Tap Into Your Magic Quotes

You don’t return your phone calls.” The vampire leaned forward, tapping my doodle with a scimitar claw. “Is that a lion with horns and a pitchfork?” “Yep.” “Is he carrying the moon on his pitchfork?” “No, it’s a pie. What can I do for Atlanta’s premier Master of the Dead?

There is a reason you glance up when you first hear a melody, or tap your foot to the sound of a drum. All humans are musical. Why else would the Lord give you a beating heart?

Magic comes from the heart, from your feelings, your deepest expressions of desire. That's why black magic is so easy—it comes from lust, from fear and anger, from things that are easy to feed and make grow. The sort I do is harder. It comes from something deeper than that, a truer and purer source—harder to tap, harder to keep, but ultimately more elegant, more powerful. My magic. That was at the heart of me. It was a manifestation of what I believed, what I lived. It came from my desire to see to it that someone stood between the darkness and the people it would devour. It came from my love of a good steak, from the way I would sometimes cry at a good movie or a moving symphony. From my life. From the hope that I could make things better for someone else, if not always for me. Somewhere, in all of that, I touched on something that wasn't tapped out, in spite of how horrible the past days had been, something that hadn't gone cold and numb inside of me. I grasped it, held it in my hand like a firefly, and willed its energy out, into the circle I had created with the spinning amulet on the end of its chain.

Is this you trying to cheer me up?” “What are you . . . going . . . to do about it?” I asked. “Your Wussiness?” He touched his index finger to my forehead. His voice was rough. “Tap. You’re out, Ass Kicker.

In this lifetime we are like Superman who must remain disguised as the nerdy newspaper journalist Clark Kent, or Harry Potter and his friends who are not allowed to do magic while they are on holiday, away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry... but even Harry Potter and Clark Kent get to tap into their ‘special powers’ once in a while, especially when the going gets tough.

Desire creates a starting point. Without it, no magic can be put into action.

But there comes a point in the speech where I find my cadence. The crowd quiets rather than roars. It's the kind of moment I'd come to recognize in subsequent years, on certain magic nights. There's a physical feeling, a current of emotion that passes back and forth between you and the crowd, as if your lives and theirs are suddenly spliced together, like a movie reel, projecting backward and forward in time, and your voice creeps right up to the edge of cracking, because for an instant, you feel them deeply; you can see them whole. You've tapped into some collective spirit, a thing we all know and wish for - a sense of connection that overrides our differences and replaces them with a giant swell of possibility - and like all things that matter most, you know the moment is fleeting and that soon the spell will be broken.

Magic comes from the heart, from your feelings, your deepest expressions of desire. That's why black magic is so easy - it comes from lust, from fear, from things that are easy to feed and make grow. The sort I do is harder. It comes from something deeper than that, a truer and purer source - harder to tap, harder to keep, but ultimately more elegant, more powerful.

You’re a survivor. Voron put you on the edge of that cliff again and again until he conditioned you to claw onto life. You’ll do whatever you have to do to survive, and I’m your only chance of getting out. At first you’ll balk, but with every passing hour my offer will look better and better. You’ll convince yourself that dying will accomplish nothing and you should at least go out with a bang. You’ll tell yourself that you’re accepting my offer just so you can stick that broken sword into my chest and feel it cut through my heart. Even if you die afterward, the fact that I’ll stop breathing makes your death mean something. So you’ll call me. And you’ll try to kill me. Except you’ve gone three days without food, and that body . . .” He tilted his head and looked me over slowly. “That body burns through calories like fire goes through gasoline. You’re running out of reserves. I can put you down with one hit.” “You’re right about the sword. You broke mine. I owe you one.” He tapped his naked chest over his heart. “This is the spot. Give it a shot, Kate. Let’s see what happens.

Once a month, ripe with psychic energy, the moon grows to Her zenith. Blazing full with the sun's rays through the night sky, it is with great compassion and love for her children that she luminesces.

If only you would begin tapping within your own self, you will start experiencing the real sky-high, uber-starry moments.

If we are to wield great magic, then let us learn from great teachers: the alchemists -- magicians par excellence.

Yes, Mom. Wrap it before you tap it. Or was it don’t be silly and wrap your willy?” Suli tapped her chin. “No. I think it was sex is cleaner with a packaged wiener!” “SULI!” I yelped. “Where are you learning this stuff?” “Don’t forget to cover your stump before you hump,” Albert interjected.

What did you do to Eduardo?” “I don’t know any Eduardo!” Mac wheezed. I twisted his arm a fraction more. He cried out. “I know your name is Mac. I know that’s your redneck cousin Leroy. I know you’re in Eduardo’s territory, muscling in on his gig, and I know that you stole the FJ Cruiser from his fiancée. Look at me. Look at my eyes.” Mac looked up at me. His face went white. My voice was barely above a whisper, but I sank a lot of rage into it. “Eduardo is my friend. His fiancée is my friend. She is his sister.” I pointed at Curran. “Tell me everything you know or I’ll break your arm right here.” I tapped his shoulder. “Then I’ll keep breaking it here and here and here. No amount of medmagic and steel pins will fix it. It’ll never work right again and it will always hurt.

Science taps the power of human understanding to look at the world and figure out how it works. It can't fail without humanity itself failing. Your magic could turn off, and you would hate that, but you would still be you. You would still be alive to regret it. But because science rests upon my human intelligence, it is the power that cannot be removed from me without removing me. Even if the laws of the universe change on me, so that all my knowledge is void, I'll just figure out the new laws, as has been done before. It's not a Muggle thing, it's a human thing, it just refines and trains the power you use every time you look at something you don't understand and ask 'Why?

permission.” “I have to ask your permission,” don Juan said, “because you’re the only one who can allow the words pent up inside you to be tapped. I think I made the mistake of assuming you understand more than you do. Words are tremendously powerful and important and are the magical property of whoever has them.

