Page 23 of Extraordinary Quests for Amateur Witches

Dear Ash,

I’m not sure if I’ll get around to sending that first letter I wrote you, or this one, but I suppose I just need to get a few things off my chest.

I think, maybe, it would have been better to have talked a bit more before deciding to take a break. I never even had a chance to explain that I do want to change. It feels a little unfair, if I’m being honest. If we can’t talk about these things now, how can we expect to in the future?

Anyway, that aside, I guess I just wanted to say I miss you and I hope we can talk soon. I finished the first step in my Calling, which means I’m one step closer to seeing you.

Hopefully, you’ll be able to see me, too.

Yours,

Kieran

The next few days on the ship passed in relative calm as the crew made their way toward the Mirrorveil Woods, in southern Celdwyn.

The Hilt remained tucked into Kieran’s sock drawer.

A few times, he pulled it out and examined it, doing his best to ignore the way his new lake spirit friend hissed at it.

Even just running his fingers across the gilded filigree was enough to feel the magic buzzing inside.

In a strange way, it brought him back to the moment he’d had with Sebastian when he’d been able to attune to Hattie’s invention.

He was so new to summoning his magic on purpose that the feeling of it was still novel to him.

It had been so warm and electric—a sculpture waiting to take shape, and all he had to do was mold it.

Maybe, he’d thought later as he stroked Seaweed’s head where it rested on his thigh, I should give it another shot.

The next morning, Kieran was up before the sun rose.

He figured if he was going to try using his magic, it would be best to practice before anyone else woke up and started giving him unsolicited advice.

Whenever he’d asked Delilah or Briar for help in the past, their methods of casting had always felt so specific to them.

They had their ways of doing things that worked for them, because they’d both had years and years to refine their process.

Kieran had tried their methods, sure, but nothing had worked for him.

I just have to find my own way of doing things.

He slid out of bed, Seaweed hopping off his chest, where she had fallen asleep, and squeaking with annoyance.

The spirit lingered at his feet, weaving between his legs as he dressed.

Then he grabbed his poetry notebook before heading out to the top deck, Seaweed on his heels.

The sky was just barely beginning to brighten, the clouds cottony and languid as they floated by.

A chill hung in the air, and Kieran could see his breath.

He pulled his coat tighter around him as he took a seat at a table.

Seaweed hopped up and wrapped herself around his neck like a scarf, warm against his skin.

For a spirit who had technically killed dozens of people while under the Hilt’s control, she was quite affectionate.

Kieran gave the spirit a few pats as he laid the notebook out in front of him and opened it to a blank page. Words from the page before were imprinted onto the blank space—the letter he’d written Ash last night.

Kieran found himself mindlessly tapping his pen against the page. He’d barely given any thought to how he wanted to cast if not through poetry. He’d drawn a lot as a child, but he’d never gotten very good at it. Reading and writing had always been what called to him most.

Maybe I could try writing something other than poetry.

He shivered a bit in the cold, even with Seaweed’s added body heat. What he would give for a nice fire to sit in front of.

Hmm.

Kieran pressed the pen against the page.

He thought back to his childhood, seated on a fur rug in front of a fire on the Pelumbra estate.

Warmth rose from his chest as he began to pen a description of the memory.

He wrote about the gentle popping sound the wood made as it burned and the faint vanilla scent of the smoke.

He described how the rug had felt so soft beneath him, and how his mother’s hand had gently ruffled his hair.

As he did, he noticed a faint silver glow sparking off the tip of his pen.

Seaweed chirruped excitedly at the sight.

He did his best not to let this distract him—the moment he stopped focusing on his writing and got caught up in the casting, he was sure his magic would retreat to where it lived in its well within his chest.

Just as he finished the description, a familiar voice asked, “What brings you out here so early in the morning?”

He turned to find Sebastian behind him, wearing his wool coat with a red scarf. His hair was wet, as if he’d recently stepped out of the shower.

“Oh! Um—just practicing magic.” Kieran gestured to the notebook as Sebastian closed the distance between them. Kieran continued: “Decided to give prose a chance.”

“May I?” Sebastian asked, pointing to the notebook.

