The Nature of Witches

by Rachel Griffin

  I take a breath. Imagine the way her long hair fell over her shoulder when she laughed. She never laughed in public, not like that. But when it was just the two of us, she laughed with her entire body.

  On my exhale, I shove away from her as hard as I can.

  I break free of her hands, and she tumbles back, losing control of her magic. It reaches for my own, and panic seizes me as my magic rushes out to meet it.

  I struggle against the force of it, but my magic recognizes her instantly.

  I see the flashes of light that erupted when my parents died. When Nikki died. And all I can think is, Not Paige too.

  I run at her and tackle her to the ground, rolling her out of the way as magic releases into the air with incredible precision. But I’m not fast enough, and lightning strikes the space we fall through, catching me in the side before finding the gold chain around Paige’s neck. It follows the metal all the way around before vanishing.

  Paige shakes beneath me. I scramble off her and stay by her side.

  There’s a burn under her necklace, and she stares at me, eyes wide. Then she looks away, and her chest turns red, the way it always does when she’s embarrassed.

  And suddenly, I’m stuck in a memory. The first time I noticed that blush, we were in my room in Summer House, studying for a history exam. We were sprawled out on my bed, books open, highlighters and pens lost in the sheets, when Paige said she’d never kissed anyone.

  It came out of the blue, unprompted. And it was surprising. Paige was always confident, sure of herself, and the vulnerability in her voice made my throat tighten. It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. Paige had never been in a relationship because she’d never thought anyone was good enough for her. I wished I was more like that.

  But sitting on my bed, her hair cascading past her shoulders, she trusted me enough to punch through her hard exterior and hand me a part of the softness she kept hidden. Red splotches formed on her pale skin until her chest matched the color of my hair.

  “Will you kiss me?” she asked.

  My first thought was how brave it was to ask. I didn’t know if I’d ever been that brave. I wanted to emulate her.

  My second thought was how badly I wanted to.

  When our lips touched for the first time, I knew there was no going back.

  And for the next two months, there wasn’t.

  Mr. Donovan rushes over, but I’m frozen in place, trapped between the memory of Paige’s lips on mine and the image of her body on the ground. I’m shaking beside her, terrified of what just happened. Terrified of how much worse it could have been.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper. Without thinking, I take her hand.

  She looks down at it, up at me, and back to her hand.

  I let go.

  Then her head lolls back, and she’s out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “It never occurred to me that change was undesirable until someone who prided themselves on consistency told me it was.”

  —A Season for Everything

  Paige is lying on a narrow bed in the nurse’s office. She has a mild burn on her neck from the lightning heating up her necklace. Ironically, the pendant on her necklace is a little gold lightning bolt that Nikki gave her years ago.

  I have a matching one. Nikki was buried in hers.

  I’m in a chair beside Paige, a similar burn on my left side where the lightning passed over me. I can’t stop seeing images of my parents and Nikki, can’t stop thinking about how easily Paige could’ve joined them.

  I’m a danger to those around me, and I can never forget it, not even for a moment.

  The nurse comes in and gives us each some topical cream for our burns, but there’s nothing more to do. It was a minor incident; the electricity never touched her body and barely skimmed my own. We got lucky. But seeing her shake on the ground reminded me how little control I have over my own power, and it fills my stomach with a sick, twisted feeling.

  “Don’t do that,” Paige says. Even in that narrow bed with grass stuck in her hair, she looks strong.

  “Do what?”

  “Spiral into self-pity like that.”

  Defensiveness rises in my chest, and I force it back down. Even after so long, Paige still knows me. It’s comforting in a way, realizing there’s a part of myself that isn’t just a curiosity kept hidden in a tiny cabin beneath the trees. That part of me survived Nikki’s death and continues on. But it’s also painfully sad.

  “You have no idea what it’s like being so out of control.”

  “Yes, I do.” Her voice is strained, and I know she isn’t talking about magic. She keeps her eyes fixed on the wall in front of her. “And your ‘woe is me, I’m so powerful’ garbage is getting old.”

  I shake my head and look at the ceiling, the wall, anywhere but her face. “So is your insistence that you know how I’m feeling better than I do. You don’t have a clue.” My voice rises, and my skin gets hot.

  “And whose fault is that?” She sits up in bed and glares at me. Her voice is loud and laced with anger. I don’t say anything, and she lies back down.

  We used to be everything to each other, and now we can barely be in the same room. It takes my breath away, the loss of it all.

  I avoid her eyes, and she avoids mine. A silence louder than our worst yelling match takes over the room, and I jump when the door opens.

  Ms. Suntile walks in, followed by Mr. Donovan and Mr. Burrows.

  “Girls,” she says, looking at us over her glasses, “I trust you’re feeling better?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Paige says.

  “Yes,” I echo.

  Mr. Donovan pulls up three chairs, and they all sit. I press my palms into my knees, trying to stay calm. I have no idea what kind of trouble I’ll get in for this.

  Mr. Donovan has a clipboard and a pen, ready to take notes.

