Witch in Hiding (#1 in the Witches Trilogy) (EDITING)

Twenty-Six: With Great Power...

"Hey, sweetheart." Mom's head slowly emerges from behind the door, fingers curled tentatively around the edge. "How are you feeling? Can I come in?"

I'm weak, I'm awake. I can't stop her. She shuts the door behind her, and it's only then I see that she has a long, thin box in her hand. "Is this an early birthday present or something?"

"No," Mom says. She hands me the box. "Here. It was meant for you. I... forgot about it. Just found it again."

I open it, and inside is a slim stick made of ebony, carved with delicate ridges. "A wand?" I pick it out. It's lighter than I expected. My fingers tingle with anticipation. "It actually works?"

"Of course it works." She almost rolls her eyes. "It's made of unicorn ebony. It was a gift... I kept it for you until now. It'll help you, enhance and focus your existing powers, if you channel it through the wand. After the fall, and after the thing with Jess, I thought you should be more able to protect yourself."

"Thanks, Mom." I say genuinely. "It's gorgeous."

She smiles. "I hope it's more than just that. Practice with it—don't blow anything up."

My inner child is dying with excitement at the wand. I mean, I've read the entirety of Harry Potter like a kazillion times. I've got the merch, I spent my eleventh birthday sorely disappointed. On my twelfth birthday, I was just a little let down that my newfound magical identity didn't come with a wand. Except now it has. Whaddya know.

Wingardium Leviosa doesn't work, of course, although I try it anyway. I twirl my wrist, getting used to the sensation. I can feel the magic buzzing. I just need to use the wand to channel it instead. Fire, I think, focusing all my energy into the wand. Nothing happens. I don't even burn myself again. And yet I can feel the magic flowing. It's like there's something blocking the tip.

I dig out Rae's notes. I've studied the things more extensively than my school textbooks—finals are coming up, ha, ha—and I seem to remember something about conduits of power.

I find it on a loose sheet, covered with Rae's neat writing and skillful illustrations.

Conduits like wands and sceptres usually don't give the user additional power—it only seems like it. It focuses the magic and concentrates it into that narrow outlet so it seems to amplify energy. They can be used instinctively, without much instruction, unless they're specially crafted to an individual. Specialised conduits are rare, but some of these can increase power. To anyone other than the owner, the conduit will either fail to function or not function properly (think Elder Wand!). We should get you one to practice with.

Well, Mom beat Rae to it. I turn the wand over in my hand. Could it be? But Mom said she got it as a gift. Why would she give it to me if she knew I couldn't use it? I can feel it connecting with me. I have the instinctive feeling I should know how to use it. So why can't I?

A particular set of grooves in the wand jump out at me and I realise, after much peering under my desk lamp, that they're words. Carpe noctem. Like, carpe diem? But noctem—English is derived from Latin, so noctem, like nocturnal? Like night? Seize the night? That's a weird phrase—what does it mean? I should go out clubbing? That I can only use the wand at night?

Experimentally, I switch off the lights and draw the curtains. Almost immediately, the wand comes to life in my grip. I flick.

Fire blossoms. It's a tiny flame, like a match, but it's so hot it's bright white. I gaze at it licking the tip. It doesn't burn the wand. "Bigger," I whisper.

It blazes. Heat slaps my face. I gasp and shut it off, a pull in my gut. Darkness falls again.

Something shifts under my skin. Curiously, I summon light—lumos—and find the engraving's changed in the dark. It takes me a long time to figure out, but it reads faber est suae quisque fortunae. I understand fortunae; not much else.