Sometimes I wonder if our attic is spelled.

Anytime I set foot inside it, my worries just evaporate. I immediately feel calm, focused, in tune with magic and my family. The attic is a sacred space. Altars are placed at the four cardinal points with one in the center for our family, our spirit. The high circular windows on either end of the peaked roof shine light down onto the center space where a ten-foot silver circle is inlaid into the wood floor. Bookshelves line the walls, filled not only with our books and histories, grimoires, and other books of power, but also with our own apothecary supplies—raw and preserved ingredients, stones, gems, and tools. Drying herbs hang upside down from the rafters at either end. Despite the pressing heat, it feels like home. The scent of the herbs, the sharpness of the metal, and the earthy mustiness of the books brings back memories of my childhood.

Sam and I had played on the floor while our mother taught Ryan the basics of control. After he’d accidentally trapped the neighbor’s cat in its own yard for the third time, my mom knew she needed to start training him earlier than most. The cat had been terrorizing Ryan anytime he went outside—following him around, biting his ankles—and no one knew why. His magic, then uncontrolled, had lashed out, creating a barrier around the neighbor’s property. While not harmful for the cat, it was rather strange to see it pawing and clawing at an invisible barrier around their yard. It definitely wasn’t subtle and my mom was concerned it might out us.

My mom is careful with our secret, but that’s never stopped her from helping the community. She spends a lot of time brewing potions, especially in the winter. Growing up, one of them was an asthma potion for the old woman who worked part time in the administrative office at school. During the winter, she had a hard time breathing and she couldn’t afford her medicine because of the rise in her heat bills. My mom brewed her a special tea to help and would deliver it to her every month the day after the half moon in a plastic pitcher because pouring it into a metal one would negate half of the effects. Delores always swore nothing worked as well as my mom’s tea did. It makes my mother proud to help people. She loves using her gift to give back to the community, to make life easier on others. It’s why she chose to practice medicine.

Darren shuts the trapdoor after he moves into the space behind me. “Step into the circle and light the candle.”

My eyes widen with excitement. Illuminanza is the spirit of Alerium. It is the force that guides our coven. We call upon its powers to enlighten our senses and to bring us closer to our magic. They say when we light a candle to her she rewards us with a heighten sensibility and a greater perception of the craft.

I do as instructed and move towards the altar in the center of the silver circle where the candle rests. As I inch closer my magic crackles with anticipation, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. Facing the candle, I’m awestruck by its beauty. The base is made of a creamy-white ivory that wraps the girth of the candle. It’s fused together with the stone altar, as if congealed unto matter itself. Intricately carved runes spiral around its cylinder shape, each depicting a different divinatory symbol. Ruby and amethyst encrusted crystals peer out of the coconut oil infused beeswax, the precious stones emanating their own source of power. Though most witches have candles in their homes to honor the spirits, this one is special. My parents say it’s one of a kind. The wick burns eternally. When we were younger my siblings and I’ve tried unsuccessfully to remove the candle from its place, but it won’t budge. It’s as if gravity itself cradles it. We believe magic is the force binding the candle to the altar.

I place the tip of my thumb and index fingers on the wick. It’s soft to the touch. A rush of adrenaline traverses through me and my body shivers in response. Lighting the candle is not something that happens often. It is mostly reserved for special occasions. My shirt feels moist against my skin and my excitement soon dwarfs from the oppressing heat. The attic feels like a furnace. I glance at Darren who urges me to continue with a reaffirming nod.

I close my eyes and call upon Illuminanza’s power. I ask that she guide and give me strength to cast my biggest magic. I take a moment to reflect, to focus on spells already mastered and those yet unlearned, and snap both fingers quickly. My efforts are rewarded with the crackle of the braided cotton wick. The lavender tinged flame flickers excitedly but doesn’t hurt or emit any heat.

“Excellent work, Alexia.”

“Do we really have to be up here?” I whine. “It’s so hot.”

He steps into the circle and waits. I shake my hands at my side before joining him, trying to get rid of my excess energy and frustration. “Close it,” he says.

