But more than that, I want him to leave, because he can’t be anywhere near me. Can’t be anywhere near my magic.
I walk over to Mr. Burrows. “What is he doing here?” I ask. My words sound almost frantic. I wish Sang would look anywhere other than my face, but he doesn’t—he keeps his eyes on me.
“We’re using spring magic for your exercise today. It makes sense for him to be here,” Mr. Burrows says.
But I take a step back.
“He can’t be here,” I say, my voice quiet but urgent.
“Clara,” Sang starts. I cut him off.
“No,” I say.
Mr. Burrows looks between us, and understanding sparks in his eyes.
“I thought you may have gotten close,” he says, more to himself than to me. I wince anyway. “That’s not a judgment, Clara. He’s easy to like.”
“Please,” I say. “I can’t do this exercise with him here.”
“He’ll be off to the side with me, observing—”
“He can’t be here!” I shout, cutting him off and surprising myself with the shrillness in my voice. The springs stop talking, and everyone stares at me, waiting to see what will happen next.
Mr. Burrows holds up his hands and nods. “Okay, whatever you’re comfortable with.” He doesn’t mean it. He’s only saying it because he got his way, because I’ve already used his winter magic.
Sang’s jaw is tense, and his eyes are still trained on me. I look at him, desperate, pleading. He swallows hard.
“The last thing I want is for you to be terrified of who you are,” he says, his voice quiet and sad. He hands the jar of seeds to Mr. Burrows and walks away, and I’m relieved and devastated at the same time.
Would you still love me if I weren’t a witch?
It was an impossible thing to ask. Sang would never be okay with me giving up my power for him, which is one of the reasons I fell as hard as I did, one of the reasons I’m sure my heart no longer belongs to me.
But I still wanted to hear a yes slip from his lips.
Impossible.
I shove away my question and shove away his silence.
Mr. Burrows clears his throat. “Shall we begin?” he asks, looking at Mr. Donovan.
Mr. Donovan nods and starts to explain the exercise. It’s easy enough: we’ll dampen the soil with rain, plant the seeds, then accelerate their growth, using only spring magic. Once we’re done, we should have a pretty row of daffodils bordering the garden.
I stand next to Ari, and the rest of the springs line up on the other side of her. The goal is to find Ari’s magic, and once I have a solid grasp on it, try to pull from the others as well until I have a strong, powerful stream of spring magic.
I’ve only ever pulled magic from one witch at a time, and my heart races even though we haven’t started yet. I take a steadying breath; nobody’s life is on the line, like Mr. Donovan said.
Except it always feels like there is when my magic’s involved.
“Okay, Clara, take it away,” Mr. Donovan says.
I glance at Mr. Burrows, who’s standing off to the side with a clipboard, taking notes. For some reason, it enrages me—he treats me as if I’m a lab animal being used for research. It’s all about how far he can push me and push my magic. He gets excited when I accomplish something new, and then it’s on to the next maze, the next exercise, the next test.
I’m so tired.
I take a breath and tell Ari to call up her magic. Her short, curly hair bounces with her movements, and I feel when she settles into herself and brings her magic to the surface.
Then I get started.
I find her magic right away, calm and steady, and she laughs when I pull it toward me, as if she’s utterly delighted.
I get to work on forming a basic cumulus cloud that we can fill with rain and use to dampen the soil, but before I’ve even tried to add another witch’s magic, I tense up.
Ari and I have been at Eastern together for over ten years. We’ve never been particularly close, but we’ve always been friendly. Does my magic recognize her?
And what about Mr. Donovan? He’s been my teacher since I was in middle school.
Then there’s Melanie, who photocopied all her notes and brought them to my cabin the week I had the flu last year. She even brought soup with her. We don’t know each other well, but did her generosity and thoughtfulness create a connection between us that my magic can sense?
It’s overwhelming, the worries and what-ifs and questions I might never have the answers to. I’m so afraid of hurting another person.
I try to hold on to the cloud, but all my fear makes it vanish, as if wrapped in warm air.
Ari gives me a questioning look.
“Start again,” Mr. Burrows says with irritation.
I shake out my arms, trying to dispel the nervous energy coursing through me. Then I do as I’m told.
I close my eyes and let the impulsive, fiery magic of summer be replaced with the peaceful stillness of spring, a held breath in no rush to discover where I’ll send it.
It waits for me, and when I start to gather moisture in the air, it flows from me in cautious streams, as if it knows I’m scared.
Finally, another cloud forms.
“Everyone call your magic to the surface,” Mr. Donovan says. “It’s there when you’re ready, Clara.”
I nod and slowly feel for the other springs, their magic rising to greet me the way dogs greet their owners, excited and happy and eager.
I start pulling, but this entire garden reminds me of Sang, of the moments we spent together before we played the ring of fire and everything changed.
Sang being chased by lightning.
Sang flying through the air.
Sang slamming into the ground.
I don’t trust anything anymore, don’t trust that a single person here is truly safe.
I can’t do it.
I drop my hands and open my eyes.
“I’m
