"You need to get out of your own way."

I glared daggers at Ostera, the oldest member of the coven. She sat cross-legged on the ground by the fire that always burned outside in the middle of the street, knitting a colorful blanket while instructing me.

It was sort of amazing, really, the way she could work without looking at what she was doing. Years and years of practice, I supposed.

"I'm doing the best I can," I grumbled, pushing up the sleeves of my sweatshirt and ...