Guide it. Easy for him to say. He’s an earth warlock, not a fire witch, and earth isn’t nearly so finnicky. I close my hands, curling my fingers tightly. I need to do well, need to prove to Headmistress Moonhart that I deserve my place here at the academy, that I can control myself and get my flames in check before I accidentally set the castle and all its inhabitants on fire.
I take a breath. Pressure coils inside my chest like a clenched fist squeezing my heart. I know that fire responds to emotion; of all the elemental magics, it’s the most volatile, arguably the most difficult to control. Powerful but erratic. A sword with two sharp edges.
“Be intentional,” Professor Stone says. And his words cause a memory to flash in my mind.
Just go slow and be careful, Cairn said in regard to the sniffleblooms.Intentional.
Go slow. Be careful.
I listened to his instructions, was as delicate as possible while transplanting the vicious little blooms. And I did it. Not once did I breathe in their sneeze dust.
A little tingle goes through me when I hear Cairn’s deep voice say,Impressive.
I did somethingright. I saw it in his eyes, heard it in the tone of his voice.
And I can do this right too. Ihaveto. If I want to stay at Coven Crest, I have no other choice but to get my magic under control. Somehow...
I take a deep breath and flex my fingers, holding my palms out again. This time, I don’t push. Instead, I let my flames rise like a flower slowly blossoming in the spring, calling them with warmth instead of force.The firesparks to life on my fingertips, flickering delicately, steadily—a stream of gold that curls around my fingers like the pillowy kiss of a satin ribbon. No flare. No bite of intense heat. No backlash.
Professor Stone steps forward, arms still crossed and eyes narrowed—though this time in surprise rather than judgment. “Much better,” he says slowly, as if raising his voice will cause the fire to lash out and singe him. “That’s progress, Miss Wilder.”
Something small and fierce flutters in my chest. I can’t help myself—I smile. Not just from relief, but with pride. Maybe I belong here after all.
And maybe Cairn—with his gentle ways and quiet insights—is more than an annoying community service project, more than a reclusive minotaur. Maybe he can teach me how to control myself, my emotions.
Maybe, in some small way, he’s exactly what I need.
Chapter 14
Cairn
BY SOME STROKE OF GOOD luck, it’s not raining on my shopping day. I’d anticipated needing to make the long trek into Wysteria in a gray drizzle, but instead, the sun is shining, birds sing as they drift through the breeze, and the air smells of autumn—one of my favorite smells, perhaps second only to the smell of the garden after a summer rain.
I pull a small wooden cart behind me as I walk. It’s empty now, but by the time I’m on my return trip home, it’ll be loaded down with everything I’ll need for the next few weeks. I try to stock up as much as possible to avoid having to make the long walk, and though Wysteria is nice so far as big cities go, it’s much too busy and chaotic for my liking, so I limit my trips there as much as possible.
My hooves feel nice sinking into the dirt and leaves as I walk the meandering path through the Mistwood, enjoying the quiet and the dappled light slipping through the trees overhead. Probably won’t be long now before the snowstarts to fall, making this trip a hell of a lot harder than it is now. So for the time being, I enjoy it, and I keep a smile on my face all the way to Wysteria.
I’M FINALLY ON MY LAST stop of the day: the Brass Mirror. It’s one of the only clothing shops in Wysteria that carries clothing in my size. Typically when I’m here, other nonhuman shoppers are here as well: other minotaurs, orcs, and shifters. But today, it’s quiet, and it gives me a brief reprieve from the bustling street outside.
“Be right with you!” a man calls from the back.
I’ve been coming here for years, so I know the familiar voice well. “Just me, Winston.”
“Cairn?” the shopkeeper calls back. “That you?”
“Yup.”
Without needing him to show me around, I roam through the racks and shelves of clothing. Some of my trousers are starting to get worn and rip, and I could use some more long-sleeved tunics before winter arrives.
I pick up two new pairs of trousers—specially sized for minotaurs—then add a couple tunics to the pile in my arms: one in forest green and one in burnt orange. By the time I make it to the front counter, Winston is just coming out from the back room.
As one may expect of a clothing connoisseur, he’s impeccably dressed—gleaming golden hoops in his ears, a snug vest with polished buttons, trim trousers, and boots that look like they’ve never touched a dusty cobblestone in theirlife. When he sees me, he holds out his arms, and I huff as he wraps me in a crushing hug. He may look willowy, but vampires are surprisingly strong.
“Cairn, it’s been too long. Why don’t you come in more?”
He releases me from the hug and moves behind the counter as I put the trousers and tunics on the tabletop. “Maybe you should sell lower-quality goods,” I say with a shrug. “Then I’d have to shop more often.”
Winston narrows his golden eyes and says with a hiss, “Lower quality? Preposterous. Only the best for my customers.”
