Empowered (Unbound, Book 6)

Chapter Twenty-Six

As far as I was concerned, the entire second floor was a sacred space due to whatever magic kept it hidden. Once I gathered what I needed, I opted for comfort and sat at the kitchen table. Besides, creating a flame in a library didn't seem all that smart.

Repetition always made tasks easier. Creating a living flame again so soon after the first occurrence was easier, though I didn't find it any less awe-inspiring like many repetitious activities that lost their novelty. The ingredients were common to any fire—a bowl to keep from spreading, air to keep it fed, and a piece of wood that, due to magic, would never turn to ash. It was the intent and magic that made the fire the strongest.

My breathing slowed.

My mind emptied as I cleansed the bowl and wood, leaving me open to connect to and tie each element to the flame—earth, air, fire and water. That way, it wasn't a constant drain on my energy. Instead, everything would keep the flame burning, making it even stronger.

I closed my eyes, repeating the thoughts I had the first time I created the living flame, and visualized it in my head.

It lived.

It breathed.

It survived.

Nothing could smother it.

Orange and blue and white with a hint of red.

The spark in my head flared, becoming a wall of fire. My body flushed, feeling overheated. I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the edge of the kitchen table, and exhaled. When it became too much, I opened my eyes, flinched back, and sucked in a breath.

The flame whistled up, flaring high with a surge before settling into a fist-size slow burn in the bowl. It was beautiful and I could easily be mesmerized for the rest of the day, sucked in by the flickering and even more intensely by the energy pulsing from the bowl. It was pure magic, in a complete sense of content.

I shook my head and broke its trance.

Looking down, I reached over the arm of the kitchen chair and grabbed the book Devland had given me. He'd left a mark on it when he spelled it so he would be able to see what I wrote in a replica he kept for himself, taking parental stalking to new heights beyond GPS tracking on a child's phone. Though I wouldn't catch his signature without the spell I'd cast before that didn't last, I should connect to his essence.

I moved the bowl back to place the book between me and the fire, placing my hands palm-down on the cover. Closing my eyes, I cleared my head again, focused on positivity to clear negativity and make my intent good. Once I was sure I was in the right headspace, I reached out with my senses to try match whatever part of Devland I came from.

Almost immediately I felt it. The connection made my body feel heavy, then like a rope was hooked onto my insides and someone was trying to pull it away. It took nearly all my concentration to draw it back without severing it altogether, the effort leaving me dizzy.

I gained control and started to stretch it outward. Slowly, I guided the imaginary sphere I thought the essences were to the edge of the bowl. Once again, my body heated. I tried to push the energy over the edge at the same time pulling mine back, and it all recoiled, my body instantly cooling.

I grabbed the edge of the table and leaned forward, squinting as I started to guide it back. Sweat beaded my forehead, my temperature rising as I pushed closer and closer. When it reached the edge of the bowl I knew I couldn't separate the connection. I continued to push, willing to strip the parts of my abilities from Devland in order to keep him from accessing his.

Warmth turned to searing, boiling me from the inside out.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

Using the pain, I pushed as though giving the connection a mental shove with the very last of my energy. It went over the edge, the back end teetering, but didn't fall into the fire. I tried to push again, but all it did was bob. The flame reached out near the second bob inward. Fire—the heat—grazed the connection like a mother tracing her sleeping baby's brow just above the skin.