“Thanks.” I snag the biggest muffin on the tray, then rip off a chunk and blow on it until it’s cool. “Here.” I lift the fluffy morsel up for Juniper, and she shifts her weight on my shoulder so she can take it with her front paws.
With her pleasantly nibbling in my ear, I take my own bite of the muffin, then resume my wandering.
The halls are darker now, and distant thunder rumbles low and deep.
And I suddenly know where I’m headed: my secret little alcove in the east wing, with the big window with the view of the Mistwood.
I head in that direction as rain starts to fall. It runs in thick rivulets down the windows I pass.
Suddenly, unbidden, voices start whispering in my head, echoing what I’ve been told recently.
You’ve got too much pride.
Your fire is erratic, not under your control.
As if in response to the reminder of how out of control I am, the blisters on my palms sting beneath the soft cotton bandages. My chest feels tight.
I know!I want to yell at them. I’m aware of my problems—have been for a long time. I don’t need reminders.
Taking a bite of muffin, I chew aggressively, trying to shove the voices down.
But they refuse to leave. They’re always there, lingering in the recesses of my mind, waiting to come out when I least want them to.
And now is definitely one of those moments.
They continue to whisper, taking on what I imagine is the voice of my mother. Not that I’d know what her voiceactually sounds like. She left much too long ago for me to remember such a thing.
I turn down hallway after hallway, only passing a few students and faculty along the way—no one who wants to talk, thankfully, because I’m really not in the mood.
Finally, I make it to the narrow stairwell that leads up to where my nook is on the third floor.
“Another bite?” Juniper says.
I’ve already demolished half the muffin. Ripping another chunk of fluffy goodness off, I hand it up into her little paws and start climbing the stairs. The shadows feel deeper here, the air colder. But it feels good, like maybe it can help soften the fire burning just beneath my skin.
On my way up, the soft toe of my boot stubs on a step, and I let out a yelp and stumble forward. Juniper squeaks and drops her bite of muffin, grasping a lock of my curly hair with her paws.
“Shit!” That fire that Ihopedmight be calmed flares hot and bright. My blisters sting.
With a heavy sigh, I sink onto one of the stairs and lean my head against the smooth wooden banister running alongside the stairwell.
“You okay?” I reach for Juniper, and she lets me draw my fingers across her head and down her back.
“I’m fine. You?”
“Eh.” I wiggle my toes in my boot and wince at the throb. “I’ll be okay. Not broken.”
With finesse, Juniper crawls down my sweater, then settles herself in my lap—where I’m holding the muffin. As she begins nibbling away, humming contentedly to herself,I take note of the intricate vines etched along the side of the wooden banister. I’m certain I’ve climbed these stairs a hundred times, but I’ve never noticed this little detail before. The vines are hidden just beneath the lip of the handrail, so you have to really look to see them. But despite their being mostly hidden, someone took the time to put them there, and to do itright.
I lift a hand and skate my fingers across the beautiful carvings. And then a new voice joins the others in my mind. But this one is warm, loving.
Good woodwork is quiet, but it lasts. It matters.
Papa’s voice is smooth and rumbly, soft with no hard edges. I call to mind the many times I sat with him in his woodshop, watching him measure and cut and sand with practiced grace. When the sun would stream through the little dusty window, the air would come alive with swirling sawdust, and it’s always reminded me of magic. His own kind of magic—not like the fire magic that burns through my veins.
That’s fromher.
You don’t have to be perfect, Papa told me the evening before I left for my second year here at Coven Crest.Just show them who you are, what you’re made of.He smiled at me, eyes lined and tired, but still happy. And then he said,I already know.
