For a moment, Patrick was hopeful it was just a dream, but immediately his palms began to hurt. He looked down. Burned. That didn’t happen with normal dreams. Who was that man? Did he know him?

He looked at the clock. It was half-past five, but he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Nor would he want to. He got up to run his palms under cool water and get ready for the day. He decided to go to the forest to think. And hopefully, calm his stress. Questions kept cycling through his head. Why was he having this dream? Was the man a magician? He didn’t seem to be in control of the fire, but it would make sense. Did he need help in real life? Was he reaching out to him on purpose? And what was with his eyes? He couldn’t picture them anymore, but they had pulled him forward, awoken something in him.

The forest was cool and dark, dawn just beginning to break. A mist was beginning to rise from the soil and leaves. This bit of forest was old and full of power. Patrick rarely wandered this far in, but on particularly stressful days this was where he came to think. He needed to meditate, to think deeply, to see if there were any magical threads connecting him to this man. Deep meditation was never his strong suit. Years before, James had tried to teach him.

“So, I just sit here…and think?” Patrick said, biting back some of the sarcasm.

“I mean, that’s how a lot of people do it,” James said, chuckling.

“Is that how you do it?” Patrick asked.

“Mostly. But also, we’re magicians. So, there are so many different things you can do while meditating.” James said. He sat down in the grass. They were in a quiet clearing in a forest. James had picked up on Patrick’s affinity for them quickly and had suggested the location for this training session. “Sit in front of me.”

Patrick did as he was instructed, copying James’s cross-legged position. James reached out and took Patrick’s hands in his own. Patrick shuttered, the contact and warmth briefly raising chill bumps up his arms. He looked down, embarrassed, but could feel James smiling at him.

“Ok, I’m going to show you one way I meditate. Just, close your eyes and open your mind to me.” James said. Patrick nodded and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how to open his mind but tried to leave his thoughts relaxed. And then he waited.

In a moment his felt something in his mind. It felt the same way gentle waves washed over your body if you lie down on the beach, but on his mind. He could even feel it behind his mind. Then he could taste something in the back of his mouth. It was almost like caramel. James’s magic. Patrick was still getting used to the fact you could sense other’s magic. The feeling of warm waves had spread under his skin down through his body and limbs.

“Now,” James’s voice echoed in and around him, “stay open to me.”

Patrick nodded. Or he felt like he nodded, but maybe he simply communicated that he nodded. The difference was unimportant at this level of connection.

They were in the clearing. Or a clearing. No, it was the clearing, but it was changing. It was no longer summer, but winter. The trees looked taller and older. The clearing was spreading. Patrick looked at James. He looked slightly different, a glow emanating from under his skin. His magic visible in this place. Was this place his mind.

“It’s in my mind, yes. I can construct places and let the things in my mind inhabit them. It’s a great way to think things out.” James explained. The surroundings changed again. A mountain emerged behind them and before them a beach. The sun glared down at them, and Patrick could feel it on his skin. The scenery continued changing. The mountains moved forward and around them, the sea was now a lake. Clouds and snow hid the very tops of the mountains and a cold wind howled over the lake. Patrick could smell a fire in the distance.

“Amazing,” he said. James smiled.

The image faded. Patrick opened his eyes. They were back in the real clearing, his hands in James’s. He waited a moment before pulling them back.

“So, that’s how you meditate?” he asked.

“One way,” James answered, then paused. “That comes naturally to me though, as telepathy is kind of my thing. Constructing spaces like that, exploring minds, is easy for me.”

“Yeah, I don’t know the first thing about that,” Patrick said.

“I’ve thought about what might work for you. I want you to grow a flower.” James said.

“That takes me like five seconds.”

“Not this time,” James smiled. “Now, do as I say.”

Patrick looked around the clearing. It was much smaller than that clearing five years ago, but it radiated power, like all this forest. He looked at the ground and grimaced. Dew still clung to the grass. He hadn’t brought something to sit on, so he figured he’d just have a wet ass for a bit. Not that he should sit on something. The connection to the earth was key. He took his place, cross-legged, in the center of the clearing.

