“It was an accident, and we don’t report our students for accidents. Punishing you wouldn’t do any of us any good. What we need from you is progress. We need you to get stronger.”
“Mr. Hart was an incredible teacher,” I say. “It wasn’t his fault I didn’t progress. I held myself back.” It takes everything I have to keep my voice from breaking.
“Understood. But holding yourself back isn’t an option anymore, and I hope you fully dedicate yourself to this going forward. The tornado you saw is nothing.”
Mr. Burrows waits as if he’s giving someone else the opportunity to speak, but no one does. “Sang will be working with you on day-to-day training. He’ll be following a plan laid out by Ms. Suntile and myself and will update me on your progress regularly.”
“Why Sang?” The question is out of my mouth before I think better of it. He looks at me, and I look back. The person who helped me during the tornado has been replaced by the person sitting next to Mr. Burrows, across the large desk from me, and I realize he isn’t on my side—he’s on theirs.
“Because Alice trained most successfully with her peers. Sang was at the top of his class at Western, which makes him the obvious choice. I’ve been mentoring him for several years and trust him implicitly. Your school counselor seems to think working with someone your own age will make you more comfortable and thus likelier to progress the way Alice did. If that turns out not to be the case, I’ll take over and train you full-time.”
The trust I had in Sang disintegrates more and more each time he avoids my gaze, each time he nods along with what Mr. Burrows is saying. But I’d rather train with Sang than Mr. Burrows. I don’t know how he doesn’t suffocate beneath the weight of his own ego.
“I understand,” I say.
Mr. Burrows takes off his glasses and rubs his temples. “I know you were close to Mr. Hart, and I’m sorry about what happened. We all are. If you excel the way we know you can, he won’t have died for nothing.”
I’m silent, horrified that he would use Mr. Hart’s death to motivate me.
“Have they told you the risks?” I stare at Sang, practically spitting the words. I’m not sure what makes me say it. I’m angry and hurt and miss Mr. Hart so much my chest throbs.
“He knows the risks,” Mr. Burrows says.
“Can he not speak for himself?”
Mr. Burrows nods at Sang. I cross my arms and wait.
He clears his throat. “When your magic gets out of control, it only targets those you have an emotional connection to. It was the same for Alice. We don’t know each other; there’s no history between us. I’m not at risk.” Sang says the words as if he’s memorized them, stiff and unconvincing.
I swallow hard. Images of Mom and Dad, of Nikki, threaten to overwhelm me. I was so young when my magic went after my parents, but it’s only been a year since Ms. Suntile pulled me away from Nikki’s broken body.
The day is still so clear in my mind. I’d failed a basic drill in weather control in front of the whole class. Mr. Mendez looked disappointed, and people whispered about how I must be the only useless Everwitch in history.
Nikki stood up for me in front of everyone, said that one day they’d all have to eat their words. And when everyone went to dinner, Nikki insisted we go back to the control field, just the two of us, to practice. To replace the events from earlier.
So we did. We repeated the same drill, and I did it flawlessly. We laughed and danced beneath the setting sun, letting our magic roam around with no objective. It was a perfect evening. Until it wasn’t.
I force the memory away and take a steadying breath.
“Satisfied, Ms. Densmore?” Mr. Burrows looks at me expectantly, and it takes me a few seconds to come back to the present. I nod.
I’ll do everything I can to succeed in my training so I don’t get stuck with him.
“Neither of you will be even half the teacher Mr. Hart was.” The words sound childish and immature, but I don’t care. I want to stand up for him somehow, let him know that all I want is to train with him again. Tell him I’ll try harder. I’ll get better.
“He sounds like an incredible person,” Sang says.
“Ms. Densmore, here’s the truth,” Mr. Burrows says, ignoring Sang’s words. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate this man. “Witches are being depleted at a rate we’ve never seen before. The atmosphere is getting more erratic as the number of witches goes down, and the shaders are only just starting to take responsibility for the damage they’ve done. Whether you like it or not, you have a kind of power the world needs. It isn’t about me or Mr. Hart or the accidents you’ve had in the past. It’s about learning to harness the power you’ve been given. If you can learn to control your magic at its full strength, you’ll be unstoppable.”
“What does that mean? You don’t even know enough about my magic to tell me what I should be capable of.”
“It’s a learning process for us all, Ms. Densmore. We’re trying our best,” Ms. Suntile says.
“That’s why we’re changing your training. We won’t be giving you exercises tailored to each season; we won’t be asking you to weave other witches’ magic in with your own.” I wince at the not-so-subtle reminder of the wildfire training as Mr. Burrows continues. “Every session from now on will be dedicated to learning to control your own magic. You must get stronger so that when it comes time to add others’ magic to your own again, you’ll be able to handle it.”
“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I curse myself