  Ms. Suntile looks from me to Paige and back again. “I don’t have all day.”

  “It wasn’t Clara’s fault,” Paige says. I stare at her. “Something didn’t feel right as soon as we started, and Clara tried to pull away, but I wouldn’t let go of her. I didn’t want to fail the assignment.”

  “That was incredibly reckless of you, Ms. Lexington.”

  “I know,” Paige says. She doesn’t sound sorry or defeated, and her tone never falters. She is even, always.

  “You should never have been paired together, given your history,” Ms. Suntile says, more to Mr. Donovan than to us. He shifts in his seat. My cheeks flame, and I look down.

  Mr. Burrows looks at me. “Until you gain more control over your magic, we’ll be removing you from group classes again and focusing on your one-on-one sessions instead.”

  I sit up straighter and look at Ms. Suntile and Mr. Donovan for help. “I’d rather pull back on the private sessions and do more group work. I’ll never be comfortable in groups if I don’t practice with them.”

  Mr. Burrows shakes his head. “Today is a clear indicator that you shouldn’t be training in normal classes, especially given how long you’ve been in school with these people. There’s too much history. You’ll continue to train with Sang, and we’ll reevaluate as the year goes on. As soon as you develop enough command over your magic, we’ll get you training with other witches again. But for now, your focus must remain on learning to control your own power.”

  Neither Ms. Suntile nor Mr. Donovan argues, and I slump back in my chair. I know why the school favors private training, private housing, private everything for me. And I appreciate it most of the time; these measures help ensure that the people around me stay safe. But I can’t shake the feeling that sometimes Ms. Suntile keeps me isolated just because she can.

  “I want you both to take the rest of the day off and see how you’re feeling in the morning. If you need another day to rest, you may have it.” Ms. Suntile
turns to look at me. “I’ll let Mr. Park know you won’t be training with him today.” She stands. “Get some rest tonight, both of you.”

  Ms. Suntile pushes through the door, leaving a gust of cold air in her wake. Mr. Burrows follows without another word, but Mr. Donovan hesitates.

  “I owe you both an apology. Ms. Suntile is right—I should have put more care into who I paired you with. This falls on me, not you.” He stands. “Get some rest.”

  We both nod, and Mr. Donovan leaves. Paige clears her throat. “I’m tired.”

  “I’ll go,” I say. “Do you want me to wait outside and help you back to Winter House?”

  “No.”

  I slowly ease out of my chair and head to the door. “Paige,” I start, but then I pause, my courage faltering. There is a chasm between us, so deep and so wide that whatever I say will tumble into the depths, never making it to the other side. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  She doesn’t say anything, instead staring off to a place I can’t see. I leave and shut the door behind me.

  ***

  After a fitful night of tossing and turning, dreaming of Nikki and Paige and lightning, I’m even more thankful Ms. Suntile gave me the option to take another day off. I’m in my cabin reading Alice’s memoir when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I say over my shoulder. I’m curled up on my bed with Nox, and I pull my sweater tighter around my body. The cabin windows are thin and old, and cold air seeps through the weathered seals and into the room.

  My mind is frantic with what I did to Paige, with the way it’s so easy for me to lose control. I’ve read the same paragraph over and over again. I shut the book and place it on my bedside table, where it has stayed ever since I received it.

  Sang tentatively pokes his head in.

  “Did Ms. Suntile not tell you our session was canceled for today?”

  “No, she did,” Sang’s voice trails off, and he looks embarrassed. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Paige took the brunt of it.”

  Sang closes the door behind him and sits down. Nox jumps off the bed and wraps around his legs, purring.

  Traitor.

  “That must have been terrifying.”

  I don’t understand why he’s here. I lean back on my pillow and stare at the ceiling, trying to forget all the pain my magic has caused.

  I’m about to ask Sang to leave when he says, “I hurt someone once.”

  I sit up straighter and look at him. “You did?”

  He nods. “I was eight. My parents had set up a planter box for me in the backyard, and I was growing all kinds of things. One day I was working on Abrus precatorius—you know, crab’s eye?—and thought the seeds were so cool. It had taken me less than an hour to grow, and I was so proud of myself.” He pauses. “It was before I knew certain plants are poisonous to shaders.”

  His voice is quiet, and his eyes shine with the memory. I swallow hard. Ingestion of a single seed can be fatal, and I’m scared for him to continue.

  “When my mom called me in for dinner, I sprinkled some seeds on her salad. I couldn’t wait for her to try them, to tell her I’d grown them especially for her. But when she bit into the first one, the shell was so hard it hurt her tooth. She swallowed it and ate around the rest. She would have died had she eaten them all.”

  I exhale, loud and heavy. Nox jumps into Sang’s lap, and he pets him as he continues.

  “She got really ill. Vomiting and pain, so weak she could hardly stand. My dad saw the seeds on her plate. He looked them up and realized they were toxic. He called poison control, and my mom was rushed to the hospital. She was ultimately fine, but I’ve never forgotten it.”

