Tracking the Tempest by Nicole Peeler Page A

cross-legged. I placed my messenger bag on the granite worktop of the kitchen's island before leaping toward the bathroom off the kitchen.
    While washing my hands, I admired the huge piece of ironwork that I could see reflected in the mirror from the opposite wall. I loved all the art with which Nell had decorated her cabin—the gnome had oodles of good taste crammed into her tiny body. Most of the work had, I think, been done by the same artist, as many of the pieces showed consistent use of color, and there was something about the way the artist drew those big, liquid eyes that made me think it was all done by the same person. That said, the styles were very different, ranging from stuff that seemed really classical and old to really new stuff that looked almost like Japanese manga. But my favorite piece was this one, hanging in the bathroom. It was like an iron version of a graphic novel: full of strange little caricatures doing fantastical things. I didn't recognize any of the characters, but from what I could tell, it told the story of one group of odd beasties and people getting the better of another group of odd beasties and people—sometimes through trickery, sometimes in battle, and sometimes apparently by accident. It was massive, taking up the entire space of the large wall it hung on, and I loved how it was like the fine-art version of a magazine rack next to the toilet.
    When I'd finished up in the bathroom, I went back into the kitchen. I was standing there, contemplating how the hell tiny little Nell could reach any of the massive appliances, when Anyan called from the porch that he and the gnome were ready.
    I walked outside warily, afraid Nell would pull one of her favorite tricks and ambush me with her tiny mage balls. She was on her best behavior, however, sitting on her little rocker in the circumference of the porch's light and chatting with Anyan and Trill while the last dregs of dusk filtered out from the night sky.
    When they were finished, we started working. And just like the past three days, I kept fucking it up. I would have what I wanted to do in my mind, but it just wouldn't translate into effect. I was trying to make myself unseen, which was the most common type of glamour. I wasn't supposed to make myself invisible, but to make myself… unnoticeable. No matter how many times I tried, however, I remained utterly tangible, totally visible, and increasingly hacked off.
    “Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!” I shouted, finally, as I felt the little bubble of power I'd accumulated burst within me, creating a little sparkle in the air around me, but nothing more.
    Nell sighed, and even she looked pissed. The damned gnome had a perpetual smile plastered on her face, so for
her
to lose patience told me just how crappy I was at glamouring.
    She looked like she was about to give me a dressing down when Anyan interrupted.
    “Nell, may I?”
    The gnome nodded, giving Anyan a look that clearly said, “Good luck, sucker.”
    “Sit down, Jane,” the big dog instructed. I did so, cross-legged, happy to take a load off. I'd been standing there
not glamouring
for well over an hour.
    Anyan sauntered over and then sat directly in front of me, so close that the tips of his paws brushed the front of my shins. His intense gray eyes stared into mine, and I forced myself not to look away.
    “You're focusing too much on what you want to see. This isn't about sight; it's about perception.”
    My brow furrowed, but before I could protest that I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, he asked me to shut my eyes.
    “And keep them shut. Don't try to see; don't think in terms of sight. Just open yourself and feel me. Feel what I do.”
    So I did, and I
did
. Anyan's strong magic pulled me inward, and I felt what he was doing. With my eyelids shutting out my reflexive reliance on visual imagery, it suddenly all made sense. His magic didn't make an image; it didn't try to do some
Predator
chameleon thing, or Kevin