Page 38 of Spell Ya Later

“Before we begin,” Grandma says, “you should know that magic training requires time and devotion. It is not a few words and a flick of the wrist like it was with that beginner spell. You must agree to dedicate yourself to this.”

“I agree,” I reply easily, quickly. “When do we start learning about fighting?”

Her face scrunches up. “Fighting? Fighting offensively takes years of practice. You don’t even know the fundamentals of magic yet. One step at a time or you will trip over your own feet. If I’m to teach you, you will agree to the pace of training. You will not go searching for trouble. Promise, or go back upstairs.”

Her tone brokers no argument.

“Okay, I promise.” I can’t meet her eyes.

Her gaze burns a hole in my skull. I can feel her searching my face. She doesn’t trust me, doesn’t believe me.

I wouldn’t either.

“All right. Have you tried to connect with your magic, uncover your element?”

No, I’ve been daydreaming about kissing Noah.

“What’s your element, Grandma?” I deflect.

“Earth.” Her postures straightens with pride. “You’ve seen my plants. There’s a reason why I’m known across the state for my herbs.”

Huh. “I’ve never thought about that before.”

“How do your spells manifest? How do they happen for you? What happens to your body, to the world around you? What do you smell, what do you sense?”

I stand in silence. I don’t know.

“Does the ground shift beneath your feet? Do you feel the condensation in the air? Does it whip around you? Does heat lick up your spine? What do youfeel, Hazel?”

A frustrated growl rumbles out from somewhere in the very pit of my body. “I don’t know!”

She’s not even pushing that hard but it feels like an attack on me as a person. On my inability to do something I was born to do. I don’t know how to connect to my magic, and I think somepart of me expected to pick it up in a snap—to inherently know exactly what to do.

Sure, I can move some dust. But if I can’t connect to my element, then what am I doing?

Despite my outburst, her eyes remain kind. “Your homework will be to pay attention to the world around you as you interact with it. For now, we’re going to focus on connecting with ourselves through meditation. That is how we can peel back the layers of stress and noise. We will connect to ourselves, and then to our element.”

I fidget, my toes digging into my sneakers. I know I’m impatient. I also know that I apparently can’t do anything withoutconnecting to my element. It’ll cause me more grief in the end if I don’t commit and do this the right way. That’s the only way I’ll get further in my training and eventually take on daemons. And find out if one killed my dad.

So I can kill it.

“Okay.”

“Sit,” Grandma says, gesturing to the pillows in the center of the room. I follow her guidance, sitting opposite her with my legs crossed.

She holds her hands out and I take them. She leaves them between us, squeezing me slightly. A wave of calmness rushes through me at the motion.

“Center yourself. We start with the toes. Be aware of them, how they feel—and only them. How does the pillow press against them? How does the weight of your body feel on them?”

Okay, Grandma. Someone has some serious meditation chops.

“Then, the ankles. Breathe in, relax the muscle as you breathe out.”

She addresses every inch of my body until I’m such a relaxed, blissful puddle I could fall over and go to sleep.

A breeze ruffles my hair and passes through me, into my bloodstream. It is the very essence of my ability to live, to thrive.

“How do you feel?” she asks.