Page 69 of Anomalies

Gemma exchanges a knowing glance with Selene, as if they’ve both had this lecture before. Either that or they’re silently making fun of the goosebumps that just sprang up over my arms.

Kimber pays them no mind. “There are limits to the things I can and cannot tell you, and the Whistles have the authority to stop the words from coming out of my mouth should it not be time for you to hear them. If I told you anyway, I’d be violating the will of the Matrons and I’d be violating Fate herself.” She makes a poor attempt to straighten her tangled hair, then gives up, tucking it behind her ears instead. “I’m telling you all of this, so that you pay attention to the things I can say—it reflects the urgency behind what I can’t.”

My breathing hitches, fear trickling down my spine as a heavy presence settles just behind my shoulders, dark and cold and dreadful.

“You’re right to be afraid,” she breathes and my brows furrow. I look to Selene and Gemma who are watching Kimber with the same confusion.

“Afraid of what, Kimber?” I ask.

Her head tilts, her lips twisting to the side. “The dark.”

“Shut up, I’m trying to focus,” I snap, keeping my eyes locked on the task at hand while Callan unhelpfully snickers behind me. I pay him no mind, holding out my open palms while my upper lip curls in concentration.

“I can see that,” he drawls, and anger flares.

“Pointing it out—much like snickering—is not. Helpful.” Sweat glides down my neck and bleeds through the fabric of my clothes, but I continue my stare off even as my vision blurs. “Come on, come on,” I beg, my legs quivering from the absurd number of laps I’ve had to make around the training ring, dumbbells in either hand while I grit through heavy lunges.

Gods, I can’t do another lunge.

“Maybe we should call it a night, little Reenan.” Callan steps into my line of sight, but I don’t break my stare. “Let’s send the poor frog back home to his family.”

“No!” I shout when he reaches for it, keeping my focus on the slimy brown toad in front of me, memorizing every bump and patch of leathery skin. “Just a few more seconds.”

At the start of tonight’s training, Callan bet I wouldn’t last two hours without hurling up the wine I’d had at dinner, but I’d made it three. As a reward, he agreed to a lesson on illusions. I get now why he wanted me to master basic magic first; this was fucking impossible. But I won’t dare admit that out loud, I’d rather go blind staring down a gods-damn toad than admit defeat.

Spinning illusions requires memorizing every detail of the thing you are trying to create, and I mean every. Single. Detail.

Flattened head with green and brown specks, webbed feet and long forelegs, white underbelly…I etch its description into my brain, and I pray that this time I’ve got it right. I’ve made some terrifying-looking frogs so far; some that were mere splotches of leathery skin, some without legs, and one that honestly… will haunt me for the rest of my life. Callan’s too, no doubt.

Feeling slightly more confident this time, I release the tingling rush of power, and it sweeps across the dirt, laced with the image of a frog exactly like the one before me. I hope. I keep my mind focused on the details I memorized: the murky skin, the beady eyes, the wide mouth⁠—

The illusion forms, and I hold my breath, plastering on a triumphant smile when the image sharpens. It’s identical, down to the strategically placed bits of green, brown, and white.

“Ha!” I cheer, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Told you I could do it⁠—”

The illusion opens its wide mouth to croak, and a blood-curdling scream comes out instead— so sharp I slam my hands over my ears and Callan stumbles backwards. I sever the tether connecting it with my magic, and it vanishes.

The sudden silence is jarring, and Callan is…fighting to keep a straight face.

I scowl a second before his laughter bursts free, tumbling through the air much like magic would. He laughs so hard tears spring to his eyes, unable to do anything but point to the dumbbells sitting by the fence.

My legs threaten to give out right then and there. I can’t. Do. Another. Lunge.

“Come on,” I groan as he wipes the tears from his eyes. “The frogs looked the same; that has to count for something.”

“That,” he says, laughing harder, a scar-flecked hand pressed into his sternum. “That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen.” Callan points again to the dumbbells. “Go.”

I grit my teeth and turn, my fingers trembling as I lift against the strain in my arms and force myself into the first lunge. I can only pray I’ll go numb here soon; it’s the only way I’ll survive the run back.

I alternate which knee hovers above the dirt, careful not to touch the ground. The last time I did that, he made me start over.

Callan walks beside me as he’s done with every lap, hands casually shoved into his pockets. He’s nicer to look at when that scowl line between his brows isn’t so prominent, and right now there isn’t a single crease marring his face, except for the short lines around his mouth. But those aren’t from scowling…

“Stop smiling,” I grit out. My thighs are past the point of burning and have graduated to painfully numb, each dip down strains the muscles so intensely that tears spring to my eyes.

Callan comes to an abrupt halt beside me. “You can be done.”

He must sense the impending collapse of every bone in my body.