Page 34 of The Witch They Fear

Behind me, Aamon inhales deeply. I turn, the stone cradled in my palms, and look up at him over my shoulder. For one unguarded second, something crosses his face that I've never seen on it before. Surprise. Real, unfiltered surprise—there and gone so fast I almost convince myself I imagined it.

"That one," he says. Neutral again. Composed. But his thumb presses against his opposite palm—a tell I catalogue.

"Problem?"

"No." A pause. "That's a resonance stone. Uncut, untuned. Most practitioners can't feel them through the refined crystals."

"I felt it through everything else on the table."

Another pause. His eyes hold mine for a beat longer than professional. Then his jaw clenches as he nods at my hand.

"Begin when you're ready," he says, rising from the couch and returning to his chair across the table. "Hold the stone in both hands. Close your eyes. Find your magic—the warmth behind your sternum. And instead of pushing it outward, push it down. Into the stone. Let the stone take the weight."

I settle back onto the couch. Wrap both hands around the stone. Close my eyes.

Find the warmth of my magic. It's there—always there—the sun behind my sternum that woke me up this morning, that cracked the glass, that sparked at Kage's touch. Running hot. Restless. Pressing against the inside of my ribs like something pacing.

Down. Not out. Down. Into the stone.

I exhale and focus and then reach for it. Carefully. The way I reached for the glass, the way I reached for the seed—

Stop. Don't think about the glass. Don't think about the seed.

But this is different. The stone is different. It's not fragile. It's not alive. It's stone—dense, patient, built to take pressure. And it's humming back at me, a low invitation, like a hand held out in the dark.

I push.

The magic flows down my arms. Through my palms. Into the stone.

And the stone takes it.

The warmth leaves my chest—not all of it, not even most of it, just a thread, a trickle—and pours into the rough dark surface between my hands. The stone's hum deepens. I look down and the copper veins catch the light and glow, faintly, like embers buried in ash.

Something happens in the room.

I feel it before I see it—a shift in the ambient magic, a settling, like the air itself took a breath and held it. Movement catches my eye on the table.

The herbs on the table are leaning toward me.

Not cowering. Not flinching. Leaning. The rosemary, the lavender, the bundles of things I can't name—their stems are angled in my direction, leaves reaching, the way plants reach for sunlight. The dried herbs shouldn't be able to move at all, but they are—a slow, gentle tilt, like a room full of people turning to listen to a sound they've been waiting for.

My throat tightens. My vision blurs. I blink it clear and stare at the herbs and the glowing stone and my own hands, steady for once, holding something that isn't breaking.

I did that. My magic did that. And it wasn't destruction.

"Good," Aamon says. Quiet. "Hold the connection. Breathe. Let the stone regulate the flow."

I breathe. The stone hums. The herbs lean further. And for thirty seconds—maybe a minute—I am a witch doing magic on purpose, and nothing is exploding, and nothing is dying, and the room smells like cedar and old paper and the warmth in my hands is mine and it's working.

Then Kage's handprint flares on my shoulder like a brand.

I don't know what triggers it—a shift in my thoughts, maybe, or the memory of his storm-blue eyes or the way he looked at my sparking hands like he recognized them. But the warmth in my chest spikes and I suck in a sharp breath.

The careful trickle I've been feeding the stone becomes a torrent—magic flooding down my arms in a hot, uncontrolled rush. “Shit,” I grit out, trying to get a hold of myself.

The stone's hum climbs to a whine. The copper veins blaze bright. The herbs don't lean anymore—they shudder, and the sconce flames jump, and the wards in the walls hum a warning note, and I can feel it building, the same pressure curve as the glass, as the seed, as the testing room—

No, no, no, no–