The Nature of Witches

by Rachel Griffin

  Terror claws at my stomach as images of Angela and her children flood my mind. I close my eyes and try to calm down. There weren’t supposed to be any stakes attached to this—it was just supposed to be a way for me to practice on a storm we didn’t create. The pressure sits heavy on my chest.

  “Mr. Mendez and Mr. Donovan are working on getting to them, but they’re pretty far out.” Ms. Suntile takes a shaky breath, and it unnerves me to see the cracks in her composed exterior. “Even with all the progress you’ve made, we don’t expect you to be able to dissipate this storm. That class is not your responsibility; it is mine, and I failed to get them down soon enough. But if you’re going to try, Ms. Densmore, now is the time.”

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” I say, my voice breaking at the end. I’m terrified of making things worse for them, the way I did for Mr. Hart.

  “You can try. That’s all you need to do,” Sang says, stepping in front of me. “Just try.”

  “But trying is what killed Mr. Hart,” I say, quiet enough that only he can hear me.

  “A tornado killed Mr. Hart,” Sang says, “and the blizzard is already here. It’s already on top of them.” He looks at me so intently, so gentle and sure, that everyone else fades away. I focus on his eyes, on the sun inside them, and nod.

  Then the wind slams into me, throwing snow every which way until he’s just a blur.

  I find Paige beside me, her eyes wide. Scared. “It won’t hurt,” I say. “It’ll be unsettling, though, and your initial reaction will be to fight me. But don’t.”

  She looks at Ms. Suntile, who nods. “Okay,” Paige says, her voice uncertain. I barely hear it above the sound of the wind.

  The blizzard is fully formed now, dropping so much snow that the world around me is pure white, the greens and pinks and blues of spring hidden once more beneath winter. The wind is howling, gusts blowing fast enough that I have to plant my feet farther apart so I don’t stumble back.

  I worry for the kids stuck in the woods with their teacher, huddling together, freezing. The branches will provide some shelter, but with winds reaching fifty miles per hour, the trees aren’t the safest place to be. And since they left when it was spring, a warm day of almost seventy degrees, there’s no way their clothing will protect them from this.

  “Ready?” I call to Paige. Her body is tense, and she’s shaking.

  She nods, and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen her look truly scared.

  I close my eyes, and Paige’s magic rushes to the surface of her skin, aching to be let out, to help in some way. I recognize it instantly—the bite of winter, aggressive and deliberate. It’s weak, but there’s enough to grab hold of, and I send my power chasing after it.

  Paige inhales a sharp breath, and I know she feels it now. She takes a step away from me and tries to hide her magic, but I step closer and catch her hand in mine.

  “You’re okay,” I say, hoping my words find her through the wind. “Don’t fight it.”

  “That’s all I know how to do with you,” she says.

  The words slam into my chest and reach for my heart, threatening to break it. But I know exactly what she means, because it was always that way. We fought against our pull toward each other, our desire and love and want. We fought when we were together, each always wanting more than the other could give. We fought sleep so we could stay awake for one more kiss, one more sentence, one more touch.

  And when we broke up, we fought against the feelings that didn’t understand, that stayed where they were even though we had long since left.

  “I know.”

  As soon as I say it, her hand stops pulling against my own, and her body relaxes, letting her magic flow toward me in a solid rush of power.

  I think about Sang’s sleeping orange and how maybe that’s all anyone really wants: to be seen by another person, to be validated even when we work so hard to hide certain parts of ourselves. Maybe especially then.

  I let go of Paige’s hand. She’s still shaking, but her magic responds right away. I pull as much as I can, the gentle, patient nature of spring replaced with the precision and force of winter. Magic wraps around magic, spring summons winter, and when I cannot hold the strength of it any longer, I direct it at the storm.

  The blizzard shifts, trying to get away, but I grab hold of the wind and drape it in freezing magic that calms it down. It fights, moving left and right, up and down, trying to break free, but I hold it steady.

  The thrill of cold moves through my veins, and I see myself on the river, calm and peaceful and steady. When I get to the waterfall, I don’t hesitate or try to swim against the current.

  I fall.

  Magic rushes toward the blizzard and blasts inside. Finally, it responds. Draped in power, the storm calms and the winds slow. In one swift motion, I pull more magic and send it chasing after moisture, absorbing it all until the earth and air are dry.

  I focus on the water, eradicating each drop I encounter. Without moisture, there can be no clouds, no precipitation, no blizzard.

  I’ve never used this much magic in my life, and even though I’m pulling from Paige, my entire body shakes, and I get light-headed. The storm fights against me, and I fight back.

  I fight because for so long, I hated who I was, hated my power, hated how I change from season to season. But standing here with shaking hands, using magic that isn’t mine? It doesn’t feel bad. It feels cleansing.

  There’s so much wind and snow that I can’t see anyone else on the field. The blizzard howls around me as if begging me to stop, begging me to let it be.

  Only one of us can win.

  With one final surge, I send freezing magic rushing through the air, attracting cold right to it, making way for warmth.

