Old Magic

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

First update:

Title: Old Magic

Summary: When Daisy meets Matt she senses that like her, he has magical powers. She also knows that he's unaware of his gift and will be difficult to persuade. When Matt learns to use his gift, they both find themselves in a time of years old, pitched in the greatest battle of their lives.

Rating: I don't know. None. because deviantart doesn't have a ratings chart.

Genre: Romance/Drama. because I'm not sure if deviantart will allow two genres. but I think that's it.

Ages: Daisy: 16--------Matt: 16

DISCLAIMER: T.T. I don't own anything in this story/ one-shot. This story is based completely on the book Old Magic by Marianne Curley and Matt belongs to Toei and Daisy belongs to me. T.T there! Happy! --Evil Glares at lawyers--

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hi everybody! It's me, Amanda! Unfortunately, I don't own anything in this story, as I said above, it's owned by other people who are famous. I just own Daisy, my OC. Anyways, I created this story since I wanted to try something different. Anyways, this story is based completely on the book, which I don't have, and not Digimon, so the age differences are different. Anyways, the ratings of some of my one-shots are going up to M, you better remember that! Anyways, enjoy this chapter/ one-shot and comment or fave at the end please.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

digidestinedgirl09

Presents

Old Magic

Part 1: Wind: Chapter 1

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Daisy's P.O.V.)

His name is Matt Ishida. He has dirty blonde hair down to his shoulders, nice clean skin and azure blue eyes like icy sapphires like mine: but that's not why I can't take my eyes off of him. There's something else. Something almost... disturbing. It's this unearthly element that's got my attention.

He's standing awkwardly at the front of the class of twenty-seven Year 10s, looking as if he doesn't quite know what to do with his hands - or his beautiful eyes. As they flick nervously across the back wall of the lab, I'm able to tell that they hold years of knowledge yet to be awakened. They've been everywhere not once connecting with anyone else's. He has a gray back that looks as if it's traveled twice around the world slung across one slightly slanted shoulder, and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. He's in uniform, the usual gray pants, white shirt, navy-blue striped tie. At a guess it doesn't look new.

Mr. Garrett, our science teacher, tells us a little about him. His family moved from the Riverina only a couple of days ago and he has a younger brother, T.K., who's still in Year 3.

Looks like I'm not the only one interested, Jun Motomiya's eyes are on Matt too. But hers are fixed in a leering manner, her bright pink glossy painted mouth slightly parted, invitation written all over her. God, she's so obvious. Briefly I glance at Pecs, class loudmouth and Jun's boyfriend, though there've been rumors lately that not all is well in that camp.

Not that Pecs is his real name. He got it around Year 4, courtesy of his footy coach, who'd been impressed by the guy's stocky rugby appearance and muscular arms. It turned out the name suited his personality, which wasn't much even then. I know 'cause I was there. Still, I can't imagine anyone calling him Angus John, named after some long-dead Scottish relative. Not even the teachers dare. Pecs is one of those blatantly rude, in-your-face- dickheads that can make your life hell. And does so just for kicks.

He notices Jun's interest in the new guy, registers the threat instantly, something basic enough for his pea-sized mind to comprehend.

I decide to probe inside Pec's pea-sized brain. It's one of the skills my grandmother taught me. She says I was born with a natural gift, sensing emotions, feeling emotions. Over the years I've polished that skill to a point that now I only have to concentrate for a few seconds and I'm in. inside his fat head.

Oh hell! I make a fast withdrawl, my head is spinning. He's all burning fuel. Makes me feel as if I stepped too close to a raging fire. Man.

"Daisy? Daisy!"

 Kari, my best (and other) girl friend, are staring at me with normal chocolate-brown eyes. "Yeah?"

"You all right? You went paler than your usual God-awful pale."

