Chapter 16 #2
“Let’s start there, then. We know you have fire magic. Let’s see if you can use it to heat yourself up.”
“That’s possible?”
“It is. First, you need to feel your magic, to know where it lives inside you, so you can easily find it when you reach for it.”
I give him a skeptical look. Feel my magic. What does that even mean?
“O-kay,” I say. “And how do I go about doing that?”
“I want you to think about the few times you’ve used your magic,” he says. “Where in your body did you first feel it stirring?”
I think back to the frat party. What hit me first was the panic I felt when Carter grabbed me.
I hadn’t felt for my magic then. It had burst from me unbidden.
It took more energy and concentration to pull it back than it did to release.
Yet when I tried to use it when I was attacked in the woods, it wouldn’t come, which leaves me at a loss.
“If it helps, you can close your eyes,” Becks offers.
I do as he asks, filling my lungs with icy mountain air.
I always imagined my magic trapped inside of me in a box, protected by the casing and the lock I’d put on it.
After I’d set fire to the frat house curtains, I’d cracked the box, trying to call my magic back.
At first, the magic had flared even brighter before I somehow managed to wrangle it under control.
So with my eyes closed, I try to find the box again.
That proves to be easier said than done.
It’s not like it’s a physical cube embedded in my chest. Magic is less tangible than that.
It’s like a melding of the mental and physical that honestly doesn’t make sense to me.
It’s not a math equation I can work through.
It takes intuition that I’ve spent a lifetime ignoring.
Becks is quiet as I search for my magic. But as hard as I try, I can’t find it.
With a huff of frustration, I open my eyes.
“This isn’t working. I don’t feel anything.”
“It’s okay. Don’t get frustrated,” Becks says calmly. It helps that he doesn’t appear even a smidgen put out by my lack of experience. “You’ve been suppressing your magic for years. It’s like a muscle that’s atrophied. It’s going to take more than a day to master it.”
“I’m not trying to master it in a day. I’m just trying to produce a spark. That doesn’t feel like it’s too much to ask.”
Reaching out, he gives my arm an encouraging squeeze. “It’s not. You’ll get there. Tell me about your magic.”
I shoot him a look that conveys my confusion.
“What does it feel like to you? Don’t overthink it. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”
The first thing that comes to mind is the fear I felt at the frat house when my magic was licking up the curtains.
“Powerful,” I say, and Becks nods.
“What else?”
“Unpredictable. Intimidating.”
“Are you scared of your magic?” Becks asks carefully.
“A little,” I admit, feeling vulnerable.
“Why?”
“Because it feels . . .” I search for the words. “Wild. I understand that my magic is part of me, but sometimes it feels all-consuming. Like it would take me over if it could.”
He already understands why I’ve never tried to use my magic, so I tell him about the box I locked it away in.
Becks’ brow bunches as he regards me. “So we’re not just dealing with unused magic. We’re dealing with magic that’s been stifled for years. It makes sense why you can’t feel it now. You’ve spent your life hiding it in a corner of yourself.”
Pressure starts to build in my chest and my eyes prickle. I turn away, feeling silly that I’m getting emotional.
The snow crunches behind me as Becks draws close.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. He’s near enough to block the wind at my back. “If you aren’t up for this, we don’t have to do it.”
I shake my head, swiping angrily at the tears blurring my vision before turning to face him. When I look up, his eyes are filled with understanding.
“No. I’ve been avoiding this for far too long. You’re right. If the demon finds me, I want a way to defend myself.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I nod.
“Positive. Let’s give it another go.”
“Okay,” he says, and I swear I read pride in his gaze. “Now we know why you can’t feel your magic. You have it locked up tight inside you. So instead of feeling for your magic, you need to find that box first, the place you’ve trapped your power.”
“And then?”
“Then you’re going to need to crack the lid and let some of it out.”
I bite my lip, nodding with quiet determination.
Becks’ eyes flick down to my mouth, his pupils darkening, before he jerks his gaze back to mine.
“Can you concentrate better with your eyes open or closed?” he asks.
“Closed, I think.”
When I shut them this time, I don’t try to feel for my magic, I try visualizing the box I’ve contained it in.
I imagine its size and shape, and the texture of the wood, feeling the grain with my mind’s eye.
It’s warmed from the magic within. I think of the weight of the box and the lock.
Then I picture where I’ve hidden it, deep within me.
So far down that it’s hard to access . . .
But it’s there.
Starting at my fingers and toes, I search for the box, feeling like I’m getting closer as I travel up my arms and legs. It’s not in my chest, like I thought it might be, so I go lower, deeper inside, and then suddenly . . .
“I see it,” I whisper.
My breath catches in awe. I can see the box as clearly as if it were physically in front of me.
It’s there in my gut, quiet and unassuming.
“That’s great,” Becks encourages, his voice a low and soothing rumble. “Is it still locked?”
I nod.
“Okay, then try to unlock it.”
I hesitate, and somehow Becks can tell.
“It’s okay, Haven. You’re safe. It’s your magic. It obeys you, not the other way around.”
Taking a shaky breath, I imagine myself reaching out and inserting a key into the lock, slowly turning it.
“After you’ve unlocked the box,” Becks says, “try opening the lid just a little. Just enough to let a small amount of your magic out.”
I reach for the lid to do as Becks directed, but the moment I touch the box, the top explodes right off and it rushes into me in a violent surge, an avalanche of magic that threatens to bury me.
My eyes pop open as purple and red flames engulf me.
Shock flickers across Becks’ face as he reels back, then he schools it away.
“It’s okay. You’re fine,” he says, having to shout to be heard over the blaze enveloping me. “Your magic won’t hurt you.”
I nod, but I can’t stop the panic that fills me as my magic continues to pour from the box.
Becks is saying something, I think giving me tips on how to control it, but I can’t. It’s like it’s been waiting to be freed, and now that it is, it’s refusing to be put back.
The harder I try to control the magic, the more it streams into me until it becomes too much.
I can’t contain it.
It’s going to explode, and fireproof or not, if Becks is in its crosshairs he’s going to get hurt.
At the last second, I turn away from him with a scream, letting the magic out of me in a torrent of purple and red fire that shoots from my hands. The flames race toward a twenty-foot pine tree, slamming into its trunk and engulfing it in seconds.
With the magic finally released, I manage to wrangle what’s left back into the box, snapping the lid shut and locking it tight again.
The tree burns fiercely, flinging wild sparks into the air. The flames are relentless, and even though the branches of the surrounding trees are heavy with snow, it’s only a matter of time before the fire spreads.
I try to smother the magic flames like I did at the frat, but it’s not working. Panic sears up my throat like bile.
A wave of heat slams into me as the inferno surges higher.
I stumble back, but I’m clumsy in the snow, and I topple backward.
Suddenly, Becks steps in front of me. He lifts his hands and the wind begins to swirl, forming a funnel around the burning evergreen. My heart lodges in my throat as the flames inside flare even brighter, but the fire can no longer reach the surrounding trees.
He extends one hand to the side and another gust whips through the clearing, scooping piles of snow into the air.
In one fluid motion, he releases the funnel and sends the snow cascading over the burning tree. Steam hisses upward as the snow melts and evaporates in the heat. He keeps at it, wave after wave, until the flames finally weaken and die out.
I lumber to my feet, breathless.
“What was that you said about my magic being like an atrophied muscle?” I ask, staring at the charred remains of the tree.
Becks huffs a laugh. “Yeah, scratch that. More like champagne in a bottle, ready to explode.”