Page 316 of Sigils & Spells

Of course, Magnus walked in at that moment. The blond giant had his gaze trained on Rio, but that did not stop him from calling me out. Damn shifter senses.

“Now, that’s a lie.”

I rolled my eyes and stalked out of the room. They didn’t understand. But it was not their fault.

“They mean well,” a small voice said.

I whipped around quickly, my gaze landing on Enid.

Crap!

Was it scare the shit out of Tana week or something?

Because fuck, if another person jumped out and startled me, I was liable to pee my pants.

“What are you doing in my room, Enid?” I asked, trying not to sound waspish and failing miserably.

Enid was a relative newbie to magic, having only just discovered her witchy heritage. I would never admit it out loud, but even I felt protective of the lavender-eyed female. She was just so nice. So soft. My heart ached for her. Soft things did not last in the supernatural world.

“Nothing,” she replied, shrugging her shoulder and her light brown hair lifted with the slight motion. “I just wanted you to know, no one is judging you, Tana. Everyone here cares about you. But I, well, I’m getting some strange vibes around you lately.”

Her voice had dropped to a near whisper, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady.

What was with everyone calling me strange lately?

“I have to go,” I said, pushing past her.

It had been weeks since I used my magic. My attempts to keep my stores at full capacity so when I faced down my mother’s killers was actually paining me. Magic was a craft and crafts needed to be used. I knew this, but I was the epitome of a stubborn redhead. Though, at the moment, my hair seemed dull and washed out.

Fuck.

I missed the vibrant red it used to be.

Frowning, I walked faster, ignoring the witches and wizards milling about around me. My rubber-soled leather boots made no sound on the stone floors of the hall as I raced to my secret place.

It didn’t matter how I felt about wasting my magical stores. My inner flame was pulsing inside of me, heating me from within. It wanted out, and I needed to get as far away from my dorm and roommates as I could.

Uncontrolled fire magic was as dangerous as putting a nuclear weapon in a madman’s grasp. True, I did not know the extent of my magic, but I suspected it went beyond candle lighting. There was a whole catalog of fire magic Westwood Academy refused to teach.

It was my mother’s line, the Newton witches, bound to the element of fire, and yet, no true fire witch had been born for generations. Sure, I had cousins with a real affinity for the stuff. Most left Westwood to join the Incendo Coven witches, and yes, they could bend fire to their will at higher success rates than most other witches.

But bonfire lighting, using candles to focus spells, and purifying flames were not nearly enough for me to get revenge. I’d been combing the libraries not only for evidence of those responsible for the deaths of my mother and grandmother, for the absence of my father who was trapped in the suffering madness of losing his mate, but also for the spells I would need to exact my vengeance.

I’d only been mildly successful in finding what I would need. First, tracking the witches who’d hurt them was a priority and something I could possibly do with a locator spell. First, I would need to know who or what I was tracking. That was problem number one.

As for my arsenal of fighting casts, I’d learned about burning spells. This forbidden magic was only used during times of war, and my attempts at finding actual working casts have been wildly unsuccessful.

It was all about control, and I had very little when I was casting. It was an impossible situation. If I practiced my magic to learn control, I would expend my inherited and natural stores. This was the reason fire witches did not have the same power as other elementals. It took up too much magic to find the right balance.

I stuttered a step along the path behind the mansion and into the woods that led to my secret place. Fuck, trying to control my inner magic was taking a toll on my physical strength, and I knew I was going to blow any minute.

For one brief moment, I wished I was a shifter with the ability to sense if I was truly alone, but that sort of thing was futile. A secret longing I kept to myself.

Sweat beaded along my brow, and I could hardly breathe for the weight weighing me down. Shivers wracked my body, but it was the sudden influx of heat that really made me tremble.

“Shit, oh shit,” I moaned as I fell to my knees behind a large stand of trees blocking a couple of boulders that sat guarding the edge of the woods.

Below them was a cliff overlooking a small, hidden valley of fruit trees and pines, where sprites and elves worked their earthy magic. This part of the woods had no rhyme or reason, but it was breathtaking, and my very favorite place when I was at Westwood.

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