The following week went by in a literal cloud of magic, a whirlwind of concentrated learning that felt both exhilarating and exhausting.
Farrah discovered her elemental affinity to be Fire, which she was pretty happy about, channeling shimmering flames and controlled bursts of heat with surprising ease.
As for me?
Well, unlike Grandma, I didn’t have any trouble wielding Earth.
Or any other element for that matter.
My connection was immediate, raw, and almost overwhelming.
While she was quite impressed with my strength, praising my raw power, I was secretly terrified of it.
I couldn’t control it half the time, my commands barely containing the volatile forces I unleashed.
I had to practically beg the elements to behave, to ebb and flow as I desired, lest I inadvertently cause a localized natural disaster.
Grandad, ever the patient mentor, told me I’d most likely need a conduit to help control the magic, just like he had.
His primary element was Earth, a commonality we now shared.
But because his magic was so incredibly strong when wielding Earth, he had a special medallion, always worn on a chain around his neck, to help him channel the power safely, to temper its raw force.
Because we had been working tirelessly for the past week, pushing our magical boundaries, we were given the day off to rest, a much-needed reprieve.
So, Farrah and I were currently engaged in a rather tedious task: trying to figure out the best conduit for me.
We were in what Grandad referred to as “the vault,” a cavernous, dimly lit room where they kept ancient magical relics belonging to the family.
So far, nothing had come even close to what I’d want to have with me every day for the rest of my life, a constant anchor for my unruly power.
I’d thought I’d found it when I came across a gleaming silver bangle on a dusty desk, its simple elegance appealing to me.
But it turns out that wasn’t a magical item at all, just Grandma’s forgotten jewelry she’d left behind during a previous visit.
The disappointment was palpable.
Hearing Farrah’s stomach gurgle loudly, a comical sound in the quiet, musty room, I decided we could take a break for lunch.
We had been cooped up in the vault for hours, sifting through arcane objects and ancient scrolls.
I was honestly tired of going through all this junk anyway, the air thick with the smell of old paper and stagnant magic.
“Hey, what do you say, after getting lunch, we go down to the greenhouse?” I suggested, stretching languidly as we navigated our way back through the sprawling mansion towards the kitchen.
“Or even the pool?
We haven’t done anything fun since we’ve been here.” I finished with a theatrical pout, leaning against the polished banister of the grand staircase.
“What do you mean we haven’t done anything fun?” Farrah retorted, a playful glint in her eyes.
“What do you call what we’ve been doing all week?” Leave it to Farrah to think that a week of non-stop magic lessons, albeit fascinating ones, constituted “fun.” Don’t get me wrong, we learned some incredibly cool stuff, like basic levitation and introductory metamorphosis – changing simple physical attributes.
But I needed some actual fun, some true relaxation time, a break from the constant mental strain.
“Yeah, but I meant just the two of us chilling and having some girl time,” I clarified, pushing open the kitchen door.
“Oh, I know!” Farrah’s eyes lit up with mischievous inspiration. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
“How about we practice metamorph?
You can change the color of my eyes, and I can change your hair!
Then maybe you won’t look like you’ve just rolled out of bed for once.” Her retort earned an immediate, dramatic eye roll from me.
“Hardy har har.
You’re funny, anyone ever told you that?” I teased, preparing to launch into a playful headlock.
She, however, with the agility of a seasoned acrobat, ducked out from under my arm and jumped behind the massive kitchen island, putting a safe distance between us.
The layout of food that greeted us on the kitchen counter was nothing short of appetizing – a fresh, vibrant spread of various salads, cheeses, cured meats, and freshly baked bread.
But I was in no mood for any of it, my mind still preoccupied with conduits and untamed magic.
I simply placed a few slices of fresh fruit on my plate – sweet, juicy melon and berries – and grabbed a bottled water, while Farrah, with her usual robust appetite, piled her plate high with various meats, cheeses, and bread, constructing a towering sandwich.
“If you’re not careful,” I warned, taking a bite of a strawberry, “by the time we start at Morgana, I’ll have to roll you down the hallways.” She stopped mid-bite, her cheeks bulging, and simply shrugged before sinking her teeth back into the giant sandwich with unapologetic gusto.
