The spell at least told me that S also “traveled” somewhere, like Max and I did, when he did his Magic. I wonder where he ended up. Somewhere like his home, maybe, with olive trees and steep crests of rock.
Pronounce loudly and clearly, “I bind thee to three,” and direct the excess Magia into the talismans.
First, we needed to practice the basics. Get accustomed to each other’s Magic again and become familiar with Danica’s telescope. We needed to see if it was even able to accept Magic.
Max and I sat across from each other in a field, overlooking the apple orchards and with a red mesa at our backs. Dark gray storm clouds gathered overhead, moving in from the east. Clusters of yellow grasses swayed, and I tried to not think about all the times we had lain in grass just like this, looking at the stars and making each other promises we could never keep.
He looked out at the storm clouds over the hills. “You know, lightning and thunder mean danger in cattle country. Those clouds would’ve had the cattle on edge, restless.”
“We should have an hour or two before the storm hits.”
Dani’s telescope was on the ground between us. I set my objects in front of me. First, the jar of water, then the leather cord, then the mug. Max did the same with his.
I closed my eyes, breathing in slowly through my mouth, and touched the glass jar.
I was submerged like an anchor dropped in water. For a moment, my heart seized in my chest. The water was pitch-black and freezing, and I watched myself hurtle toward the bottom. My throat choked on garbled words.
I was drowning.
I should’ve known better, should’ve practiced my Magic more before now, should’ve—
But then Max’s voice sounded in my ear.Kick.
My feet kicked out, shins and thighs pumping furiously. My arms scrabbled for the surface, eyes focused on the circle of light at the crest of the salty water. I reached the surface, and my lungs heaved a gulp of air. The waves crashed against me, but I was holding.
I could do this.
“Good,” he whispered.
The sea was stormy, but I treaded water, bobbing along with the current, letting the water sweep me away. Letting the Magic flow over me. Outside of this, my hand languidly touched my second object.
The leather was warm in my palm, and in the distance—the familiar sound of horses.
“I’m coming.”
Max’s horses were running. I could smell the heat on the back of their necks, the pant of the horses’ breath. They were coming fast. I heard the whip and tap of rope at Max’s side, as if readying to wrangle a runaway colt.
I was treading water in an ocean with no land in sight, but he was coming. He was running to me.
“Max,” I whispered. Our connection was faint, nowhere near as strong as it used to be. We needed more practice—years more practice to do S’s spell—but I pushed the doubt away. There was no room for doubt. No room for a lack of concentration because losing concentration when you’re holding this much water means I really would plummet to the bottom. It may not have been literal water that I would sink into, but it was clear as day in S’s warning. If I lost my concentration during his spell, I would be lost to this world—lost somewhere in the Magic.
My head bobbed above water, my limbs tiring when gentle drops of rain fell on my head, warming me to my core.
Max.
No matter where I was, he always found me. In that shadow-space of Magic, he brought the light streaming in, a single beam of sunlight bursting through gray storm clouds.
I’m here.
Down came the walls between us, and without them, he was exposed and vulnerable. I held onto a timid hesitation, too. But below that, an eagerness, a hunger.
I’d missed this.
Together, our Magic tangled up in each other, strong, pulsing with electricity. “Let’s try to funnel Magic toward the telescope,” I said. “Just enough to test.”
Dani’s telescope wasn’t radiating Magic. It felt cold and lifeless. But it hadn’t always been that way. Just days ago, I’d heard the steady beat of its pulse, the notes swirling around it like some twisting melody only it could play. It had Magic still in its veins. It just needed to be reminded of that fact. Reminded of what it had once had.
“A thread,” Max agreed faintly.
