell into place with a resounding ba-ba-bump-bump ,ba-ba-bump-bump. She opened her eyes to study herself, all she could see without a mirror. The sleeves of her velvet jacket were rain drenched and hung over her paws. She tore at the garment with her new fangs in ravenous delight.
Tail wagging and tongue exposed to the stormy deluge that now seemed much louder to her sensitive hearing, she slunk through the west side alleyways. Hazel broke into a run, testing her new form and raced up through Harlem, lingering to enjoy the smells coming from a favorite late-night diner, and back down through the park at full speed. She eventually found herself back on the quiet tree-lined block where she climbed the fire escape, shook the water from her fur, and settled onto the foot of her bed.