Page 63 of Her Magic Light

His knuckles whitened a little as he gripped the railing, but that was his only sign of any underlying tension.

“It feels good.” I pitched my voice low. “And it looks so stunning.” I almost wanted to hold my arms out again, but Dr. Anderson would probably be back any moment. There was no telling what he’d do or how big a fit he’d throw if he found Coop and me out here on the balcony.

Either one of us could be in the most trouble, and he might restrict my access to light for a long time. I wasn’t about to take the gift Coop had given me for granted, either. He hadn’t needed to let me walk out here. He could even have marched me straight back into the hallway the first moment he saw the shutters in Dr. Anderson’s weren’t closed.

But he hadn’t done that. It was as if he’d sensed what I needed, that I needed to recharge.

He’d been right. Creativity flowed through me again now, and I wanted to capture it on canvas. But my art supplies—art supplies that Coop had again turned a blind eye to—had been left in my regular cell.

“We should go in before Dr. Anderson returns and finds us out here.” I turned to leave the balcony, but a flash of color on the floor against the wall caught my attention.

I stepped closer to it and gasped. “It’s my hummingbird.” I dropped to my knees beside it. I’d never seen it so still or heard it so quiet. Usually, I could hear the vibration of its delicate wings, no matter what was between us.

Its tiny eyelids were closed tight, and the barest of breezes stirred its feathers. I picked it up in my hand, cradling it in my palm. It barely had any weight. If I couldn’t see it against my skin, I wouldn’t have believed it was there.

“What do you think happened?” I asked the question then shook my head and looked over the barren yard. “No food source. Got too hot here. Could have been anything.”

Perhaps the bigger question was why my hummingbird was even here. And had I really seen it in the vent? Surely I’d imagined that, though.

Coop trailed the side of his forefinger gently down one of the wings. “Poor little thing,” he murmured, but his tone said so much more.

I couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses, but his face was much paler than it had been, his skin almost ashen, and his finger shook slightly as he drew it away.

“Have you ever seen one this color before?” I looked at the feathers again, taking in each detail and change of hue. I would never have been able to capture this accurately on canvas, but I still itched to try.

Sadness coursed through me, and I sat back, closing my eyes, and turning my face to the sun. I welcomed the light and the warmth into my body, and my chest began to fill with energy, so much energy it sought release. It prickled inside me, making my arms and legs tingle, and there was the smallest of movements in my palm.

My eyes sprang open. “I think it just moved.”

“What?” Coop took his glasses off and bent low to the bird like he was examining it. He slipped his glasses back on. “It was just the wind.”

But the tiny movement came again, and I held the bird closer to my face. “I think it’s more than that. Maybe it just stunned itself?”

Coop shook his head. “They’re fragile creatures. Hummingbirds especially so. This one’s gone, Meira.”

It was the most he’d said to me, and I didn’t reply as he reached to stroke one of the wings again. It was like even he knew this was a special creature.

I watched the bird closely, focusing all of my excess energy on wishing for another movement, and my palm warmed. One of its eyes flicked open, and the curious studying gaze I’d become so used to was back and in full effect.

“Coop.” I clutched his forearm with my free hand. “Coop, look.”

“How did you…?” He trailed off as the small bird gave itself a shake, its feathers rippling with all the colors of the rainbow, and some which didn’t seem to belong in any spectrum.

“I didn’t.” I shook my head. “I didn’t do anything. I just… I justwanted…”

“And what did you want?” Coop tilted his head speculatively as he faced me.

My eyes widened in the reflection of me in his dark glasses. “Just… Alive. For it to be alive.”

“You wished the bird alive?” It was a simple question, and he asked it in a voice devoid of emotion.

“Don’t be silly.” I returned my attention to the bird as its wings began to vibrate. “No one wishes things alive.”

“Ah.” He sounded thoughtful now. “But perhaps some peopleheal.”

I snorted at the sheer ridiculousness of his words, and the hummingbird rose in the air, the movement fast as though I’d startled it. “People don’t heal, Coop. That’s witchcraft.”

“Yes. It is.” His voice took on a somber tone, and I half-turned toward him, my attention caught between my hummingbird and my unusually talkative secret service agent.

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