My eyes flick to his, excited. Closing the circle means bigger magic. Not necessarily destructive magic—we’re surrounded by some of the most important things we own, after all. But big magic. Magic that other people could see if not contained properly.

I walk deasil, clockwise, around the inside of the circle, stopping at the cardinal points—north, south, east, and west. I call my magic to me and push the tiniest bit of power into each cardinal point as I hit it, linking the circle and the direction’s energy to my power. When I’ve come back around to north, I step into the middle and place my hand at the center of the circle, tying it to the ground far below us and linking it tight to the spirit of Alerium that rests deep within the house and my family.

I feel the circle snap shut, sealing us in. It’s somewhere between a tight hug and the pressure of being in a plane’s cabin. I turn back to Darren, pleased with myself.

“The first thing I want you to do,” he says, “is what we were working on last week.”

I groan, sick of feeling embarrassed.

“Darren, do we have to? Maybe this is just something I can’t do? There’s gotta be spells like that, right? Just simple stuff you can’t do?”

Darren raises an eyebrow. “Alexia, magic doesn’t get simpler than this. Everyone your age can easily cast allerum. Third graders use it to read in bed at night.”

Grumbling, I mutter, “Yeah, and I used a flashlight.”

Darren crosses his arms and stands with me in the circle.

“Fine,” I say, raising my hand in front of me, palm up.

I focus on pulling the tiniest spark of light from within myself, bringing an almost liquid drop of magic into my palm. At first, it looks like a sphere of mercury floating an inch or two above my palm.

“Luz,” I hiss, making it glow brightly, like a tiny sun. It transforms in color and size, turning yellow, bright, and happy, as it bounces in place. It loses its constrained, perfectly round shape and becomes more organic and malleable, shifting from a loose sphere to something almost cloudlike.

Purpose is everything in magic. The same spell can vary in strength, size, and intensity depending on the caster’s ability and intent. Irindants tend to have more trouble with purpose. While illurims can channel their energy to guide their purpose quicker, irindants often compete against their own internal struggle to contain the power that threatens to erupt while casting.

Sweat drips down my brow as I shake, straining to bring just the littlest bit of magic into the air. After a heavy moment, I can feel it almost plop into my palm. A grin breaks across my face and I look up at Darren.

“Keep your focus now,” Darren whispers.

I nod and turn my eyes back down to my hand. The little drop of magic hovers just above my palm. With my free hand, I wipe my hair out of my eyes and grit my teeth. I push forward with my mind, begging and pleading for the magic to glow softly. I don’t even bother to specify a color for the glow—I just need a warm, soft light.

It glows for just a millisecond before it fades and my grip on my power loosens. The drop grows to the size of a soccer ball before I can gather my strength and stuff it down. It dissipates into thin air, leaving only the glittering aftereffects rippling in its wake.

I look up at Darren, cringing.

“Well, that was better than last week. At least something happened,” he says.

I shrug, angry with myself. He’s not wrong that little kids can do this spell. I’ve never been able to master it, and I haven’t really figured out why. It’s like something in my own mind is blocking me, stopping me from filtering out my surroundings long enough to conjure it.

“Stay focused.” Darren takes several slow deep breaths, urging me to join him. “Let’s chant and then I want you to work on calling the wind.”

I sigh. “Yeah, okay. I always feel silly chanting.”

“Chanting helps with focus, Alexia. The goal of all this practice is so that one day, you’ll be able to do without. But, sorry kid, that day is not today, given what you’ve shown me.”

Darren extends his hands, palms up, and faces me. I put my palms down on top of his and wait for him to lead.

“We are one with nature,” he begins. “Elements surround us as we call upon fire, wind, water, earth, and the spirits to guide us. This is our foundation—let it ground us while we move.”

We repeat it several times, standing in place while shifting our bodies in a circular motion. With each repetition, I can feel myself growing closer and closer to the magic at hand.

