“But I—”
Sang holds his hand to my mouth, so close his fingers almost brush my lips. “Never,” he says.
Heat rises up my neck, and I take a step back. “I’m going to be late for class.”
I rush to Avery Hall, where Mr. Donovan is prepping us for the upcoming blizzard. But Sang’s words repeat in my mind over and over again. My hand absentmindedly drifts to my mouth, the memory of his fingers close enough to feel my breath.
All I’ve done for the past several years is apologize for who I am, act as if I’m fortunate that Ms. Suntile let me stay. And I am fortunate. But something nags at me, a tiny thought I can’t let go. All these years that I’ve been apologizing for who I am, for having the gall to exist in the first place, I’ve been giving Ms. Suntile all the power.
And she has let me.
I’m overwhelmed that there is someone who won’t accept my apologies, who doesn’t want me to apologize in the first place. Who doesn’t even think I have anything to apologize for.
Sang doesn’t want any power over me, and every time I try to hand it over, he refuses to accept it.
Maybe he deserves a little trust after all.
“Clara, are you with us?” Mr. Donovan, along with the rest of the class, looks in my direction.
“I’m with you,” I say.
“Good. Now, I know you’re all waiting for your assignments for the blizzard, but that’s not why we’re here today.” A few murmurs make their way through the class, but Mr. Donovan silences them. “I’m sure you’ve all seen the news. Witches are dying of depletion at a higher rate than ever before, and we think we finally know why.”
It used to be rare that a witch would demand so much of their magic that they died from exhaustion. It was practically unheard of. Our bodies let us know when we’re running out of energy long before we’re at risk. But depletion deaths have risen so much lately that we’re struggling to fill the gaps. We can’t keep up.
“A report was just released by the Solar Magic Association. Every witch we’ve lost to depletion in the past three years has been in their off-season.”
Thomas raises his hand. “What does this have to do with the blizzard?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Black, are you bored by the unprecedented death rate that’s been devastating our community?”
Thomas shakes his head and slumps in his seat.
“The reason I will not be handing out your assignments for the blizzard is because there will no longer be a blizzard next week.”
“But there’s always a blizzard this time of year,” Jay says.
He’s right. Every winter, we work on storm cells in the area to create a blizzard that lands on our campus. It’s a massive storm that enables the winters to train under extreme conditions. Training was supposed to begin next week.
“This year, there will be a heat wave instead. Not of our making, of course. This has never happened before, and the witches in the region are doing everything they can to prepare for it, but it’s going to be a grueling week for them.” The way he says it, the worry in his voice, reminds me that there is so much going on outside our campus. We’ll all graduate soon and be left to deal with the consequences of an atmosphere that’s falling into chaos.
It makes guilt prick at my stomach, knowing the eclipse is still looming, knowing I plan to render myself useless to my fellow witches.
“We’ve talked with the witches controlling the area, and they’re going to do the best they can to minimize the damage, but it won’t be enough to get us anywhere near a typical weather system for this time of year. We’ll have to wait until it’s over before we can plan any sort of winter training.”
The room erupts as students begin to talk over one another and lob questions at Mr. Donovan.
“Quiet,” he yells. “The next person to interrupt me gets detention for a month.”
The room falls silent.
Mr. Donovan rubs his temples and lets out a heavy breath. “We let things get too far out of control. We should have demanded action from the shaders years ago, when we first realized there was a problem.” He shakes his head. His tone is far away, as if he’s talking to himself, as if he’s somewhere other than this classroom. “We’re starting to see extreme atypical weather, like this heat wave, in every season. The aurora borealis and the tornado we saw in autumn were both part of this pattern, and it’s why our witches are dying from depletion. Winters obviously aren’t effective at dealing with heat, so summers are trying to handle the weather in winter, when they’re at their weakest. It’s too much for them, and it’s not doing enough to restore stability, even as it’s killing our witches.”
The room is quiet for a long time. If Mr. Donovan is right and we continue getting severe atypical weather, witches will become completely ineffectual, and the atmosphere will collapse.
“And if we can’t slow the death rate of our witches…” He trails off, but we all know enough to fill in the blank.
Paige raises her hand, and Mr. Donovan nods at her. “What can we do about it?”
“We’re working with the shaders to curb the damage, but it’s a long process. It’ll take years. And while that’s ultimately the best thing we can do to restore stability in the atmosphere long-term, we have to find an immediate solution for the problems we’re facing today. Our best bet is training witches in off-season magic. Winters can’t deal with heat waves because they’ve never had to; we need to find a way to teach them. Winters must learn about summer conditions. Springs must learn about autumn, summers about winter. Basically, we need to be able to access seasonal magic year-round without our
