“Are you okay?” Dorian checks on me, concerned.
“I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t.” Atticus touches my elbow, sending goose bumps shivering across my skin. Dorian offers an encouraging smile, a lifeline to latch on to.
“Okay. Give me a minute.” I take a deep breath, set my shoulders, and straighten my spine, staring at the symbol.
Lighting a candle seems so simple. Too simple. What if I did more? What if I could show Atticus and Dorian what I can really do? I notice Atticus watching me, and a swell of determination bubbles inside of me, like a pot ready to boil.
I clap my hands, the sound ringing out in the silent apartment, then I read the words aloud from the page: “Vocare…ignis.”
The air between my hands gets warm, like invisible sunlight cupped in my palm. It feels so good. Magic flows through my hands and down my fingers, tickling my skin. This is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. Power. Pure power.
More. I can do more. The sensation in my chest simmers. I imagine myself turning up the heat. Just a little more. Only a twist of the wrist.
There’s a blinding flash. The air crackles. Then everything explodes.
A bolt of what looks like lightning, white-hot and impossibly loud, hits the room.
A searing heat strikes my face, and a force throws me backward. All I can do is cover my eyes and cower, waiting until the heat and the light fade.
My ears are ringing, head spinning. Someone’s screaming.
“Raven!” It’s Atticus.
I look around me. The candle is on fire, but so is everything else in my apartment. The room is alive with flame. It dances across the carpet and up the curtained wall to the second floor. The heat stings my eyes, and the smoke is everywhere. Flames roar, almost to the ceiling, and a thick gray cloud chokes the room as the fire alarm shrieks to life.
The spell book burns, too, and the pages turn to ash. “Shit!” The precious book that once escaped a legendary devastating fire now burns before my eyes. I slam the cover shut, but it’s too late. Much of it is already gone, the ancient paper consumed in mere seconds.
More screaming. Dorian’s shirtsleeve. It’s on fire. He falls to the floor. Atticus throws a blanket on top of him to snuff out the flames.
“Oh my God! Dorian! No!” I scream as I grab a pillow and try to extinguish what’s left of the fire.
There’s a voice in the hall and a fist pounding on the door. Furious bangs. “Hello? What the hell’s going on in there?”
I try to make it to the door, but it’s too smoky. Dorian’s face is tight with pain, teeth bared, his eyes squeezed shut. Tears stream down his cheeks. Atticus is yelling. Everything is burning.
Then Mr.Benson, my landlord, bursts through the door, a fire extinguisher in his hand, and he sprays the walls, the carpet, andthe furniture. White mist fills the room, dousing everything. I settle beside Dorian. His shirt is ruined, the skin beneath it red but not burnt. He’s okay, thankfully. The same cannot be said for my apartment.
It’s been almost completely consumed by the fire. What’s left is mostly ash, embers, and smoke.
“What happened?” Mr.Benson demands. He must have heard the commotion and come running. If it hadn’t been for his help, we’d likely be dead.
“Cooking accident,” I say. “Left the stove on after making tea. Thanks for, uh, putting it out.”
Mr.Benson just stares at me, a look of fury on his hardened face.
I’ll need to find a new apartment and pay for the damages on this one, but I don’t care.
I summonedlightning.
11
Dorian
I love, and am in despair—yes—despair.
—Ann Radcliffe,The Mysteries of Udolpho