When the chant is complete, we move forward with the rest of training, working through making wind move, calming it and stilling it. Extending my index finger in front of me, I flick it in an elliptical motion and watch as air swirls all around us. A miniature vortex forms at our feet lifting dust into the air. The tiny tornado is impressive and I can’t hold back my grin. I send it gliding across the floor, embracing the borders of the circle, ever watchful of its intensity. I command it to dance around us and Darren seems impressed. Once confident I’ve mastered the technique I release the spell, and the twister vanishes into the very air it came from.

We next combine the wind, winden, with allerum and pruina and regen—light, cold, and water. The rush of this, the feeling of pushing my power, of using it, is both exhausting and intoxicating. A deep thrum rolls through me, almost vibrating with restraint and innate power. After the surge and release of casting, my muscles tense and release, aching. Weather magic always makes my bones and muscles ache as if I’ve spent too long running uphill with the jarring impact of an unforgiving surface beneath my feet. Soon, I’m dripping in sweat with snow falling around me as Darren encourages me to melt the snow with allerum.

I focus, feeling my power within me boiling up hot, dying to be set free. I struggle just to let it drip out, not rush with the force of an ocean wave.

“Allereg,” I hiss, combining the two spells as I hold out my hand with a little glowing ball. I almost don’t notice Darren’s expression freeze.

The little ball flickers happily, like sunlight through tree leaves. The snow on the floor begins to melt. I push another drop of power into the ball and it doubles in size. Sweat drips into my eyes, but I ignore it. Soon, the water from the melted snow has evaporated and the sweat on my skin no longer feels cooling.

I next cast, “Pruinden.”

A light breeze blows, cooling my skin and alleviating the press of the humidity.

“Holy shit!” Sam says, startling me out of my focused concentration. “What did you just do?” she asks, curiosity and awe in her voice.

“Sam!” I try to stuff my power back down, but I can’t control it. I lose it and it’s spilling out of me too fast to stop it. Frantically, I look around for somewhere safe to send it.

“Alexia!” Darren shouts. “Down!”

Down?

Down!

I slam my fist into the center of the circle, allowing nature and the walls of my circle to absorb the power. The candle’s flaming wick intensifies. The edge of the circle glows a bright red with the force of the impact. I can feel it travel along the channels within the house. It sinks deep into the ground, far beneath the basement, into a ley line or something just as powerful. I sigh, relieved that I hadn’t leveled the property.

Furious, I spin to Sam. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Sam shrugs, her green eyes gleaming with excitement, seemingly oblivious to the destruction she almost caused. “I dunno. I just wanted to learn. I just wanted to see what you guys were doing up here.”

“Mom is your mentor. Go talk with her,” I say flippantly.

“You’re not going to be learning the stuff I am anyway, not just before the Trials, even if you haven’t been called.”

“I will too, just not at your level. Just like how you learned to brew a potion or make a poultice. If you can do that, I can learn some offensive or protective spells. We all learn the same stuff until after the Trials, Alexia. Then we get to specialize.”

Darren looks at me, hiding a smirk. “She’s right, you know. Well, not about you being able to brew a potion—you couldn’t do that even if your life depended on it. Even I gave up encouraging you to try after you somehow made a simple cold remedy melt the cauldron it was in.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” I say.

Sam frowns. “Alexia, cold remedies are supposed to be calm and soothing, not acidic.” She looks down her nose at me, an amazing feat for someone almost three inches shorter than my five-foot seven-inch frame. I definitely took after our dad in the height department. My mom stands a few inches shorter than my father. Sam, in addition to being the youngest, is also the shortest—something Ryan and I have always loved teasing her about.

I shrug. “I’m really good at brewing weed killer,” I insist. “Just ask Mr. Johnson. He was complaining about his lawn and I whipped him up some of the stuff Mom uses in our garden.”

Darren doesn’t say anything, but his disbelief flits across his face.

Sam snorts. “You mean the stuff that killed everything it touched? You murdered his lawn.”

