Page 3 of Evergreen

“Do it,” someone called out.

“Yeah, come on, Cass!”

“Prove it, weather boy!”

Weather boy. Right. Because apparently my reputation preceded me. I opened my mouth to protest, to explain that summoning a full storm wasn’t something you could just do on a whim. It took time, planning, and materials. But then I looked at their faces. At the challenge in their eyes. At the way they were all looking at me like I was either the coolest person in the room or full of shit.

The alcohol made the decision for me.

“Fine,” I heard myself say. “But I have to do it outside. I don’t want to fill the living room with snow.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, and I felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that always came with doing something stupid. I set my drink down on the nearest surface, probably someone’s lap. I honestly didn’t care. And pushed my way toward the back door.

The cold hit me like a slap in the face the moment I stepped outside, and it was glorious. My skin prickled with goosebumps, but more importantly, I could feel it. The weather. The electricity in the air that most people couldn’t sense but that sang to me like a second language. Winter was already here, already pressing down on the world with its icy fist. All I had to do was give it a little push.

Behind me, the guys were filing out onto the patio and spilling into the yard, their breath clouding in the frigid air. Someone had grabbed my drink and handed it back to me, which I appreciated. I drained it in one go, letting the burn fuel the magic already thrumming through my veins.

“This is gonna be so sick,” Tex breathed beside me, his eyes wide with anticipation.

I didn’t respond. Instead, I tipped my head back and felt for the storm system that was already hovering about fifty miles northwest. It was a weak thing, barely more than a flurry, but it was there. And it was mine to command.

The magic came easily when I was drunk. That was probably not a good sign, but I’d worry about that later. Right now, I just wanted to feel the power of it, wanted to watch these assholes’ jaws drop when the sky opened up and dumped snow on the entire campus.

I raised my hands, palms up, and whispered the incantation that my mother had taught me years ago. The words were in an old language, one that predated even the Academy itself. They felt heavy on my tongue, weighted with intent and power.

The temperature dropped another five degrees in seconds.

“Holy shit,” someone muttered.

I could feel the storm responding to my call, could sense it turning, accelerating, moving toward us like a hungry animal. The clouds overhead were already thickening, turning from gray to near-black in the span of a breath. The wind picked up, and I could taste snow in the air, cold and clean and absolutely perfect.

This was what I lived for. This moment right here. The rush of power, the knowledge that I could bend the world to my will, that I was something more than just a cocky asshole with a drinking problem.

The first snowflake fell onto my cheek, and I grinned. People around me began to cheer, and I felt warmth flood my chest. A few snowflakes was an easy thing. Hell, even a snowstorm wasn’t that difficult to conjure in January. But I wanted them to be impressed.

“You guys ever seen thundersnow before?” I called back.

Their eyes widened with wonder, and they shook their heads.

“Well, watch this,” I grinned. “You’re about to get the show of your fucking life.”

I pushed the magic harder, feeling it surge through me like electricity. The storm wasn’t just responding anymore. It was singing. I could feel every cloud, every current of air, every molecule of moisture in the sky bending to my will. The power was intoxicating, better than the green drinks I’d chugged, better than anything.

The wind howled louder, and the snow came down more heavily. Real flakes now, thick and fat, swirling in patterns that I was directing without even thinking about it. Around me, people were laughing and shouting, their voices barely audible over the roar of the wind. Someone was already calling out that classes were cancelled tomorrow, and I felt a spike of satisfaction. Their confidence in me was intoxicating.

But I wasn’t done yet. Not even close.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and I grinned wider. Getting thunder in a winter storm was tricky. It required finesse, and it required knowing exactly how much energy to pour into the system without destabilizing it. But I’d done it before. I could do it again.

I raised my hands higher, my fingers splayed wide, and I pulled at the storm with everything I had. The magic in my blood sang in response, eager and wild and absolutely fucking reckless. I could feel the power building in the clouds above us, electricity gathering, waiting for release. It was like being on the edge of an orgasm.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Come on, come on, come on⁠—”

The first crack of thunder split the sky like a whip.

People screamed. It was the good kind of scream, the kind that meant they were having the time of their lives. I was laughing, drunk on magic and enchanted alcohol and the sheer intoxication of being able to bend the world to my will. More thunder. Bigger thunder. I wanted lightning. I wanted to show them something they’d never forget.

The problem with wanting things when you’re drunk and full of power is that you tend to forget about consequences.