Casting Flames

Chapter One

The air is fierce and unforgiving, frost seeping into my blood like the infection killing my little sister. It doesn't matter what mom believes. If I don't do this, Ella will die. And I won't let that happen. I can't.

My fur coat is heavy from the pockets stuffed full of ingredients, small jars, and little vials. As I trudge through the forest in the dark, my feet crunch against the frozen ground. There are no animals howling. No owls hooting. The only other sounds I hear are dead leaves and dry branches scraping together, cheering in the whistling wind.

My face burns from the cold as I step from the tree line towards the tiny cottage I call home, and I take note of the candlelight in the window. If I'm lucky, my mom and step-father, Aaron will be asleep. If I'm unlucky, I'll have to hide where I've just gone and what I'm planning to do.

The door opens with an earth shattering creak, the heat from the fireplace in the living room reaching for me with welcoming arms. I gravitate towards the  warmth and light, carefully shutting the door behind me. Mom and Aaron do not storm into the living room to lecture me, and I'm silently relieved.

I plop down in front of the fire, pulling off the brown and grey gloves. I toss them aside and warm my hands first, closing my eyes and inhaling the smoldering air. I thaw quickly, and get to work.

In the kitchen, I begin my preparations. Carefully and quietly, I set each jar and vial on the wooden countertops and find a bowl to begin mixing. Although I have memorized every word and every word in the old, worn book with brown bindings; I double and triple check the directions. Dropping each ingredient in, mixing and mashing, cutting and pinching; I begin to feel the weight of several sleepless nights rain down on me. My eyes grow heavy, my body moving as if in slow motion. All that keeps me going are the words replaying in my mind from earlier, when the doctor came to visit Ella.

"I'm sorry to say this, but she may only have a few days to live."

It was that moment that I decided to do this. It was that moment that my life no longer mattered. All I could do was think about my next move—what I needed to do to save her. I just hope I don't kill myself in the process.

I read the last lines of the potion recipe one last time and then take the kitchen knife to my palm. With a deep breath, I press the blade hard against my skin and slice it open.

I'm surprised by how much it hurts. I've taken punches to the face and kicks to the ribs, but a little cut still manages to make me hiss in pain.

Beads of red begin to form a thin line over my palm. The blood pools and begin to drip in one direction, and I tilt my hand to let the blood slide into the bowl. It hits the mashed up leaves and roots mixed in juices and water, and my heart begins to beat hard in my chest.

I've dreamed about this moment for hundreds of hours. I've imagined how'd it feel for so long, I can't believe I'm actually doing it.

It's dangerous to be a Caster. It's always been dangerous. For centuries, humans had called them witches and wizards, said they were evil and burned them alive. But after the world begin to fall apart and the Casters that humans hated so much stepped from the shadows and healed the dying planet, humans began to learn more about them.

About us.

I am one of them, even if I've never been able to use my magic. The Casters saved humans from destroying the planet with their wars and
pollution, and it was the closest they ever came to being at peace with each other. But the Casters
turned on them. They had to take control. They had to say humans were unfit to rule themselves.

And so, humans made magic illegal. If anyone ever finds out about what I'm about to do, they'll send me to prison, or maybe even kill me. But it doesn't matter. I can't think about that now.