I closed my eyes and held my breath. Snow crunched underfoot, cold on my tongue when my magic reached out and found the Kid’s. The soft hint of ozone and rain drifted from the couch where Owen’s grimoire still lay open where I left it. Other magic throbbed around me the more I focused—a tinkling lullaby of a keyboard in the front window of the shop, the swooping nausea of a folded paper crane hanging above my bed, the gaping emptiness of one of Galileo’s telescopes in the attic.
