I wrap my hand around the cold metal and take it. I do like the weight of it, the security in holding something sharp enough to wound. It’s the same feeling as carrying a stake.

He points at the trunk of the cherry tree just ten feet away. “Try to hit it.”

Xander slides up behind me in a way that makes my breath hitch, even though I try to hide it. His right arm curves around mine as he adjusts my grip on the knife. His fingers are warm. “You can do this,” he whispers. My blood whispers in answer.

“Okay, just throw it already,” Aristelle says.

I can’t see the look Xander must give her, but she rolls her eyes.

Xander shifts to stand beside me, and they wait.

I throw one and then the other.

They both limp out of my hand half-heartedly, falling short and skidding across the cement until they hit the base of the tree with weak thuds.

I shrug like none of this matters, but I spare a quick glance for Xander, who’s hanging his head and examining a crack at his feet.

Aristelle sighs, shaking her head so that her dark ringlets bob around her face. “You need to believe in yourself first or the magic will never obey you.”

Easier said than done. The only person who’s ever believed in me is Parker, and I believed in my ability to protect him because there was no other option. But I never believed my life would amount to anything beyond survival.

She looks to Xander. “Help her.”

He comes up behind me again, just a hair away from touching me as he leans close to my ear. “I believe in you, Ava.”

I shiver. The whisper under my skin picks up until it’s a rushing song of power.

They’re metal. I’ve been manipulating metal all my life. These are just bigger and sharper chunks, but I’ve got strong and careful fingers.

Xander rests a hand on my shoulder, so light I can barely feel it, but it’s there.

I jump as two knives reappear in my palms, and I don’t know if Xander or Aristelle summoned them, but it wasn’t me. Regardless, my fingers close against the cool metal on instinct. Only this time they don’t feel cold and foreign. My palms seem to melt into them, giving blood and life to the metal until they feel hotter than my own skin. I give a little yelp of surprise, and Xander squeezes my shoulder.

Aristelle remains stoic. “Try again,” she commands.

I jolt as my knives pull in my palm, angling toward her, reading my darkest thoughts and longing to obey.

I grip them harder, taming the heat in them.

Aristelle draws her brows together in a frown. She notices everything. Then her lips curve like burning paper. “I don’t think you can do it,” she says.