I zip my jacket back up, trying to relax my loaded sleeve like nothing is there—like I’m a real magician and it’s disappeared into my skin. But it itches like hell. I want to crinkle my nose, but I don’t.

Aristelle wouldn’t give me any sympathy.

“Now pull it back out and make more.”

My mouth gapes. It’s not like I haven’t seen this trick before—magicians pulling endless streams of knotted silk scarves from their sleeves, mouths, and other orifices, looking like they’ve just gotten done shoplifting every silk nightgown from a lingerie shop. It’s not a hard trick to figure out. But this isn’t a trick. I don’t have a second stash of lace. Even my damn underwear is cotton. I need to make more lace from nothing. They’re expecting me to do what that other girl was doing. How in the world am I supposed to believe I can do that?

They both wait expectantly.

“Just do it,” Aristelle says.

“How?”

Aristelle huffs and waves an impatient hand at my sleeve. I glance at Xander, and he gives me a single nod.

I pinch the tip of the fabric and yank it, trying to believe I have the whole Victoria’s Secret catalogue stashed in my hoodie. The other end flops out and hits the muted-red cement pavers.

Silence.

I laugh, the noise loud and angry. “That was fun.”

“Shut up.” Aristelle cuts me short. “Next test. Believe you can catch fire.”

“Wait… what?”

I see the wicked curve of Aristelle’s lips a moment too late.

An orange glow bursts to life in her palms and then hits me, sliding up and over the arm of my jacket, turning it to flame.

I scream and stumble back.

“Control it,” she yells.

Another glowing ball forms in her hands. My arm grows hotter, even though it only seems to be dancing on the surface of my clothing. My other arm ignites, the flames never touching skin. Sweat beads on my face. My skin will blister. It’s like leaning too close to the bonfire as a kid, staying there even when it feels like you’re moments away from combusting and joining the flames—all for the perfect marshmallow.

But I’m not burning. My magic buzzes in me like a fire alarm. I’m choking on the heat, but I’m not burning.

I hold my arms out from my sides. “Put it out!” I yell.

“Control it,” Aristelle says again. Another ball rolls in her palm.

“I can’t.” I sputter on the smoke.

She throws the other ball of flame at my head. I duck, and it erupts above me, floating into pieces of ash that turn to water as they fall. The drops lick away the fire from my sleeves.