  The temperature begins to rise.

  Snow stops falling.

  There is no more wind.

  And then it’s over.

  I can see all the way to the edge of the field.

  Everything is silent, the world just as shocked as I am.

  “Holy shit, Clara,” Paige breathes.

  Her voice sounds distant and jumbled.

  “That was extraordinary,” Mr. Burrows says, walking toward me. I squint, try to make him clearer, but I can’t. He’s blurry.

  The air gets warmer, melting the snow that had started to accumulate. Spring takes over again, green grass and bright flowers peeking through the white earth.

  I drop to the ground, no longer able to support my own weight.

  I watch the remaining snowflakes melt and the sun punch through the clouds as if it was never hidden in the first place.

  “Are you okay?” Sang kneels beside me, tilting my chin up so I look at him. I’m dizzy and weak and utterly exhausted. But I’m also shocked and filled with pride.

  I used to think being alone was the answer, that letting Eastern isolate me was the only way to protect everyone else. But being in this field with Paige and Sang and my teachers, I know we were wrong. Being kept from other people was the very reason it took me so long to learn about this power, a power that is wholly dependent upon the strength of others.

  I convinced myself I was okay being alone, that things were better that way.

  But I’m not okay with it.

  A life of isolation is too high a price for magic. A life of constantly worrying about those I love is too high a price.

  And I don’t want to pay it.

  Sang came into my life and opened me up to a magic I never would have known without him, and I refuse to give him up. I will keep him safe, whatever it takes.

  “Paige says I look at you like you’re magic,” I say to him, not caring who hears me.

  He laughs, and his eyes get teary. He searches my face and touches my skin, and I know that as long as he’s in the world, I want him beside me.

  “You’re my
sun,” I say.

  Then I pass out.

  Chapter Thirty

  “There is nothing riskier than handing your heart to another person and trusting them to keep it safe.”

  —A Season for Everything

  When I come to, the field is warm, not a single crystal of ice remaining. Sang is saying my name, and Mr. Burrows is rushing over with water. I hear Ms. Suntile talking frantically to someone, and Paige is standing several feet away, watching.

  “Hi,” Sang says when the world comes into focus and my eyes find his.

  I blink several times. “Hi.”

  He brushes the hair out of my face and helps me sit up.

  Mr. Burrows hands me a glass water bottle, and I take several long sips. I’m not in pain anymore, and my vision is back to normal; I just feel overwhelmingly tired.

  “Are you hurt?” Mr. Burrows asks.

  “What do you care?” I know the words sound immature, but I say them anyway.

  Mr. Burrows looks startled. “Clara, I know you don’t agree with my methods, but you must see that everything I’ve done is because of the sincere belief I have in you and your ability to make a difference in the world.”

  But I don’t see it, and when I don’t respond, Mr. Burrows keeps talking. “We’ll get you back to your room so you can rest. What you just did…” he starts, then trails off. He shakes his head.

  “Was fucking wild,” Paige says.

  Mr. Burrows looks at her. “Yes. Precisely that.”

  Paige looks down at me. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Then she turns and walks away.

  The moment lodges in my throat, making it painful to swallow. The way she made sure I’m okay while standing several feet from me, guard up but not all the way, sears itself into my mind. The way she stayed long enough to ask, even though Sang is beside me with his hand on my back. She did it despite herself, and that means something.

  “Would you help me stand up? I want to get to my cabin and take a nap,” I say.

  Sang helps me to my feet, and I hear Ms. Suntile tell someone to get a cart.

  “I could always give you a piggyback ride,” Sang suggests, his voice light.

  “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Park,” Ms. Suntile answers for me, but I swear she tightens her lips to keep from smiling. Mrs. Temperly comes into view and stops the cart next to me. I get on the back.

  “Ms. Densmore, we’d like someone to stay with you for a while to make sure you don’t have any delayed reactions. That was a significant amount of magic you used, and I’d feel better knowing you’re being looked after. I can send the nurse down, or Mr. Park can stay with you. It’s your choice.”

  “Do you want to take the afternoon off? Work on your research?” I ask, but Sang grabs my hand.

  “My nephew tells me I’m the best tucker-inner he’s ever seen,” Sang says.

  “The best?”

  Sang nods. “The very best.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” I look at Ms. Suntile. “I’d like Sang to stay with me.”

  She nods. “Mr. Park, if her condition changes, you’re to call the nurse and myself right away.”

  “Understood.”

  “And Clara,” Ms. Suntile says—the second time she’s ever used my first name—“thank you for what you did.”

  She turns away before I can answer, and Sang sits on the back of the cart next to me.

  When Mrs. Temperly drops us off at my cabin, Sang opens all the windows and turns on my fan. He waits with his back to me while I change into a camisole and boy shorts, and then I crawl into bed.

  I watch him as he pours me a glass of water and brings it to my nightstand, this simple gesture that causes my heart to ache. The blizzard makes me hopeful that my magic is under control, that it’s done targeting the people I care about. But in the quiet of my cabin, seeing Sang doing something as ordinary as getting me water, my confidence wavers.

