She did, sinking into the familiar meditation. Reaching for her magic, she extended it toward the lemon tree. Brandon’s magic twined through hers, a steady, supportive guide. The plant's energy sparked with recognition, welcoming her touch.
“Good,” Brandon murmured. “Now tell me about your favorite place as a child.”
That was easy enough. “There was a small clearing in the woods, beside a stream. It was very peaceful. Massive towering trees let in shafts of sunlight as easily as they did moonlight.”
“Describe it to me.”
Immersing herself in the memory, she could feel the warmth of the sun on her face and the mounds of soft moss beneath her. Hear the quiet buzz of insects and the chatter of squirrels. Only this time, it was so much better, because Brandon was there too. Laying beside her, his magic swirling with hers…
“Muriel,” Brandon said quietly. “Open your eyes.”
She did, surprised to see that three new branches hadsprouted on the lemon tree, complete with leaves and fragrant white buds.
“Those came out just in the last thirty seconds. Did you picture something particularly pleasurable?”
A blush heated her cheeks. “Uh, yes.” She couldn’t tell him she hadn’t lost the grip on her magic until he’d entered the picture.
“No worries. It takes time. Let’s try again.”
They practiced for an hour,continuing with happy memories that made her magic want to bloom outward. Then mildly annoying topics—like the time the wolves trampled her favorite patch of wildflowers or her mother’s refusal to let her attend the class field trip—that made her power want to snap and crackle. Each time, she'd lose focus, and the plants would respond. Overgrowth from happiness. Withering from irritation.
Gradually, painfully, she learned to create separation. To feel the emotion without letting it bleed into the magic.
“Better,” Brandon said as she successfully maintained a connection through a story about the family of bunnies that had gotten into the greenhouse and gnawed her lettuce, carrots, and parsley in a single night. “Much better. I think that's enough for today.”
Muriel opened her eyes, surprised to find herself exhausted. The fatigue was mental, not physical, butdraining nonetheless, even with Brandon’s magical bumper guards. “That was harder than I expected.”
“Emotional control is the most difficult aspect of any magic. But you're doing well.” He moved to the small kitchen area and returned with water. “Here. You need to stay hydrated.”
She accepted the glass, her fingers brushing his. The contact sent a spark through the bond, and she saw his eyes darken fractionally before he stepped back.
Despite his magic flowing with hers, he was careful to maintain physical distance between them. She’d appreciated it at first, but lately, she found herself wishing for his touch. Could that be attributed to the resonance? Or was her inconvenient attraction to Brandon deepening?
She didn’t know. But she was no longer convinced that all mages were inherently devious and manipulative.
Aloud, she asked, “Same time tomorrow?”
“If you're up for it.”
“Absolutely.” These training sessions, as challenging as they were, made her feel like she was taking control of her own power.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “For everything.”
Something flickered across his face but it vanished too quickly to identify. “You're welcome.”
By the fifth day,they'd moved beyond simple happiness and annoyance.
“Today we're going to work with fear,” Brandon said, and Muriel's stomach clenched.
“Do we have to?”
“Yes.” His voice was gentle but implacable. “If you find yourself in a bad situation, you can’t allow your fear free reign. You need to be able to access your magic, not have it explode outward in panic and level everything around you.”
He was right. She knew he was right. That didn't make the idea any less terrifying.
“Aren’t you worried about what I might do to your shop?”
“The shop can take care of itself, and I won't let anything bad happen to you,” he added quietly. “I promise.”