A Lightning Storm of Spark and Flame

Chapter 5

Concealed in the shadows, Chase Starling stares at the modest two-story house that the young woman has just entered. Such remarkable strength, he thinks. What an awe-inspiring ability. Too bad it's restrained tighter than any chain could hope to achieve. The sole reason for this constrain of power is becoming progressively more obvious the longer he watches. The girl's caretaker, who looks similar enough to be an elderly relative, is deeply frightened of her charge. She, a powerful sorceress in her own right, is fearful that she may yet be overthrown. Chase knows that the younger woman could easily do so if she knew of the full extent of her potential. He also has no doubt that she wouldn't hesitate to take over if she were told just how much she is truly capable of. Each day for the past two years, he's been here, hidden away in the forest surrounding this house to observe the goings on inside. He'd seen how the conniving old woman had consistently weakened her successor, dampening her power and sabotaging her attempts to learn and improve. The unaware younger female seems to be under the impression that her inability to make significant progress is some fault of her own. Only Chase and the one truly responsible for this know what's really going on here. And he, unlike the bitter, jealous old lady, plans to inform Phoebe of her predicament as soon as possible. He's here for one thing and one thing only. The safety of the stolen daughter of Lillian and Roland Winslow. Meanwhile, Phoebe stirs a spoon in the mug of herbal tea that Grandmother had just handed her. Her body is still exhausted and deeply chilled from her practice session with the blizzard, but somehow not even the warmth of the cup between her hands is enough to tempt her into drinking it. Grandmother's tea always carries a bitter note that Phoebe isn't fond of. In fact, the only time when the elderly woman makes a truly delicious sweet tea is when her granddaughter is ill. With a sigh, the girl places the cup down and pushes it away, untouched. Instead, she pulls a heavy book toward herself and begins to read.

The art of fire manipulation is much like that of any other element. You must come to think of it not as an external force that can be used, but rather as a part of your own body and thus, entirely under your command. Once this is accomplished, focus on the very heart of the blaze where it is at its brightest and reach within yourself. Your power should respond to your call. Once it has, experiment with what you are able to do and how much you are capable of bending the flames to your will. I recommend being outside, in an area that is completely devoid of trees, buildings, or anything else that can risk damage or destruction. Utilize a great deal of caution when practicing fire manipulation. Similar to any ability described within the pages of this text, it can be a formidable challenge. Once mastery is achieved, it can serve as a breathtakingly powerful tool to have at your disposal, however it also carries the potential to become a dire source of destructive force. As long as its wielder is of the mind to utilize it for good, however, this wondrous gift is an invaluable blessing.

Moments like these are the ones that Phoebe treasures most. Stretched out on a quilt in the training room with the glass ceiling retracted, feeling the unimpeded sunlight heat her back and shoulders as she rests on her front with the book lying before her. Grandmother had not seemed terribly surprised to see her heading toward her favorite place in the house with her current study material tucked under one arm. She'd simply warned her sternly not to push herself too far by trying something new so soon, handed her the mug of tea, and left her to her reading. On some instinctual level, Phoebe knows she most likely will not be able to manipulate fire. She feels inexplicably but irrevocably tethered to the sky and its many mercurial moods. Still though, it can't hurt to at least try. The sudden flutter of wings has Phoebe's head lifting and her eyes widening in surprise at what she sees. A bird is diving straight for her. With a cry of alarm, she springs to her feet in hopes of startling the creature into taking flight again before it hits the ground. Instead of being frightened by her burst of movement, the black bird gives a loud, throaty screech as it nears. From below, it almost appears to take the shape of a Star with its wings spread wide to carry its short, stocky body at a steep, controlled descent. Its beak is bright yellow, and its plumage shimmers in the sun. Before Phoebe has a chance to react, the bird swoops past her, tips over the now cold mug of tea, then wheels back into the sky with another raucous call. Mouth open in stunned bewilderment, she clutches the book to her chest and stares at the spilled liquid at her feet. It's no longer the unexpected appearance of the bird that fills her heart with fear. It's the remnants of something thick, powdery, and white that sits half dissolved at the bottom of the empty ceramic cup. Looking back up into the cloudless expanse of the skies, she spots the same bird circling high above. Suddenly, something lands on her shoulder, and Phoebe can't stop herself from crying out in fresh terror. But when she grabs something soft and turns to look, it's only a glossy black feather. In the sunlight, it gleams iridescent green and purple. How beautiful, she thinks, still in profound shock. What a lovely, strange bird. As she picks up the mug and carries it inside, she is totally oblivious to the fact that this will not be the last time she sees the Starling that had just saved her life.