  I want these moments with him, these routine, everyday moments that have nothing to do with magic. And the selfish part of me wonders if we could have this even if I were stripped.

  Staying for the eclipse would give me absolute certainty that my magic would never hurt him, never go after him. And watching him right now, hope doesn’t feel like enough.

  I want certainty.

  My eyelids are heavy. I’m so tired.

  Sang pulls my sheet up to my chin and goes down the length of my body, shoving the sheet under me until I’m tightly tucked in. Then he drifts his fingers all the way back up until they reach my mouth. He gives me a soft, slow, lingering kiss. Then he pulls away.

  “How’d I do?” he asks.

  “I do believe your nephew is right,” I say. “The best tucker-inner I’ve ever seen.”

  He kisses me on my forehead, and I close my eyes.

  “I remember what I said before passing out,” I whisper. “I meant it.”

  “I know.”

  I’m so glad he knows.

  I sleep for fifteen hours.

  ***

  Rumors about the blizzard tear through campus like a gale-force wind, and the classmates I’ve worked so hard to barricade myself from keep coming to chat with me as if we’ve been friends forever. I don’t mind it; if I heard about magic like that, I’d want to know more too.

  But I feel awkward and uncomfortable, not exactly sure how to react. I smile at odd times and force myself to laugh, the sound of it foreign in my ears. I’m invited to the dining hall and crowded by groups of witches who want to know what it feels like, looks like, sounds like. They ask me to take them to the control field and summon their magic, aching to see their power used in a season not their own.

  But that’s where I draw the line, and Ms. Suntile lets me use her as an excuse to repeatedly say no.

  After two weeks of nonstop questions and stares, I’m happy to be eating lunch in my small cabin. Nox is sitting under my desk, and the window is open, letting in a warm spring breeze.

  I sit down on my bed with a bowl of soup, and just as I’m about to start eating, there’s a knock at the door. I almost don’t answer it, but with the window open and music playing, it would be obvious I’m ignoring whoever it is.

  I set my soup on my nightstand and open the door. I’m surprised to see Paige on the other side, mouth set in a straight line, hair smoothed back into a ponytail. She steps inside but doesn’t say anything.

  “Hi,” I say, walking back to my bed and picking up my soup. “I was just eating lunch.”

  Paige looks around the cabin, and I turn off my music. The floor creaks as she moves through the small room.

  “I can’t stop thinking about the blizzard,” she finally says.

  “I know. I’m still surprised we were able to dissipate it.”

  She shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean. I can’t stop thinking about the way it felt.” She sounds angry, but I can tell she’s embarrassed, the way she was when she asked me to kiss her almost two years ago.

  I know what she means, though.

  “The first time it happened, it felt like I was falling in love, but instead of taking months or years, it was compressed into a single moment.” I say it as if it’s normal, but the truth is that I haven’t stopped thinking about that first time with Sang, even though I’ve practiced this magic dozens of times now.

  Untangling my legs from his, standing up, breaking eye contact—it all felt insurmountable, as though I’d have to die right there in that field because I’d never work up the strength to leave.

  “With Sang?” Paige’s voice brings me back to the present.

  I nod.

  “Did you—” She shakes her head and abandons her question.

  “Did I feel it with you?”

  She’s still standing in the middle of
my cabin, but she looks in my direction, waiting for me to answer.

  “It was different. It seems to magnify any intimacy there is between me and the other person. When I demonstrated on Ms. Suntile, it didn’t feel like there was a special connection between us. It just magnified the relationship that was already there, so it was cold and impersonal. Same with Mr. Burrows. But with Sang, and you, my magic recognizes the connection we have, and it feels intense and visceral as a result.”

  I pause and take a sip of water. Paige doesn’t say anything, so I keep going. “I think it’s part feeling and part intuition. I can tell when my magic doesn’t trust the person we’re pulling from. I wish I could have done this with Mr. Burrows right when he arrived; I would have known he was bad from the beginning.”

  “But then we would have missed out on seeing you punch him, which would have been a shame.” She says it seriously, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “I’m never going to live that down,” I say.

  “Never.”

  I set my soup on the nightstand again and shift on the bed. “It felt like remembering,” I finally say.

  “What?”

  “When we stopped the blizzard together. It felt like remembering. Remembering when we were close friends, remembering when our friendship gave way to sleepless nights. Remembering all the things I loved about you, and remembering all the hurt and fighting and pain. It felt like our entire relationship played out over the course of one storm.”

  Paige breathes out as if she’s relieved. “It was like that for me too. I wish I could get it out of my head.”

  She pauses and looks down, and I can tell she wants to say something else. “Tell me if I’m out of line, but I got a very strong sense that you think I blame you for Nikki’s death.”

  It’s not what I’m expecting, and my throat gets tight. “Don’t you?” My words are so quiet, I’m not sure if I actually said them out loud.