“It’s Kiyo,” came the irritated response.

“So sorry. Anyway, I’m going to set it somewhere out here in this miniature wasteland, and you will tell me where it is.”

“Oh. I get it. I’m supposed to, like, work on my non-visual senses? Listen to where you set it?”

“You won’t use any of your physical senses at all.”

I heard him walk away, presumably with the water, but I couldn’t tell where he set it. He paced and paced in circles, kicking rocks and scuffing his shoes so I was clueless by the time he returned to me. When he spoke next, his words were right by my ear again.

“Now, given freedom, even with just a blindfold, you’d be inclined to move and want to use something-anything-to find the water. You’d turn around, sniff the air, whatever. Now you have to accept that all of that is gone. You cannot rely on what you usually can. You are trapped and powerless-more or less. Give in to that. Open yourself up to whatever comes. Find the water.”

“How?”

“By reaching out to it. Tap into a sense other than the usual five. Remember the exercises we did last time, about reaching beyond yourself-in this world, not the spirit one.”

“I thought magic was inborn. Isn’t that what separates humans and gentry?”

“It is inborn. And your inner magic summons and controls storms. To do that, you must summon and control the appropriate elements. And to do that, you must be able to find them. Hence, you focus outward.”

“How do I do that?”

“Just concentrate. But relax too. Think about the water. How it feels, what it’s like. Spread your consciousness out around you, but don’t go into a trance and let your spirit slip out. That’d be cheating.”

“How long does it take?”

“As long as you need.”

He retreated, and I sat there and waited for some revelation. Okay. Somewhere around me was a bowl of water. And something inside of me was supposed to be able to sense it. I wouldn’t have believed any of it if the living room on the other side of the patio door didn’t stand as proof of my supernatural powers. But I hadn’t had to think to cause the storm. This was different.

All I mostly felt at first was my own body. Dorian’s binds didn’t hurt me, but they were snug. The stitched-up cut stung a little. The back of my head ached. My leg muscles felt stretched and inflamed. I slowly took inventory of every part of me, assessing how each one felt. I could feel the beat of my own heart, the steadiness of my breathing.

After that, I started concentrating on the stuff around me. I heard someone, Dorian maybe, slide up a chair and sit down. A plane droned overhead. One of my neighbors kept a bird feeder, and sparrows regularly chirped and squabbled around it. The harsher cries of less melodic birds sounded in the distance. My street had few houses and was removed from real traffic, but a block or so away, a car started and then drove off.

I thought about water, its appeal growing as the sun beat down. I had put on my own sunscreen and was grateful for it. Still, I could feel sweat pouring off of me. Water would be cool, refreshing. My mom’s house had a pool, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to dive into that crystal-blue surface.

I thought about the bowl of water, thinking of its cool temperature, the wetness on my skin. I tried to feel it, to call to it.

“There,” I said at last. I don’t know how much time had passed. Awhile.

“Where?” asked Dorian.

“Four o’clock.”

“What?”

“She means over there,” I heard Kiyo say. Presumably he pointed.

“No,” said Dorian.

“What?”

“Sorry.”

“Was I close?”

“No.”

“Not even a little?”

“No.”

“Damn it! Get me out of this.” I wriggled against my constraints.

“Hardly.” Dorian’s voice held mild surprise. “We must try again.”

“Oh, dear lord. This might be even more boring than the meditation,” I grumbled. “Can I at least get something to drink?”

He hesitated. “Actually, I think your odds will increase if you’re thirsty.”

“Oh, come on-”

“Here we go,” said Dorian. I heard him get up and walk around again, and once more, I couldn’t tell where the bowl ended up.

When he returned to his chair, I tried again. More time passed as I concentrated my little heart out. At one point, I heard someone get up and move toward the door.

“Who is that?”

“Me,” said Dorian. “I’m bored.”

“What? You’re my teacher.”

“The kitsune will call if you need me.”

“I don’t believe this,” I said when he was gone.

“Hey, this was your idea,” said Kiyo.

I heard him shift in a chair, getting comfortable.

I was on the verge of my next guess when Dorian came outside again.

“There. Nine o’clock.”

Kiyo must have pointed again.

“No,” said Dorian.

He made me do it again, and by then, I was furious. My poor muscles, already put through enough, were locking up from lack of movement. The heat was unbearable. To make matters worse, Kiyo asked if Dorian wanted something to drink and then went inside. He returned, and I heard the sound of a two-liter of pop opening, followed by the filling of two glasses.

After that, they started carrying on casual conversation.

“Eugenie will be at my Beltane ball,” Dorian explained, “as my special guest.”

“Sounds great.”

“Your enthusiasm is palpable.”

“Just not my thing, that’s all.”

“Ah, pity. Because if you wanted to come, I’d be happy to extend the invitation.”

“I wouldn’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all. You could come with Eugenie. I always make special arrangements for dignitaries’ entourages and servants.”

“Will you two shut up?” I asked. “I’m working here.”

They fell silent.

Water, water. I needed that goddamned water so that Dorian would untie me and I could return to air conditioning. I’d also drink a gallon of water while I was at it. Maybe two or three. In fact, when I found that stupid bowl, I’d dump it over my head.

Sweat pooled along the hem of my shirt and where the cords and blindfold pressed against my skin. I’d probably sweated away the sunscreen and would burn. As if my body hadn’t been through enough. Where the hell was that water? Why couldn’t I find it?

I thought again about my mom’s pool, vowing I’d pay her a visit tomorrow. God, it was so hot. I just wanted to be cooler. Water, water, water. I felt like Helen Keller. Or maybe one of those people in the Lakota sun dances where excessive heat exposure induced hallucinations. Maybe I could imagine the water.

I sighed, and then, somehow, I felt coolness touch me. It was a reprieve from the heat. I straightened up as much as I could. Had I done it? Was this what it felt like to touch the water? The third time was the charm. Yes. There it was again. Like cool, moist air blowing at me from the east. I could taste its dampness, hanging around me like humidity in the sauna.

I inclined my head in the direction I’d sensed the cool air. “I’ve got it. Three o’clock.”

“No.”

“The hell it isn’t!”

I heard Dorian get up. He sighed. “I think we’d better quit for the day.”

“But I swear I had it! I could feel it! I was thinking about water so hard.”

“I know you were.”

He undid the blindfold, and I looked up. Billowing clouds, colored like lead, inked out the sky. Wind blew at me from the east-not imagined after all-picking up in strength. Great, heavy drops fell around us, landing with loud splashes.

Water at last.