Page 22 of Anomalies

“It’s controlling you, Lucina,” she says sharply, “and you can’t let it. Only you tell it what to do and where to go.”

My eyes slide shut. “And how am I supposed to do that?” Each word is more strained than the last, my arms and legs heavy with magic. Raw magic. It moves through me so fast that I can’t catch it.

“Talk to it. Treat it as you would any child. Teach it to listen.”

It’s not a child…it’s a wild beast.

But I don’t tell her that.

I keep my eyes shut, digging deep in my gut where that potent pool resides, the surface rippling and kicking up sparks—begging to be set free. I inhale sharply, then sever whatever’s keeping it contained.

And that is my first mistake.

Magic shoots up my spine, pulsing against the back of my throat, wanting to taste the air. It’s too much, too intense, and the well isn’t even empty. There’s more, much more, but nowhere for it to go.

My eyes shoot open, and I vomit in the grass.

Delia frowns, completely unfazed by the contents of my stomach being dumped at her feet. Then she says, “Again.”

I wipe my mouth and take a steady breath. This time, I try to focus on breathing as it bubbles up my spine. I try coaxing it out slowly, but the second I release my hold on it, the magic seizes control of my lungs, my hands, my feet—everything.

My eyes water, every muscle straining against the weight of it. “How…do I get it…. into my hands?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“This is your power, Lucina. Tell it where to go,” The Dame says as if it’s that easy. As if it isn’t taking everything in me not to implode under the weight of it all.

My head spins, and when I open my eyes, the world spins too⁠—

I hurl up what’s left in my stomach.

The Dame watches me curiously now. “What does it feel like?”

I wipe more sweat off my forehead. “It feels like the sun itself is coming up my throat. It feels like I’m on fire.” Her navy eyes narrow. “Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?”

“The only ones that know how your magic feels are you and the ancestors that bore it before you.”

I stare back at her unblinking. “That doesn’t help me.”

“No, but practice will.” Delia relaxes her perfect posture, settling in as if she has nowhere else to be. “Again.”

My brain is mush when Delia finally lets me leave. Chiaros, the sun hasn’t even fully risen yet and I’m fucking exhausted. Again, again, again, it’s all she said. I’m convinced it’s the only word she knows.

By the time we’d finished, I’d managed one good try at maintaining control, and even that attempt ended with me dry heaving over the grass. My power feels like a parasite trying to rip its way out.

A stupid and childish thing—magic. I don’t understand the appeal.

I could have stayed in the shower for ages, the icy water cooling my flushed skin, but my stomach is growling loud enough for all of Pirn to hear.

I braid back my wet hair and step back out into the rising heat, the sun finding my shoulders in the heather grey tank top I’d pulled on—courtesy of Gemma.

Devon is waiting on the porch to escort me to breakfast, and he’s angry about it. Of course. “Still scowling, I see,” I observe in a tone that’s dead flat, and he huffs…like a bull…then stomps down the porch steps. “I don’t want this either, you know? To be babysat…I didn’t ask for this.”

He stomps some more, then his temper tantrum is interrupted by Gemma swinging open her cabin door so hard, it smacks against the wood siding. “Wait!” She rushes to lock her door in a sky-blue sundress, her honey blonde hair thrown up in a gold clip.

“What’s wrong with him?” Gemma asks as she approaches, eyes cast to a stoic Devon.

“Don’t know,” I shrug, “he’s giving me the silent treatment.” Devon’s eyes whip to mine. “What? You are.”

He gestures for us to walk, and if my stomach wasn’t in the process of eating itself, I might have pushed back on the silent order, but the sweet smells floating through camp have my mouth watering.