my head into my hands, wanting to rip every strand of hair out. The man was more stubborn than a mule. Dragging in a few deep breaths, I tried to regain my composure before going in for the kill again.
He leaned back, resting an arm along the back of the couch as he waited for what I was going to say.
He wasn’t going to believe me. He never believed me. He was always right and he knew best. Still, maybe one of these times he’d finally see some sense.
“As flattering as it is that you think I’m capable of this”—I waved a hand over the papers that were already giving me palpitations—“I’m not the person you think. I’m not capable of what you believe, and the sooner you come to grips with that, the better we both will be.”
He nodded slowly. “And the other night?”
“It was a one-off fluke.”
“No.”
He leaned forward, piling up the papers he’d spread out. He’d said no, though. Was “no” some sort of backward agreement? Had he meant “no, you can’t do it,” and he agreed with me? Or was he seeing the light?
My answer came quickly as he moved the papers, brought a book over to the table, and placed it on the center.
“We’re going to try things a little differently this time. Instead of trying to move the book, you need to focus on clearing the table. I don’t even want you to think about the book. I want you to focus on not letting anything touch the table.”
This was never going to end. I’d never get back to Salem because Hawk would never believe I couldn’t do what he needed. Instead of finding someone who could, we’d all die of old age as I wasted my life trying to fling a book across the table.
“Tippi, clear the table,” he said, dragging me back to the wretched night ahead.
I leaned back, resting somewhat, since this would be another long night and I’d need to preserve my energy. These sessions wiped me out, and this would be a long one judging by the look of determination on his face.
“Okay. You want me to clear the table? I’ll try to clear the table.” I raised my hand—
“No. That’s an offensive gesture. Just concentrate on the table.”
I put my hands on my lap and focused on the table, like he said. The table. Solely on the table. The table wanted to be left alone.
The book flew off the table and dented the wall, like it had been shot out of a gun, leaving a small crater in its wake as it dropped to the floor.
My jaw dropped. Hawk was smiling.
I lifted a finger toward the dent. “Did you…”
He shook his head. “That was all you.”
“How did that happen?”
I wasn’t sure if he was happy because I’d done it or because I’d proven him right. I didn’t care. I had done it.
“You’re a Protectorate. Your magic doesn’t work offensively. It works defensively. Knowing you, I should’ve realized it sooner.”
He should’ve? Why? I might’ve asked him if he wasn’t already on the move.
“Let’s try this.” He walked over to the fireplace, placing his hand by the heat. The flames disappeared. “I want you to concentrate on warming the room. You need to think of the thing you’re helping, not hurting.”
I walked over to the fire, thinking of how nice it would be to light the fire in my room. Heat the water.
I didn’t focus on the logs but the chill in the air. Warm the room.
The fire blazed to life. I reached out my hands to feel the heat, having a hard time believing that I’d made it. Hawk moved closer, standing right behind me, and I found myself drawn more to his heat.
“You can do this spell, Tippi. I know you can,” he said quietly.
For the first time since I’d come here, I wondered if maybe he was right. Maybe I could.
34
“The green papers are dollars, and that’s how you buy things?” Rabbit was sitting cross-legged on the couch next to me with a pad and pencil, wrinkles partitioning her forehead.
“Yes.” I drew a star on my pad, which was shorthand for needed more work. I’d tried to keep it to the basics, but the list was still daunting, especially with all the stars spread out on the page.
Zab, who’d decided to organize the already organized books, was trying to glance over my shoulder. Musso was across the room, drinking his fourth cup of tea. It was a