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I focus on smoothing out the rough ridges in my piece of driftwood. “They feel all right.”
Aspen’s lips twitch, his doubt clear. “The bond between a witch and her wand is a reflection of her power. Are you sure these components reflect your true self?”
I swallow hard. They don’t, but my true self is a mystery even to me, so how could I choose something that reflects it? I just need to sound confident.
I look up to meet his eyes, glad I practiced this in case I was quizzed. “Driftwood, because my life has been adrift, raven feather for knowledge, and moonlit water to access the subconscious.”
“Moonlit water is a powerful choice.” Aspen’s gaze flicks back to Delilah’s ingredients. “One that Delilah has also made.”
Delilah reaches over to rest her hand on mine. “We are sisters, both in magic and in blood. Rowe has made her garden open to me, and we spend much time together. We took advantage of the lesson to experiment.”
The muscle in Aspen’s jaw ticks. “We haven’t had a full moon since you started lessons.”
The coven falls into a hushed silence, and Aspen’s gaze returns to mine. His scrutiny makes me squirm, and I feel like I’m failing an important test.
Delilah squeezes my hand, her comforting presence a reminder that I’m not alone.
When I stay silent, Aspen sighs. “Very well. Good luck, Rowe.”
As he walks away, I turn to Delilah and mouth, “Thank you.”
She smiles and pats my hand before she returns to snapping thorns off a piece of wood that I’m pretty sure came from the rosebush near the back porch.
As I work on sanding my driftwood smooth, it warms within my hand, and I try to find a connection with it. But wood is wood, and not especially exciting. Is it because I’m not an elemental witch? Is that why I’m having a hard time with this?
I hold the piece of wood out in front of me, my arm fully extended. At least it’s straight, so I meet that requirement.
Mel’s gentle voice breaks through my thoughts. “All right, everyone, open your grimoires and reference the notes you took during our demonstration last week. This will help you cast the spell more effectively.”
I open my grimoire, and my heart sinks as I flip past the title page to the first class. My notes are non-existent, aside from a stick and question marks. I thought they’d show us again when we actually started making the wands. I’m far better at hands-on learning than reading from books.
When I glance over at Delilah’s grimoire, she angles it toward me without comment. Crisp handwriting fills the page, with diagrams I’m pretty sure weren’t covered in the demonstration. It sure is nice to have a seat buddy who’s been through these lessons already.
I stand and dig through the box for a piece of chalk, then take one of the small chalkboards. Her notes say gold works better, but I take that as an advanced wand-making trick that we’ll learn later.
Biting my bottom lip, I carefully copy the diagram onto my board, having to do it twice to get it right. Slowly, my shoulders relax. This feels like when I did magic with Haut, where he handed me the ingredients and told me what to do. I’m comfortable with this.
At least wand making doesn’t require dancing. If it did, I’d be screwed.
I set the board with my diagram to the side and open the vial of moonlit water, wetting my fingers. A surprising sensation tingles up my arm, and I blink as silver threads curl up from my fingertips, reaching toward my wand, where they swirl in intricate fractal patterns.
I rub my fingers together, and more strands fall to the table, slipping across the wooden surface toward the chalkboard. My pulse quickens, and I hold my breath as wonder fills me.
The sound of glass breaking jars me out of my trance, and I flinch upright, the silver lines vanishing. I turn to look at the table behind me, where Ginny crouches next to her table, picking up the remains of a jar.
“Sorry, everyone.” She dips her head, her black hair swinging forward to cover her face. “I’m just clumsy.”
“That’s okay, Ginny. Accidents happen.” Mel joins her with a little handheld broom and dustpan. “I can clean this up. Keep working on your wand.”
Rattled, I turn back to my work and lift the raven feather on my table but can’t figure out how to attach it. I check Delilah’s grimoire for guidance, but the notes swim before my tired eyes, and frustration bubbles up.
“Do you need a hand with that feather, Rowe?” Harper offers, standing from her seat.
Before I can answer, Aspen swoops in, his voice stern. “Rowe needs to make the wand by herself, Harper.”
Harper frowns, her expression a mixture of concern and annoyance. “But if we help each other, won’t we all get better at this?”
Aspen’s gaze darts to me, then back to Harper. “Witches need to be able to craft their tools without assistance, or they fail at the most basic of lessons.”
