Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  She still looked confused, so he elaborated. “Using movements helps us take what is just a thought and turn it into something physical, which makes it more of a reality. That’s the goal of magic, to take the idea we’ve formed in our head and make it a reality. With the fountain, I thought about what I wanted the water to do, and by pointing and moving my hand, it was easier to see it as real.” He sighed. “Am I making sense?”

  “I think I get it,” she replied. “If someone’s a magician, they can think of the outcome they want, imagine it as real, and it happens.”

  “A good summary,” he approved, “but it’s more complicated than it sounds. Figuring out how to achieve what you want is the hard part. Once you figure that out, it’s easy. Your natural born ability kicks in and all that’s left to do is strengthen the skill by finding quicker or more elaborate ways to achieve your goal.”

  Layla picked up the rose he’d given her, drifting it under her nose. “So you created the flower and the scent?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I imagined every detail, from stem to petal to pollen.”

  “So you need to know the anatomy of your subject to create it?”

  “Yes. Otherwise you end up with mutant flowers that quickly wilt. The greater your knowledge and imagination, the better the product.”

  “You have a good imagination,” she commended, once again smelling her rose.

  “We all do,” he replied, holding out a hand, and another rose appeared—blue and green like the first, but with a slightly different scent. He offered it to Layla, and she happily accepted, grinning as she buried her nose in soft petals.

  “I thought magic was supposed to be about spells and rituals,” she said, picking one of the lilies he’d created—a bright pink stargazer, which she bundled with the roses.

  “It is,” he confirmed, gathering the nearby stickman and yellow wildflower. Then he took Layla’s bouquet, magically adhering the stickman to the stalks before tying the stem of the wildflower around all four creations. “Even the easiest bit of magic we perform is considered a spell,” he added, returning her flowers, “and sometimes spells are considered rituals; usually when they involve multiple people, objects or an extended period of time. But because our magic is so flexible, our labels are often inconsequential. Two people can bring about the same result by taking two completely different paths. You don’t have to follow a rulebook or memorize step-by-step instructions. You just have to use your imagination to figure out a way, and most importantly, you have to be specific about what you want—from stem to petal to pollen, and everything in between.”

  “So the only limit to magic is your own,” she concluded.

  “Pretty much,” he replied. “But as easy as that sounds, you’ll quickly learn there’s more to it than meets the eye. It’s all in the details. Miss even the tiniest component, and your spell will likely fail. Figure out the details, and the rest is magic.”

  “Hmm . . .” she thought, wiggling her lips. Then she raised an eyebrow at him. “Can you make these flowers live forever?”

  “Only with daily care,” he answered. “I would have to keep them hydrated and reverse the marks of time.”

  “Can you not create them so that they wouldn’t need water?” she challenged.

  Quin grinned at her ornery smirk, wanting to kiss it. “No, I cannot, but there might be someone who can. Can you think of a way?”

  She scowled, but humor still tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I guess I deserve that.”

  “It wasn’t a shot,” he laughed. “You never know who has the answers you’re looking for.”

  “I have no answers,” she whispered. “I don’t even know myself, let alone what I can do.”

  “Tell you what,” he offered, reaching for her bouquet, “I’ll keep your flowers alive until you figure it out.”

  Her cheeks and smile brightened. “Yeah?”

  “Sure,” he agreed, opening his bag, but before he could slip the flowers inside, Layla grabbed his hand.

  “You’ll crush them,” she objected.

  Quin couldn’t help but laugh as he set the flowers aside and pulled the satchel from his waistband. “It has a spell cast on it,” he revealed, reaching inside the bag. “It holds as much as I need it to, protects its contents, and makes them weightless. It’s a highly detailed spell that requires regular maintenance.”

  When his hand emerged from the bag, a large pile of black velvet followed, and Layla quietly gasped. “What is that?”

  “The cloak I wear when I fly at night.”

  “Oh. What do you wear when you fly during the day?”

  “Whatever I want. We can conceal ourselves.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can disappear.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Really?”

  Quin laughed, surprised she still had the energy to react. “Really.”

  “Then why don’t you disappear at night?” she asked.

  “It’s nice to fly without hiding,” he answered. “The night gives us the opportunity. Would you like to see the concealment spell? Or not see, I should say.”

  “Yes,” she eagerly agreed, watching him with unblinking eyes.

  Quin stifled a laugh as he stowed the cloak and flowers and tied his bag to his waistband. Then he stood and took a few steps back. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” she answered. Then he was gone.

  Layla jolted and nervously scanned the clearing, suddenly terrified she’d never see her magical guide again.

  “I haven’t moved,” Quin assured.

  She looked to the spot he’d been a moment before, and thought she saw a shimmer, but couldn’t find it a second time.

  His voice floated through empty air. “A non-magical person could spend all day in this clearing and not notice me, but you’re different.” A short pause then another shimmer. “Do you want to try out your magic to see me? This would be an easy start.”

  “My magic?” she squeaked, anxiety swallowing excitement.

