I get to work. The wind comes easily, responding to me as if it’s been waiting all night for us to stand on this field.
I know Sang is working beside me, his calming magic always close, but tonight it’s an undercurrent. An afterthought. What I feel the most is raw power rising inside me, tumbling around, excited to spill into the night.
As Sang and I work side by side, me summoning the wind and him letting magic flow from his fingers solely to make me feel safe, the tension between us eases, floats away into the night.
We don’t have to be best friends. I don’t have to like him, and he doesn’t have to like me, but I think we’re starting to understand each other. And that’s something.
I keep building the current in front of me, and soon I’m lost in it. My mind stops worrying, and my shoulders relax. For the briefest moment, I’m not scared. I’m not fighting against it. Slowly, I ask for more magic, release my hold on it and let it rush into the wind, making it stronger. Faster. I keep at it until I’m certain it’s the strongest current I’ve created since Sang and I started working together.
I send one more surge of magic into the wind, then push it out into the woods.
I keep my eyes closed and tilt my head back, reveling in the sound of the current moving through the oaks and pines, listening as they bend and sway.
Then it stops, and the world is quiet again.
I open my eyes and look toward Sang, thinking we’re done for the night. Without a word, he turns to the forest beyond the field, raises his hands, and closes his eyes. The branches begin moving, a soft rustling at first, then a loud whooshing sound as the treetops sway from side to side.
He calls for more wind, and it answers, leaving the trees and rolling onto the field.
Let’s enjoy it. Sang’s words echo in my head.
“Wait,” I say.
Sang pauses.
Magic rolls from my fingertips and into the woods. I imagine the fallen leaves on the ground and raise my hands. The air gets heavy as all the leaves rise from the forest floor and pause, waiting for my command. I pull them toward the field and open my eyes.
A wall of countless leaves rushes through the air and then comes to a stop. Sang looks at them and raises his hands.
“Ready?” he asks.
I nod, and he sends his tower of wind barreling into the leaves. I take control of the wind and circle my hands, around and around and around, faster and faster. Then I pull it toward me.
Orange, yellow, green, and red dance in the air, swirling together as the massive tower of wind glides toward me. The cyclone gets faster and sends the leaves chasing after one another in dizzying circles. I pull my hands apart to create a large eye in the center of it.
The wind parts, allowing me inside.
With one large motion, I send the wind spiraling around me. The leaves swirl in a tower, and I stay in the center of the storm. My orange dress slaps against my legs, and the wind howls in my ears and rips through my hair, sending strands of red in every direction. The sound is so loud it drowns out everything else. I spread my arms wide, feel the wind tearing through my fingers, watch the leaves as they whip around me.
And I laugh. I actually laugh.
I sense Sang working on something new, and my magic pauses, forgetting the leafnado and waiting.
A heavy layer of fog descends on the field. In one even motion, I push the cyclone away and pull the fog from Sang, revealing him and hiding me.
I move between the two, going back and forth between the fog and the cyclone, pushing them away and pulling them back.
“Amazing,” Sang says under his breath.
The other seasons can’t move their magic around like that; it takes a ton of energy to pull their power from one thing and focus it on another. But autumn magic is transitional. It flows from one thing to the next, sensing the environment and changing to meet its needs. In some ways, it can feel unsteady, changing so rapidly.
But it’s also an incredible advantage the other seasons don’t have. It’s one of the reasons I was able to get as close to dissipating the tornado as I did—I wasted no time moving my magic from one thunderstorm to the next.
“Come here,” I say, and Sang walks toward me. I step in front of him so we’re facing each other, just inches apart. I push the layer of fog up into the darkness until it vanishes. Then I grab hold of the leafnado and send it spiraling around us.
All my energy flows into the cyclone, leaves everywhere, the sound drowning out everything else. It rotates around us with incredible speed, Sang’s tie flapping wildly along with my hair. He reaches out his hand, touching the tunnel of wind around us.
It’s too dark to see him clearly, but I feel how near he is to me. How quiet and still he is. His warm breath reaches my skin, unhurried and even. I’m thankful there isn’t enough light for him to see the way he’s transforming before me, the way my eyes soften and my jaw relaxes as he changes from someone I resented to someone I want to share this moment with.
I let my fingers stretch to the wind and feel the air rush through them.
My heartbeat is slow. Steady. Oddly content in the eye of the storm.
Then I clap my hands together, and the wind vanishes.
For one breath, the leaves hang in the air, frozen in the memory of the wind, before they finally float to the ground.
Silence.
Sang looks at me, his hair windswept, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. His top button is undone, and he has abandoned his
