After a few seconds, she conceded, her shoulders tense as if expecting the enchantment to backfire. When it didn’t, she visibly relaxed.
“Now say, ‘Badan clothes,’ and do a zigzag motion over the closet,” I murmured.
“Zigzag, like this?” She drew her wand through the air in a Z pattern.
“Yes, but don’t exaggerate your wrist that much.” I reached for her again, this time placing a hand on her hip while my opposite reached for her hand. She didn’t tense, so I took it as an invitation to press my chest to her back again, then brought my lips to her ear. “Like this.” I guided her through a much smaller Z, then drew my fingers up her arm to rest on her shoulder. “Try it.”
She did and grinned as her wardrobe pieced itself back together. I was about to tell her to repeat the command for her shoes when she beat me to it, her boots and other articles lining themselves up in the same place they’d been before Danqris had sent a tornado through her things.
Aflora focused on her dresser next, using the same command, then looked at her books. “Do I restack those manually?”
“You could, or try the same spell and see what happens.” I still had my hands on her with my chest pressed to her back, so I felt her hesitation once more. But rather than look at me questioningly, she chose to utter the incantation.
All her school supplies returned to her nightstand and to her spot in the corner where she seemed to keep her books.
“You need a desk,” I realized, frowning at the space.
“There’s not enough room for it,” she replied.
She was right. “Okay.” I considered for a moment. “I want you to draw a square in the air and say, ‘Kala’key bookcase.’ And when you do it, picture the kind of bookshelf you’d like in the corner.”
“I thought Tareero was the spell for wanting something?”
“Only food. Kala’key is how you create something, but you have to be very specific in your mind and make sure to push that knowledge to your wand. Otherwise, nothing will happen. Or you’ll get something you don’t want. Depends on how it’s done.”
“That’s… promising.”
“Do as I said and you’ll be fine.” And if she didn’t, I’d help her fix it.
“Right.” She took a steadying breath, then muttered something about tulips under her breath.
My lips twitched in amusement. “Not flowers, a bookshelf.”
“I’m concentrating,” she chastised.
I released her shoulder to grab her hips with both hands. “Okay. I’ll be right here.”
She didn’t seem to hear me, or perhaps didn’t care, because she continued to stare at the corner like she could will the bookcase to appear without a spell. Which would be a neat trick and entirely possible for an older Midnight Fae, but she wasn’t quite there yet.
After a few moments, she nodded, lifted her wand, and spoke the enchantment out loud while drawing her box. Then she added, “Badan books.”
A floor-to-ceiling shelving unit appeared, the wooden poles on the sides decorated with vines of gorgeous blue blossoms that reminded me of her eyes. And on the shelves sat all her books, including the ones from her nightstand.
“Beautiful,” I praised.
She gave a little clap and spun around to face me. “I did it.”
“You did,” I replied, smiling at her. Then I gestured with my chin to the ceramic pot in the opposite corner. “Looks like your plant is appreciative as well.”
Aflora twisted toward it, her eyes widening. “Oh! How pretty!”
Hmm, I’d have to mention to Kols later that she’d finally figured out how to access her earth magic through the collar, which implied our earlier enchantment that diminished her power had finally worn off. We’d discuss it right after I told him how Clove delivered a stonepecker moments before the Warrior Bloods arrived.
My jaw ticked as I considered the situation. “When you’re done in here, we need to talk about your familiar.” I realized the mistake of my comment the m
inute I said it because Aflora froze, her excitement over the plant dying in an instant.
Fuck.