‘Try to relax,’ the keeper said later that afternoon. ‘Take a deep breath. Worrying about your own Gift won’t help your mother with hers.’
Although Esme had been practising her Gift every day, she had made very little progress. It had gotten much easier to enter that meditative headspace from which she could activate her Gift, but whenever she managed to trigger it, she was buffeted about by towering waves. After a brief struggle to remain at the surface, she would be tossed back into her own time, like a shipwrecked sailor washing up on shore.
Willow flew over and brushed against her hands. She was surprised to see them clasped in a white-knuckled grip. One of her legs, too, was tapping out a fast rhythm. She unpeeled her hands from each other and steadied her leg.
‘How’s your practice
