Page 1 of Sun and Stone (Elementally Yours #5)

Who am I? Good question. I'm Perry Edison, a future wizard. Or so I thought.

Now, it's the end of the world.

"Perry, it's not the end of the world," the assessor walking with me says gently, her heels clicking on the tiles as we walk. "Don't panic."

Too late. Panic has already set in as I walk down the sterile, clinical hallways of the testing center. I can hardly focus on where I'm going, my mind racing. Is this it? Is this the end for me?

This isn't my finest moment.

For the better part of four decades, I’ve been training and studying to become a wizard. Long enough that my wide frame has become softer, and my curly blonde locks are starting to lose their natural color. Being over the hill seems horrid enough. But being over 40 with nothing to show for it? Yikes.

"Annual monitoring isn't right for you anymore," the tester says. "We need to keep a closer watch for your own safety."

"How much time do I have left?" I ask.

“Magic is hard enough to predict. I’d hate to guess without more analysis.”

"Come on, if you had to guess?"

She hesitates as we reach the exit, evaluating me. She's a plump woman with her hair piled high in a bun, wearing bright red pumps with a heel a bit too high for the office.

Aside from her depressing occupation, she’s a neat lady. We even have the same taste in heels. Of course, I liked shoes like hers back when I dabbled as a drag queen—not for the office.

The nice lady takes pity on me. "A few months, maybe less, if I'm right."

Crap. I'm getting close to the point where my magic is becoming harmful to me. Which means I either need to become a wizard as soon as possible or… lose the chance to become one altogether.

The tester puts a hand on my shoulder. "Don't get discouraged. You could become a wizard tomorrow, and you won't even have to worry about this."

Yeah. But what happens if I don't? I'm terrified to find out.

I nod mutely, stumbling out the exit while my head still spins.

When I get outside, I have second thoughts.

What if I can't keep it together? Here I am, a 43-year-old grown man about to have a meltdown on a city street in the middle of the afternoon. With so many people passing by, it’ll be so dramatic and extra. Granted, my larger-than-life personality and love of the spotlight mean I like being dramatic and extra—but only when I want the attention.

Yep, this isn't my finest moment.

To be fair, this is a disaster. Completely meltdown-worthy.

The short version is that we human casters can't handle magic's raw power on our own. Our bodies and minds suffer. We need a partnership with an element to safely practice magic. But the elements only accept those they deem worthy.

The safety methods we use while training stop being as effective around middle age. When using magic starts hurting us and we can't secure an element’s blessing, our powers can be bound for our own safety.

“Alright, stop panicking. Get it together, Perry."

Breathing in, I try to steady my nerves. It does not work. Giving in to panic, I start pacing, waving my hands near my face, and fanning myself—generally acting like a crazy person.

Snickers and laughter reach my ears as a group of teens walk past me and pile into a car. Their laughter rings in my ears. Sure, I have no way of knowing for sure what they found so hilarious. It could be me. Or a funny video. Or something that happened at school. Or me. Or a million other things. Or me.

They zoom away, going so fast I wish I could yell at them to buckle up and slow down. I really am an old man.

There are so many things outside of my control. I can't decide when my body has had enough. I can't demand my elemental test.

The only thing I can control at this moment? Whether I start sobbing on this busy street in broad daylight.

That is so not a good look for me.

Gotta get somewhere private. Stumbling forward without paying enough attention, a solid body crashes into me from the side.

Or more likely, I crash into an innocent passerby on the street.

There's a splat, and I look down. A broken waffle cone lies shattered on the concrete. Scoops of pink ice cream are splattered all over the sidewalk.

I put the pieces together. To really make the worst day of my life worse, the man I ran into held an ice cream cone—a fresh, barely-licked cone piled high with pink fluffy scoops. Our collision sent the whole thing crashing to the ground.

Oh god, I've made someone lose their ice cream.

A man with green eyes and tousled brown hair is staring at me in surprise, one hand still outstretched where the cone used to be.

For some reason, destroying the ice cream is the last straw. I burst into tears.

Alright, this isn't my finest moment.

"Oh my god," he says. "I’m so sorry."

Well, that was the last thing I expected. My eyes widen as I furiously wipe at the tears. "No, don’t apologize."

