“I am a witch, you know. If you set my hair on fire, I’ll just grow it back.” She grins, moving to stand about three feet from me. “Now, come on. Arm up.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath, then blow it out slowly as I do what she requests. “Now what?”

“I want you to try to open yourself up so that I can send some power your way.”

I shake my head. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Just breathe. And try to reach out for me.” She holds her arm out straight at me, but where mine is palm up, hers is palm down. “Okay, Grace. Lower your guards and reach.”

I have absolutely no idea what that means, but I figure, What the hell. The worst that will happen is I’ll look like a total dork and hey, everyone here has already seen me do that at least once.

So I take another deep breath and then try to do what Macy asked me to—I reach for her, trying to will a tiny spark of her magic into me.

“Do you feel anything?” she asks, and her eyes are glowing just a little, in a way I’ve never seen before.

“No. I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “Don’t be sorry. Just try again.”

I do, and this time I try really hard, but still nothing happens.

“Third time’s the charm,” Macy says with a grin. Then asks, “Feel it?”

She seems so sure, I can’t help wondering if I’m just missing something. “I don’t know if I do or not,” I answer after trying for several seconds to feel something. Anything.

“You don’t,” Hudson tells me, not even bothering to look up from the book he’s been reading all afternoon.

“How do you know?” I demand.

“Because I’m in your head and I don’t feel anything? Plus, I have power and I know what you’re supposed to feel, and that’s definitely not happening right now.”

“Of course it’s not,” I whine. “I’m destined to live my life on the side of a museum—as the world’s most unaccomplished waterspout.”

A bubble of panic forms in my chest as I realize everyone is staring at me, varying degrees of pity in their eyes. Well, except Hudson. For once, my complete humiliation appears to not be of any interest to him.

Probably sensing my frustration, Jaxon tries to tease me out of my growing anger. “Hey, don’t worry. We can figure this out another day.” He smiles encouragingly. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

I sigh. Maybe he’s right. This paranormal stuff is all new to me. Maybe it’s perfectly natural that I can’t do even the most basic gargoyle things yet.

Hudson sighs, carefully closing his book and setting it on the cocktail table near his chair in the corner. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, but this is going to be.” He stretches like a cat, his hands so far above his head that the bottom of his T-shirt lifts up to expose those ridiculous abs again.

He catches me looking and raises a brow, right before he says, “You can do this; it’s just clear you need someone with a little more…expertise.”

Screw the candle. My face feels like it’s on fire.

“Grace, are we doing this or not?” Macy asks.

“Not,” I answer. “I can’t figure out what to do.”

“Nobody knows how at the beginning,” Hudson says as he walks over to stand a foot to my side. “You can do this. I promise.”

I turn to face him more fully. “You can’t promise that. You don’t know—”

He gives me a soft smile. “I do know.”

“How?” I ask, my voice breaking.

“Because I won’t let you fail.” He nods to Macy. “Tell her to try again.”

I hold his gaze, then take a deep breath. I swivel my head toward Macy. “Hudson says we should try once more, Mace,” I tell my cousin. “And then I’m calling it quits.”

“O-kay,” she says, clearly not sure if she should be glad Hudson is encouraging me to try again or not. “Once more.” And then her eyes do that weird glowy thing as she sends another burst of power my way.

“Ready?” Hudson asks, a grin slowly spreading across his face that sets butterflies loose in my stomach.

“Ready for what?”

He snaps his fingers. “For this.”

52

Come on Baby,

Light My Candle

Just like that, there’s a weird feeling deep inside me. A spark of heat, of light, of energy that is both familiar and completely foreign at the same time.

“Go ahead,” Hudson tells me, his voice little more than a whisper. “Reach for it.”

So I do, hand outstretched and everything about me open wide. And then it’s there, right there inside me. Arrowing into me. Lighting me up from the inside. Making every nerve ending in my body come alive like I’ve never felt before.

“Do you feel it now?” Macy asks, voice raised excitedly.

“I do,” I tell her, because this has to be it. This brilliant feeling that’s warm and bright and airy and light has magic written all over it.

