Three towers of magical books sat around me, with old and frail thick spines. Some were written in Latin, some in Dilara's native tongue, and others I could not decipher. There were also about a dozen unlit white candles formed in a circle in the middle of my living room. I have no idea what we will be doing with those but Dilara is currently finishing up spreading salt again around the edges of my apartment.

Meanwhile, I decided to use this opportunity to skim through some of the books. Although I don't understand anything, I picked up one of the Latin books since I knew I would be able to understand some of the words.

"Are you looking for something?" Dilara asked from the door.

I flip to the next page. "No, I just want to see what I'm going to learn."

"Are you sure? Because that's the four books you've read and you keep frowning further each time you flip the next page." I close the book and turn to Dilara.

She stands by the door in her cream color cardigan with sleeves rolled up as she lets the last bit of salt fall on the floor. "Because I don't understand anything," I said back. Dilara walks over toward me and sits on the floor across from me. She gives me a pointed look and takes the hair tie off her wrist as she pulls her wavy brown hair into a ponytail.

"Fine," She says. "Don't tell me anything. Just like you won't tell me who got you that moon hairpin."

My cheeks burn as I feel the weight of the hair barrette on my hair. It's been four days since Grimm gave it to me and it's also been four days since Dilara has been trying to figure out who gave it to me. I've been telling her I bought it myself but she doesn't believe me.

Dilara's eyes glow in mischief. "It was from him, wasn't it? The man dressed in black?" I stay quiet. She shakes her head, "You know, you're not as intimidating as you look. You blush like everyone else when they have a crush on someone."

My body went still. I blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. I don't have a crush.

I ignore her assumption and ask, "You think I'm intimidating?"

"Have you seen your face?" She slaps her hand over her mouth. "Wait, I don't mean that in a bad way. What I meant was you—well, you kind of do look scary because you always look mad like you'll chew someone up if they talk to you the wrong way or breathe the wrong way. But you're pretty too. Pretty scary." She winces and she opens her mouth again but I raise my hand to stop her from talking.

Pretty scary, I like that. I crossed my arms. "Let's move on. Let's just start this lesson."

Dilara nods as she pulls a loose strand from her face behind her ear. She scoots closer. "Yes let's do that but you should know a few things first. Most witches carry talismans, charms, and amulets around them at all times. Salt isn't enough to ward off your enemies. Outside energy and in-home energy can clash, and you need a way to protect yourself from negativity. If you don't, it will hurt your magic when you perform it." 

She pulls a slivered chain from her neck and places it on her palm. "This is the one I carry."

It's a circular glass pendant with colors of deep blue, white, sky blue, and black. Each color rounds the other into the shape of an eye. It looked so familiar. I think I might've seen it among Refugio's jewelry.

"Where I am from, we call it the nazar boncuğu, it translates to—"

It clicked. "Mal de ojo."

We stare at each other, surprised as we understand each other.

Dilara nods, "The evil eye protects you from ill will, jealousy, and any harm a person wishes upon you. Simply wearing it can do a lot but it can do more if you entwine magic. Every witch's charm is different just like their magic, so when you infuse spells onto your charm it is kind of special to you because your attacker doesn't know what kind of spells it holds. But eventually, your charm will break which is fine since they served their purpose. I've broken so many."

I raise a brow, "People want to hurt you?"

She rubs her lips together until she sighs, "I wasn't liked in school and when I graduated I thought their hatred for me would end but it didn't. And, one day I was having a bad day and I—I lashed out. I made one mistake and it's basically the reason why I am here. I'm on a sabbatical until the council says otherwise."

I frowned. "The council sent you here? How much control do they have over your lives?"

She straightens her posture. "A lot but they're the reason we can still practice magic freely. Sort of." This council doesn't sound right, since the last time Dilara mentioned I felt their authority was strange. I'm about to ask Dilara why the council sent her here but she pulls out a paper bag from behind.

She takes out three large mason jars filled with paint. Red, blue, and green. She sets them in a line.

"I'll tell everything about the council later and how their system is bullshit but let's start practicing magic, after all, they're going to start attacking you once they find out you're alive." And she was right, the council was going to find out about me, and who knows what they'll do.

Dilara continues, "This is going to be our icebreaker or maybe I should say magic breaker." She taps the lids of each mason jar. My frown deepens. "Your magic is strange. Sometimes I can feel it and other times I can't feel it, like right now. It's like it's dormant but the times it has awakened, it's angry for being disturbed. But I'm thinking since we can't feel it right now we could use it to our advantage, you can control it before it lashes out."

"And how do I control it?" I want to learn how to do this.

She hovers her hands over the mason jars. "To control magic, you must control your feelings. Emotions can be projected onto the spell you cast. If you're angry, the beast will show. If you're calm, the water will run clear." 

The lids come undone and all three of them float in the air until Dilara directs her hand to her right and as if she commanded them, the lids settle on the ground smoothly. "If you can control what you're feeling then you can control everything. So, how do you feel right now?"

I rubbed my palms on my knees. "Nervous."

"Understandable but we need to get you calm. Close your eyes." I give her a blank stare. She comes closer and stretches her hand out. I place them on top of hers and they hover over the mason jars. "You need to trust me. Close your eyes and take a couple of deeps in and out." I close them.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Dilara speaks quietly. "Feel the tip of your fingers and run it down the maze until you find your magic."

