Page 19 of Crashing Tides

I look around, quickly realizing that I’m one of the few students who didn’t immediately obey instructions. Shit. I’m used to human teachers walking us slowly through tasks, like they’re afraid we’ll light ourselves on fire with only a cup of water. (I am nothing if not a product of the American public school system.)

Closing my eyes, I envision a bead of water.

“Hold a little longer,” says Elarion, his deep voice calm and soothing. Instead of focusing on the water droplet, I wonder if he’s ever narrated an audiobook or a guided meditation. That might be a more fulfilling career for someone who obviously hates teaching. “And open your eyes.”

I open my eyes to find absolutely nothing. When I glance to my right, I discover that somehow, infuriatingly, Jordan has a perfect, tiny ball of water hovering just over the rim of his cup.

Fuck. I hoped water might enhance my abilities, but I’ve just completely failed at this.

Furious, I close my eyes, force myself to focus. Elarion is saying something, but the pounding of my heart drowns him out. I try to picture a bead of water, but there’s nothing. The weak grasp I’d had on the fire in the testing room is long gone.

We try other things. A droplet of water climbs up the inside of the plastic cup, then crawls over the rim, traveling slowly down the outside. I manage to force a drop of water up the inside, but then it falls back down, landing with a plop.

My classmates create and levitate two drops of water, then three. I manage only a single droplet that hovers a mere millimeter over the surface before plopping back down.

By the end of class, I’m bordering on furious. I was never allowed to set foot in a swimming pool because why? If Mom thought water magnified my abilities, she was dead wrong.

Or maybe I don’t have any abilities in the first place. No matter what Elarion thinks, I’m not skilled at all. I can’t conjure a tiny tidal wave. Can’t spill water over the edge of the cup using only my thoughts. Even when we try using hand motions, I barely manage a ripple and that honestly might be the result of the airflow from my quick movement, no magic involved at all.

Jordan, to his credit, keeps his mouth shut while I flounder. He offers no sympathy, but at least he doesn’t laugh at me. Especially after Elarion implied that I was powerful.

“Maybe you’re just frustrated,” suggests Jane over dinner.

I poke sadly at my baked fish and rice. “Maybe.”

“I mean, it’s not like you’ve used magic before,” she reminds me. “And mental hangups will block even experienced magic users.”

“I guess,” I say, pushing rice with my fork. “I just… I thought water was the key.”

“The key to what?” she asks, shooting me a confused look.

I shrug. “Isn’t fae magic elemental?”

The laugh she lets out is nothing short of incredulous. “What?”

I take a bite of fish. It’s flaky, perfectly seasoned, but it turns to ash in my mouth. “Oh. I just… assumed my magic was tied to water.”

Something strange and dark falls across her face. She sits up a little straighter, glances around. “What are you talking about?”

“I just… I wasn’t allowed near water as a kid,” I explain, face growing hot. “Or ever. I kinda assumed my magic was connected to it and my mom didn’t wanna deal with it.”

A frown crosses Jane’s face. Before I can say anything else, she’s on her feet, her hand on my shoulder. “Come on,” she hisses. “We gotta go somewhere more private.”

“Private?” I ask, but I’m already being marched out the door.

The dining hall is about as private as you can get. Everyone is having their own conversations, talking over one another, laughing and gesturing. Almost nobody is eating alone, and if they are, they aren’t siting nearby.

But Jane looks nervous and she’s a lot more experienced with the fae than I am, so I let her lead me out of the dining hall. I sense eyes on the back of my head, but I’m afraid to find out who they belong to.

It’s fine, I tell myself. Nobody cares.

But my blood is electric, because somebody cares. I feel it in a way that I never have before. There’s no way I can explain this to Jane, let alone myself, so I let it drop.

We wander across campus, hands shoved in our pockets, hoods raised to combat the drizzling rain. In the distance, fir trees drip and shudder.

I glare down at a puddle, willing it to disperse, to bend to the power I supposedly have.

Nothing happens.