"Others see their mana. You hear it. You have been casting by ear for a year. Hold that note, and instead of a candle, picture a hand pushing it out. Four breaths in. Two to hold. One to let go."
Her lips moved as she counted. On the last count the cushion slid six inches across the sofa and stopped against the armrest.
Sophia's eyes flew open. "Did I do that?"
"Again. This time picture a wall, not a hand. Lia, throw something at her."
Lia grinned and hurled a cushion. Sophia threw up her hand and pictured a wall. The cushion hit a faint gold disc a hand-span from her nose, stopped dead, and flew straight back into Lia's mouth.
"Rude," Lia said, through the cushion.
Sophia clapped both hands over her own mouth and giggled until her shoulders shook.
Then she looked at her finger, and her blue eyes went wet at the corners.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you."
"Change the picture, and you change the magic," the Light said. "Try a new one every night."
"Lia."
