My breathing flows in and out of me as consistent as the ocean waves. I can do this. Both Roman and Xander trained with me yesterday after Roman and I got back, or rather, they argued about what would have the most impact on the audience. I ended up making the final call, a balance between their two styles. I will start with flash and end with power.

The orb hangs above the audience. I almost wish I didn’t know it was there, collecting the votes as I perform. Swallowing, I raise my hands from my sides, palms up. On cue, Willow and Nadine each pick up a knife from the tables beside them and toss the blades toward me. The magic burning in my palms calls the knives like magnets. Easy. I keep my face grim though as I send them into the air.

Willow and Nadine toss a second set, a third.

My hands fly as I toss and catch, toss and catch. My breaths come short and shallow, and I have to focus on dragging each one down to my stomach and back. Breathing right is the first step to accuracy. I need to be accurate, more than anything else in this.

The only thing I’m missing now is fire. Aristelle coated the tips of all my knives in a clear gel. The fumes from it burn my nose. I don’t need to be able to sustain fire the way she can. I only need to light it. The magic’s the same magic for all of us. It’s only a matter of practice and natural talent. And if you want something badly enough, it will work. I explained it the same way when they all balked at my plan. But they couldn’t deny that it is what they taught me.

My fingers already throb from it. I push them to the point of aching. Sweat beads on my temples. Light. I let the word slip from my mouth, soft and unnoticeable.

Nothing.

The knives move faster, higher, responding to the magic in my fingers.

The magic sings to the metal. I need to change the tune the same way Willow changes the magic with hers. The song I sing now is hard, sleek, and deadly. I need to weave it with fluid heat. I draw images of burning trees and campfires into my mind, but I still struggle to create the song of them. I don’t know it.

I’m supposed to give up if I can’t do it, move on to my next trick.

I promised.

I make the mistake of looking into the audience. Some watch the high arc of my knives, but some look away already.