Eventually I slow along a curtain of ivy, the sound of rushing water rustling behind it. Wind chimes jingle softly in the wind, sounding as forlorn as I feel. I follow the curving path into an alcove of plants and drop onto the stone bench beside the pond, feeling as though I might cry.

Kara’s always been a bit of a jerk, but in this case, she’s right. My powers are useless, I am scared of them, and as much as I don’t want it to be true, I even feel a little jealous of Colin.

Okay, a lot jealous.

All my life I’ve wanted what he practically tripped and fell into, and I’m starting to think, no matter what I do, I’ll never get it. Not with Colin and his magic overshadowing everything, not with my entire family involved now.

What do they need my powers for? What can I do that the rest of them can’t?

Kara’s right: Colin belongs here more than I ever will.

The plants whisper, sliding closer together and sealing off the alcove. A moment later I hear the crunch of gravel, and Colin’s worried voice calling, “Anna? Anna, are you up here?”

“It’s okay,” I tell the house. “He can come in.”

The flowers retreat, revealing the opening to the alcove just as Colin curves around the path. The smile on his face only makes me feel guilty.

“There you are.” He joins me on the bench. “I’m pretty sure the house was taking me in circles. I’m starting to think it doesn’t like me”

“It thinks you’re friends with Max,” I grumble.

“Is that bad?”

“There is no greater offense in this world or the next.”

Colin actually looks worried, so I tack on a smile, but there’s really no telling whether the house will get past its grudge. It’s always liked me, so it doesn’t care that Max and I get along, too, but it’s never been known to be a forgiving structure.

“Are you okay?” Colin asks, making me realize I’ve been smiling awkwardly at a rosebush for the last minute.

My reflex is to say yes, but he’s looking at me with such an open, earnest expression that it would feel like lying. Because I’m not okay.

“I’m useless.” I play with the strings on my sweatshirt. “Everyone else in my family can use their power to do something for the inn, and I can’t.”

It sounds petty saying it out loud, and I go back to staring at the bush. He’ll probably tell me it doesn’t matter, that I’m overreacting. Everyone else does. But as I look up at him, he faces me and waits. Listening.