My eyes widen with appreciation. “It’s beautiful.” I reach out and try to catch the fading light. “What is it exactly?”

“Ha’i?” She shrugs. “Life force. Creative energy.”

“Yeah, sure, but what does that actually mean? Everyone has ‘life force,’ so what’s different about a Sire?” Maybe if I can understand this more tangibly, I’ll be able to conduct on demand.

Hypatia looks thoughtful. She runs her tongue over her teeth, then says, “Well, Ha’i is everywhere, and most people just move it around. But Sires create new Ha’i inside their bodies and then conduct it outward.” She swishes her hand as if she’s conducting an orchestra, making more of the lovely lights. “Any person can cultivate potential energy, but a Sire can make it from nothing.”

“Is there a way for someone who is not a Sire to create Ha’i?” I ask, thinking of the device, or whatever it is, that Kor wants me to find.

Hypatia shakes her head. But she’s only an apprentice; maybe she just doesn’t know about it yet.

I try copying her hand motion, but no lights appear.

“Let me show you how,” she says.

We sit together in the empty classroom. She’s a good teacher, and soon I can make the sparks about one in three times that I try, so I’m feeling a lot better about myself. But my old instinct to want to suppress any sign of my abilities keeps clouding my head.

“You’ve got a pigeon,” Hypatia says, and I turn to see a fluttering golem hovering over my shoulder. I pluck it out of the air, unfold it, and read the handwritten message inside.

Please come see me in my office at your convenience. Pigeon will lead the way. —M. Loew

I do my best to ignore the jump in my pulse. To Hypatia, I say, “I have to go.”

“Okay. I expect you to practice, and we’ll have another lesson tomorrow after Ha’i class,” she instructs.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, my lips curving upward. And after a helpless look down at my hands, I add, “But first, can you help me refold this pigeon?”

I follow the pigeon through the Spring wing to a doorway at the end of a bright hallway that smells like honeysuckles. I pause to pull my hair out of its messy bun, finger combing the long waves and biting my lips to give them some color.

None of this is because I care how I look for Michael, of course. I’m just aware that I’m coming from a class that involved a lot of physical activity, and I want to look put together when meeting with a faculty member.