I closed my eyes, finding the strands of their magic with my mind. In my head, it looked like a tangled ball of brightly colored light. Burning reds, shining blues, rich purples, glittering yellows—fire magic. Everything has a little bit of magic in it. A rock might not be able to access its magic, but it’s there.

That’s why elementists can channel magic from their element, whether it’s rock, water, fire, air, whatever. They have an affinity with it. Trick’s magic pairs with the magic inherent in fire and he can harness that, making it bend to his will. When he’s working, he can manipulate the temperature, keep it burning longer, or channel the heat with absolute precision.

Animal mages can also manipulate that magic, though it’s not the same. One, I’m dealing with higher consciousness. While some parts of my magic are innocuous—like being able to talk to animals—I don’t reach out and grab an animal’s magic without asking. In the case of binding, I get the permission from both the witch and the creature. I make sure the creature understands what’s happening. That they’ll be gaining a master, albeit a kind one.

Some decide that the trade-off—longer, cushier life and higher intelligence—is worth it. Some would rather stay as they are.

When bonding someone to a familiar, I take strands of their magic and braid them together. It’s a weaving, done slowly over time. The first braid is simple—a few strands overlapping each other. Then I build on that, until it’s like a tapestry. It takes time and it’s exhausting for all involved, but it’s worth it.

I worked on Trick and Dammit until my hands started to shake. I was overdoing it, and I knew it. During my training I’d learned that while it was important to push myself, I also needed to recognize my limits. It was a difficult balance, because I didn’t want to fail. I wanted to be a Switch more than anything.

But I also didn’t want to let my moms down. Mama Ami, because she had put in a lot of time and energy mentoring me. And my own mother because…well, mostly for petty reasons. My mom would love me no matter what I decided to do. But her parents? They’d never quite forgiven their daughter for being born a regular human. My mom couldn’t manipulate magic. She was a mechanic, which to me seemed a lot like magic because seriously, what the fuck does a carburetor even do? My mom had tried to explain it many, many times and it always went straight out of my head.

I loved my mom. I was proud of my mom. But her parents saw her as less than useless. Their only child was a dud of a witch. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. So there was a very petty part of me that wanted to succeed where my mother couldn’t so I could rub it in their faces.

Not that I ever saw them.