  “Sure,” he confirmed. “It takes minimal focus once you know what you’re looking for. It’s how we know other magicians when we see them, and how we know what people are feeling. It’s just a matter of opening your mind and eyes to what you know exists.”

  “How do I do it?”

  “First, close your eyes and remember what I looked like standing here.”

  Layla obeyed and sighed. This vision pleased her.

  “Don’t focus on the details,” he instructed, “but on the reality of it, that my body, without a doubt, occupies this space. Now, this is the important part. Shift your focus to the intangible aspects of being human—the ability to think critically and the capacity to feel on an emotional level. Those qualities occupy this space as much as my body does. Remember that, focus on it, then open your eyes.”

  He fell silent, but Layla kept her eyes closed, concentrating on the picture in her head. But it wasn’t a picture, or even a memory. It was fact. The seemingly empty space in front of her was filled with Quin’s body, heart and soul.

  She slowly lifted her eyelids, silently repeating the verity of it. Then she sharply inhaled.

  Quin’s presence was validated, but she couldn’t actually see him, just the lack of him. A multicolored, translucent mist swirled around the shape of his body, floating several feet in every direction.

  “What you’re seeing is my aura,” he revealed, “an abstract look into my soul. All magicians can see them, from the moment they’re born, and I’m sure it was the same for you. But while most magical babies have families who acknowledge auras, point them out and talk about them, you were raised by a woman who wouldn’t have been able to see them no matter how hard she looked. Without her validation, you likely ceased to believe, and you must look for auras to notice them.”

  With every second that passed, his aura became clearer. Layla could distinguish different colors now, whereas before they were blurry and pale. “It’s very pretty.”

  “
I’m glad you like it,” he replied, “because you’ll probably see it from now on.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Looking for someone’s aura comes as naturally as looking for their face. Now that you know about them, you’ll find them without even trying, and you’ll quickly figure out how to read them.”

  “Read them?”

  “Yes. You’ll learn to recognize emotions, musings and magical power.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m going to lift the concealment spell,” he warned.

  “Okay,” she agreed, and his body filled the empty space inside the fog, which somehow sharpened his image instead of obscuring it.

  “You really like it,” he observed.

  “Very much,” she admitted. “I’m afraid to look away.”

  “Don’t be. Give it a try. Look at the waterfall then back to me.”

  Layla watched him and his aura for another ten seconds before forcing her gaze away. Then she whipped it back around, already missing the sublime view. “It’s still there,” she beamed, searching the mist. It had gotten thinner, and the colors had dulled, but the longer she stared at it, the more vibrant it became.

  Quin knelt and took her hand, scanning the air around her as he pulled her to her feet. “Would you believe me if I said your aura is the most beautiful I’ve seen?”

  Layla looked from his colorful haze to his dark gaze. “I don’t know. You say things like that a lot.”

  “Because I mean them,” he assured. “Your aura captivated me the moment I saw you. It’s unlike any before it, and it’s only gotten better since yesterday.” He paused as he searched her eyes. Then he moved a little closer. “I know hundreds of witches, Layla, and most of them have beautiful bodies, faces and auras, but they’re average compared to you, and none of them have affected me the way you do. You’re the only thing I’ve thought about since meeting you.”

  Layla didn’t disclose that he was mirroring her feelings for him; she didn’t have the courage and admired him for his.

  A flash of green caught her eye, and she looked at the mist surrounding him. “Will I ever not see it?”

  “You can make it go away anytime you want,” he answered. “Just ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “I don’t want to,” she blurted. Then she blushed and looked down, hiding her flustered face.

  “Good,” he whispered, pulling her palm to his heart, “because I don’t want you to. But if you’d like, you can make it softer without losing it altogether. Just imagine what you want to see.”

  Trembling from head to toe, Layla doubted her ability to concentrate, but after a long moment of silence, her heart rate mellowed and her focus sharpened. She turned it to Quin’s aura, imagining the mist fading, and the colors blanched. When she yearned to see it more clearly, the colors flared.

  “You’re advancing quickly,” he noted.

  “How can you tell?” she asked.

  “Your aura,” he answered. “I can see your power improving.”

  “Oh.”

  “Do you want to try something different?”

  “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “The possibilities must be endless.”

  “We could try some elemental magic.”

  “Elemental?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed, waving his free hand through the air, and a breeze floated into the clearing, lifting the curls framing Layla’s face.

  “You did that?” she asked, glancing around.

  “Yes. That was a form of air magic. You also have water,” he said, motioning to the creek, and three liquid fish jumped from its surface. “Earth,” he added, stretching his hand over the jellybean shaped boulder, and the moss quickly grew, veiling the stone in greenery. “And last but not least,” he finished, raising his palm, “fire.”

  A perfectly round fireball with a diameter of at least seven feet shot into the air, halting and hovering near the treetops. Then it began slithering, constantly changing form until it had taken the shape of Layla’s name—burning cursive letters stretching across the cloudy blue sky. When Quin closed his hand, the flames dissipated.