I smile, ignoring their God-Awful comment. I may look anaemic, but I'm not. I'm careful though to avoid the sun, my skin burns too quickly. Living on Ashpeak Mountain suits me just fine. IT even snows in winter. I have long, dead-straight chocolate brown hair, courtesy from a father I've never met. And except for her pale skin, I don't take from my mother at all. She, apparently has hair as gold as butternut. As she did fifteen years ago, which was the last time I saw her. Obviously I don't remember a thing. My grandmother raised me.               People say I look inhuman. It's my eyes I think, a kind of blue, most of the time, people mistake it for teal-blue. Considering this, I don't think it's quite weird that some of them still think I'm a witch. They're right of course, but not in the stereotypical sense of the word.

 Kari is the only one who knows the truth. Sure, everybody gossips, the community up there is pathetically small. And extremely nosy might I add. But Kari has seen what I can do, which isn't much, really. Not yet anyway.

And even though my mom's mother is my grandmother, I don't call her Gran or anything like that. She raised me after my birth mother bailed out when I was a baby. She couldn't control my crying apparently - a habit I grew out of. I was only eight months at the time.

As soon as I could understand, my grandmother explained about my mother's inadequacies with babies, told me not to worry though, thankfully, she - my grandmother - loved kids. At first she didn't know what I should call her. 'Mom' just wasn't right. Besides, the whole community knew the truth anyways - that Akiyama Hirayama had given birth to a bouncing baby girl at the ripe old age of fifteen years and ten months.

And 'cause my grandmother didn't like 'Nana' words, not that she thought was suitable for a thirty-one year old, so I grew up calling her by her first name. even though I had no idea what her first name was.

One thing my grandmother constantly teaches me is to keep certain things a mystery. Like my abilities - to move objects, work spells, sense moods, and well... change things. They're only small tricks compared to what my grandmother can do. They never say it to her face, but mostly the people around here know that my grandmother's a witch. With me they're only guessing, how stupid... But they've never seen either of us do anything. My grandmother's careful about that. They come to their conclusions mainly because of where we live (half buried in the rainforest), my grandmother's New Age shop, and the freelance articles she writes for various witch magazines. Of course they never say anything in her face. They're afraid. Afraid that she'll perform 'black magic' on them. They don't know her of course. If they'd only stop to read one of her articles they'd see what my grandmother is: a healer. She doesn't make much money out of the shop, her articles keep us financially afloat. Sure she's a witch, but most stupid people have stupid preconceived ideas of what a witch is. My grandmother's  not 'typical' in any way. And as for me, I'm still in training.

I hear a noise up front and see Matt falling off his stool. Unbelievable. He just reaches across to grab a glass beaker and wham, he's on the floor, a tangle of long arms and legs. The class explodes, laughing their stupid asses off. They're all idiots. I watch as Matt tries to compose himself, red-faced, climbing awkwardly back on his stool, his head angling sharply downwards so that his eyes don't connect with anyone's. He's good at that. A thick wad of shiny yellow hair crosses his forehead, obscuring his face even more.

I sense his nervousness, and wonder why. Okay, it's his first day at a new school, and Pec's hostility is tangible: but this is different. So I decided to probe, gently at first, just skirting the edges of his sense. His head suddenly lifts and stills as if... Uh-uh, he can't possibly feel me. No one ever does. Gingerly, I dig a little deeper, feel his hesitation, awkwardness, nerves. I feel his desire, burning away inside, an impassioned need to fit in, as if he's just a small boy lost somewhere in the midst of a huge forest, with no sense of direction.

Something hard hits me. It takes me a second to realize what it is, as this has never happened before. A wall is between us. He's blocking me out! I'm still staring at the back of his head and notice his shoulders jerk up and stiffen. His head shifts around, slowly at first, like he's looking for something. He sees me and stops. Our eyes collide and lock. He's wearing a frown, which slowly transforms into a look of puzzlement. It's like he wants to ask something but isn't sure what, yet senses it's importance.

I know then - he's different too. He did feel my probe, every thought I gather he doesn't understand what happened. And suddenly Matt Ishida becomes way more interesting.

Mr. Garrett attempts to regain control over the class, repeatedly tapping the whiteboard with the butt of his blue felt pen. Matt swings his gaze back to the front, releasing me: and at last I breathe.