I might have a slight tendency to make helpful things hurtful. This is why I’ve been slated for irindant since I was twelve when most people don’t really find out until around the time of their first Trial. Dad had thought I might get called up for the Trials earlier than Ryan because of my blatant preference for more combat-oriented magic. But Ryan was called up later that year when he was fourteen and again last year—twice before I was called. I’m glad I wasn’t selected. The pressure that comes with the competition isn’t something I would have handled well until recently.

“Ugh! Get out, Sam! I almost killed you—all of us.”

“Please, there’s no way you could have had that much power. Even Dad has trouble unleashing that much power at once without an amplifier or drawing on the power of the coven, not just the family.”

I look to Darren, confused. “Really? So, I couldn’t have leveled the house? It felt like I was going to.”

Darren hesitates before answering, which is never good. He turns to Sam. “While I admire your desire to learn more about the balance to your magic, I think it’s best if you don’t interrupt our training sessions. If you’d like, I can talk with your mother about you observing one next week.”

Sam nods enthusiastically. “Will you? Oh my Goddess, that would be amazing! Are you sure it’s not okay that I watch a little bit more? I wanna see her do that weird spell thing again.”

“Get out, Sam!” I shout, unable to take it anymore. “Can’t I just have one thing to myself? I already have to share everything else with you!”

Sam ignores me and pouts at Darren, “You’ll really ask her?”

He nods. “Only if you stop stressing your sister out.”

She turns to me and huffs. “You never let me have any fun! I just wanted to see what you were up to.”

Sam slams her way through the door and out of the office downstairs. I can hear each and every one of her thundering steps.

“So,” Darren asks, “you wanna tell me what that was all about?”

I look at him quizzically. “Um, sibling rivalry? Annoying little sisters?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. I’m talking about that little thing you did back there with the spells. You combined them. Who taught you to do that?”

“No one did. I needed cold light and wet wind, so I smooshed them together,” I say as I break the circle, releasing the magic into the air. Darren shifts his stance uneasily, tracking me with his eyes. I ignore his scrutiny and grab a towel out of one of the cabinets.

“And no one has ever mentioned it before?”

I turn around, wiping sweat off myself, to see that Darren hasn’t moved. Annoyed, I reply, “Don’t think so. Why are you harping on this?”

“I haven’t seen anyone work magic like that since my mother’s father when I was a little boy. It’s not magic that’s really taught within Alerium.”

“What is it then?”

He sighs. “It’s not anything of the covens. It’s a more natural way of interacting with magic. My grandfather did it without words. He’d hum or sing wordlessly to cast. When he wanted two spells to work together, he’d use their harmony or some combination of the two tunes. I’ve never seen or heard of magic like that taught outside of my mother’s people—which you most definitely aren’t.”

He must have seen something cross my face because he stops. “It’s not wrong or forbidden,” he reassures me. “It’s just . . . different.”

“It was just instinct.”

“Don’t forget to extinguish the candle,” he tells me, gently reminding me that we’re not yet done with our session.

I look at the glowing wick and thank Illuminanza for rewarding me with awesome casting abilities during today’s training. With a wave of my right hand the flame vanishes, leaving only a soft smoldering plume in its wake.

He nods and tugs me in close for a quick hug. “You did well today. You held onto control longer than I thought.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m going to clean up here and put something together your father asked me to do. Why don’t you go on down and get some summer reading done, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “I did my summer reading in June, The Bone Setter’s Daughter, The Hate U Give, and In the Time of Butterflies, but yeah. I’ll go help Ryan with the yard or something. I’m already gross.”

“That you are, kiddo.”

Darren turns around and pulls out paper and a pen from one of the desks and sets it aside before heading across the room to my father’s oldest research books.

“Good luck at school tomorrow,” Darren calls out as I head downstairs.

“Thanks!” I say, frowning and seriously glad that he can’t see me. Tomorrow isn’t just the first day of school. It’s the first time I’ll talk to Arianne since practically the beginning of the summer.

As I walk down the steps, I can’t help the dread that creeps into the pit of my stomach.