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“What do you think it means?” I asked, looking at her with my brows furrowed.

Gran’s lips pinched, and she didn’t respond.

What could these visions be trying to tell me? Were they a warning? A premonition?

I had no idea. And from the look of frustrated confusion on Gran’s face, neither did she.

I cleared my throat, gesturing to the cauldron. “I’ve already activated it.” Once I infused my magic into an elixir, the concoction was sealed. It was almost impossible to change anything in the mixture unless you knew the exact way to deactivate the infused magic. It wasn’t something I was particularly proficient in yet.

“Here.” With a deft wave of her fingers, Gran summoned a tendril of magic. The sharp aroma vanished, and the bubbling stopped.

“You make that look so easy,” I muttered. Gran’s prowess with her magic always astounded me. Whenever I conjured, I often had to pause and get my bearings first. But for Gran, it seemed effortless.

Gran chuckled once. “It’s easy because I’ve had decades of practice, Cece.” She gestured to the shelves above my head. “The sapphire basil.”

I grabbed the jar from the shelf and poured a few sapphire basil leaves into the cauldron. I closed my eyes, preparing to summon my magic again. But I found myself squirming, all too aware of Gran’s eyes on me. Though we lived in the same cabin, I could never fully get used to just how intimidating her presence was. Even as a child, my only goal had been to impress her with my magic. And I knew firsthand she did not give her approval lightly.

It felt like I was a child all over again, instead of a grown woman who was twenty-four years old and perfectly capable of making important decisions.

Swallowing hard, I tried to bring my magic to the surface again, but something blocked it. My brow furrowed. Come on, I urged. I could feel it in my blood, just waiting. But it wouldn’t emerge.

With a groan, I rubbed my hands along my face. “It’s not working. I’m blocked again.”

“Because you’re thinking too hard about it. You summoned easily before, didn’t you?”

I dropped my hands to give her a wary look. “Were you watching me?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “Only for a bit.”

My insides turned cold. Had she seen me when the vision had taken over? If she had, she didn’t mention it.

She nudged me gently with her elbow. “You always get nervous when others are around. Pretend you are alone.”

“Easier said than done,” I said under my breath. I tugged on a stray copper curl that had come loose from my braid and impatiently shoved it behind my ear. “Damn unruly hair.” The frizzy locks frequently came undone, constantly framing my face like a lion’s mane. This was why I always tied my hair back; it was so wild that it often fell in front of my eyes or clung to my face. That, and it was so noticeable that it often drew unwanted attention.

Gran grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet her steely gaze. I stood a head taller than her, but she was formidable all the same. “Don’t worry about your hair, Cece,” she said, her voice stern. “You can’t channel because you are distracted. Focus on what matters right now. Leave the rest for later.”

I huffed a short breath but nodded once. My eyes closed, but my mind wouldn’t stop flitting about.

I wish I’d opened a window. This cabin gets so damn stuffy when we use the cauldron.

What do the visions mean? Will they ever stop?

What happens if I need to make this tonic and Gran’s not here?

“Cerise,” Gran said sharply, as if she could tell I wasn’t focusing.

I flinched, then gave a rough shake of my head. “Sorry.” I inhaled deeply, trying to clear my mind.

No—not trying. Oftentimes, I tried too hard to focus, and it backfired.

I was simply… observing. Redirecting my focus. My thoughts turned to the sensations around me. The gentle smell of lavender and pine, the soft undertones of old wood from the cabin walls. Gran’s mossy and comforting scent, reminding me of home and safety. From outside the closed window were the muted sounds of birds tweeting and insects chirping. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves.

Another deep inhale. The air was uncomfortably warm. My sticky, sweaty hair clung to the back of my neck, and sweat trickled down my chest. At least I wasn’t wearing my thick riding cloak. I moistened my lips, tasting sweat and the hint of honey from the cinnamon bread Gran had made this morning.

On instinct, my fingers moved to the frayed edges of my tunic. I caught a loose thread and wound it around my finger, then rubbed the edge between my fingertips. Over and over I twisted the thread around, using the motion to ground me. To soothe me.

A slow exhale. As I loosened my breath, I released all the tension and distractions from my body. I waved my hand over the cauldron, my movements smooth and sure. I curled my fingers, and my body buzzed. The magic rose obediently this time, ready and willing. Energy tickled along my arm, starting at my shoulder, then funneling down to my wrist—as if a bolt of lightning were traveling through my body. Magic flowed from my fingers, funneling into the cauldron. The liquid started bubbling again, the aroma sharpening.