I don't dare probe again. My heart is still pounding from that three-second connection with Matt's mind. I try to hone in on what knowledge Mr. Garrett is attempting to impact; but I'm lost, my concentration shattered. And I can't drag my thoughts away from Matt. I'm tempted like crazy to go back in!

At last we get to the practical side of the lesson, and luckily the experiment is extremely easy, mixing an alkali with an acid in the presence of litmus. So there's nothing explosive. Still, it needs my concentration, adding diluted hydrochloric acid drop by drop while continually stirring, then adding sodium hydroxide in the same way, observing the various color changes; but Matt just slipped on a pair of gold-framed glasses and Pecs is keeling over in fits of hysterical laughter. He should be back in kindergarten where his level of intelligence has company.

My experiment turns purple. I glance at Matt and notice his shoulders lift and hold for a stretched second as he fights to control his emotions. Part of me wants to see him lash out as Pecs deserves it; but I can tell it's not Matt's style. He either lacks the self-confidence to confront a hulking brute like Pecs, or has the patience of a Tibetan monk. I'm going for the lack of confidence. His mannerisms are kind of stilted, awkward, and clumsy. It makes me wonder about him, what kind of life he's had. His back remains stiff while he tries to maintain control.

My eyes search for Mr. Garrett, though why I'm not sure. This man is a weakling in the face of Pecs and his buddies. Especially since his divorce became final last year. Everybody knows about it. He was the talk of Ashpeak for months on end. Without any indication, Rachel Garrett, wife of nine years, dropped their two kids off at preschool and kindergarten, picked up the local pharmacist, and disappeared. No one heard from the couple, not a word, for twelve whole months. Finally she returned, but only to claim custody of the kids, which she got after a nasty court battle. But Mr. G's personal life isn't the only loss, his enthusiasm for life disappeared, as well as any classroom control.

But Pecs, it seems, is looking for trouble. Something he thrives on. We're supposed to be working in pairs, one mixing chemicals, the other taking notes. Mr. Garrett, head bent, back to the class, is helping Kage Uchiha and Kyle Haruno get it right. Pecs leaves his seat, leans down and whispers something in Jun's ear which makes her giggle like the brainless airhead she acts like; and in a bare-faced attempt to cause trouble, Pecs walks straight past Matt, knocking his glasses off his face in a movement that's so obvious no one could call it an accident. They drop with a clang to the floor.

"Ah, gee, sorry bro. Did I do that?" Pretending to pick them up Pecs then purposefully kicks the gold frames halfway across the hard cold floor.

Half the class laughs at Pec's sick antics, Mr. Garrett so far behind it all may as well have never showed up for class this morning. He makes Pecs pick them up though, which Pecs does, making sure to smudge spit-slurred fingers across both sides of the lenses. His mouth hangs open, thick tongue lolling heavily to one side of his obtrusive lower lip. His face betrays a hint of satisfaction. He's really enjoying himself now. Argh! He needs a mirror...

My mind goes through the number of spells I've recently mastered to some degree of success. The eternal body itch could be a go. Now wouldn't that be sweet justice? Giving Pecs irritating rashes on every conceivable part of his huge body. Of course my grandmother would talk me out of it. She lectures endlessly about the dangers of meddling with nature. Right now I can't seem to remember a single thing she's said.

"What a moron, ne?"

I smile at Kari's descriptions of Pec's personality. But the smile doesn't last long. Something sharp hits my senses though I can't place it. Something unnerving. I glance out of the window but see nothing but blue sky on a crisp autumn morning. I hone in on Matt, careful not to probe past the outer ridges of his mind. It's enough though. I feel his anger, and how he battles to control it. Momentarily, I want him to let loose. I have a feeling if he did these babbling idiots wouldn't know what hit them. But my sensible side urges him to keep it hidden, not to draw any more attention to himself. In this way I feel aligned to him on some unnameable scale. It's how I live - skirting the edges.

