A slender hand closes around my wrist, pressing fingers against my throbbing pulse. Reina’s curtain of black hair brushes against my bare arm as she stands next to me.

“Breathe,” she whispers. Everything about her is soft—a cloud to smother my anger.

My pulse backs down, letting go of some of the hurt pushing it.

I turn and meet her round eyes. They crinkle at the corners as her face breaks into a proud smile. She turns from a cloud to the sun in seconds. While Aristelle clearly makes the decisions, Reina is the true center of the group, giving us all just what we need. For me, it’s open smiles with nothing hiding behind them.

Everyone goes to her from time to time to soak in her warmth.

“Diantha,” she calls. She lets go of my wrist and turns from me.

My time in the sun is up as Diantha rises from her bench. She hesitates, running her hands down her green capri pants, looking only at Reina. I can’t see whatever look Reina gives her, but it’s enough. Her arms relax by her sides as she comes to stand by the pillar.

Diantha closes her eyes. Sparkling white shadow and green liner flash against the fog. It’s thicker today. I can practically taste the magic in it.

Diantha starts to hum a low, sweet lullaby, swaying back and forth so slightly I almost don’t notice the movement. She always looks ready for the stage, but she’s the only one I’ve never seen perform.

Nothing seems to happen at first, but then a slender green vine sprouts from the base of the tree, twining slowing around the trunk, thickening as it grows, stretching upward as if it longs to wind together with her song. When it reaches eye level, the humming intensifies and then breaks off as a drooping red lily erupts from the tip.

I clap for her. Reina beams and laces her fingers into Diantha’s, squeezing softly. Diantha brushes her black hair behind her shoulders, shifting her feet.

“Why don’t you do that for the show?” Surely the crowd would love this.

Reina stills beside me as Diantha’s smile fades. Her eyes dim despite the bursts of color around them.

“She’s too good,” Aristelle says. “Without the possibility of a rational explanation, belief turns to fear. It ruins the magic.”

Reina nods. Diantha just dips her head and moves back to her seat. I try not to stare at her as she does.

Reina waves my attention back to the flower. “Sever it from the stem,” she commands, stepping back to her seat, leaving me the sole performer.