Slowly she began to relax. It felt surprisingly like being at home, with the conversation flowing around her—​it was more like an embrace than an attack. They were excited she was here. She was introduced to more kids and their beasts. She greeted them with a hello that was far too quiet for anyone to hear, but no one seemed to mind.

And after a few minutes, she realized she didn’t have to fake the smile anymore. They seemed to like that she was at their table, especially Ferro and Zek, who were proclaiming they wanted her and Jyx on their relay team from now on. “We want more of your ideas!” Zek said.

“Yeah, you have new ideas,” Ferro said.

Zek jabbed a thumb toward Ferro. “Ferro here hasn’t had a new idea since he was two.”

Ferro nodded with fake solemnity. “I was a brilliant toddler. Sadly, it’s been all downhill since then.”

They continued teasing each other.

Eventually there was a tiny break in the babble. Just a breath. But Mina had been listening for it, and when it came, she spoke. “I saw on the board outside: There’s a thunderstorm scheduled.”

Jyx shrieked and leaped up. “Thunderstorm!”

Ferro and Zek high-fived.

Hearing Jyx, everyone erupted into shouting, running, and climbing over tables. The teachers began shouting too, ordering everyone to calm down, stop running, and for goodness’ sake don’t walk over tables—​and watch out for the food! Pitchers were knocked onto the floor, spilling water and juice everywhere. Several textbooks were trampled. Plates fell—​the crash of breaking pottery was barely audible over the chatter and shrieks of the excited students.

And then Pixit was there, bounding across the tables, calling her name. «Mina!» She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his feathery scales. Throwing one leg over his back, she slid onto him. She felt his wings pump beneath her, and they were rising up toward the chandeliers of the dining hall—​and then out through one of the broad open windows.

Blissful silence. Just the wind, Pixit’s wing beats, and her heart thudding like a drum.

That was . . . loud.

«They are excited. Our first thunderstorm! Aren’t you excited, Mina?»

Yes, of course, but . . . I still can’t hold bolts, and you still can’t transfer electricity to me. He was able to store it—​they’d proved that when he’d absorbed the bolt during that first relay match—​but a real lightning guardian needed to be able to draw the electricity out of her beast and then send it wherever it needed to go, usually to a lightning rod that led to a power line.