VICIOUS (II) : peter pan ouat

How to Make Little Lightning

"Maybe think about it a little." The words roll off his tongue, a playful insult.

I roll my eyes, smirking. A strand of hair falls in my eyes, as the wind begins to pick up.

My hands fly out, and I decide I want to stop the wind. Stepping forward, I release my hands into the air, breathing out energy.

The wind doesn't stop.

"It's not going to work." I turn to Pan.

"Not when you talk like that," he grins, cocking an eyebrow.

Raising my palms to the wind, I wait, closing my eyes and concentrating. The wind will bend to me, it'll stop.

I stop. Magic isn't meditation. It isn't some ancient art practiced by old monks. Magic is power. Exuding force off in waves, like an ocean. Anger and will, and pushing it out into the world.

I slam my hands up in to the wind. One over the other, my elbows sticking out in opposite directions. It looks like I'm blocking an attack, but I push against the wind at full force. It roars back against me, and I feel myself flying through the air. Soaring back half a dozen feet, landing on my back. The wind knocked out of me.

Struggling to breath, I stand up, lifting my chest up and down. It takes a few seconds for me to bring the air that whistles through my throat to my lungs. Pressing against my chest, I try to make myself breath.

"What was that for?" I ask, peeking up at him.

"That wasn't me," he says, "you aren't exactly could at concentrated or directing your magic. To put it frank, you're swinging a sword like a blind man."

I don't know where to push anything, apparently. "I could use a bit of instruction."

"Instruction isn't really my thing." He laughs.

I pull myself back up once I realise I can breathe alright. My hair whips around in the violent air, so I pull out the ribbon, shoving it in my pocket. No use having it if it's not going to be any help.

I shove the air again, this time, I fall through it, stumbling forward. "I could really use the help."

"Helping wouldn't be helping, darling." He smirks.

Darling. That word again.

Forcing my hands forward, the wind bounces off them like a wall, switching directions. Now it is Pan's turn to go flying back, but just as the blast hits him, he vanishes.

I feel his hands on my shoulders before I notice he's there, and I spin around to face him.

"Now you're getting the hang of it." He laughs.

As infuriating as his mocking is, I can't seem to find anger in me. A small light of pride ignites in me, and it takes all that I have to maintain a straight face.

With my free hand I move to send more wind towards him, but I find none there.

"Seems you've lost your spark," he cocks his head to the side, taping his fingers against my hand.

His skin is soft, like peaches.

Electricity jolts through me, a shiver up my spine. Only it comes out my hand, a white light, like a sparkler in the night. It crackles out my fingers, and Pan lets go at the feeling.

"Not really." I smirk, shoving my hands down. "Seems I've got all the spark I need."

Firecrackers go off in my hands, as tiny white lights dance on my fingertips.