Chevelle was still holding me when I woke in the late morning and I wondered if he’d slept at all. I was cradled in his arms as if a small child. I reached a hand up to rub my bleary eyes and as I glanced up at him, it struck me how close we were. My hand dropped from my face and fell lazily against his chest. That didn’t help. Heat rose in my neck when I felt the muscle beneath his shirt. I looked away but he must have thought I was searching for Junnie.
“She left just after dawn, when she knew you were… safe.”
“Oh,” I gushed. Great, we are alone in the middle of nowhere and I’m sitting in his lap. I flushed at the thought and hastily stood and straightened out my clothes. He sat and watched me as I fidgeted. “Um, so I guess we should get going?” I stammered.
“No.”
My breath caught and I forced myself to look at him, still uncomfortable from the closeness that had perverted my thoughts. He has no idea what you’re thinking. It’s the farthest thing from his mind. I must have been imagining the way he was studying me as he sat, casually leaning against the downed tree. “No?” My voice was shaking slightly.
“Magic first.”
That wasn’t exactly a relief. He saw my anxiety and I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t enjoying it. He just remained sitting there. “What should I do?”
A sly grin crossed his face and he rolled his hand out in front of him. “You are only limited by your imagination, Freya.”
Oh great, so if I screw it up it’s just a problem with my mind. I thought about what Steed had said, feeling it, thinking about what you wanted to happen. What did I want to happen? I caught myself as my thoughts spiraled out of control and concentrated on finding something small. A tiny pebble lay on the ground at my feet. I focused on it hard, willing it to rise off the ground. Nothing happened and I looked at Chevelle, mostly to see his reaction. He sat watching me, his serene mask back in place. “Do you need motivation?”
I was afraid of the kind of motivation he’d provide, remembering the fireballs flying at me in the meadow. “No,” I answered too quickly, and he laughed. I squatted to get closer to the gray rock. I thought I saw it move a little, as if trembling in fright, and the notion made me laugh.
Chevelle stood. “You’re trying too hard, Freya. Let us play a game.” He held out his hand and a stone flew up from the ground and landed in the center of his open palm. He closed his hand around it and when he opened it a moment later, the stone was floating a half inch above his palm, slick black and shaped to form a tiny hawk sculpture.
“It’s beautiful,” I said as I reached out to touch it, taking a step forward.
He held up his other hand up to stop me. “Take it.”
I wanted to hold the trinket; I reached my hand forward and concentrated on moving it from his palm to mine. It floated shakily across the space between us and landed in my hand, which seemed so odd at first I thought Chevelle must have moved it. I squeezed it as if to verify that it were real and then opened my hand up to examine it closer, only to find it was the dull gray rock again. Disappointment filled my face as I looked back at him. He tilted his head toward my hand and I understood; I would have to make the sculpture myself. I closed my hand around the stone, mostly because I had seen him do the same, and instantly I knew what I wanted to see. I opened my palm up, grinning triumphantly, and exposed my creation for Chevelle to see. Balancing on my palm was a slightly misshapen but undeniable sculpture of a small black horse. Chevelle rolled his eyes.
Still smiling, I looked back to the stone but it had returned to its boring round shape. Chevelle answered my unspoken question. “Yes, it’s… tricky.” He smiled a little at using Steed’s word. “You can’t change something’s makeup but you can change the way it appears. You can move it. You can stop someone’s heart but you can’t make them feel happy about it.”
He hesitated after that last part, contemplating, and then continued, “You can manipulate the elements, move water, draw it from the ground but you cannot easily make it appear from nothing… though you can usually collect enough moisture from the air.”
He was almost thinking out loud now. “Fire is easier. It spreads so fast, burning. You can pull a small spark from anywhere and create a large, forceful flame, fueled by the air and…” He trailed off as I leaned closer to him, listening intently. He was looking into my eyes.
He blinked and shook his head. “Let’s keep working.”
He stepped a few paces away as he spoke. “You’ll need to think clearly and stay calm. The best fighters are the best thinkers.”
“Fighters?” I asked, confused.
He shook his head again, as if clearing it. There was a long pause as I waited for his answer. “I’d like you to practice… just for protection.”