chapter 147

Sable

The next afternoon, I stand in front of a card table we’ve unfolded in the street with half a pound of shattered glass on the ground at my feet.

I suck at this.

I’ve been at it non-stop for more than a day—minus the roughly six hours I managed to sleep last night. No matter how hard I push myself, I just can’t seem to get past my own mental blocks. I’m getting nowhere.

For what feels like the sixth hundredth time, I trace a sigil in the air, and the empty glass soda bottle on the table shudders before lifting ever-so-slightly off the tabletop. I focus on that dark glass and reach for my magic to channel more of it into the spell, but it feels wispy and out of reach.

Lifting this soda bottle only two inches feels like I’m lifting a boulder off a damn mountain. I could lift it with my hand for a fraction of the effort it takes to do this.

Frustrated, I release the bottle and watch as it slams back into the table. It swivels a few times and almost falls over, but manages to stay up