Unshift

245 Ava: Magic Boot Camp

Magister Orion keeps me in the training room for an entire week.

Eating. Sleeping. It doesn’t matter; I do it all there.

At first, it’s weird. I’m always rushing, wanting to go back, to see if we’ve heard from Sister Miriam or Selene, but Magister Orion points out every time–enough time hasn’t passed in our

world.

It’s weird. I don’t think it’ll ever feel right.

“How long has it been? Didn’t you say it changes?”

“It changes from time to time, but stays stable for long periods.” He rests in a hammock, swaying from two palm trees in the middle of our weird, metal training room. He looks like he’s on

vacation.

Marcus is watching in silence, as he always does.

Vanessa’s asleep in her own hammock. They’ve been taking turns.

Me?

I’m drenched in sweat, but there are three different flames, about an inch in size, floating in the

air in front of me. It’s little more than candle–strength, but I’m proud of it.

Maybe it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s massive progress.

Instead of pestering Magister Orion for a more concrete answer, I try to pull the three flames together and merge them into one.

It all falls apart after that.

One flickers out of existence. Another bounces off, and I cut my trickle of magic as it dives straight for Magister Orion’s face.

It, too, disappears.

In the end, I’m left with one feeble little fire.

“Damn it, I mutter, cutting my magic and watching it fade away.

“Nine hours have passed in the Fae Ward,” Magister Orion announces on the heels of my failure.

I blink, surprised. “How do you know?”

He points at the wall behind me. “The room told me.”

Turning, I’m startled to see two modern–looking clocks on the wall. One displays a countdown for our time in the training room, while the other shows the time and date in the Fae Ward.

“Wait, the Fac use digital clocks?” I ask, confused by the sleek, futuristic design.

Magister Orion gives me an odd look. “What’s digital?”

“You know, clocks with numbers,” I explain, gesturing to the displays.

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He sits up eagerly. “We’ve always used clocks with numbers. What other kind is there?”

How do you describe an analog clock to someone who’s never seen one? They have hands that go around in a circle, and go from one to twelve.”

His excitement fades to confusion. “A circle? Why? Why do you need hands? Is it to move the

circle?” This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“No, the hands–well, they’re actually needles that point to the numbers.”

He rubs the tip of his nose in thought. The numbers one through twelve

1 nod.

“How do you tell time with only twelve numbers?”

“Each number is either an hour, or five minutes. The big needle is for minutes and the short needle is for hours.”

“You only have twelve hours?”

“No–there’s A.M., so before noon. And then there’s P.M., which is after noon.

Magister Orion shakes his head, a bemused expression on his face. “Human inventions can be so very strange. This technology of yours brings you backward.”

Giving up on the clock explanation, I just agree.

He’s not wrong. Trying to explain old clocks just makes my head hurt. I have no idea how elementary teachers can throw knowledge at children; I’m trying to teach an adult and I already want to tear my hair out. Imagine teaching third–grade children how to read a clock.

It’s amazing they didn’t all run for the hills and give up their professions.

I turn my focus back to my training. I close my eyes, concentrating on summoning fire once more: the power inside of me is easier to grasp, though it feels like it wiggles in my mental

hands.

“Stop,” Magister Orion’s voice cuts through my concentration. “Focus on gathering your magic inside of you until it’s stable. Your control is poor.”

My eyes snap open and I stare in exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? I’ve been at this for days!”

He chuckles, a deep rumble that fills the room. “How would I know if I didn’t watch you trying to control things?”

His point is fair, but I still feel like he’s dragged me around for way too long. “Fair point. So, what

should I do?”

“Close your eyes again,” he instructs. “This time, don’t try to push your magic outward. Instead, imagine it as a ball of energy in your center. Focus on containing it, making it denser, more compact. It will fight you. You have to subdue it.”

Following his guidance, I close my eyes and visualize my magic as a swirling orb of light within me. It’s harder than I expected, like trying to hold water in cupped hands. Every time I think I

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have a grasp on it, tendrils of energy slip away.

It isn’t a fight. It’s like my power’s laughing at me.

“Good,” Magister Orion’s voice is softer now, encouraging. “Keep at it. Control is the foundation of all magic. Without it, you’re just a walking disaster waiting to happen.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, I mutter, but I don’t lose focus.

Time seems to stretch as I work on containing my magic. It’s frustrating, like trying to solve a puzzle with pieces that keep changing shape. But slowly, ever so slowly, I feel the energy becoming more stable, more solid.

The wiggling is back.

It doesn’t want to be contained, but can no longer slip away like wisps of smoke. Now, it’s like wrangling a goddamn alligator.

My head pounds. I’ve been concentrating for too long.

“Open your eyes, Magister Orion says after what feels like hours.

I do, blinking as the room comes back into focus. To my surprise, there’s a faint glow emanating from my skin. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but definitely there.

“What’s happening?” I ask, my heart fluttering. Did I do it? Is this my magic?

Magister Orion smiles. “Don’t get excited. I’m transferring some energy to you. I can sense your magic going wild. It will help your headache.”

“Oh.”

Damn it. I thought I’d done something.

My disappointment must be clear on my face, because he clears his throat. “You’re doing well, Ava. Most students take months to get to this point.”