I open my mouth to admit that I didn’t do it on purpose, but why not let her think that I did? I already made an enemy—an ally might be useful. At least for now.

“You’re welcome. I didn’t really mean to scratch him up.” I’ll admit just that much. I didn’t intend to go so far.

“He deserved it,” Willow whispers.

Roman appears at her shoulder. “You need to be training.” His eyes land on me. “Both of you.”

I can’t argue. Willow gives me another little wave and then heads to her piano as I step back onto the path. I consider scoping out what everyone else is working on, but I don’t want the stares.

Xander and Aristelle are arguing in whispers that stop the second I walk up.

Neither one looks happy with me.

“Go ahead,” I say to Aristelle. “Hit me with your best shot.”

Neither cracks a smile.

Xander rubs his hands together. “It’s my turn.”

I groan. “What’d you have in mind?”

He scowls as if he doesn’t like what he’s about to say. “The magic is all about believing. The audience believes, and that feeds it, but you have to believe and feed it too. Technically, with unlimited power, what you could do with it would be limitless, but even if you had that, you’d still have to believe you could do whatever you were trying. It’s harder than it looks, which is why most of us have specialties. Things we were good at without power that the power can amplify.”

I glance at Aristelle. “Were you an arsonist in a past life? How do you have an affinity for fire?”

“I’ll tell you one day when you’re one of us.”

When you’re one of us. Maybe she believes in me after all.

I turn back to Xander. He still hasn’t told me exactly what he’s thinking. He twists his mouth up like he doesn’t want to spit it out. “Given your skill with a stake, there’s an obvious leap to make.”

“Knives?” I try to stop the smile that’s spreading across my face, because the wider it gets, the deeper Xander scowls. Of course he doesn’t want me to do knives. Roman does knives.

“You don’t have to be so excited about it,” Xander grumbles.

Aristelle taps her chin. “I actually think Roman’ll hate this.”

The corners of Xander’s mouth tip up. “You might be right.” With a flick of his wrist, he holds up two matte-black throwing knives as long as his hand. He strides toward me, flipping one and catching the blade in his palm so he can offer me the handle. “Give it a feel.”