The man frowns. "But you’re upset."

"Yeah, but I ran into you." I’m the asshole here. He should be mad.

"But you’re upset," he repeats.

God, am I really so pathetic he isn’t angry and has gone right to pity?

"I knocked over your ice cream cone!"

He waves a hand dismissively. "I’ll get a new one. Strawberry isn’t even my favorite flavor."

"I can't believe I'm crying over spilled ice cream," I mutter, trying to stem the flow of tears. "This is ridiculous."

"Seriously, now I can go back and get double chocolate like I should have in the first place."

"You really don’t need to be nice to me," I mumble.

"But you're upset. What’s got you so distressed?"

"Oh, um..." Clearing my throat, I try to get a handle on myself. "Just a bad day. Don’t worry about it. Sorry about your ice cream."

"Maybe talking about it will help?" he offers with a kind smile.

I can’t help but rake my gaze over him— his dark hair, kind face, warm complexion. Those bright green eyes and a sunny smile.

No, unburdening myself to the attractive man whose ice cream I murdered will just provoke another round of hysterics.

"Nah, it’s nothing."

"Nothing or everything?"

Huh? I look at him and see he’s not watching me. His gaze falls beyond me, zeroing in on the magical testing building a few doors down.

“Were your powers bound?” he wonders.

“No, uh, not yet," I admit uncomfortably. First, I ruined his dessert, and now he's getting an up-close view of all my insecurities.

“Oh, then you’re starting on active monitoring?”

“Yeah,” I whisper.

"It’s not the end of the world."

"So I keep hearing," I snort.

"There's ordinary magic all around us," he says with a smile. "Like the kind that caused us to meet."

"Ordinary magic?" Like the power of love and friendship and puppies? I consider this for a moment and decide, "Yeah, that's bullshit."

But he just laughs, not put off by my response in the slightest. "Okay, I know it sounds like an empty cliché to make you feel better, but it's true. After all, you could have run into anyone on the street, and you hit me instead."

"Who are you?"

"Someone who knows what he's talking about."

The fetching stranger holds his palm out flat. Suddenly, a rush of intense heat emanates from his hand. I take an involuntary step back as a small flickering flame bursts into existence, dancing merrily in his cupped palm.

The little fireball grows larger, and then just as suddenly as it appeared, the flame implodes in on itself with a muted whoosh.

In its place, a shimmering cloud of golden glitter hovers in the air for a moment before it rains down and gets positively everywhere, as glitter always does.

The man wears a delighted grin as the sparkling dust explodes outward and makes us both shiny.

Now I'm a grown man on a public street, with tear tracks down my face, covered in glitter. It's… absurd.

Yet against all odds, I find myself laughing.

I'm not sure if it's ordinary magic or just the universe's twisted sense of humor, but the last thing I expected to find on my walk of shame was a wizard glitter-bombing me.

"Do you have fire magic? Are you a firebrand?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "In another life, I was studying to become a daybrand."

That makes sense. He zeroed in on my problem fast because of the testing center behind us. Of course he put it together quickly. He's been there before.

Now it seems like he isn't a wizard at all. Was he doing magic just now, or some sleight of hand? There's a faint smell of gasoline in the air. I can't tell if it comes from his little fireball or the cars passing by on the street.

Is he at the end of the line like me, his time running out, or are his powers already bound, leaving him resorting to human illusionist tricks?

I’m afraid to ask.

I'm not sure exactly what I just witnessed with the fireball and glitter, but he did perform one extraordinary feat of magic: He got me to stop freaking out.

"Neat trick. I'm Perry, by the way."

"Fynn," he introduces himself. "Look, I remember how awful this day was for me. I don't think there's anything I can say to make it easier. Let me buy you a beer or something. You could use one."

I blink in surprise. "You don’t have to do that."

"I want to," he insists, flashing me another warm smile. "Come on, there’s a place right around the corner. My treat."

Honestly, the idea of drowning my sorrows in a cold beer—or something stronger—is incredibly tempting right now.

"Okay," I agree. "Lead the way."

If I went home, I’d only panic behind closed doors. At least this way I have a distraction. Instead of worrying about my magic, I’m curious about the man I’m with.