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When it was time for my afternoon magic lesson, I bounced into the schoolroom, as myself this time. “What do you have for me today, teacher?”

“Well, you’ve mastered illusion, shielding, physical manipulation, and you’re getting the hang of food and beverages,” Rod said.Advertisement

“Maybe we should do some introductory communication,” Owen said. “We don’t want to blow out anyone’s synapses the next time she’s in danger, and that’s one thing she can do without revealing that she can do magic.” I caught his eye, and he blushed slightly. I suspected he was thinking the same thing I was, that psychic communication between us could be a lot of fun.

Rod glanced back and forth between us. “Something happened?”

“Granny said it was too loud when I called for help last night,” I explained.

“Okay, then, magical communication, it is,” Rod said. On the room’s whiteboard, he outlined the steps, which weren’t too different from what I’d done instinctively, though I could see where I’d gone wrong. Then he had me send him a message.

He squinted in concentration, then shook his head. “I could tell you were there, but I couldn’t decipher it. Maybe you were trying too hard not to be as loud as you were last night. Just relax and let it flow.”

I tried again, mentally raising my voice this time, but he shook his head. “No, you’re still whispering.”

Owen got up from where he was observing and came over to us. “Try me,” he instructed. “As close as we are, that should be easier. I practically get your signals anyway, without you trying.”

I was tempted to send a risqué message, then decided instead to suggest we go on a picnic that Saturday if the weather was nice. I waited for his shy smile in response, but he just said, “Okay, you can send now.”

“I was!” I insisted aloud. “What am I doing wrong?”

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“You may not be doing anything wrong,” he said soothingly. “This just may not be where your talents lie. Or you may have exhausted that part of yourself last night. It can be like exercise—if you did something strenuous yesterday, you can’t expect to be at your best today.”

“Let’s go back to something easy you know you can do,” Rod suggested. “To start with, try erasing the board.”

I focused on the eraser and thought the spell that put it under my control, then willed it upward to where Rod had written the communication spell. It moved, but not as briskly as it usually did. It seemed a little more sluggish, and it took more effort. I had beads of sweat on my forehead and upper lip by the time the board was clear. I couldn’t tell if the guys noticed how hard I was struggling.

“See, you can still do that,” Rod said. “We’ll come back to the communication later. How about something fun? Remember that time Owen and I made it snow indoors?”

I smiled at the fond memory from not long after I’d joined the company. “And that was real, right? Because I could see it.”

“Yeah, it was real, though you can also get a similar effect with illusion.” He wrote new instructions on the board, then demonstrated by creating his own snowfall. Delicate flakes danced in the air, and now that I knew what to look for, I could sense the way he directed the magic. It was so vivid that I felt cold, even though I knew it wasn’t real snow.

Then it was my turn. I ran through the spell, then imagined a magical Christmas Eve snowfall and directed it to appear. Instead of dancing flurries, I got more of a Texas snowfall, with big, wet, gloppy clumps of flakes, and even those vanished before they hit the ground. Soon, the whole snowfall petered out, no matter how hard I tried.

“What is wrong with me?” I cried out in frustration.

Owen put his arm around me. “Hey, everyone has bad days, and you used more power than you realized last night. You may not have aching muscles to feel, but your magical muscles are probably stiff and sore today. We should have thought of that and given you the day off.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Rod chimed in. His smile was encouraging, but I caught the worried glance he and Owen exchanged. I wondered if my earlier successes were merely beginner’s luck.

Chapter Three

I was well rested and a little less cocky when I arrived for my next training session. Maybe I’d been more tired than I realized. I’d created a complex illusion, used magic to call for help, and then survived some extra drills with my grandmother. No wonder I’d struggled.

But now I was ready to go. “Hit me with your best shot,” I told Rod. pqdm.com