The shifters, the birds, and Becka didn’t shy away from the miniscule points of light as they floated down, slowly dying out like embers from an unstoked fire. Becka felt the impact of the energy like tiny pinpricks against her skin. A light band of pressure encircled her head, her telltale alert of coming into contact with magic. Becka had become used to a persistent, low-grade headache at House Rowan. If only she could find a way around it.
Yaeli’s display was met with polite clapping.
All of the secrets of the illusory arts hadn’t been disclosed to her, as she was a Null and not an illusionist, yet Becka understood a few precepts. In order for the magic to work, an illusionist needed to either be in contact with the item in question or cast an energetic net through which the illusion could travel. Therefore, anything in range of the ball or the caster’s immediate vicinity could be the target.
Yaeli scooped up her glass and sat back down. “Anyone?”
Becka looked around but saw nothing amiss. At least, not yet.
“Give us a minute,” Ingrid said, her gaze scrutinizing every detail. “We’ll find it.”
“Or you won’t.” Hanna scrunched her nose. “Either way, the contest continues. Alvilda is up next.”
Alvilda straightened her skirts, took a deep breath, and then closed her eyes. She wore her hair in big, thick braids swirled around her head, and they bobbed slightly along with her breathing. After another moment she exhaled and looked up, a pleased smile upon her face.
Becka looked all around Alvilda but detected nothing amiss.
Everyone looked around, but no one spoke up. The tension had Becka at the edge of her seat. She hadn’t imagined she’d enjoy this as much as she was.
“Next,” was all she said, serenely sipping her bubbly beverage.
“Sigfrid, it’s to you.” Hanna gestured her way.
“Anyone catch them out yet?” Sigfrid asked, standing up.
Becka cocked her head to the side. “Are you delaying?”
Sigfrid jokingly frowned at her and the others laughed. “Never!”
Like Yaeli’s method, Sigfrid held up her hands and created a spinning ball. Instead of lightning, this one appeared to be some disco-inspired glitter ball wobbling wildly out of control. Moments later Sigfrid threw her hands outwards and the energy ball exploded in all directions.
Alvilda and Hanna both attempted to shield their faces from the energetic shards, but there was no need, as they disappeared on contact. By the time they looked back up, Sigfrid was sitting again, eyes on Ingrid.
Becka joined the others in a round of clapping, knowing the magical net was cast by the ever-increasing pressure inside her head. She debated pulling the hot sauce out of her bag, but waited, keeping her focus on the game at hand.
“Ingrid,” Hanna said. “It’s to you.”
Ingrid stood and held up a single hand. A moment later a single, enormous jasmine blossom appeared, glistening with morning dew. The flower shuddered, and then exploded, particles flying in all directions.
Again, Becka’s head felt the impact of the tiny particulates. Again, she saw nothing amiss. Again, she clapped and smiled along. Becka sighed. Is it just my inexperience, or am I just not very good at this game?
“Becka,” Hanna said, breaking her reverie. “The last turn falls to you.”
“So it does.” She stood and stretched, aware of how different she was from the other fae-touched women. Her pink hair and ear piercings. Her red track suit, neon green sports bra, and running shoes. Her occasional human or city phrases. It was kind of them to include her when everything about her stuck out like a fox trying to blend in with the chickens.
She gazed back at her seat. Who was she kidding? Perhaps she should give up before she embarrassed herself.
That’s when she noticed the design shift in the fabric she’d been sitting upon. When she moved, the fabric shifted, almost imperceptibly. Once she noticed it, she couldn’t un-notice it.
She moved to the outside of the ring, walking behind the others. “The blankets we’re sitting upon. The fine linen now has a pattern that matches the creases and whorls in the sandstone underneath.”
“Oh, good catch, Becka!” Hanna said.
Was she a relationship coach, or a cheerleader?
“I can see it now too,” Sigfrid said. “Whose was it?”
Alvilda raised a hand, shaking her head in disdain. “I hate it when I get caught out first. But where’s your entry to the einvigi, Becka?”
Becka’s stomach flipped. She had an idea, but no clue if it would work. But what harm could come from trying? It wasn’t like her reputation would take a hit.
“I’m going to try something.” She squatted down next to the fabric and removed her right glove. Becka held her hand out over the blanket, focusing with all her might.
“You can’t win by destroying our creations,” Alvilda snapped. “Those aren’t the stakes.”
By the edge in her tone, Alvilda appeared to be taking this contest more seriously than the others. It was good she didn’t care for the woman or Becka might have felt hurt over her tone. Maybe.
“I’m well aware,” Becka replied.
Over the past few months, Astrid had trained her rigorously to control the extension of her Nulling gift to minute detail. It wasn’t as perfect as she’d like, and the process always caused her head to ache, but what better opportunity to test her finesse?
Hovering her hand over the fabric, she could sense the warp and weave of the magic running through it. She didn’t understand what all the components did, only how they entwined with the fabric on a structural level.
“I’m so excited!” Hanna blurted out.
“Shh!” Ingrid shushed.
“Sorry,” whispered Hanna, head slumped down.
Becka ignored them all, her interest enraptured by the elemental magic woven through the fabric. That’s when she noticed
