Tangled

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236 Ava: Magic Training (II)

236 Ava: Magic Training (II)

Magister Orion's version of training is reminiscent of Jericho's somehow, though he doesn't insult me or force me to run massive amounts of laps.

It's more like this inexorable insistence that he believes in my ability that forces me to try, and try again, and again, until sweat is pouring down my face and back. It's worse than physical training because it's an agony that breaks my entire body down from within, but it's better because I can breathe without feeling like my lungs are burning out.

Magister Orion's voice washes over me, a soothing balm to my frazzled nerves. "Close your eyes, Ava Grey Block out the world around you. Let your magic flow through your veins."

His instructions are the same as before. Simple. Repetitive. Calm.

I take a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. My eyes flutter shut, and I attempt to focus inward. Earlier, he told me to stop screwing my eyes shut, but to only rest them like butterfly's wings.

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236 Ava: Magic Training (II)

He waxes a little poetic, I've noticed.

"Allow it into your heart, your circulation," he continues. "Feel it becoming a part of you."

Nothing happens in my veins. No warmth, no fizzle, no pop. The magic within me is warm and enveloped in its own little area, probably laughing at me because I can't figure this out. "You've blocked it off, treated it like an invasive

species," Magister Orion says. "But it's a part of you, Ava Grey. It always has been. You need to accept it into every fiber of your being. Let it flow through you, from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair."

The image of magic coursing through my hair makes me snicker. I can't help but picture it: every blonde strand glowing like fiber optic cables, leaving me as bright as a Christmas tree.

Orion rebukes me gently. "This isn't a

and try to

flow with, no

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Magic Training

I tap

deep within myself, searching for that elusive spark of

empty of anything except the rhythmic pulsing of my heartbeat and

from the effort. Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my back.

tremble with exertion.

feeling the strain. That must mean something's

voice cuts through my concentration. "You're trying too hard. Your magic isn't something to be forced. It's

blink against the artificial fluorescent lights this strange room has decided are necessary. "I don't understand. How can it

"Vou're searching for

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Ava: Magic Training

yourself, but your magic isn't separate. It's you.

can feel it, sense

Maybe it really is in my head. Maybe this little ball of energy in

Instead of reaching for something outside myself, I

catch smoke with my bare hands. The harder I try, the more it slips away from me. Saying it is all well and good, but

me

voice in the

Nothing else.

the constant strain.

can't do it," I finally admit,