“Ah, but is it true you killed an Eagle by pummeling him to death?” Olivia put her hands on her hips, circling Oren and making a show of examining him.
Oren glanced at me, fleeting and quick. I felt Wesley watching me as well and kept my eyes on Olivia as she moved. “I didn’t mean to kill him,” Oren said finally, warily.
“Of course you didn’t,” she replied. “Accidents happen. We’re going to try to help you learn not to make those same mistakes again. But first I’m going to need to see what you’re made of.”
And then, without warning, Olivia feinted in one direction and then leaped at Oren, swinging low and aiming for his ribs. Oren danced away, turning as he did and dropping into a half-crouch, lips curling in surprise and anger.
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” said Olivia, delighted. “You’re not going to balk at the idea of hitting a girl, are you?”
Oren frowned, anger and wariness replaced by obvious confusion. “Why would I do that?”
Olivia laughed. “Finally.”
A hand on my shoulder jerked me away. I pulled my eyes from Olivia and Oren sparring to find Wesley there with a rueful smile. “Do I need to ask them to find another place to play, or are you going to be able to focus?”
I opened my mouth but was interrupted by a cry of surprise and pain from Olivia, followed by a peal of laughter, albeit a bit breathless.
Gritting my teeth, I said shortly, “I can focus just fine.”
Wesley wanted to teach me control so I could masquerade as a Renewable. Though I knew I needed help, a tiny part of me kept asking, Why is he helping you? What does he want? If I could control this power, I’d be the perfect spy—or the perfect assassin. I half-expected him to lead me through a series of deadly drills and lessons.
But it didn’t take long for me—and Wesley as well—to realize I knew nothing about magic beyond the instinctual level. To my humiliation, he led me over to a group of preteen children and then sat back in a chair, watching them teach me. It was like being in my home city again—too old, stuck with children who knew I was different. Only this time, instead of being a magical dud, I was just the opposite.
All morning they walked me through meditation exercises that were supposed to help me get to know my power. The magic was part of us, sustaining the machines that were our bodies, pumping the heart, expanding the lungs, sparking from neuron to neuron in our brains. First and foremost, we had to turn our attention inward and learn every pathway and reservoir the magic filled.
The exercises were far from peaceful and relaxing, though. An hour in, I was sweating, my concentration slipping in and out, my head pounding. The kids’ energy seemed unflagging, whereas I felt like I’d been locked in some sort of endless purgatory. I wanted to do something, not sit here and think about my heartbeat. Seeing Wesley sitting on the sidelines, watching with amusement the entire time, didn’t help. Neither did Oren and Olivia, who were now going through a slowed-down series of combat moves, him copying her with flawless grace.
By the time a middle-aged woman—a Renewable as well, to judge from the warm glow all around her that she wasn’t bothering to hide—came to send the kids off to their midday meal, I wanted to scream. Seeing my face, Wesley got up out of his chair with a laugh.
I felt my face warming with embarrassment, but I kept my mouth shut, chin lifting.
“Stand down, girl,” he said, still chuckling. “Matthias, stay back a moment, will you?”
One of the kids, a lanky boy of maybe ten or twelve, peeled off from the rest of the group as they all headed out of the cavern. “Yes, sir?”
“Lark’s wondering what the point is.”
“The point, sir, is that we must know how to control our magic before we can use it without hurting ourselves. We have to know our limits, and we have to know the source of our power before we can tap into it.”
“All true. Can you give Lark a demonstration of what happens when we overextend?”
For the first time, the lanky boy hesitated. “Really?” I couldn’t tell if he was excited or afraid, but whatever Wesley was asking, it was significant.
“Really. Quick now, so you don’t miss lunch.”
Matthias sat down on the mat cross-legged, laying his hands on his knees and beginning a series of deep, slow breaths. Wesley moved up next to me and murmured, “Watch.”
“He’s not doing anything,” I whispered back, confused.
“Not like that,” Wesley said. “Watch with your other sight.”
With a jolt, I narrowed my eyes, stretching out with my senses until the boy’s golden aura came into focus.
“Look closely,” Wesley said. “See if you can follow what he’s doing.”
The dark hunger inside me flared up, the longing so intense I nearly took a step toward the boy. But Wesley reached out, his own magic carefully shielded, and took my shoulder. I swallowed and forced myself to look closer.
I’d never had time to examine these auras before. Regular humans didn’t have them, possessing only the tiny sparks of magic that kept their bodies running. But Wesley was right— there was more to a Renewable’s aura than a simple golden glow. I couldn’t tell whether it was more like fine particles of dust or like dye swirling in water, but there were patterns to it. And as I watched the boy’s expression shift minutely, echoing the shifts in the magic surrounding him, I realized that he was controlling it.
Gradually, the flow of magic began to slow. At first there was as much inside him as swirling around him, but as the seconds stretched on, it seemed like more and more of the power was leaving his body. The boy was forcing it out.
With my second sight, I could actually see inside him—to where his heartbeat was growing slower, slower . . . His head sagged forward as his muscles stopped getting magic and oxygen. His lungs weren’t moving anymore. He’d stopped breathing. And then, as I watched, horror leaping up in my own chest—his heart stopped.
“Wesley!” I broke away from him and leaped for the kid, gathering my own remaining magic without thinking.
I caught Matthias as he began to fall forward, but as suddenly as his heart had stopped, it started again. He sucked in a lungful of air and sat up, eyes unfocused. He blinked a few times and then saw me and smiled ruefully. His lips were a little blue, but already growing rosy again.
“It sucks being the best one in the class at doing that,” he complained, getting unsteadily to his feet, as if he hadn’t been technically dead five seconds ago.
“Thank you, Matthias,” Wesley said. “You can go catch up now.”
The lanky boy wandered off, leaving me kneeling on the mat, bewildered. Wesley watched him go, thoughtful. I waited for him to tell me what I had just witnessed, but he seemed content with silence. Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
“What was that?” I burst out, lurching to my feet. “You teach kids how to kill themselves?”
Wesley turned toward me, feigning surprise. “It’s perfectly safe. It takes great focus and concentration to shift all the magic away from the basic functions of the body.”
“But—his heart stopped.”
“And then as soon as it did, and he started to lose consciousness, he was no longer concentrating on draining his magic away. And it all came back again.”
I stared at Wesley, still shaken by what I’d seen. “Why teach them this?”
“In these controlled situations,” Wesley answered me, “the magic isn’t gone. The kids are just moving it around, manipulating its flow. It’s still there, ready to be tapped the second the mind fails and instinct kicks back in. But if Matthias were to use all his power on something—powering a machine, moving something large, tapping into the elements—it would be gone. He’d have to wait for it to regenerate on its own, but that’s a slow process. If he drained himself to the point of death, there’d be no magic to jump-start his body again. We do this so that they know what it feels like, how to recognize it. So they know how much they have before they start tapping into what keeps them alive.”