“Where are we going?” She chokes on a breathy laugh as I bump into her back. She knows exactly where we are. Her consciousness is attuned to every branch and blade of grass on this mountain, but she’s doing a good job of playing along for my benefit.

“Just keep your eyes closed.” I pick up the pace as the hillside levels out and the boarding school comes into sight.

The soles of our shoes stick in the cold mud as I lead her to the edge of the pond. It feels like just yesterday that I was holding her hand, dragging her out on its surface, asking her to trust me, promising her I wouldn’t let her fall under as I froze the water beneath her feet.

I take my hands from her eyes. “Open them,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist.

She bites her lip with a nostalgic smile. “Are you okay?” she asks, leaning against me, her head tucked under my chin.

My grandfather’s cabin is gone. I spent the morning sitting on a boulder, staring at the black ring of ash where it had stood. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

She turns in my arms. There’s soot on her cheek and I brush it away. “We can rebuild it,” she says. “I know a few good contractors.” We laugh and I pull her into me, holding her as I watch the sun begin to dip below the trees.

“I’d like that,” I say into her hair. She smells exquisitely familiar, but different now. More than lilies, more than Spring. She’s the ancient oaks in Greenwich Park and the salt mist of the Thames. She’s the woodsmoke at my grandfather’s cabin, the creosote in the canyon, and the crashing surf in La Jolla Cove, wild and lovely, reflecting every elemental magic inside her.

“Come on,” she says, taking my hand and tugging me toward the water’s edge, a dangerous glint in the facets of her eyes.

I dig in my heels and consider pausing the timer on the world just to keep from getting wet. “Fleur, what are you doing? I can’t take you skating.”

“Who said anything about you taking me?” She steps onto the pond, raising a cocky eyebrow as the water freezes under her. She pulls me along with her, the shelf of ice growing until it’s wide enough for both of us, spreading all the way to the opposite shore until the entire pond is ours. She’s far more powerful than I ever was.

“Show-off,” I tease her, but she catches my subtle flinch. This place is full of memories. Not all of them beautiful. Most of them painful.

“We can go back,” she says, her face falling. Guilt shimmers in her eyes.