Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
S’Nark shifts from his little demon gremlin form into something sleeker—a raven with obsidian feathers and eyes that burn like hot red coals. He perches on my shoulder, talons digging through the fabric of my jacket just enough to remind me he’s there.
“Ready to make a fool of yourself in front of an audience?” he caws, preening a wing.
“That’s the spirit,” I mutter, stepping onto the training field.
It’s been a trying few days, but my familiar and I seem to have come to an understanding of sorts. I’ll tolerate a fair bit of his toxic attitude as long as he comes when called and helps me in the clutch when I need him.
Wylder isn’t happy with the arrangement, citing the fact that a familiar is duty bound to help and protect its witch, but I’ll take what I can get.
And that’s how we got to where we are now.
The ground here is different—compacted dirt mixed with sand, scorched in places from previous students’ attempts at fire magic. Wards shimmer faintly at the edges, containing whatever chaos happens within. Smart.
Wylder stands at the far end, arms crossed over his chest. He’s got that serious instructor look down: jaw set, eyes sharp, focus locked. It’s not openly hostile anymore, but not exactly warm either.
Progress, I guess.
Rowan and Orion lounge on a stone bench nearby. Rowan’s got her legs stretched out, combat boots crossed at the ankles, while Orion leans back with his arms draped along the top of the bench. Casual. Like they’re settling in to watch a show.
“Start with the easy ones,” Wylder calls out.
I roll my shoulders, shaking out the tension in my hands. “Easy. Right. Because everything so far has been a breeze.”
S’Nark chuckles, the sound like gravel scraping glass. “This ought to be entertaining.”
I flip him off without looking and step into the center of the field.
Fire first. Not spirit fire, but actual elemental flames.
I close my eyes, reaching for that thread of heat coiled deep in my chest. It responds immediately, eagerly, like it’s been waiting for permission. Flames spark along my palms, licking up my wrists in bright orange tongues.
They don’t burn. They sing, humming with energy that makes my whole body vibrate.
I lift my hands, and the fire arcs upward, twisting around me like a living thing. It crowns my head, flickering gold and red, before I snap my focus downward and direct it into a perfect circle on the ground. The flames hold their shape, steady and controlled.
S’Nark lets out a low whistle. “Not bad, Sparkles. I’m a little disappointed you didn’t blow yourself up, but there’s always next time.”
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.”
I let the fire fade, and the circle dissolves into embers that wink out against the dirt.
Air next.
This one feels lighter, harder to grab. I spread my fingers, calling to the breeze that skims across the field. It answers, swirling around my ankles, lifting my hair. I push harder, and the wind surges—gusts spiraling outward in chaotic bursts.
“Poppy—!” Rowan’s voice cuts off as a particularly strong gust catches her, sending her sprawling off the side of the bench.
Before she hits the ground, Orion uses his cat-like reflexes to catch her flailing arm. He hauls her upright with a grin and flashes me a broad smile. “Two points, Pops.”
Rowan shoves him, laughing. “You’re hilarious.”
“Sorry!” I shout, biting back a laugh. “Kinda!” I rein the wind back in, folding it into a gentle current that circles my arms before dissipating.
Water is trickier. There’s no lake here, no stream. Just dry air and dirt.
I close my eyes again, reaching for the moisture hanging in the atmosphere.
It’s faint—barely there—but I coax it forward, gathering vapor molecule by molecule.
It condenses in front of me, shimmering droplets forming in midair.
I shape them, pulling them into a floating sphere that glows faintly in the afternoon light.
It hovers for three seconds before collapsing into a puddle at my feet.
“Baby steps,” I mutter.
“Baby splashes,” S’Nark corrects, ruffling his feathers.
Earth is last.
I kneel, pressing both palms flat against the ground. The dirt is warm, alive with something deeper than heat. I pour my focus into it, feeling for the current beneath. There is a steady pulse in the land itself.
Runes flare beneath my hands, glowing amber and green. They spread outward in jagged lines, crackling with energy that makes my teeth ache. The ground trembles, and I anchor myself, channeling that grounded power up through my arms and into my core.
It’s solid. Unshakable.
I hold it for a beat, then release, the runes fading back into the dirt like they were never there.
When I stand, my legs feel steady. Stronger.
Wylder gives me a single nod. No smile, but his eyes have softened just a fraction. “Not terrible.”
“High praise,” I shoot back, brushing dirt off my knees.
Orion’s grinning outright now, silver-blue eyes bright with approval. Rowan’s clapping like I just pulled off a magic trick at a kid’s birthday party.
