The Nature of Witches by Rachel Griffin

Author:Rachel Griffin [Griffin, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781728229423
Google: JJa0zQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1728229421
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2021-05-31T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

“There will come a time when you believe you no longer need to be challenged. And when that time comes, you’ll be wrong.”

—A Season for Everything

Sang is standing on the control field when I arrive for our last training session of the season. His stance is rigid, and he doesn’t smile when he sees me.

He’s still mad.

There’s a large, dark rain cloud hovering next to him, and I assume we’ll be working on hail or sleet. But he doesn’t say anything.

With one swift motion, he shoves the cloud at me, hard, and the energy from it knocks me back.

“What the hell?”

He shoves the cloud again.

“Seriously, Sang, what is wrong with you?”

“You’re not the only one who can pick a fight,” he says. “Or did you think that was a talent only you had?”

Now I’m angry. “Wow, get over yourself.” I shove the cloud as hard as I can back in his direction.

He’s expecting it, though, and he stays where he is. He closes his eyes and fills the cloud even more, this huge, dark presence between us.

This time, he throws the cloud over my head, and before I have time to move, he squeezes his hand. The cloud bursts, and I’m drenched in rain.

I stalk over to him and shove him hard on the shoulder. He stumbles back.

“Use your magic,” he says. His voice is low but rough, and it causes a weird sensation deep in my core.

I yell in frustration. As quickly as I can, I pull moisture from the snow-covered grass until a thunderstorm cloud sits heavy in front of me. It takes just seconds. Winters aren’t as capable with thunderstorms, but I can control a small one.

Besides, I’m not using it for thunder or lightning.

I send an intense current of air straight up into the storm, pushing droplets of water into the coldest part until they freeze. Hailstones form, dozens of them, and I let the storm take over. The hailstones descend into warmer air, gather more water, then lift and freeze again, over and over, until the updraft of air can no longer support their weight.

I throw the storm at Sang at the exact moment hail starts to drop. The hailstones are larger than I intended, and one after another, they pelt him in the face. He jumps out of the way and covers his head with his hands, but it’s too late. There’s a huge gash on his lip, bright red with blood, and another cut on his forehead.

“Sang, I’m sorry—” I start, but before I can get to him, a small tornado, no larger than a person, slams into me.

If it were spring, Sang never could have done that safely. His magic would be too strong, and the tornado would be too powerful. Lucky for me, it’s winter.

Still, it’s enough to knock me off my feet. I hit the snow, and my whole body gets hot with anger. I push myself to standing. With shaking hands, I form a tiny snowball, then roll it onto the ground.

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