  “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  Sang shakes his head. “It’s so vivid still, all these years later. Even now, my heart is pounding just talking about it. For a few hours, I was sure I’d killed my mom. I still have dreams about it.”

  “I still have dreams about my parents and Nikki. And now, Mr. Hart.” The words rush out before I can stop them. I wish I could take them back.

  Sang looks at me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn the conversation to me.” My fingers grip the blanket over my legs, and I look away. “I just meant—” But I cut myself off. I’m not sure I want to tell him what I meant.

  “What?” He looks so genuine, so interested in what I’m going to say. His eyes still shine from his story about his mom, and he’s scratching Nox’s head, not noticing or caring that his white sweatshirt is covered in black hairs. Watching him with Nox, the way he’s so comfortable in this small space, awakens something inside me.

  I swallow hard and look away.

  Trusting Sang with my messiest wounds when I don’t trust him with anything else would be foolish.

  I need him to go.

  “I just meant that I know what it’s like to dream about moments you’d give anything to forget.”

  Sang nods, but he looks down, and his shoulders slump. He knows there’s something I’m not saying. He clears his throat and stands.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re doing okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  I nod. Sang walks to the door and looks back at me. For a second, I think he might ask me a question, but then he shakes his head slightly and leaves.

  Nox stands at the door, watching the space Sang occupied just moments earlier.

  Guilt pricks at me, but I push it down. I don’t owe him my secrets just because he shared his.

  I don’t owe him anything at all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I don’t know if I like myself equally in each season. I value different qualities at different times, but don’t we all?”

  —A Season for Everything

  The next morning, I beat Sang to the control field. Winter is slowly taking over campus, bare branches and mornings touched by frost. The days are getting shorter, and the plants are preparing for the long season ahead.

  Nighttime reigns in winter. There are fewer daylight hours, and the sun hangs lower in the sky. The atmosphere scatters the sunlight, making it less intense.

  Winters are special in that way: we need the least amount of energy from the sun in order to produce magic. Summers are almost useless in winter because they require such an incredible amount of sunlight. But not us.

  It’s a clear day. The grass sparkles with frost, and the forest beyond the field is quiet and still.

  A quote from Alice’s memoir is swirling in my head, words I haven’t been able to forget since the accident with Paige: If people I care about are going to die because of me, I’m going to make damn certain my magic is worth something.

  She wrote it in anger after losing one of her closest friends when she was nineteen. Something snapped in her, and she decided the only way to move forward was to immerse herself in the thing she feared.

  I’ve tried everything—holding my magic back, isolating myself, keeping my guard up at all times. Everything except leaning into my magic. Seeing Paige on the ground highlighted something I think I’ve known all along: what I’ve been doing isn’t working.

  There are two seasons left before the solar eclipse, and if I’m going to make it until then without hurting anyone else, I need a new strategy.

  When Sang walks onto the field, I’m ready to use my magic.

  All of it.

  “Hey,” he says, dropping his bag on the ground. A wool scarf is wrapped around his neck, and the tips of his ears are pink. He looks so comfortable, so cozy, like a mug of hot chocolate or my favorite blanket. The perfect person to curl up with beside a fire.

  I clear my throat.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asks.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about how Paige could have been hurt so much
worse, about how lucky we got. I don’t ever want that to happen again.” I pause, look out across the field toward the trees I’ve been trying so hard to reach in our drills. “Before Mr. Hart died, he told me I’ll only ever gain full control over my magic if I master it. I want to let it all out and hold nothing back. I need to know what I’m actually capable of.”

  “I thought that’s what we’ve been doing. Have you been holding back this whole time?”

  “Not on purpose. But I think I’ve been holding back for so long that I don’t know how not to do it. I don’t know what it feels like to use all my magic because I never let myself get close. And I’ll never learn to control it if I don’t even know what it feels like.”

  Sang nods. “That makes a lot of sense.” He looks around the field. The mountains in the distance are capped in white, as if their peaks have been dipped in frosting.

  “Would you walk me through it? How it feels for you when you use all of your magic?”

  He looks surprised, but he nods. “Sure, of course.”

  “I’d like that.”

  His eyes land on mine, and for one, two, three seconds, neither of us looks away.

  I force my eyes to the ground and take a deep breath. There was nothing in that look.

  Sang reaches his hand out to me, and I step back. “You’ll feel it more if you take my hand,” he says.

  Hesitantly, I step forward. When I put my hand in his, he laces his fingers through mine. For a moment, I’m frozen, staring at our intertwined fingers. His skin is rough, indicative of all the hours he spends in the dirt, and blue smudges stain the edge of his hand. My heart races. I force myself to focus on our drill, because that’s all this is: training.

  “Okay?” Sang asks me.

  I nod and swallow hard. “I’m ready when you are.”

  He closes his eyes, and I do the same. I instantly feel it when he calls his magic to the surface, the calm I’m so used to by now drifting through the air, moving up my arm, settling in my core.