“So…” I wipe my hands on the skirt of my uniform. “Did I pass the test?”
Wylder tilts his head, considering. “You passed the part that doesn’t kill you. I’d say you’re ready to take on a sixteen-year-old coming into their active powers.”
“Fantastic.”
S’Nark caws from my shoulder. “That’s it, witchlette. Really shoot for the stars.”
I flip him off again and head toward the bench, where Rowan’s already pouring water from a canteen. She hands it to me with a wink.
“Before long, you’re going to be a total badass,” she says.
“It still feels like I’m winging it the entire time.”
She laughs. “Same same.”
“Break time is over.” Wylder gestures toward the center of the field again.
I take the cue and step into position.
“Spirit,” he says simply.
The word hangs between us like a challenge.
I swallow hard, wiping sweat from my forehead. “A week ago, you said I wasn’t to tap into my affinity. You said it was dangerous.”
“A week ago, you had no control.” His green eyes hold mine.
“You’re a quick study and have natural instincts with the other four elements.
Spirit magic isn’t just raw power. It’s your goddess-given connection to the living, the dead, the spaces in between.
I’m not asking you to do anything stupefying.
Just open up and connect with your power. ”
“A simple meet and greet.”
“Nothing more.”
S’Nark shifts on my shoulder, talons pricking through my shirt. “This ought to be good.”
I shoot him a look. “Your support is truly inspiring.”
“I’m a demon. If you want a cheerleader, get a golden retriever.”
Rowan catches my eye from the bench, offering an encouraging thumbs-up. “You’ve got this, Sparkles.”
Orion gives me a couple of claps. “Go, Poppy!”
In the center of the training field, with my feet pressed into dirt still warm from the earth magic I channeled moments ago, I close my eyes and draw a cleansing breath.
My chest tightens. Just open up. Easy.
Except it’s not.
I’ve been afraid to tap into my affinity ever since Tharuzel spirit-napped me and bound me to a deal with the devil—or, at least, with a major demon.
Has the contract corrupted my magic? Will Wylder and the others know I’m more than bloodline marked now? How will that contract corrupt my power?
“Any time now, Poppy.” Wylder is staring at me, his brows arched. “Is there a problem?”
I swallow. “No. Just worried about burning my friends alive. No biggie.”
Wylder actually chuckles. “You’ll be fine.”
Little does he know.
I close my eyes and reach—not for heat or wind or water or earth, but for the invisible threads that pulse beneath reality itself.
It’s the power that vibrates in my cells.
It’s the rush of energy that has been dammed up for so long that, when I give it permission, it spills out of me like a waterfall.
The voices hit me first.
Hundreds of them.
They crash into my skull all at once—overlapping, dissonant, desperate. Words I don’t understand bleed into languages I’ve never heard. Grief pours through in jagged bursts. Anger simmers beneath. Longing wraps around my ribs and squeezes.
I gasp, stumbling backward.
My hands fly to my temples as the voices grow louder, clawing at the inside of my mind like the souls of the undead are trying to tear their way out. Cold electricity races down my spine, making my teeth chatter.
“They’re too loud,” I choke out. “I can’t separate them.”
Warmth runs over my lip, and I swipe a hand under my nose, knowing that I’m bleeding.
Strong hands catch my shoulders before I hit the ground. Wylder’s voice cuts through the chaos, low and steady. “Breathe, Poppy.”
“I am breathing—”
“Slower.” His grip tightens, grounding me. “Spirit isn’t just power. It’s voices. It’s souls. It’s ancestors offering strength. It’s vengeful echoes clinging to old wounds. You’re letting them all in at once.”
I force my eyes open, my vision swimming. Wylder’s face is close, his chiseled jaw set but his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it. “Filter through the chaos. Search for the voices and energy you’re ready to handle. Don’t allow the others through.”
“How do I know which ones—”
“You’ll know. You have great instincts. Trust your instincts.”
The certainty in his tone makes me want to believe him.
I close my eyes again, exhaling shakily.
This time, I don’t just open. I reach.
The whispers rush back, but I don’t let them swallow me. I push against the tide, searching for threads that don’t scrape at the inside of my mind like broken glass. Ones that hum instead of scream.
One strand glows faintly in the dark—golden, warm, steady.
It’s a resonance I recognize. It’s the hum of the Hallowind standing stones. The constant buzz coming from the piano in the parlor. I focus on that familiar vibration and reach for it.