“Maybe that’s because you always work the spell incorrectly.”
Rowan rolls his eyes. “Do you have enough or not?”
“I don’t know. Let’s try it.”
Ansel points his wand at the amulet and mutters a spell. A second stream of liquid leaves the cache, twisting like a vine until it reaches the sorcerer.
“How are you doing that without magic?” I ask him.
“Wands are elven crafted, charmed to access magic. I’m using its enchantment to pull from the cache.”
He directs the magic toward a large wooden tray on the workbench. Slowly, the magic puddles on the surface. When Ansel has what he decides must be enough, he mutters a charm and suspends the transfer. It remains connected, but no additional magic flows into the tray.
“All right,” the sorcerer says. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
He examines the magic, using his wand to prod it. Frowning, he reaches for a magnifying stand that sits nearby on the table.
“Any sign of Kit’s magic?” Rowan asks from his seat next to the workbench.
“Yes,” Ansel says thoughtfully. “But there’s no distinct point of connection like you were hoping.”
“Describe what you’re seeing.”
“There are thousands of shimmering pixie dust particles integrated into your magic.”
“Dust particles,” Rowan says dumbly.
Ansel grunts.
“What’s wrong with that?” I ask.
Ansel’s eyes flick up to me. “Imagine spilling a bottle of glitter into a pool of glue.”
“Okay…”
“Now imagine getting that glitteroutof the glue.”
Impossible.
It would be…impossible.
I inhale softly, my heart beating faster as a smile tugs at my lips. My summer magic floods the room, blanketing my companions.
“Kit,” Rowan groans. “You’re not supposed to be happy about it.”
“I think you have a more pressing concern than the mate bond,” Ansel says. “Why is your magic so blasted sticky?”
When I realize his expression is scrunched with true worry, my happy magic snuffs out.
“Sticky?” I ask. “Is that bad?”
Ansel shoots Rowan a look. “It’s usually a symptom of an advanced stage of an illness.”
Chapter 11
Glitter, Glue, and Gemling Disease
Bringing the amulet with him, Rowan peers into the tray. “My magic has always looked like that.”