To think, in two short weeks, we’d be off at the Academy, and I was no closer to being okay with it than when I first found out.
Gran was still insistent that it would be okay, that after my first shift and people found out, no one would look at me as a freak, but she’s family; she’s supposed to say things like that, right?
That’s what family does.
I even tried bargaining, trying to get permission to come home for the week of my birthday, just to have that one small comfort, but she said I could come home for the shift and only the shift.
Besides, I had nothing tangible to bargain with, no leverage.
I was actually pretty excited deep down about going to the Academy, despite my outward protests.
But I would never say that aloud.
More than once, Asher crossed my mind, with his alluring red-tinted eyes and his confident promise of seeing me around.
Which, of course, also brought about thoughts of Echo, who had said basically the same thing to me before he left that night, his deep voice lingering in my memory.
Technically, I shouldn’t be thinking about Echo since he has a girlfriend and he’s “off limits.” But technically, he’s not off limits to me since I’m technically a wolf too.
A tiny, rebellious spark flickered within me.
“Technically, you’re right,” Farrah said suddenly, her voice a low murmur, startling me out of my thoughts.
“About the girlfriend and you being a wolf.”
“Farrah!” I hissed, my voice sharp, a mixture of annoyance and genuine concern.
“Gran specifically said we were not to go looking in people’s heads!” Gran had only taught us how to do it because it was the easiest thing she could think of to teach us, a simple demonstration to help us understand how mentalism works, how to subtly influence and receive thoughts.
We were absolutely not supposed to actually use it for personal eavesdropping.
“Technically, I didn’t go snooping,” she retorted, swallowing the last bite of her sandwich.
“Your thoughts were pretty loud, and you know, since she taught us that, I’ve been sensitive to it.” She was right; we had figured out she was a natural telepath very quickly.
But she was supposed to be keeping her walls up, shielding her mind.
Or was it I was supposed to put walls up?
Gah!
Mental privacy was a tricky business.
“Stay out of my head, Farr.
You may not like what you find one day,” I warned, my voice serious.
Her only response was to stuff the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, her eyes wide and innocent, yet clearly amused.
Sometimes, I truly wondered about her complete lack of self-preservation or filter.
“You need to stop thinking about Echo, that’s what you need to do,” she continued, her voice muffled around the food.
“Focus on that Asher.
He’s hot and a pureblood, and he totally has the hots for you too.
Win-win.”
Is she right?
Does Asher like me like that?
I recalled the flirty vibes from him, the lingering gaze, but it’s always hard to tell if someone’s genuinely interested or just being polite.
And he is a good-looking guy if you’re into tall, dark, and handsome.
Who am I kidding, of course I am.
Later that night, after a thoroughly relaxing afternoon spent with my best friend, indulging in gossip and lighthearted metamorph practice (she turned my hair purple; I gave her bright green eyes), I found my conduit.
The discovery was entirely accidental.
I was about to continue reading an herbal lore book Gran had given me, a tome filled with ancient remedies and magical plants, when the plate of cookies I was trying to balance while climbing into bed tilted precariously, sending cookies rolling all over the floor, scattering like tiny, edible asteroids.
Down on all fours, about to reach for one particularly tempting chocolate chip cookie that had somehow peeked tantalizingly from under the bed, I noticed a faint, almost imperceptible glow emanating from the darkness.
Curiosity, as always, got the best of me.
My previous frustration with the vault and its endless junk vanished instantly.
I reached my hand under the bed and pulled out a ring.
It was some sort of weird-looking winged snake made of intricately coiled gold, its scales shimmering even in the dim light, wrapped around a giant, luminous ruby.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, ancient, and undeniably magical.
At first, I thought it was simply a forgotten piece of jewelry that belonged to my mom, a beautiful trinket.
But when I carefully placed it on my index finger, I felt an immediate, powerful thrum of magic.
The ruby glowed, pulsed with an inner light, and felt surprisingly warm against my finger, radiating a comforting heat.
As I stared, mesmerized by its brilliance, I felt more than saw the ring shrink slightly, subtly, to fit my finger perfectly, as if it had been made for me alone.
I’m not sure exactly how to explain how it felt, this connection, this sudden sense of belonging.
I guess, to me, it simply felt like home.