“I’ve coached many witnesses over the centuries.” He accepted the plate she handed him. “Though none quite as… challenging as you.”
“Challenging. That’s one word for it.” She bit into her sandwich. “Your turn this afternoon.”
“My turn?”
“To learn something. Your magic is too rigid. If we face something that doesn’t follow your precious legal codes, you need to be able to adapt.”
Marcus wanted to argue that his magic had served him perfectly well for five hundred years, but her expectant expression stopped him. She’d subjected herself to his teaching all morning.
After lunch,she led him to the small yard behind the cabin. Autumn sunshine filtered through the trees and dappled the ground with gold, though the air held a crisp bite. She’d changed into leggings and a fitted long-sleeve shirt, practical for magical instruction. She shivered slightly in the cool air.
“Okay.” She stood in the center of the clearing. “Show me a basic defensive shield.”
Marcus centered himself and raised his hands, speaking the Latin incantation he’d learned centuries ago. A shimmer ofgolden energy formed around him, precise geometric patterns interlocking in perfect symmetry.
“See, that’s your problem.” Hazel circled him the way he’d circled her earlier. “All structure, no flow. What happens if someone attacks from an angle you didn’t anticipate?”
“The shield holds. It’s designed to…”
She flicked her wrist. A spark of purple energy shot at an odd diagonal, slipped through a gap in his pattern he hadn’t known existed, and made his shoulder tingle.
“Ow.”
“Baby.” She smirked. “That was barely a zap. Now drop the shield and let me show you something.”
He released the energy and watched her demonstrate. Instead of building a structured barrier, she let magic flow around her like water that adapted to each gesture she made.
“Folk magic is intuitive,” she explained. “You feel where the energy needs to go instead of forcing it into predetermined patterns. Try it.”
Marcus attempted to copy her movements, but his magic remained stubbornly organized. Golden energy tried to form neat lines even as he willed it to flow.
“You’re overthinking.” She moved behind him. “May I?”
He swallowed. “If you think it will help.”
Her hands settled over his, warm and slightly callused from years of potion work. She stood close enough that he felt her breath on his neck, her body heat against his back. The scent of cinnamon and lavender enveloped him.
“Close your eyes.” Her breath was warm against his ear. “Stop thinking about what the magic should do. Feel what it wants to do.”
She guided his hands through flowing motions, and slowly, his magic began to respond. The rigid golden energy softened. Itswirled where it had once structured. To his ordered mind, it felt fundamentally wrong, but also… free.
“That’s it,” she said. “You’re getting it.”
The magic suddenly clicked, flowing naturally instead of forcing. His eyes flew open as warm golden light threaded with deep violet shimmered where their energies met, creating something neither structured nor chaotic, but balanced between the two.
“I did it!” He turned, grinning.
She was closer than he’d expected, her hands still over his, her green eyes bright.
Then she hugged him—quick, impulsive, her arms around his neck before either of them could think better of it.
His arms came around her automatically.
Then reality caught up. They stepped apart, her face flushed, his hands falling awkwardly to his sides.
“Good job,” she said too brightly. “You’re a quick study.”
“You’re an excellent teacher,” he replied too formally.
