Page 74 of Ember and Ash

I decide turning water to fire seems like a good skill to possess, and the smart place to spellcast would be beside the water itself.

I snatch up the spellcasting book, produce a notecard and pen, and write down the spell to turn water to fire. Once I’m done, I send the books to my room and deliver myself to the edge of the ocean, blue sand imprinting around my feet, the sun dipping low in the horizon, the sky streaked the most incredible rose red, almost inky in its solidarity. I’ve rifted again. I think. I’ll never know until I no longer have the house as a crutch but either way, I’m here now and for long moments, I stand there, expecting oranges and yellows, but there is only red.

I wonder if it’s me that erased all but that one shade.

The color of roses or blood?

I shake off the idea and remind myself: I’ve accepted my human life was a façade of the security that only my own abilities can now offer me. And the house showed me my path to fire for a reason. Demons die. Fire kills. The only blood I will accept is that of Jeremy and his kind.

With a shiver, I realize the temperature is falling, and quite quickly, so I fit myself with a warm jacket. I turn my attention toward the crash of waves on the ocean, the salt bubbling in the water as it rushes over the crystal blue sand. Obviously, I cannot turn the sea to fire. I need something smaller, and I create a cauldron and fill it with water. I sit down and scoop up a handful of the silky blue sand, allowing it to slip through my fingers. It’s beautiful, glistening with light that no longer exists, with magic in its depth. Magic is everywhere in this place.

Including inside me.

I can do this.

I pull my notecard from my pocket and read the spell, but nothing happens. I wait a few seconds, and still nothing. I grit my teeth. This is silly. I cannot turn water to fire. No, I chide myself. I have to believe. That’s what Micah told me, and it’s only with the tiniest bit of belief in myself that I’ve proven that to be true, learning to rift and command basic magic.

I can do this.

I do believe I can do this.

I do.

I shut my eyes and reach for my magic, mentally connecting with Sara, pleased how easily I find her, and even more so, how truly familiar she feels.

I can do this, I repeat in my mind.

Confidence builds inside me, the notion of silliness dispelled. I stare into the water and imagine it turning to fire as I slowly repeat the spell—once, twice, three full times. When I’m done, I wait, and wait, and wait some more, willing the fire into existence. Disappointment fills me when nothing happens. “Damn it,” I murmur, puffing out air. Maybe the house doesn’t know my assets as well as it thinks it does. If I’m to buy into the Micah theory that he sees as fact, I’m a part of this place. The house wants me to survive. It wants Micah to survive.

I want us to survive.

I have to try again.

This time, I shut my eyes and force myself to think of Jeremy, of his black as coal eyes, of the lust for me in them that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power, death, destruction, with owning me. And he cannot have me. Damn it, he will not have me. It’s in that moment that I feel the explosion of magic inside, flowing through my veins, tingling along my skin, but as surely as it erupts, there’s a sense of foreboding, of danger.

My survival instinct rips through me, and I push to my feet and gasp as I watch the ocean boil and the fish flapping about on the seashore in a desperate attempt to escape. I hold my hands up and will the water to cool. “Now!” I scream. “Cool off, now!” It’s not a spell. It’s my will and magic alone, and I’m not sure it’s enough.

That’s when the threat reveals itself, the danger my mind was warning me to prepare to face. A giant white crab that might as well be a great white whale for the size of the damn thing is clunking his massive claws in the sand as he crawls toward me. Adrenaline lights me up, and I try to rift, but I go nowhere. I'm still standing in the sand. It’s as if I’ve frozen up, and I cannot access my assets. I try again and again, but the crab is moving way too fast for comfort. In moments, it will be on top of me, stabbing me with those claws, or maybe just chopping me in half.

Right as it’s about to be on top of me, I spellcast my jacket away, and I pray for the crab’s lack of mobility and agility. I roll until I’m behind him, and once I’m on my feet again, I reach for my mental link with Micah, screaming in my mind, Help, Micah! I need help! On the beach! Attack!

I have no idea if I actually reached him and no time to analyze if the mental link between us was actually established. The crab is fast, whipping around to face me, and I attempt a rift again, only to be forced into yet another roll. Damn Elysium and its creatures! My right thigh heats, fire on my skin, and I remember the blade. The blade! Please let its magic work better than mine right now. I yank it free of the leather case, but the crab is screaming at me in a high-pitched howl of sorts, showing frustration at my evasive techniques, the swishes of its claws telling me it’s about to chop me up.

I roll yet again, a plan forming in my mind.

The crab’s shell is divided into four sections with a gap between each piece, which offers me a place to grab hold of it if I can get in the right position. I’ll come up behind him, climb on top of him, and start stabbing him in the gaps in between the shell sections. This might be my craziest idea, but I have to try, and I’m already moving, running as fast as I can around the crab, rolling and dodging claws. Finally, I’m in position at the crab’s rear, and I jump as high as I can. Bingo. I snag a grip on the shell, heaving my body up with a solid grip. The creature barely knows what is happening when I use my right hand to shove the blade into the soft fleshy area beneath my fingers.

The beast of a crab squeals and begins bucking and thrashing about. Desperately, I try to hold on, cold air whipping around my face, and it’s all I can do to avoid the flailing claws. A roar escapes my lips as my fingers are ripped from their positions. My stomach lurches as I fly through the air and land with a hard thud that steals my breath, the silk of the sand doing nothing to stop the jolting of my bones. My heart swooshes in my ears, and I try to move, but it’s too late. The furious crab is standing over me, and Lord help me, it has long, sharp fangs ready to take a bite of me.

Instinct kicks in, and I shove the blade in its belly.

The crab lets out a shrill shriek that’s almost unbearable to my ears, but I told Micah I would fight, and I’m fighting. I’m trying to survive. I will survive. I pull my blade out, and when I go to stab the crab again, a blade is shoved under his chin. “Roll!” Micah shouts at me.

I roll and roll some more until I’m sure I’m clear of the crab, and I’m on my knees with the blade ready for attack when the creature collapses on the sand. Micah stalks toward me, a graceful panther, a predator pursuing his prey, and I’m that prey, and I’d be smart to remember the ease with which he kills. “I told you to fucking read,” he snaps, impatience in his scolding. “I told you we’d start training tomorrow. What the fuck were you thinking coming down to the beach without me?”

With a shove off the ground, I straighten, ready to square off with him, sheathing my blade before I cut him for being such an asshole. “Stop saying ‘fuck,’” I demand, poking a finger in the air at him, “and you never said the beach was dangerous. It seems like you might want to mention the gloriously beautiful beach has giant crabs.”

He steps toe-to-toe with me, towering over me, and I can almost taste the anger etched in his dark scowl. “I told you the forest was the easier walk. Now you understand why. And they never come to shore unless you boil them.”