“Tell me what you know of magic, Klóe.”

I sit up straight in my chair and look into Grand Miss Sinmaryil’s honey-yellow eyes.  After half an hour of vocal fundamentals, and weeks of waiting even before that, I can finally start unlocking mystical secrets!  

I push my glasses up my nose and try to hide the flutter in my stomach.  “Magic is the practice of any of six disciplines, in isolation or in tandem, which allows its practitioner to affect the physical world or mental spaces through paraphysical or interplanar means.  References to magic as ‘supernatural’ are not strictly—”

Grand Miss Sinmaryil nods.  “I hear you have read extensively on the matter.  I am also certain you understand that a voracious eater may not recreate a delicious meal, or that an avid reader may not produce a coherent story.  Correct?”

My mouth snaps shut. I gulp.  I’m not sure if I should be insulted by her statement, but I nod anyway.

Grand Miss Sinmaryil looks down to the piano between us.  Silence fills the room.  It used to be a small library – old bookkeeping records, I think – but Daddy happily rearranged it and bought a baby grand piano when Angelo first showed an interest in music.  Angelo didn’t stick with it for long.  Mimi and I put it to a lot of use since then, to Daddy’s relief.  

Grand Miss Sinmrayil blinks, then looks back at me.  “Will you allow me to put forth the question differently?”

Would I allow her?

“Y-Yes, of course.  Please.”

She waits for a silent moment.  “Tell me what you believe of magic, Klóe.”

I hesitate.  “Magic…”  

I pause before I start spouting more knowledge gained from different sources.  That, clearly, is not the kind of answer my teacher wants from me.  But I’ve been reading books and essays and articles about practical magic since I was seven.  Daddy and Mimi even went with me to a providention lecture for my last birthday.  If I separate all of that from my answer, what would I even have left?  

A latch clicks in my mind.

“Magic is the ability to change the world.  It can be something as grand as sprouting a tree, or as small as making a spark.  Magic is secretive and revealing and wonderful and terrifying.  And, yes, I know that there are all sorts of moral and legal risks that come with that kind of power, but I believe that I can practice it responsibly.  If you help me.”

She gazes into my eyes as I finish.  One side of her mouth curls up.

“That isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”  She folds her hands in front of her stomach.  “But at least it’s your answer.  Your spirit is admirable.”

I sigh and slouch.  “What did I get wrong, Grand Miss Sinmaryil?”

“You may refer to me as Asherti Onlarion.  Otherwise, you said nothing wrong.  You were merely incomplete, in that you only approached the pillar of our form of magic: control.”

I nod and reach into the satchel beside my chair for my notebook.  Asherti Onlarion clicks her tongue at me.  I pause and look up to find her stretching one open, down-turned hand to me.

“There will be no notations during this class,” she says much more sternly than I think Mrs. Archer possibly could.  “Perhaps you will earn the privilege later.  For now, I demand your full attention, and you will give no less if you intend to truly cast spells by your own volition.”

I slowly sit upright, empty-handed.  

“But what if I have a question?”

Asherti Onlarion nods and folds her hands once more.  “You may raise your hand.  After I address you, you may ask for clarification.  We will not engage in lengthy discussions until I am confident that you have grasped an adequate understanding of the subject at hand.”  She grins a little.  “I will lecture slowly at first.  You will attune yourself to my methods quickly.”

 She watches me.  I think over and through her words.  With a spark of hope in my heart, I nod.

Asherti Onlarion gracefully twists to her right; her casual, muted silver gown twirls in waves before smoothing out again as she begins to pace.

“Do you know, in your own words or by your studies, what imposition is?”

“Imposition is the ability to make or affect magic as it comes from within oneself.  It’s the most common type of magic found in nature, but it’s still considered rare among folks.”

Asherti Onlarion nods.  “Impositionists manifest magic in a small variety of ways.  I once knew a swiffok who could paint scenes so intricate and elegant that a single glance at one of his works would send simpler-minded folks into an hour-long introspection.  You and I, Young Miss Klóe, are not so gifted.”