“Good,” Macy continues. “Now hold it for a minute, get used to it. Feel it moving through your body.”

I do as she says, letting the warmth and the light burn through me.

“What do I do now?” I ask, because while it feels amazing to have this feeling inside me, it also feels unsustainable—like it’ll burn right through me and then disappear if I don’t know what to do with it.

“Focus your mind,” Macy says, “on lighting the candle. Imagine it. And then just do it.”

I stare at the candle as hard as I’ve ever stared at anything in my life. I imagine it lit, a flame burning along its wick. And then I try to light it.

Nothing happens.

“Don’t worry about it,” Macy says. “You’re so close, I can feel it. Just try again.”

So I do, again and again, and still nothing happens.

I can feel the light flickering inside me, feel it starting to dissipate, and I’m so afraid that it’ll go away that my hands start to tremble and my chest starts to ache.

Macy must see my distress, because she says, “It’s okay. We can try again later.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Hudson tells me, moving to stand right behind me now, both our gazes focused on the candle, so close that I can feel his breath against my ear. “You can do this.”

“I can’t do this. It’s leaving. I can feel it—”

“So draw it back,” he orders. “Don’t send it out like Macy told you to. Pull it back, concentrate it into one ball of energy, of power, and then let it go.”

“But Macy said—”

“Fuck what Macy said. Everyone wields their power differently. I can feel it in you. It’s right there, ready to be used. So use it.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.”

“It’s okay,” Jaxon tells me. “We’ll practice a little bit each day until you get it.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Hudson orders. “You’ve got this.”

“I don’t have it. I don’t.”

Hudson leans forward, braces his arm under mine, and grabs onto my hand. “Focus,” he tells me. “Send every ounce of the magic you feel inside you right here, to where I’m holding you.” He squeezes my hand for emphasis. “Pull it back from wherever else you sent it and put it all right there.”

I take a deep breath and let it out shakily. Breathe in a second time and let it out. The third time I breathe in, I hold it for long seconds as I try to do what he asks. The light has made a trail through me, so I grab on to one end of it and start to pull, rolling it back, back, back until it’s right there in my chest, my shoulder, my arm. Until finally, I can feel it in the palm of my hand.

“Feel it?” Hudson asks.

I nod, because I do. It’s so strong, it’s like it’s going to burn a hole right through me.

“You’ve got it now,” he tells me.

“I do. I’ve got it,” I whisper.

“I know. Now, open your fist.” He lets go of my hand slowly, gently unweaving our fingers even as he keeps his arm directly under mine.

“Aim,” he says, his voice and his body a solid presence behind me. Holding my feet to the flame and my palm to the power. Not letting me back up so much as an inch.

And then he’s right there—chin near my shoulder, mouth pressed to my ear—as he whispers, “Now let it go.”

So I do. And then let out a little scream as every single candle on Jaxon’s bookcase bursts into flame at exactly the same moment. Oh my God. I did it. I really did it!

“Holy shit, New Girl!” Flint yelps. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.” I turn to look at Hudson, and for a second, just a second, he’s right there, his face barely an inch from mine. Our eyes lock and power—pure, unadulterated power—sizzles between us. At least until he steps back, putting several feet of distance between us in an instant.

“How much power did you give her, Macy?” Jaxon asks, looking from the bookcase to my cousin and back again.

“That wasn’t me,” Macy answers. “I can barely do that now with all my power, let alone with the little bit I was siphoning off for Grace.”

“Then where did it come from?” Jaxon demands. “Power like that doesn’t just—”

He breaks off as it hits him, which is just about the same time it hits me. No wonder the power felt strangely familiar. It’s been there, lurking inside me, for nearly four months.

“Hudson.” Jaxon says his brother’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, nose up and mouth curled into a small sneer while I simply whisper it.

But when I whirl around to confront him, determined to find out what and how and why he did what he did, he’s gone. And not “hiding in a corner, pouting” gone, either. He’s gone gone, and I have absolutely no idea what to do to bring him back.