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My fingertips glow, magic throbbing beneath my skin.
“There you go. You don’t need the sun or a candle or any of those things once you can reach your inner kor. You only need to know how to find it. Now pull it out of you.”
My brows dent in confusion but instincts tell me to pinch my finger. My skin feels as if it’s being peeled away from the muscle piece by excruciating piece, and a red flame ignites on my fingertip. I jump but realize it doesn’t hurt. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s not fire. It’s your kor. You’ve pulled your own magical energy from inside and deposited it onto your finger.” She turns my wrist, admiring the flicker when the flame on my hand grows. I grip the desk, but the world blurs. I tip sideways, and the chilly panic in my veins throbs harder, the dusted warmth I felt earlier diminishing. What’s happening? I try to say, but my tongue is thick. The flame on my finger has doubled in size.
“Quell! The elixir, now,” she barks, and someone holds a cold vial to my lips. It goes down, and the world sharpens.
“What happened?”
Dexler clutches her chest. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I think so.”
“It’s my fault. You can’t let your kor burn outside of your body too long or it will drain you.”
“Of magic?”
“Of life.”
I blow out a breath and clench my near freezing hands. Thankfully, Dexler lets me spend the rest of class with my head down, and I use it to slow my breathing and the thump hammering my chest, hoping to settle the chilliness trying to take root in my bones.
As the room empties, Plume appears at the door.
“Are we still meeting?” he asks, and Dexler looks to me. “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”
“Yes.”
Once the class has all filtered out, I explain the Summer Bloom Tea idea. How perfect everything must be. They nod affectionately without interrupting, and by the time I’m done I realize I’m gripping the arms of my chair.
“Relax,” Plume says.
“We work for Headmistress.” Dexler smiles. “We understand.”
“Great,” I manage, mildly relieved they think impressing Grandmom is why I need to do well.
“I can come up with some fun games,” Dexler says. “And Plume can probably help make it all look just right.”
I inhale, exhale, and recline in my seat.
“Oh, most definitely,” he says. “I’m thinking crustless sandwiches and light confections on the lawn, perhaps.”
They go on about lace tablecloths, place setting styles, and centerpieces, and all I can picture is me sitting there trying to explain myself, where I’ve been all these years. Why I’m just now meeting them. Whatever I come up with will need to be airtight. I also have to look and speak the part. But most of all, my toushana must stay quiet.
As if it’s been summoned, my heart stutters in panic, blood pools in my ears, and a cold unfurls in my bones. I stand, my heart racing, and stumble into a chair, the cold bite growing stronger.
“This poor child,” Plume says, glancing at Dexler.
“She’s stressed herself so sick, she’s gone pale. I think we’re going to have to . . .” She looks at Plume.
“Yes, I think so, too,” he responds. “We’ll put the Tea together and make sure your grandmom thinks all the handiwork is your idea.” He grins and she winks. “Just give us a copy of the invitation and it’ll be done to the nines.”
“Oh my goodness, thank you so much!” I say my goodbyes and hurry out the door. Outside, bile burns its way up my throat. That was close. I hate having to do this again and so soon. But I don’t see another way. My toushana needs to be fed.
I have to get to the forest.
* * *