Kieran immediately stiffened. What if the spell didn’t work? Worse yet, what if Sebastian thought the writing was bad? What if he’d miswritten something and it could somehow harm Sebastian? What if—?

He cut himself off, handing the notebook to Sebastian. He did his best not to tense up as Sebastian’s eyes darted across the page. You’ll never improve if you don’t open yourself up to feedback.

“Oh, wow,” Sebastian said as he finished reading. After a moment, he gently pulled the scarf from around his neck and unbuttoned his coat. “That’s lovely. I don’t even need this anymore.”

He laid the coat on the seat across from Kieran, who felt blood rush into his cheeks. “It…worked?”

“Assuming you were hoping to mimic the feeling you described here? I’d say so.” Sebastian handed the notebook back. “I like your writing style.”

Kieran felt a genuine rush of warmth at that. Ash had always been a bit critical of his poetry, so it was nice to get a compliment on his prose. Maybe I should have been focusing on that all along.

“Thanks.” Kieran tucked a gold-blond curl behind his ear. “What brings you out here so early anyway?”

Sebastian bit back a smile. “Promise not to panic?”

“Why would I—?”

Just then, Sebastian withdrew something silver from his belt, casually flipping it around his fingers with a grace Kieran hadn’t seen before. After a moment, Sebastian held his arm up, hand bent back near his ear, and launched the object into the air with a flick of his wrist.

As it hit one of the ship’s nearby supply crates with a clean thwack, Kieran realized what it was: a small silver knife.

Without thinking, he let out a squeak. Seaweed too was spooked enough by the sound that she hopped off Kieran’s shoulders and ran off before disappearing through the door. Honestly, he didn’t blame her.

“Is—is that a knife?” he asked, pointing to it, knowing full well that it was.

“Indeed.” Sebastian went to the crate he’d thrown it at.

With his coat off, he was left in short sleeves, and Kieran could see his defined muscles clench as he pried the knife free.

Oh, goodness. Then Sebastian turned and closed the distance between himself and Kieran.

For a second, Kieran’s heart rate picked up before Sebastian held the knife out to him hilt-first.

“It’s one of my throwing knives,” he said, watching as Kieran’s eyes traced the curve of the blade. “It’s an old hobby. Sometimes I practice to clear my head.”

Kieran swallowed the lump in his throat. “Your hobby is throwing knives ?”

Sebastian shrugged. “One of them, yes. My father was a bit paranoid about self-defense. I’ve never thrown one at someone, mind you. Just unsuspecting crates and trees and whatnot.”

Kieran wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn he saw Sebastian flutter his fingers as he said it. Hadn’t he done that before as well, on the deck after he stayed to chat with Lila? Was it a nervous habit?

“I could show you how,” Sebastian said, nodding to the crates, “if you like.”

Kieran weighed the knife in his hand. He’d never considered learning that type of skill.

Not that anyone had ever offered to teach him; all the self-defense or combat skills he’d seen were magic-based, like Briar’s ledrith.

It was—among witches—the more socially acceptable thing to do. Using a weapon felt taboo.

Maybe I’m being too judgmental, Kieran thought. Briar has ledrith; Sebastian has knives. It’s not like he’s going to throw one at my throat because I can’t pass him the salt fast enough at the dinner table.

Before he could think himself in circles too much, Kieran met Sebastian’s gaze and said, “Sure, why not?”

Sebastian huffed out a laugh. “Color me surprised. I didn’t take you as the sort to try something like this.”

Kieran shrugged. “I’m trying to be a little more…spontaneous these days.”

“Well, who am I to argue, then?” Sebastian gestured for Kieran to follow him. “Come on. We’ll start a little closer. Make things easier.”

Kieran bit his lip but followed, briefly glancing over his shoulder in case any other crew members were around. Briar wasn’t likely to give him any grief for something like this, but he could see Delilah and the adults doing so. The knife felt heavy in his hand.

He swallowed that feeling. I have got to stop worrying so much about this sort of thing.

Sebastian stopped about eight feet from the crates. He pivoted and said, “Copy my stance. It’s not all that different from how you throw darts, ultimately. Are you left- or right-handed?”

“Left.”

“Perfect—so put your weight on your left leg and put your right foot in front of you…”