Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(44)

“Technically, this is meditation,” Simon said easily. “I needed to know how well you could concentrate.”

I looked away. “Not very well.”

“Then we’ll try something else,” he said levelly. “Sit down, please.”

Reluctantly, I abandoned the breeze and returned to my original seat.

“This time, I just want you to listen,” Simon coaxed. “Close your eyes and make a list of everything you hear.”

Okay, that I could do. I strained to hear something. There was the sound of an engine in the distance, maybe a tractor or a riding lawnmower. I could hear a few bird calls through the open window, too. And something else. Off in the corner, I heard the tiniest rustle of hay. “I think you have mice,” I said, my eyes still closed.

“We do.”

“Is that what you wanted me to listen for?” I asked, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. What do you want me to do? This was for Charlie, after all. He just needed to name something and I’d do it.

“Sort of. Concentrate on the mice, the same way you concentrated on your body. Focus on the sound.”

So I closed my eyes again and concentrated on the corner of the room where I’d heard the hay move. With great effort, I tried to focus my attention on that spot.

Just as my concentration started to slip, I felt something: a tiny living spark, smaller than a grain of rice. There was a sort of color to it—a pretty, glowing blue. I let out a tiny gasp and opened my eyes, losing it.

Simon was looking right at me, and I knew that however different our talents might be, he could feel it too. “What was that?” I asked wondrously.

He gave me a small smile. “You were sensing magic. Some people call it the soul, or the spark of life. People perceive it differently—your brain finds a way to interpret it that makes sense to you. For me magic is . . . mmm . . . sort of a density in the air. Lily envisions a third eye she can switch on and off. Whatever works for you. Can you do it again?”

I closed my eyes again and extended my senses, as Simon had instructed. This time it was easier to find the spark, because I knew what I was looking for. I concentrated on it, on the blue almost-glow that emitted from the mouse. In Iraq I’d looked through thermal imaging goggles a few times; this felt a lot like that. A sea of darkness interrupted by a bright flash of warmth.

“It’s like heat-sensing goggles,” I said softly, without opening my eyes.

“Good,” Simon encouraged. “Now push out farther. Find the rest of them.”

I tried to extend the area of my senses, but it got spread too thin, and I lost the first spark. I went back to it and started again, thinking again of the heat-sensing goggles. This time, instead of concentrating on the first spark and expanding in all directions, I moved it, like a flashlight beam in the dark. I pointed the beam of my attention toward the same spot and tried to push past it. I found that first rice grain of life again, then another behind it. And another.

A moment later my beam reached the back of the loft and abruptly flared and expanded. Suddenly there was a huge flash of magic, blinding in its radiance. My eyes flew open, and I lost my grip on the beam.

“That was me,” Simon said calmly. “You sensed my life force.”

“You could feel that?”

He shook his head, bemused. “No, just a logical guess.”

I shook my head, standing up and hopping off the bale of hay so I could pace across the expanse of clear wooden floor. I was totally unnerved. “I don’t like this. I don’t think . . . Mice are one thing, but I shouldn’t be able to feel other people’s life forces. It’s . . . invasive.”

“It didn’t feel invasive, though, did it?” Simon asked mildly.

I paused, considering. “No,” I admitted. “It felt . . . fantastic.” I went back to pacing, but I could feel his eyes on me.

“Let’s do it again,” he suggested.

So we did. For the next two hours, I concentrated on the sparks of life in the barn. Simon taught me how to ignore the blaze of his own soul and focus on the mice, until I knew that there were exactly twelve of them in the barn, six were babies, and their nest was seven inches left of the exact intersection of the two walls, underneath the hay. With my eyes closed, I “felt” them inside my head, each mouse represented as a tiny speck that sort of glowed softly, moving as the mouse moved. It was eerie. And completely fascinating.

After two hours my stomach growled, and I opened my eyes to see Simon checking his watch. “We need to wrap this up soon,” he told me, a little regretful. I remembered that it was Friday, and some people actually had to work regular jobs today.

I nodded. I was a little tired, but exhilarated. “That’s amazing,” I said happily. “When you guys talked about learning magic I thought I was going to have to memorize Latin or something.” I could see how being able to sense life could be useful, especially in a combat-type situation.

But Simon smiled ruefully. “Technically,” he pointed out, “you’re not actually doing any magic yet. I’ve just been helping you sense the magic that’s out there for you to manipulate.”

My glee dissipated a bit. “Right,” I said.

“I want to do one more thing before we call it a day,” he said, and his voice was suddenly . . . grim. He leaned forward so he could reach into his back pocket and pulled out a leather gardening glove. “Hang on a second,” he told me. I watched him get up and go over to the bale of hay above the mice’s nest, flipping it forward like you’d flip a stone to dig up earthworms. There was a quick rustle of movement and a bit of squeaking as he leaned over and rummaged through the hay.