Things start happening really quickly, Tasha Daniels, Jun's best friend, and one of the 'trendies', all snotty and sooty lashes, starts screaming hysterically as her half-filled beaker explodes. With the shattering of glass, chemicals spread a sizzling puddle across the bench, quickly slithering to the floor, Luckily for Jessica, her slender fingers, waggling crazily at the side of her head as she continues screaming, missing the scalding mess.

Mr.Garrett's voice rises for the first time in a year, yelling at Tasha to calm down and start cleaning up. He has it all wrong of course. Tasha has nothing to do with that beaker exploding. She didn't drop it or anything, It occurs to me that it's probably better that Mr.Garrett thinks Tasha is responsible. I'm not being vindictive, Tasha Daniels has nothing to do with me. God, she probably hasn't talked more than three words to me in the past two years. But my senses are heightened, alarmed. Something weird is happening, something that borders on unexplainable.

Pecs blames Jarrod. Mr.Garrett shrugs it off as ridiculous. "Go back to your seat, Pecs, before I give you a lunchtime detention, and while you're there help Tasha clean up that mess."

Personally I agree with Pecs, but I'm keeping my mouth shut. The idiot can fight his own battles, and I secretly hope he loses every one of them.

But, as usual, the jerk can't stop stirring up trouble, "He did do it, sir, I saw him," he blatantly lies, "He threw something, sir. Yeah... he threw his... his..." It takes him a full minute to think of this, "His lighter!"

Matt shifts so that he can see Pecs better, From seemingly nowhere Pecs produces a small, plastic, fluoro-yellow gas lighter. Evidence. I realize by the shared secret smile with his buddy, Ryan Cohen, how the lighter suddenly appeared.

Unfortunately Mr. Garrett misses the smug exchange and starts examining the lighter as if it were Exibit One in a murder trial.

"Why would I have a lighter, Mr. Garrett? I don't smoke."

These are the first words I hear Matt say, and though he uttered softly, calmly, I can tell this seeming serenity is nothing but a screen. Swinging right around, he throws Pecs a hostile glare; and I see his eyes darken eerily, the azure blue darkening into a stormy blue color.

The intensity in these eyes intrigues me, so I have to do it. Just once more I tell myself. Mentally, I take a deep breath and start to probe, gently and as deep as I dare, but only for a few seconds. Alarm makes my nerves jump. The air around me suddenly thickens with a bizarre kind of power - restless with an uncontrolled aspect, like a tempest on the verge of breaking across a drought-stricken plain.

But most alarming is my instinct that this power is coming from Matt.

Mr. Garrett's expressions change from disbelief to accusation, his voice slick with impatience. I've heard it before. It's how he copes when schoolboy pranks continually disrupt his lessons, "Not a good way to start your first day, Mr. Ishida. I hope this behavior is not indicative of things to come," He's trying to assert his authority, but who's he kidding, really?

I lost sympathy for the poor guy when he started producing enough self-pity to drown in. And I know he's become gutless lately, but to accuse and convict on the face of a lousy piece of suspect evidence is truly pathetic and lame. Matt apparently agrees, His lips snap together as he inhales deeply through his suddenly-widened nostrils, fingers clenching into tight balls.

He's losing it. Fast now.

The fluorescent lights are the first to go. They flicker uncontrollably, then fizz out with a simultaneous flash and hiss, as if struck by a sudden vicious power surge. No doubt they have been. But not the kind you get from a fault at a power station. The room darkens even though it's still morning. Someone screams and everybody starts murmuring.

Mr. Garrett, forgetting the shattered beaker incident, raises his hands, "Calm down everybody. Stay seated while I go and see what's happened to the power."

Of course no one pays attention to him and as soon as he leaves the murmuring becomes frantic. It's really weird how one minute the sky is cloudless and a brisk autumn morning, and now, with the lights off, it has transformed into an eerie twilight. Dark, thunderous-looking clouds roll towards us really fast, like a big hungry mouth gobbling up the soft blue sky and everything in its path.

"Look at the sky!" Dia Petoria yells from near a window.