  “Which would you like to try?” he asked.

  Layla continued to watch the sky, mesmerized. “That one.”

  “Okay,” he agreed, “but don’t be disappointed if nothing happens. Out of the four, fire’s the hardest to work with.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it rarely has a base. I had air, water and earth at my disposal, but no fire.”

  “But that was fantastic,” she countered, pointing toward the sky.

  “It wasn’t bad, but I’m a fire child, so it was easy.”

  She snapped her gaze to his face. “You’re a what?”

  “A fire child,” he repeated. “All magicians know basic elemental magic, but each of us thrives at one element in particular. Mine is fire.”

  “Can you tell what mine is?” she asked. “By my aura?”

  “No. That’s something you’ll figure out when you start reaching your limits.”

  “Oh,” she breathed, shoulders sagging.

  Quin reached up, lightly tapping her pout. “What’s that about?”

  “It’s overwhelming,” she explained, “how little I know.”

  “I see,” he whispered, pulling her into a hug.

  Layla’s fingers flexed over his heart as she rested her cheek to his chest, her lungs stuttering as tingles slid down her spine to her fluttering tummy. The move felt monumental, like the earth’s axis had shifted and nothing would ever be the same. Layla was changed, enlightened as she stared at Quin’s hand, inhaled his scent, and listened to his pulse.

  “You’ve handled everything beautifully,” he commended. “If you want to learn, I have no doubt you’ll do it in record time.”

  “It’s not just that,” she countered. “My background, my parentage . . . my identity, it’s all a mystery. I’m afraid I’ll never catch up.”

  He leaned in, touching his lips to her hair, and her scalp buzzed with tickling energy. “I know some really great people who could shed some light on the situation,” he noted.

  Layla’s bones softened at the idea of meeting her family. What would she say? Hi, nice to meet you. I hear you’re a bunch of witches and wizards. Talk about inappropriate.

  “No one’s going to force you to do this,” Quin added. “We know it’s hard. If you need more time, take it.”

  What was to gain by keeping her head in the sand? Nothing, there was nothing to gain by avoiding the truth, but the things she could gain by facing her fears—abundant. “They know I’m here?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “They know you’re with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what now?”

  Quin leaned back and found her eyes. “That’s up to you. Your family wants to see you when you’re ready. They want you to join the coven and live the life you were born to live. They want to know you. But if these things aren’t what you want, you’re free to go on with your life as you please.” He paused, taking her face in both hands as he moved a little closer. “But I should probably warn you—choosing not to join the coven doesn’t necessarily get rid of me. Now that I know you, I have no desire to stay away from you.”

  “I don’t want you to,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He watched her lips for a moment then released her face, taking her hands instead. “I’m not rushing you, but I’m curious. Do you know what you want to do?”

  She knew, and it only fueled her nerves. Making the decision hadn’t calmed her at all. “Yes,” she answered. “I want to meet my family, but not until I get some food and coffee.”

  A huge sigh whooshed from his lungs as his lips curved toward dimples. “Food and coffee sounds great.” He held out a hand, and his water glass and raincoat flew from the ground. After offering her a drink, he drained the glass and tucked the items into his bag. “Ready?”

  “Not quite,” she refused. “I didn’t get to try my
elemental magic.”

  “That’s right,” he remembered, stepping behind her. “Close your eyes.”

  “You didn’t,” she objected.

  “You won’t always have to close them,” he assured. “It’s a beginner’s tool, to help block out distractions and increase focus.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are your eyes closed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Raise your right arm, palm forward, straight out in front of you.”

  She obeyed, and he touched two fingers to her right temple.

  “Start to imagine the fire here,” he instructed. “Think about every detail—color, movement, sound, feel. Picture it as clearly as you possibly can. When you feel like the image is complete, nod your head.”

  Layla put the pieces of the blaze together in her mind, creating a surprisingly clear vision. Then she barely nodded, afraid too much movement would shake the image away.

  Quin felt the tiny nod and quietly continued. “The goal is to transport that fire down your arm and out your hand. When I move my fingers, try to make the flames follow.”

  The slight pressure at her temple crept downward, and she mentally urged the blaze to follow. She was quite pleased that it did and nearly lost the image as excitement jarred her concentration, but she forced the pride to cede so she could maintain focus.

  Quin’s fingers slowly trailed over her jaw then down her neck, and heat penetrated inside and out. The inside burn was a result of the vision, while the warmth on the outside stemmed from his touch. As his fingertips made their way across her shoulder, the heat followed, flaring from her temple to the top of her arm. The trail was several degrees hotter than the rest of her body, but it was exhilarating rather than painful.

  When Quin got to her wrist, he pulled his hand away, but stayed close. “When I count to three, take all that heat and push it from your outstretched hand as forcefully as you can. Make a point to imagine it traveling away from your body, not around it, and don’t drop your hand until you’re sure the heat’s gone.”

  The warmth pulsed from Layla’s head to her fingertips, and she thought of it as a single unit that couldn’t be divided, so when a portion went, the rest would go.