I hold my hand out again. A ball floats up off the ground. I flick the ball with my hand and it misses my target, a couple of inches short of a cup. I curse and try again. This time, the ball lands in a cup that’s suspended in the air. Again I toss a ball, and again it lands. I try two. Both land. Three, and they land. Magic is awesome! The thrill floating through me, the power and the pull of it building inside me. The possibilities.
I look around at the other balls.
I raise my hands up, all the balls coming up with them, and get a clear image in my head. I don’t know how this is working, this picturing thing, but it sure is. I see all of them flying across the room, zooming in different directions, each landing in a cup.
I let go.
The remaining balls dance off the ceiling, off the floors, off the walls, off each other. They fly, zoom, float, and bounce. I smile. This is possibly the coolest thing ever. The balls all land in a cup with satisfying pings.
I lower my hands, feeling a little dizzy. That’s a lot of magic for someone who usually deals in denominations of zero.
A loud boom of thunder claps over my head. Instinctively I cover my head. It’s not thunder. The noise bounces off the floor, up and down. I look to my left—basketballs. Hundreds of them all bouncing around. What the hell am I supposed to do with that many? They bounce around me, thwacking around the room.
I let the warmth of the magic fill me, and stop all the balls. They cease with a resounding, echoing thud. There are no nets. No bins. Nowhere for them to go. What am I supposed to do with this?
I kick a ball and move around them, looking for a clue. There’s nothing. The ball I kicked hits another and another—a domino effect across the room, moving like a wave. I stop them all and keep walking around the room.
I use the wind to bounce a ball in the air. I have to figure this out. I bounce another and keep it in the air. I bounce another, alternating new basketballs with old ones. I laugh. No one told me magic could be fun! Seriously. Why didn’t anyone tell me? I take them higher and lower. Up and down until every basketball is alternating between air and ground. Then, suddenly, the balls disappear. Really? That was all I had to do. Well, yay.
The balls are soon replaced. A car sits in the middle of the room. Just a car and nothing else. Great. Am I supposed to lift this up too? Call me the Hulk.
I sit on the floor, half exhausted, half in awe of this task. Lift a car. Sure. I can do that. It’s completely normal and useful to ask us to lift a car off the ground. Never know when you’ll need to squash a demon during road rage.
I start by pushing it to get some leverage. I get a clear image—wind, force, and power moving the car across the street. It only moves a little at first, a nudge, but then I try harder. I conjure all the magic I can from within. I try to fill all the spots inside with the magic. I push harder.
The magic swells up within me. I hold it all in. I call on the wind, and it stirs inside me. I let it build up until it explodes at my fingertips. When I let go, the car lifts four feet off the ground. I pour out the magic, try to keep it all going. I can’t. The car crashes down, windows cracking at the force.
My knees wobble. I feel weak, tired, like at any second I could fall over. The room tilts. Ellore is there when I look up. “Are you okay, Miss Grey?”
I nod, but I don’t think she believes me. I just lifted a car and the amount of magic that requires is incredible. I’ve never felt this powerful when I dealt with anyone else’s magic.
With my arm draped around her shoulders, Ellore leads me out of the gymnasium and into the waiting room.
The last test starts with each of us separated into different rooms. I’ve been standing in this white room for long enough that my feet hurt. Ellore did not tell us why we’re here, or what test awaits us next. There are no windows or doors; there’s only the white room and the glow of a fluorescent light.
A buzz sounds through the room—a sharp, tactile, piercing noise worse than a thousand nails on a thousand chalkboards. I cover my ears and the sound stops. It’s replaced by Ellore’s voice.
“In the craft, things are not always what they seem, as fire turns one thing into something else. This is the final test for you. Find the thing you treasure on earth and save yourself. ”
Then the voice ends. That’s it? That’s the clue? They had more clues on Wheel of Fortune.
Think, Penelope.
It’s got to be a fire task, since she mentioned that. She mentioned earth, too. Maybe it’s both things?
The white room shakes, shifts, and I feel the glamour flow around me as it changes form. I shiver at the sight of the light-purple walls. This was my room once, in my parents’ house. It’s comforting, in some weird and twisted kind of way. But why would they turn this room into my childhood bedroom? This place doesn’t mean anything good or safe for me anymore. It certainly isn’t my treasure on the earth. It’s only a house made of bricks and mortar, filled with ash and memories.
I walk around the copy of my bedroom. The pictures I drew in kindergarten line the walls in white frames. The carpet that was pulled up after my parents’ deaths is still on the floor. This place is before, when life was normal and my parents were alive and I had magic. It’s like nothing happened to them.
A scream echoes, and I run out my door. To my surprise, the glamour of my old house continues. I follow another scream down the stairs. This is the house I grew up in, every detail exact right to the smell of cinnamon. But there’s a smell that’s wrong—smoke.
“Penelope!”
It’s Connie, but she’s not down here—she’s upstairs. I race through the kitchen, but everywhere I turn there are more flames. Rapid and flickering, sizzling away the life I left behind. This is just a test, I tell myself. The flames lick at my feet and heat up my leg—this is not a test. This is real. My sister is upstairs.
“Connie!”
She screams again. Gathering the magic is hard when my emotions are all over the place. I try to calm myself down, to call on the elements to put out the flame, but it doesn’t work. I can’t focus. I move as fast as I can up the stairs. The fire chases me, races me to my sister. I picture her in turmoil, flames trapping her. I see myself, bursting in, calling on the magic and pouring it out. Then I think of water.
The power begins to stir within me. I call on it in every way I can—in all the elements, muttering any incantation I can think of, with every image I have inside. It coils against my soul, pushes at my toes. I shove it out and water trickles out of me.
Connie’s in her old room. The flames completely separate me from her. Her cries are hysterical. I have to save my sister.
I thrust more power out, as quickly as possible. Water pours out of me, consuming me, and I pull on the magic more and more until water rushes down and completely extinguishes the wall of flames separating me from Connie. Fire still dances around us, but I have time to grab my sister and go.
“I’ll get you out, Con,” I shout, throwing a glance at Connie as I drag her behind me. Only it isn’t Connie.
It’s my mom.
When I turn around, the fire is nearer and something grapples at my feet—it’s the orange-eyed demon. The same one that killed my parents. The one that took my powers. Just the sight of it again brings all my anger to the surface.
I look at my mom, her eyes tired and her lips quivering. The sight of her lodges something in my throat. The demon yanks me away from her. I scream and kick, but my cries are lost in the sound of the flames. No one can save me. No one can save me.