Fingertips, inhale, elbow end, exhale. Collarbone. Elbow end. Fingertip. I retrace the line-up and down, back and forth. Suddenly my mind is slowly becoming aware of my surroundings, it feels like a picture being shown inside my head but I can't see the room instead I can sense its weight of it. I'm beginning to smell the salt from the edges of the wall and wrinkled dust from Dilara's books. The pulsing in my veins is rushing against my ear.

Then, there is a rippling of waves. Crashing, crashing—

Something emerges within my bones like a rumpled ball and it growls in response to being awakened. It moves with intensity and it boils my blood as it dominates the insides of my body viciously.

"I can feel your magic. It's heavy, it feels repressed." Dilara tightens her hold on me. "You have to control it before it controls you. Think of something calming."

I think, I think, I think but the endless fury doesn't allow me to think of anything. I'm suffocating under my own magic, it rages like a starved beast and unleashes into the air. Thick thuds slack on the floor, I snap my eyes open. The towers of books are splayed on the ground. The lightbulbs from the living room and the kitchen flicker like bolts of lightning.

Dilara pulls my hands. "Look at me, Nora. You've to take back your power or else you're going to destroy your apartment."

The noise grows louder. Kitchen cabinets open and close like flapping wings, and the sound of glass shattering startles me. The bed sheet that hangs over the doorless patio blows in a howling wind, it whips my hair in front of my face.

I yell. "I don't think—

"I believe you." Her golden eyes are lit but I can see there is something profound in them. I've never seen her like this, focused and composed. She is unbothered by the chaotic atmosphere. Her hands are soft and relaxed. She isn't afraid. She looks fearless. I think the world could be burning and Dilara would take a walk through the park as if it were another day.

"Believe in your magic. Believe in yourself." Another wave ruffles the room, it clashes with my magic. I feel it soothing my magic instead of fighting it. I take this opportunity and close my eyes again. I block out the noise until it becomes nothing but white noise. I slowly slip my hands away from Dilara and I pull my magic back with every aching bone inside my body.

The sharpness seizes my palms, cutting edges piercing the tips of my fingers as if they were drawing blood out. I won't be afraid of my magic. I won't let this control me the same way the voices did, because this is a part of me I want to nurture despite its biting teeth. This is mine, it has always been mine.

My magic feels like a thousand-year-old grudge, a hatred so deep that it can't be settled by an apology. It needs, it wants, it craves...vengeance. I don't understand it.

"You must say, deduco." Dilara's voice is clear over the commotion.

I hold my magic, I cradle it although I don't understand it. I whisper a promise of the same need, want, crave, I'll grow your teeth to be sharper and longer and my magic lays itself into my skin like perfectly fitted armor.

I might not be able to grow flowers or plants but I can grow this power inside of me because if there is one thing I know I can do is feed myself.

"Deduco."

The room falls silent.

When I open my eyes, Dilara has her head tilted looking above and her mouth slightly gaped. I looked up at the ceiling and my eyes widened. Everything is up in the air, floating.

Spellbooks. White candles. Cups and plates from the dish rack and cabinets. Then, there is the paint of jars moving like currents with big splotches spread out but not a spec of paint drips or coats us. I can feel myself doing this, I look at my hands as my fingers tremble but it's fine. This is what I can do and I believe I can do so much more.

Objects collide and form like a thundercloud, power surges through my veins.

"Oh no." I hear Dilara whisper as I see her evil eye necklace floating upwards and I feel a slight tug on my hair.

One hand drops and the other shoots up to grab the necklace—

"Wait!" She stretched her hand but it was too late everything came crashing down like a hailstorm.

At the same time Dilara and I duck down and shield our faces. Books drop like the dead on my head as their corners poke the back of my neck. Candles land with a loud thud while being followed by a series of glasses shattering one after the other. Something cold and wet spills down my hair and ear. The smell of acrylic fills my nostrils.

One last glass breaks before it is safe to look up again.

I move my hands from my face as I lift my gaze toward Dilara. Red paint drenches half her face, her hair flattens by its thickness. I touch the top of my head and look at the tips of my fingers smeared in blue. We look at the mess I've made and we pause in silence as we stare at one another.

I blink. She blinks. My mouth twitches. Her mouth twitches.

And we laugh like the witches we are, unpleasant and loud.

At some point, I clutch my stomach as the joyous feeling tightens. I don't think I've ever laughed so much, I don't think I've ever laughed so hard. It's stupid because we're laughing at such oddness but it feels normal.

Moments later after we collect ourselves, I get up from the floor and walk over to Dilara.

"Here." I open my palm and all humor is wiped from my face. Dilara's necklace, her evil eye, is broken into three pieces. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I—" I don't want to hurt Dilara, I would never.

"It's fine, things got intense and a bunch of other things broke. I've plenty of these, don't worry about it." Dilara assures me.

But I can't—I can't. I take a step back and shake my head, "I should probably run to the store and get some trash bags. I think I ran out of some." I needed to clear my head before I caused another storm in my apartment. I slip a sweater on and wipe down the paint on my face and hair with the end of my sleeves.

Her brows are knitted together. "Okay, let's go to the store."

I pick the keys off the counter. "No, I'll go by myself. I'll be right back."

"I don't think that's a good idea. It's dark and unsafe."

"The store is only two blocks away, I promise I'll be back in less than ten minutes."

She sighs, "Hurry back."

I shut the door behind me. Something is very, very wrong with me.