I half-heartedly lift my hand as high as my shoulder.  Asherti Onlarion glances at it and continues.  I lower my hand and listen. 

“We manifest our power through our music.  When we perform, we expose our souls to strings of the cosmic design.  In this state, we can manipulate those strings.  We can pull them, twist, untie, and curl them; but only if we are open to them can we control them.”  She stops behind the piano and watches me.  “You may ask.”

I clasp my hands in my lap.  Asherti Onlarion answered a little bit of my question already, but I want to know for sure.

“What do you mean by ‘we’?  I’ve not even learned to notice these strings yet.”

Asherti Onlarion nods at me.  “You have not been taught to use these strings, as you were also not taught to speak Alloyan.  In the same way you have learned the latter, you may have brushed by the strings without intention.  For instance, I felt you brush me during our opening exercises.  That was your soul opening itself to those strings.  I have long ago attuned myself to the lower strings of the cosmic design, whereas most people would not have noticed your slight effect.  This is why I will emphasize control as we begin your training; control and awareness will feed each other in a manner that will increase both your confidence and your competence.”

I raise my hand again.  Asherti Onlarion nods.

“Why do you say our imposition is worse than your companion’s?”

She smirks and raises an eyebrow.  “Worse is relative.  Most folks rely mostly on sight to inform us of our environment, and our eyes are more easily captured than their ears.  Visual evidence has the advantage of permanence; sound is more effervescent.  The strength of our imposition comes from the efficiency and availability of our medium.  This is why I discourage notation for now; you must strengthen your capacity to capture, hold, and reproduce sound until you become as confident in your ears as you are in your eyes.”

I think on Asherti Onlarion’s method of teaching.  The slow speed and frequent pauses are a definite help.

Asherti Onlarion points a loose fist at me.  “As in conversing, one must listen at least as—”

A knock interrupts her.  She and I turn to Mr. Veratog, who has stood quietly beside the rehearsal room door since the session began.  He turns and opens the door just far enough that his body blocks my view of the visitor.  I can hear only low, rumbling whispers before Mr. Veratog nods and steps away from the door.

Bastien enters with his hands behind his back.  With his starched, high-collar black shirt, he looks as serious as a Black Temple priest.  Bastien nods at me and stops next to the music stand.

“Good morning, Grand Miss Onlarion.  Please, pardon the interruption.  I understand you have many lesson plans to catch up on.”

“You understand well.  Of course, I am at my client’s disposal.”

Bastien grins.  I haven’t seen one of those since before he and Daddy came back that night.

“Indeed, my father wishes to speak with Klóe in his office.  As a token of his gratitude for your patience regarding the postponement of your work, as well as this interruption of your session, he would like to offer you a selection from the manor’s wine collection.”

Asherti Onlarion holds up one hand and laughs lightly.  “I appreciate the offer, but no token will be necessary.”  She said it honestly, not in that way I’ve heard many of my parents’ friends turn offers down at first just to be nice, somewhy.

Bastien’s expression returns to its usual slate blankness.  “But he insists.  Our cellar contains wines and whiskeys from around the world, although our Sheallannysi collection is, admittedly, small.”

Asherti Onlarion sighs with a smile and a nod.  “I look forward to perusing your stock.  The homeland wines have always been too spicy for my liking, anyway.”

“Very well.  If you’ll follow me, Grand Miss?”  Bastien extends his right hand toward the door, but keeps the left behind his back.

Asherti Onlarion nods and turns to me.  “On your way to your father’s office, I want you to hum your B-flat and G scales, double octaves.  Keep your vocal cords warm for our resumption and try to feel through the music.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  I understand what she’s asking me to do, but don’t quite know I would do it.  If I stumble upon a cosmic string or two, I suppose the rest of my training will be easy.

Bastien turns to lead Asherti Onlarion from the music room.  He looks over his shoulder at me.

“Don’t keep Dad waiting,” he says, more warmly than the words imply.  He and Asherti Onlarion leave the room, and Mr. Veratog follows them both.