He shook his head. “No, let’s warm up first.”

“You can sprain a magical muscle?” I asked.

“No, but magic is all about confidence. It’s about believing that you can shape the universe to your will, and no matter how powerful you are, that can’t happen if you don’t believe it will. So, it’s best to start with something you know you can do and work up from there.” He looked around the room, then pointed to the mug sitting on the table in front of him. “For starters, could you please reheat my coffee for me?”

Heat was easy. It was one of the first things I’d learned. It was all about exciting the molecules. I focused my energy and sent a zap into the mug, then for good measure I cloaked the mug in a blanket of warmth. I felt the familiar surge of power go through me, doing exactly what I wanted it to, and I relaxed. The previous day had just been a fluke, after all. I still had it. “Your coffee, sir,” I said with a flourish toward the cup.

Rod reached to take the mug, then flinched when he touched it. “Yeah, you got it hot, all right,” he said. More cautiously, he curled his fingers around the handle, raised the mug to his lips, and took a tentative sip. Then he frowned.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“The mug’s hot. The coffee, well, not so much. Did you focus on the liquid?”

“Yeah, I did. That was the main thing. The outside was just to keep it warm longer. It was an idea I had.”

“That’s a good idea,” Owen put in encouragingly.

“It didn’t work, though?” I asked. That was supposed to be an easy spell, the kind of thing they taught kids as soon as they were old enough not to burn themselves.

“Maybe you just aimed wrong,” Rod said. “Both spells seem to have hit the mug, not the coffee.” He put the mug down. “Get a little closer and try again.”

This time, I wasn’t quite so sure of myself, so the magic felt sluggish. If it had been visible, it would have swirled around the mug, dipping toward it but missing a few times. Finally, I got it inside and kept it steady long enough that I thought I’d done the trick. “Try it now,” I said, panting ever so slightly.

Rod picked it up, took a sip, then grinned. “There you go! Good work.”

I sighed in relief, but I wasn’t sure it counted as good work if doing such an elementary task wore me out that badly. Wasn’t this supposed to get easier along the way? I’d seen enough eighties movies with training montages to know how it should work. I was supposed to start out struggling, but I’d keep at it and finally have the big breakthrough that would have my trainer grinning until I totally surprised him by outdoing him, and then it would be time for the big competition. Maybe what I was missing was the inspirational power ballad.

*

I was so frustrated by my magical failures that I barely remembered to be worried on the way home from work. I was too busy griping to Owen about how difficult magic had become for me. “Maybe it was just beginner’s luck and I really am not cut out to be a wizard,” I said. “There’s a reason I didn’t get an owl when I turned eleven.”

It took him a second to catch the reference because he didn’t think in pop culture terms, but then he grinned and said, “You weren’t magical when you were eleven. You are now, and there are always ups and downs when you’re learning something new. But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll run some tests tomorrow. It’s possible that something’s blocking you.”

“You mean the elves might have done something to me?”

“I doubt it because I’d hope I’d be able to sense it, but our enemies have tampered with your abilities in the past.”

Fortunately, no elves attacked us during our commute, which confirmed my theory that they’d set us up so wizards could be blamed. If the elves were really after Owen, things would be very different.

I didn’t even notice that instead of inviting me over for dinner, Owen merely steered us straight to his place. It was becoming such a habit that an invitation wasn’t really necessary, and I didn’t blame him for wanting to minimize the amount of time he had to spend alone with Granny. I wondered if there was a polite way to ask her how long she planned to stay. Owen kept insisting that he didn’t mind, and he seemed to be telling the truth. He’d never known his own grandparents, so maybe he was enjoying having a grandmother fuss over him.

I, on the other hand, had nearly reached my limit. I’d moved to New York in part to get away from my crazy family. If they followed me here, I’d have to move back home to get away from them again.