“Encompass,” he corrects.
“Encompass?” I question, repeating the symbol.
He draws his hand into the same motion. I feel his magic press around my shoulders, lightly at first and then harder, prohibiting my ability to move. “Because my magic is surrounding you in order to lock you in place.” He frees me and grins. “You got any more?”
“To bring something to you is like…encompass and this one?”
He nods. “Encompass and draw. But you should extend your fingers a little more."
I form it correctly before shaping another symbol. “This is the one…I think I’ve heard you call dispersing?”
He nods his agreement.
“This is the one you use to dry my hair?”
“Heat. That’s good.” I beam and he grins in return. After so many days of failure, receiving his praise feels like saturating sunshine. He pushes to a stand and takes my hand still forming the symbol. Uncurling my fingers, he flattens my palm and draws his thumb across it. My breath catches, the touch electric but then he smooths my hand back to my side. “But you don’t actually need to know these yet.”
The sunshine is vanquished immediately. My shoulders slump. “I don’t?”
“The symbols only mean something because we make them mean something. My mother refused to let me learn the symbols until I had an extended grasp of my magic. She believed it was a limiting way to learn, and I agree.”
My brow furrows. “You mean they don’t actually do anything?”
“You learn to speak before you learn your alphabet, yes?” I give a perfunctory nod. “So, I need you to speak to me, pet.”
I don’t know how.That’s the problem.
“The issue with the symbols is people start to rely on them too completely. They forget how to draw the appropriate magic without them and using them is showing your hand, literally. It is kind of a societal expectation youdouse them, but if you’re ever in a situation—it’s important that you know how to draw your magic without them—discreetly.”
I let out a heavy exhale. “All I know how to do is destroy things.”
“Distend.” I shoot him a quizzical look. “It means your magic is expanding very quickly and that’s what causes things to—“ He makes an exploding motion with his hands.
My face pales as I recall what that looked like…with a person. “Did you start with distending?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, that would be quite horrifying if toddlers were going around distending things…especially at the level that you do.” My expression grows even more puzzled.
“Most magi, at least today, aren’t able to distend things at the level you do. They would simply push things back at the most.” His face turns inquisitive. “It almost feels like some sort of defense mechanism built into your psyche. Like a porcupine extending its quills,” he suggests, lifting a palm.
I shoot him a bland look. “I thought pet was bad, but I think I like porcupine even less.”
He laughs. “Still a pet. Just a prickly one.”
I roll my eyes with a resigned sigh, and he laughs again.
When I look up, he’s still grinning. There’s no sign of the cold detachment I’ve come to know over the last few weeks. I scrutinize him for another moment before blurting out, “It really doesn’t bother you?”
It takes him a moment to piece together what I’m asking. His lips flatten. “You mean what happened?”
“What I did. You’re really not… angry about it?”
“No. It was an accident.”
“But she was your aunt. She was the only person…that was even nice to me here.”
“Until she wasn’t,” he grumbles.
“Don’t you care?”
