“That’s the drill? Sounds easy enough.”
“That’s the point. The best way for you to learn to control your magic is by making it approachable and routine. A habit. The theory is that eventually, by performing the same drill over and over without the distraction of anyone else, it will become second nature to you, and you’ll no longer tense up when you do it. You’ll grow comfortable with what it feels like to channel your own power, and once that happens, you can start working with other witches again. But you have to learn to control your own magic before you can learn to control that of others. Make sense?”
I hate the way he’s talking to me as if he knows me, as if he knows the hurt my magic has caused. He doesn’t know anything. He’s just repeating what Mr. Burrows has told him, and it makes me want to leave and refuse to train with him. Refuse to train with anyone.
Just nine more months, I remind myself.
When I don’t say anything, Sang keeps going. “We’ll do a few practice runs, then we’ll do the real test to set your baseline. Sound good?”
I nod.
“Okay, ready when you are,” he says.
It’s a simple task, but I’m nervous and can’t pinpoint why. My heart beats faster, and I wipe my palms on my jeans before getting started. I close my eyes and raise my hands in front of me, but I put them back down when I realize they’re shaking.
“I’m sorry,” I say, embarrassed. “I haven’t done any magic since the tornado.”
“No worries. Just take your time.” The tension between us seems to have faded, and Sang’s voice is even and kind. The way he was the first day I met him.
I take several deep breaths and start again. This time, my hands remain steady as I call my magic to the surface.
Autumn magic builds on an undercurrent of thankfulness and sorrow, a symphony of contrasting emotions that’s easy to get lost in.
Thankfulness for the harvest and the fruits of the earth.
Sorrow because death is on the horizon. The days are getting shorter, the skies turning gray, the plants growing dormant.
Soon I forget that Sang’s eyes are on me, and I get lost in the magic, in the way it feels to summon the wind from nothing, the way the cool air dances across my neck and face. The way my power comes easier when there’s nothing at stake. I build the wind up, stronger and stronger, and on Sang’s mark, I send it into the trees.
I open my eyes and watch as the wind enters the woods, dying out after just a few rows of evergreens.
I must look disappointed, because Sang says, “That was just a practice run. Let’s try it again.”
I nod. But this time, when I raise my hands and get started, something feels different. A calming sensation drifts over me, slowing my heart and steadying my breath. It makes me want to give in to the power inside me, makes me feel like I can. Like it’s safe. My eyes snap open, and I look at Sang.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my tone more accusatory than I intend.
“Sorry, I should have warned you,” he says. “Mr. Bur—” He cuts himself off and starts again. “Spring magic is calm, as you obviously know. And for whatever reason, I can isolate that characteristic and project it outward. It’s the same as feeling another witch’s magic when they’re working right next to you. Mine just happens to feel calm.” He shrugs.
“It’s so strong,” I say. “I’ve felt other witches’ underlying emotions while I was practicing with them, but it’s always fleeting and subtle. It’s amazing that you can control it that way.”
“I wish I could take credit for it, but it isn’t something I had to learn to control. It’s always come naturally to me.”
“Amazing,” I say, more to myself than to Sang.
But something about it doesn’t sit right with me. It can’t be just a coincidence that Sang has a type of magic that calms me down as I’m using my own.
Then it hits me: Mr. Burrows didn’t bring Sang here to study botany. He brought him here to help me with my magic, hoping that his calming effect would take away my fear of losing control.
“Is something wrong?” Sang asks.
Part of me wants to tell him he was duped, but I don’t want him to leave, stranding me to train alone with Mr. Burrows.
I swallow hard. “No, sorry. I was just surprised. Let’s try again.”
I feel Sang’s current of magic instantly, calming the anger that’s brewing inside me. I take a long, deep breath and release the tension in my shoulders. I straighten my back and raise my hands.
Autumn magic rises up inside me, its melancholic song pouring from my fingers and into the space in front of me, building up the wind as it goes. My hair blows out behind me, and my jacket flaps in the current, getting stronger and stronger as more magic builds.
My instinct is to push it down, force it to stay put, but there is no one here for it to gravitate toward. No one here for it to hurt.
The thought relieves me and makes me so lonely it’s hard to breathe.
The wind lessens around me, but then I’m met with more of Sang’s calming magic. It helps me refocus, and this time, when the wind builds to its highest point, I send it barreling toward the trees.
It makes it farther than the first time, and Sang nods in approval.
“You know, I won’t always have a witch around who can calm me whenever I need it,” I say dryly.
“You won’t need it,” he says. “The point is that you’ll learn what the full extent of your magic feels like in a controlled, calm
