The dining hall is unusually quiet. Even the summers are more subdued than usual, and I’m surprised to find that I miss the constant stream of laughter that always comes from their table.
Mr. Burrows’s test weighs heavily on me. My fingers itch to grab my phone and ask Sang what I’ll be facing, but I don’t. The last thing I need is for Sang to tell Mr. Burrows I asked and get an even harder test as a result.
And I don’t want Sang knowing how nervous I am.
I’ve tried not to dwell on the fact that I made a vow to get stripped if I couldn’t gain control of my magic. It was easier then, when I was planning on getting stripped anyway, when I hadn’t felt any joy from my magic. When all I felt was out of control and scared.
But now, the thought of losing my magic is harder to accept. Even if it weren’t painful to be stripped, even if I just woke up and it had vanished, I would be devastated. I don’t love it the way Sang does or Nikki did, but I’m starting to appreciate it.
It’s in these small cracks and erosions of my plan that hope forms. Maybe I will have total control over my magic one day. Maybe I will never hurt another person. Maybe I won’t have to get stripped.
Maybe I can have both magic and love.
Maybe.
***
At 10:55 on Wednesday morning, I sit down at the dial and wait for Mr. Burrows. At the center of campus, a large sundial rises out of a fountain, casting its shadow across the stone encircling it. The granite benches surrounding the fountain are carved with roman numerals that mark the hours.
I love it here, but today is not the day to be outside.
The temperature has already reached triple digits, and I’m wearing shorts and a tank top. There are a few summers at the dial, but even they’re having a hard time enjoying the weather.
The shaders have helped us create a world in which we have the freedom to practice magic however we want. They give us resources and support our work, and we protect them. It’s a relationship centuries in the making, built on mutual respect and trust.
But it’s tenuous. When we wanted to slow down, to stop pouring magic into the farthest reaches of the globe and let the Earth breathe, the shaders wanted to keep moving forward, acting as if our power could undo any amount of damage they caused. We knew we needed their trust in order to maintain our independence, so we kept our mouths shut for too long and asked for more from a world that was already drowning.
Now we’re living with the consequences.
But Mr. Donovan said the shaders are working with us now. Maybe they’re finally listening; maybe this doesn’t have to be our new normal.
Mr. Burrows arrives at the dial at exactly eleven o’clock. Sweat is beaded on his forehead, and he pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.
“Ready?”
I nod and head for the control field, but Mr. Burrows stops me. “This way,” he says, and I follow him to the north parking lot.
“Will I be back in time to watch the others train in the heat?”
“You’ll get plenty of training in the heat. But our test is going to take place off-site. Practicing on campus is great; it’s how we all learn. But I want to see you use your magic in an unfamiliar environment.”
“Is Sang or Ms. Suntile coming?”
“It’s just us today. They know you’re with me, so you’ll be excused from your afternoon classes.”
Uneasiness moves through me. My mind tells me over and over not to get in the car, but if I don’t, Mr. Burrows will have one more reason to get more involved with my training than he already is.
I open the car door and sit down. Classical music plays on the radio, and I watch as Eastern fades into the background. Sang could have at least warned me I’d be going off-campus, but maybe Mr. Burrows told him not to say anything.
After an hour in the car, I ask, “How much longer?”
“About two more hours. We’ve got to get far enough out so that we can work without disturbing the other witches in the area. I’ve arranged things so they know where we’ll be.”
I stare out the passenger window and try to focus on anything but the fear that’s taking over. The way the bare trees look so out of place in the sweltering heat. The way the paint lines on the road disappear when Mr. Burrows turns off the highway. The way the dirt road sends dust into the air, blocking my view of the path behind us.
And finally, the way the classical music dies when Mr. Burrows cuts the engine, filling the car with a silence somehow louder than the violin concerto that was just playing.
“Here we are,” Mr. Burrows says.
I look around, but I have no idea where we are. We’ve been off main roads for so long, we might as well be in a different state. I know we’re on a mountainside, given the old winding road that brought us here, but there are no trees around. It’s all empty.
The car is parked at the end of a road, and Mr. Burrows walks past the barrier in front of us and begins to climb a narrow dirt trail. I take a deep breath and follow him. Heat batters us as we walk over large rocks and through overgrown brush.
“This is an old logging property,” he says. “That’s why there are no trees.”
I don’t say anything. We continue to hike up and up and up. I’m drenched in sweat, so tired I doubt I’ll be able to complete even the simplest of tests.
Then we stop. We must be close to the
