Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(43)

I had to squint as I rose into the hayloft, because sun poured into the space from several open-air windows, bathing it in warm light that sparkled from particles of hay dust in the air. The loft was filled with neat stacks of hay bales that formed a sort of loose amphitheater—the stacks were highest near the walls tapering down to the middle of the loft, which had a wide area with no hay at all. When I stood up, Simon flipped a trapdoor closed, concealing the ladder we’d climbed beneath a plain square of wood with a ring in it. Then he climbed onto one of the midsize stacks of hay, four bales high, on the opposite side of the room. “Pick a stack and climb on,” he said, gesturing to the room.

“Is this like a psychological test?” I said suspiciously. “The size of the stack of hay I pick indicates the size of my affinity with magic or something?”

Simon laughed, a surprised, carefree sound. “Not that I know of. They’re just more comfortable than the wooden floor.”

Still a little skeptical, I chose a stack that was as tall as his, but against the opposite wall, so we were about ten feet apart, four feet off the floor. The hay sticking out of the top bale felt sharp and prickly, even through my jeans, but I could ignore it. “What are we doing up here?”

Simon shrugged. “It’s a good place for early lessons. It’s quiet, nobody ever comes up here, and with the trapdoor closed it’s fairly hard to get hurt, as long as nobody accidentally starts a fire.” He nodded toward the wall behind me, and I turned my head to see two massive fire extinguishers bolted into the wooden support. “We’ve got that set up just in case.”

“Nice,” I said, turning to face him again. “What do you want me to do?”

He folded his legs. “Sit crisscross applesauce, as my sister says, and let your hands relax where you want them. Then close your eyes.” He left his hands resting against his legs and shut his own eyes, providing an example. “Before anything else, I’m going to teach you how to sense magic.”

I mimicked his relaxed posture, letting my eyelids fall. I was still tired, so it wasn’t hard.

We stayed that way for about ten heartbeats, and then I became aware of a conscious desire to fidget. I wanted to move my legs, my arms, to climb the bales of hay and stack them in a pile that I couldn’t reach the top of. I wanted to stick my head out the open window and look around the farm, maybe do some pull-ups on the wooden ladder. My limbs wanted to move.

“Lex . . .” Simon began, and I popped open my eyes.

“Yeah?” I followed his eyes downward, and saw that my leg was jiggling. “Oh, sorry.”

“You don’t hold still much, do you?” he asked with a wry smile.

“Of course I do,” I said defensively. “In the car, in the shower, when I watch movies. All the time.”

“Uh-huh. Is that what you do for fun, watch movies?”

I shrugged. “Once in a while. When the weather’s bad, or when I get sick.”

“And the rest of the time?”

I blew out a breath. “I like being outdoors. I run and bike. Box a little. Mmm . . . hiking, rock climbing. I’m on an intramural softball team in the summer.” Intramural softball: my big nod to socialization.

“Hmm,” he said, as if I’d just revealed some great secret. “Let’s try again.”

I closed my eyes again, this time making sure I wasn’t jiggling my knee.

“Okay. Now I want you to focus on your breathing,” he said calmly. “Picture the air going into your lungs, traveling all the way down your limbs to your toes and back out again. Feel the breath as it passes through each part of you.”

It was a lot harder than it sounds. Concentrating on my breath for a moment was easy, but keeping my focus on it and not letting in any other thoughts was nearly impossible. I kept trying, although it felt like trying to dam a stream with just my hands. Finally my breathing settled into a regular, slow pace as I visualized each breath.

“Good,” Simon murmured. “Now extend your senses and feel the temperature of the room, the air on your skin.”

“Extend my senses? What does that even mean?” I grumbled, keeping my eyes closed.

“Have you ever had a minor injury or a headache?” Simon asked, his voice still low and soothing. “And you take some ibuprofen or aspirin to make the pain go away?”

“Of course. I did it this morning.”

“Well, a few minutes after you take the medicine, you focus on the place in your body where the pain was, and you sort of listen to that spot, to see if the pain’s gone yet. You sense it out, for lack of a better phrase.”

“Okay . . .”

“Now do that with your skin. Sense what your skin is feeling, and then extend those senses farther to feel the air in the room.”

That made more sense to me, and I tried to do as he asked. But after a few seconds I lost my focus, and images began to click through my brain—a slide show of my life, mostly my life in the army. I’d seen it many times before. When I’d first gotten home, I’d seen it every time I blinked.

Abruptly, I opened my eyes and scrambled off the bale of hay. I stalked across the open floor to another stack and climbed on, not pausing until I reached the open window above the top bale. I leaned out and took a deep breath. When I turned around, Simon hadn’t moved except to open his eyes. He was watching me calmly. “What are we doing?” I demanded. “This can’t be magic.”