“If it helps, you can close your eyes,” Becks offers.
I do as he asks, filling my lungs with icy mountain air.
I always imagined my magic trapped inside of me in a box, protected by the casing and the lock I’d put on it. After I’d set fire to the frat house curtains, I’d cracked the box, trying to call my magic back. At first, the magic had flared even brighter before I somehow managed to wrangle it under control. So with my eyes closed, I try to find the box again.
That proves to be easier said than done. It’s not like it’s a physical cube embedded in my chest. Magic is less tangible than that. It’s like a melding of the mental and physical that honestly doesn’t make sense to me. It’s not a math equation I can work through. It takes intuition that I’ve spent a lifetime ignoring.
Becks is quiet as I search for my magic. But as hard as I try, I can’t find it.
With a huff of frustration, I open my eyes.
“This isn’t working. I don’t feel anything.”
“It’s okay. Don’t get frustrated,” Becks says calmly. It helps that he doesn’t appear even a smidgen put out by my lack of experience. “You’ve been suppressing your magic for years. It’s like a muscle that’s atrophied. It’s going to take more than a day to master it.”
“I’m not trying to master it in a day. I’m just trying to produce a spark. That doesn’t feel like it’s too much to ask.”
Reaching out, he gives my arm an encouraging squeeze. “It’s not. You’ll get there. Tell me about your magic.”
I shoot him a look that conveys my confusion.
“What does it feel like to you? Don’t overthink it. Just tell me the first thing that comes to mind.”
The first thing that comes to mind is the fear I felt at the frat house when my magic was licking up the curtains.
“Powerful,” I say, and Becks nods.
“What else?”
“Unpredictable. Intimidating.”
“Are you scared of your magic?” Becks asks carefully.
“A little,” I admit, feeling vulnerable.
“Why?”
“Because it feels . . .” I search for the words. “Wild. I understand that my magic is part of me, but sometimes it feels all-consuming. Like it would take me over if it could.”
He already understands why I’ve never tried to use my magic, so I tell him about the box I locked it away in.
Becks’ brow bunches as he regards me. “So we’re not just dealing with unused magic. We’re dealing with magic that’s been stifled for years. It makes sense why you can’t feel it now. You’ve spent your life hiding it in a corner of yourself.”
Pressure starts to build in my chest and my eyes prickle. I turn away, feeling silly that I’m getting emotional.
The snow crunches behind me as Becks draws close.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he says softly. He’s near enough to block the wind at my back. “If you aren’t up for this, we don’t have to do it.”
I shake my head, swiping angrily at the tears blurring my vision before turning to face him. When I look up, his eyes are filled with understanding.
“No. I’ve been avoiding this for far too long. You’re right. If the demon finds me, I want a way to defend myself.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I nod.
“Positive. Let’s give it another go.”
“Okay,” he says, and I swear I read pride in his gaze. “Now we know why you can’t feel your magic. You have it locked up tight inside you. So instead of feeling for your magic, you need to find that box first, the place you’ve trapped your power.”
