Nothing.

It seems more like blind luck than skill unless I’m missing some clue, but I can’t stand in one spot forever. I pick a path and run. At the end it breaks into three other paths that curve off. I check each one, but they only break into more directions. It just looks like trial and error.

A wave of panic gets my feet moving, and I curve around turn after turn, heading in meaningless directions until I stop, panting. Maybe I’m missing something. Breathe, I tell myself. Think. A pinch at my ankle distracts me, and I glance down at a rose branch that has wound its way around my ankle.

“What the hell?”

It tightens, and I yelp. My fingers fumble for my knives, and I don’t bother with magic. I bend down and hack through the branch. It reaches back out for me, and I run, hissing in pain at the thorny anklet that’s still digging into me. I stop just long enough to bend down and unwind it, pricking my fingers too. I should heal myself, but I can’t focus. The hedges seem to be closing in, or maybe the roses are growing thicker, reaching out farther.

I run, turning and winding, until a puff of pink darts behind a hedge up ahead.

I recognize the shade. I was jealous of it earlier.

“Willow!” I yell.

She pops back around the corner and squeals.

I’ve never been so relieved to see another person.

She flings herself into me. I hug her and don’t hate it, which is another rare occurrence.

“Thank God!” She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. Her frothy pink dress snags on my scratchy black lace, and the material stays connected even after she lets me go.

My magic tingles with her standing next to me. Maybe that’s what this test is about—finding someone to work with.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I ask.

“Not a clue. I was just trying to get there fast.”

“Maybe we can sense it now with our magic together.”

“Worth a shot.”

I try again. My magic barely bubbles like an almost flat soda. I don’t feel any type of pull. I look to Willow, but she shakes her head.

“I guess we just start moving again.” I glance at the darkening violet sky above us. “And fast.”

We take off—probably looking like some weird prom photo shoot for a teen magazine.

We arrive at a dead end. A little stone bench with legs that curve like unwinding scrolls sits boxed in by the hedges. Red lilies grow around it, and it’s nice to see a flower that doesn’t bite. Willow plops down. “We must be missing something. Could you cut through the brush?”

I don’t get a chance to answer.