“Good,” I say. “Now listen. Magic isn’t something you force. It’s not a muscle you flex. It’s a current. You have to let it find you. Let go of your thoughts.”
She makes a face, eyes still closed. “You sound like a yoga instructor.”
I walk around her in a slow circle, dropping my voice. “Shut up, Rose.” I feel her irritation flare through the mark, but she keeps her eyes closed. “Listen to the woods. Feel the cold. The wind. The wetness in the air.”
Her breathing slows.
“Now reach out,” I say. “With your blood.”
She tenses, but I know she feels the power rising up from the ground, through her boots, into her legs, through her core.
“Good. Now think about what you want. Not what you should do, or what I’m telling you to do. What you want.”
Snowflakes fall slower, as if they too are waiting for Rose. Finally, she says, “I want summer.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Summer?”
She opens her eyes. “I’m bloody freezing.”
I step back, gesturing at the frozen earth. “Then make it happen.”
She scowls but kneels, brushing snow away from the frozen ground with her bare hands. Closing her eyes again, I watch the gold light thread up her arms, the mark on her wrist glowing like a neon sign. A moment later, there is a dull cracking sound, and then the earth breaks open, a handful of green shoots pushing through the ice crust. Within seconds, a riot of bright red, pink, orange and yellow flowers carpets the ground, petals unfurling and opening to reveal their full color, perfuming the air around us.
Rose’s mouth hangs open. “Holy shit.”
I kneel beside her, close enough to smell magic on her skin, a better smell than any flower. “You see? You can do anything. Youaremagic.”
She brushes her fingers over the blooms. “What else?”
I stand, brushing snow off my knees. “Light the trees.”
She blinks. “What if I burn everything down?”
I shrug.
Her eyes lift to the branches overhead. She shuts them, and seconds later tiny globes of light blink into being among the tree limbs like fireflies. They spin and dance, illuminating the forest around us in a rainbow glow.
Rose laughs, delighted. “It’s like Christmas.”
“Yule. A real witch’s holiday.”
She watches the lights. “This is insane.”
I step closer, voice low. “This is just a tiny taste of what you can do, Rose.”
She studies me, then crosses her arms. “So what now? Making pretty lights is hardly going to help me.”
“Now,” I say, “we see how far you can push it.”
Before she can brace herself, I’m in front of her and have her shoulders pinned to the tree trunk.
“Levitate,” I command.
She glares. “What, like float?”
I nod. “If you can create flowers in December, in New England, you can lift yourself six inches off the ground.”
She sets her mouth, focusing. Then her boots leave the earth and her toes dangle in the air.
