They let out sighs of relief in unison, and Mr. Burrows shakes his head as he looks at me. “You never should have taken that risk. It was irresponsible, reckless, and shows an utter lack of regard for what’s happening in our world right now.” His words are mean and stern, but I don’t care anymore.
Then Ms. Suntile starts to speak, and they talk over each other until she gives him a warning look and he defers. “Mr. Burrows is right—that was not a risk you should have taken. Had you been stripped, the consequences…” She trails off, letting her unfinished sentence hang heavily in the air. “But it was also exceptional. Do you realize what you did?”
I look at her and shake my head.
“During the cloudburst, you weren’t only pulling off-season magic. You were amplifying magic—everyone’s. You made us all stronger. We were able to use our own magic to help.” Her voice shakes, and her eyes tear up.
Mr. Burrows sighs. “It was phenomenal,” he says. “The truth is that I could never have taken the risk you did, Clara. And what came out of it is beyond anything we could have imagined.”
“I wish you could have seen it.” Sang laces his fingers with mine. “Witches were crying and hugging, completely overwhelmed at being able to use their magic that way. It was an unprecedented moment for all of us.”
“Clara, you have such a gift.” Ms. Suntile looks at me with wonder and pride, and it makes me uncomfortable, in a way. I can hear the undertones of pressure and expectation, but it doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to exceed them, soar right past them as I figure out the expectations I have for myself.
“I could feel it,” I say, remembering the distinct magic of each season rising to greet me. “All four seasons.” I look to the sun. “I don’t know what to say.” Amplifying everyone’s magic all at once, every season, is something I never could have dreamed of doing a few months ago. I would have said it was impossible.
The rest of my classmates reach us, forming a circle around me, dozens of voices talking over each other. I laugh and answer questions and listen as people describe what it felt like to use their magic in the off-season. Some of them cry when they explain it, and my heart fills with their words, their facial expressions, their excitement and joy and awe.
I don’t know that I’ve ever felt better about anything in my entire life than I do knowing that my magic enables the witches around me to use their own.
Ms. Suntile takes charge as if I’m a celebrity, telling everyone I’ve had a long day and that I probably want some rest. I’m thankful when we get back to the hotel and the only thing I’m supposed to do is nap.
Paige stays in the lobby with some of the other winters, and Sang walks me to my room, never letting go of my hand. When the door closes behind us, he pulls me into him and exhales, a strong, heavy sigh that rustles my hair. He pulls away and searches my face, but I remember my discolored eyes, and self-consciousness drives my gaze to the floor.
He tips my chin up so I have no choice but to look at him.
“Clara,” he says, watching me, and I’m sure his next words will be as serious and genuine as the tone of his voice. Then he says, “They make you look pretty badass.”
We watch each other for several seconds before bursting into laughter—wild, unrestrained laughter that feels so good after the events of the day.
I lie down on my bed, and he lies down beside me. We’re both on our backs, quiet, and he runs his fingers up and down my arm.
“I want to write a book,” I finally say.
“What kind of book?”
“More like a letter. A really long letter to the Everwitch who comes after me, so they don’t have to figure all this out on their own. So they don’t have to see their loved ones die or be confused about how to use their magic. So they can feel understood.” Alice’s memoir has been an enormous comfort to me, but I lived without it for seventeen years, and it doesn’t detail the kind of magic she had. I had to figure it out for myself, and having a place to go for information would have been so helpful. But more than that, I thought I was alone for so long. I don’t want that for the next Ever.
“I love that idea,” Sang says, his fingers still moving up and down and up and down. We’re both quiet for a few minutes, minds wandering to different places, or maybe the same one. We’re so close, but it doesn’t feel close enough. Maybe it never will.
Wind blows through the open window, carrying the best parts of summer, and I breathe in deep, holding the season in my lungs. It fills me with longing, a relentless squeeze in the pit of my stomach that I can no longer resist.
I roll onto my side and look down at him, his eyes moving to my lips, lingering.
I close my eyes, bend down, and kiss him.
He puts his hands on either side of my face and opens his mouth, and I get lost in him, lost in the way his fingers feel on my skin, the way his hair tickles my face, the way his lips are soft and taste like black tea and honey.
I get lost in the certainty of what I want, what I’ve wanted for so long, and when he pulls away just slightly, I look him in the eye and ask for more.
He rolls me to my back, one hand behind my head, the other following the lines of my jaw, my neck, my collarbone.
I reach for him, and his lips are