“Good, now breathe slowly for moment,” James said.

Patrick did as instructed, enjoying the smell of damp earth and pine sap.

“Start with the roots. Things last when they are firmly rooted.”

Patrick placed his right hand on the ground before him. He reached out with his magic, feeling around below the surface, sensing the roots of the grasses and wildflowers. There were roots of a dead flower right below his palm which would be a perfect place to start. He let the magic flow gently from within his chest, down his arm, and into the soil. Immediately the roots began to thicken and spring back to life.

“Make sure they have a good hold. You don’t want a strong wind to blow the flower over.”

Patrick wasn’t planning anything over impressive for the flower, but he let the roots grow and multiply, making sure they could get what they need from the soil.

“Good, now make the stem. How tall do you want your flower to be?”

Patrick lifted his hand, keeping the flow of magic constant. Something green poked from the soil where his palm had been. It quickly grew upwards. Patrick paused. He wanted many blooms, so he encouraged the stem to split off in many directions, fractal-like. It immediately followed his suggestion.

“Now, what will the petals look like? What color will they be?”

Buds appeared on the stems. Patrick paused, thinking a moment. In the next, the buds opened. From each one emerged many tiny petals, each a delicate blue hue. Patrick could smell them. Their fragrance was like honeysuckle, fitting for this forest.

“Are your roots strong?”

“Yes.”

“Is your stem sturdy?”

“Yes.”

“Are you happy with what you’ve made?”

Patrick looked down at the flower a moment. He smiled.

“Yes.” He reached down, pulling off a single bloom. He then willed the flower to wilt and fade away. In a moment, it was gone.

He took a deep breath. His connection to his magic was strong, better than it had been in months. He could feel it swirling within him. He could also feel other magics around him, could taste them in the back of his mouth, and smell them in the air. He took one tiny petal from his blossom and rubbed it between his palms. He had willed it to be a salve to his burns. It worked.

Now that he was connected, and his pain lessened, he could focus. He reached out around himself, willing his magic to envelope his body. He felt around with his magic, using it like another sense. He couldn’t feel anything, so he willed his magic to tighten around him and harden like a shield. He then checked for holed, where a spell may be linking him to another. But there were no breaches. No one else’s magic was on him. If it wasn’t magic linking him this way…

He stilled.

There was a tiny hole in his magic. Or was there? It was there, but it certainly was not. Rather than a hole, something flowed through, unconcerned with the barrier he’d made around himself. It was going into his chest. Or was it coming from it? He let his magic condense around it, probing at it, trying to discover what it was., but he could detect nothing. He tried harder. He pushed his magic onto it and into it.

He felt a sharp pain in his chest. The pulling. The same pull from his dream. And in the back of his mouth, he tasted smoke. Was this the man on fire’s magic? Had he somehow bound the two of them together? But if it was magic, it wouldn’t behave like this. There were things other than magic, older things, and energies untouchable to people, magical or otherwise. Perhaps that was the source. But that still didn’t answer why.

Patrick had hoped the rest of the day would be normal. He wanted to pretend things were normal before diving into research and calling some much-more-knowledgeable friends after work. He truly wanted to find some ritual he could do to end whatever this thing was. But as soon as he got to work, he saw it.

The oak tree was on fire. He was on fire. But it wasn’t burning. The whole tree was enveloped in flames, but he could see the individual leaves were not burning and no smoke was being produced. He knew the same thing was happening to his palms. It was magic, but it was also the thing that wasn’t magic that was coming from his chest. That’s what it felt like. But more of the smoke was in his mouth this time. It was magic and something else. It wasn’t an illusion, but the tree wasn’t actually on fire. This was something else entirely.

He turned to his coworker.

“Hey, I can’t work today. Or tomorrow. Or…I don’t know,” he said. And turned and walked out the door.