Some people rush over but then everybody's attention zooms back to Pecs. With Mr. Garrett out of the room he's decided to have another shot at Matt, "Such lovely hair," he taunts, lifting some of it, letting it slip through his rugby-thick finger, "Are you sure you're not a girl, pretty boy?"

Matt moves once, jerking his head just out of Pecs's reach. I marvel how he takes so much without retaliating. I would've lost my cool hours ago, and thought about casting the first spell that flicked through my mind. I've never been able to do the art of shape-changing spells, but a sloth - hairy, slow and weighing 200kg- would be appropriate right now. Pecs would make a good one. Instantly, visions of him hanging upside down in one of the huge eucalyptus trees that predominate the forest here saunter through my subconscious, and I can't help but smile. Thinking about changing Pecs into a sloth takes my mind off the advancing storm. But just as suddenly it zeroes back as windows fling open on their own, vibrating with the force. Papers, pens, test tubes, Bunsen burners, anything that moves, lift off the benches, getting caught in the increasing wind, and start smashing against the walls or other moving objects.

"What the hell!" Pecs, momentarily distracted, goes to close windows. So I'm surprised when, considering his size and strength, the windows still don't budge.

Mr. Garrett returned looking stunned, "What's going on?" He soon collects himself, remembering I guess that he's the teacher in charge, and starts yelling orders at us, "Hurry! Close those windows! This is the only room, apparently that's got a power problem. Where did this wind come from?"

He's babbling a bit, then I guess it's a little weird. I don't understand it either. It feels unnatural.

"They're stuck, sir!" Pecs yells over the gathering wind, I remember then that weird feeling I sensed earlier. This is it - or rather, the result of it - anger, dark and intense.

A couple of girls huddle together in a corner screaming. Others race around lamely trying to collect their work which is circling the room. One girl, sitting on the floor, wraps her arms her knees and cries like a pathetic baby. Only Matt looks calm. He's still sitting at his bench, and his eyes have gone all weird, like he's staring at a ghost or something. Wind tears at his shirt, thrashing his long hair around his face. He has to notice this as it whips across his nose and eyes; but he remains unmoved.

Lightning flashes and I think everybody except Matt screams and buries their heads. It's as if the lightning is right in the room with us. Without even getting our breaths back it flashes again, filling the room with a staggering light and the sound of a horrifying sizzle. Everybody screams as if in unison, clutching at each other and hitting the ground.  Kari grabs  my arm just as thunder explodes so loudly it near deafens us all, her fingers digging so deeply her nails are going leave holes in my skin, "What the...?"

I yank their hands off my arms, one at a time, "I don't know."

"Then it's not you two doing this?"

I stare at them, shaking my head, "I can't do this kind of thing," I have to yell over the wind. "I've never been able to manipulate the weather, Sor and Kari." What I don't add, as Sora and Kari already know, is that I try to, and keep trying, to the point of driving myself crazy with frustration. But I don't have that kind of power. My eyes turn to Matt and linger. He may not be aware of it, but Matt Ishida does.

Unfortunately, I don't think he knows it, and certainly has no control over it. These latter thoughts are scary.

Thunder roars as lightning and thunder follow each other in a one continuous dramatic roll. Mr. Garrett tries to calm the class. He wants us to leave, but his words are lost in the battle of nature is having in our lab. Not knowing where this is going to end, I decide Mr. Garrett's idea's the best.

"We have to get outta here!"

"What!" Sora and Kari's mouths move but their words disappear, ravaged by the wind that has now accelerated into cyclonic mode.

I see other students at the door. Year 12s, being pushed back against the far wall. They look stunned and race off to get help.

Empty stools suddenly become dangerous projectiles. I duck out of one's way and glance at Matt. He's still sitting on his stool, staring into the face of the wind. He must be catatonic to do this without flinching. A window shatters, and, as if in matrix mode, I watch as everybody hits the floor in self-protection. Everybody, that is, except Matt. He remains frozen in his seat, completely mesmerized, his eyes wide and vacant.

Inevitably, something hits him. A piece of jagged glass rips into the skin of his inside lower arm, then continues wind-driven across the room. Weirdly enough it's the catalyst that breaks the spell, or whatever it is. Suddenly the wind drops as if it never was, quietly disappearing, its work apparently done. The remaining jammed windows slide down and those threatening clouds roll briskly away.

For a whole thirty seconds there is complete stillness and silence. I think the whole class is in shock. Slowly Mr. Garrett comes around, organizing groups of students to attend to different in a clean-up campaign. Matt still hasn't moved, and I'm worried about this. He's unbelievably pale, like you could only imagine someone might be if they were dead. Of course half of the class doesn't look much different, except Matt's skin looks completely drained of blood. But it isn't. Where the glass slashed his arm, rich red blobs have dripped on to the bench top.

Mr. Garrett seems oblivious, apparently unaware of Matt's injury. I push through the wrecked furniture and equipment to stand beside him, "Matt's been hurt," I sound defensive without meaning to, and glance around for something to use on the bleeding arm. I see a box of old rags, mostly just discarded clothing that's been cut up to use in the lab to clean up spills and stuff. The wind has knocked it around, but after a quick hunt through the remaining stuff, I find a clean-looking piece.

Mr. Garrett's eyes bulge at the sight of Matt's blood, "Oh jeeze," he sounds more like a babbling idiot than a man of thirty-nine, "You'd better get to the sick ward, boy, right away."

I get the feeling the sooner Matt's out of his classroom, the better Mr. Garrett will feel. What an asshole. Looking around I guess he has his hands full putting the lab back together, but the condition of his students should come first. He looks so unsure of himself. It's a relief I think, when several other teachers and office staff come, shocked and outraged. As Mr. Garrett calls them over and starts attempting to explain, I wrap the white cotton material tightly over Matt's lower arm. I take his other hand and put it on top to keep the makeshift bandage from slipping and to stem the blood flow, "Keep it there until it stops bleeding, hun." I say to him.

His eyes look weird as they shift to mine, like he's been off with the fairies. I try not to probe, it comes too naturally sometimes. My grandmother's always warning me to be careful. With Matt, I have to be extra more careful.

Mr. Garrett shifts his gaze back to the one problem he knows he should fix first - Matt, "Off you go, boy. To the sick ward. Someone will look after you there."

Matt slides off the stool, "I don't know where it is..." he mutters, still holding the bandage.

"Er, um, oh dear," Mr. Garrett stammers, flicking his gaze around the room, looking for someone to take the injured blonde to the sick ward. Meanwhile I'm standing right in front of him, "Yes, well, okay, I'll just find someone..."

"I'll take him."

Mr. Garrett's eyes zoom back as if seeing me standing there for the first time, which really doesn't surprise me. Teachers are used to seeing through me. I like that so I don't go out of my way to be noticed. But Mr. Garrett was my form teacher last year, and came to my grandmother's shop to see for himself what all the rumors were about. Of course he found nothing suspicious or even remotely sinister. All the same, my grandmother didn't want him misconstruing her personal stuff. She didn't show him inside her private rooms. No one goes there, except me. Not even Sora and Kari. "Of course, Kate. Good idea," Mr. Garrett glances at the white bandage, seeing it for the first time, and looks relieved, "Did you do that?"

I nod.

"Good girl. Now off you go. And be careful where you walk."

Matt follows me to the door, and as we step through it, I hear Pecs's sarcastic voice trail behind, "Be careful, pretty boy. Watch out for Scary Face. Don't follow her into any broom closets! Oooh, I'm scared, I'm scared."

Ha-ha. Gee, I'm laughing... even though I feel like punching him in the face.

Typically, the class roars with laughter. They have no thoughts of their own. He leads them like a pack of brainless sheep. An embarrassing chorus of wolf whistles follow us down the corridor.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There you go, Chapter 1! It only took me one day to do it! Comment or fave please!

- Love, digidestinedgirl09

FOOTNOTES:

Daisy: She's based on the female leading main character, Kate Warren. Kate has long dead-straight black hair down to her waist and blue-gray eyes so incredibly light it was sometimes mistaken as see-through.