I am Music. And I am here for the soul of Frankie Presto. Not all of it. Just the rather large part he took from me when he came into this world. However well used, I am a loan, not a possession. You give me back upon departure. I will gather up Frankie’s talent to spread on newborn souls. And I will do the same with yours one day. There is a reason you glance up when you first hear a melody, or tap your foot to the sound of a drum. All humans are musical. Why else would the Lord give you a beating heart?

I guess that’s fate, though, isn’t it? It rocks into your world and taps its magic wand and there you are, staring out at a horizon that blows your mind.

I’m off—I’ll be back when we find another good treat.” “Do you know what to do if you run out of money?” Benjimir asked. “Yes, ask King Petyrr for more,” Gwendafyn said. Benjimir tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Or you could ask your husband.” Gwendafyn grinned as she walked backwards for a few steps. “Why would I do that? My father-in-law will give me more than you would!” "Ingrate

Every time you use the Dragonflame philosophy, you refine your subtle body and stengthen your will by going through the process of separating the dross from the subtle and putting it back together again. Every time you follow this magical philosophy, you are doing what is know as the Great Work. In other words, every time you work magic using Dragonflame, you get closer to finding the Philosopher's Stone.

«I'll never forget you, Crest.» «You couldn't even if you wanted to.» That sarcastic tilt to their mouth is back. And they're right. I could never forget them, and I'll never want to. «I love you,» I whisper. «I wish I could hear you say that forever. Keep it in a shell to press to my ear and listen to for the rest of my life.» «Can you do that? With your mer magic?» Crest shakes their head, then taps their temple. «But I'll keep it here.» I tap my chest, right over my heart. «And I'll keep you here.»

I leaned against the SUV he was working on. “So….” “So?” he asked, looking back down at the tablet. “How rich are we?” He snorted. “Get back to work.” And I was going to do just that, except that Kelly Bennett decided to appear right at that moment. Wearing a deputy’s uniform. Tight green pants with a tan button-up shirt that pulled against his torso. He had a mic clipped near his shoulder and a black utility belt around his waist. He wasn’t carrying a gun, but I barely noticed because at that exact moment, I discovered my legs decided to quit working and I tripped and fell into the side of the SUV. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at me. “Sorry,” I said quickly, using the SUV to pull myself back up. And immediately hit the top of my head on the open hood. “Son of a bitch.” “What are you doing?” Gordo asked slowly. I laughed wildly. “Nothing! It’s nothing. Just… don’t even worry about it.” He turned toward the front of the garage. “Oh no,” he said when he saw who was standing there. “Not this again.” He pointed the tablet at Kelly. “I swear to god, if I find an animal carcass brought here at any point, I will make both your lives a living hell. Do you understand me? I’m getting too old for this shit.” “I can’t believe we have to watch this all over again,” Chris said to Tanner. “It was bad enough the first time. Remember when Robbie figured out that he wanted to put himself all over Kelly?” “Yeah,” Tanner said. “How could I forget? We had to tell Ms. Martin that her side mirror was broken by accident instead of telling her the truth, that Robbie got a weird wolf boner and forgot his own strength.” “Maybe it’ll be like it was with Ox and Joe,” Rico said, tapping a socket wrench against his hand. “Mini muffins, you know? I ate, like, ten of them.” Chris looked scandalized. “You did what? That was one of their mystical moon magic presents! You don’t touch another man’s mystical moon magic present, Rico. They could have killed you, or worse, gotten confused and made you their mate.” He frowned. “Are there werewolf threesomes? That sounds complicated. Too many limbs. I don’t know anything about being a wolf.

My magic trusts you, so it accepted the hook and spread it, causing it to catch the community trail, from my group to each mage that trusts each of them, and so forth, until everyone had tapped in?" I could see from his expression that I was on the right track. "You are lucky that my magic automatically accepts yours." There was something in his eyes. "Forever.

A book is made from a tree. It is an assemblage of flat, flexible parts (still called "leaves") imprinted with dark pigmented squiggles. One glance at it and you hear the voice of another person - perhaps someone dead for thousands of years. Across the millennia, the author is speaking, clearly and silently, inside your head, directly to you. Writing is perhaps the greatest of human inventions, binding together people, citizens of distant epochs, who never knew one another. Books break the shackles of time, proof that humans can work magic. ... Books permit us to voyage through time, to tap the wisdom of our ancestors. I think the health of ou civilization, the depth of out awarness about the underpinnings of our culture and our concern for the future can all be tested by how well we support our libraries.

I followed his gaze on my pillow, upon which rested a thing I did not recognize, woolen and oddly shaped. I seized it abruptly, indignant. It was my jumper! "How---what have you---" "I'm sorry," he said, not looking up from the flicker and flash of the needle. "But you cannot expect me to live in close proximity to clothing that barely deserves the word. It is inhumane." I shook out the jumper, gaping. I could hardly tell it was the same garment. Yes, it was the same color, but the wool itself seemed altered, becoming softer, finer, without losing any of its warmth. And it was not a baggy square anymore; it would hang only a little loose on me now, while clearly communicating the lines of my figure. "From now on, you will keep your damned hands off my clothes!" I snapped, then flushed, realizing how that sounded. Bambleby took no notice of any of it. "Do you know that there are men and women who would hand over their firstborns to have their wardrobes tended by a king of Faerie?" he said, calmly snipping a thread. "Back home, every courtier wanted a few moments of my time." "King?" I repeated, staring at him. And yet I was not hugely surprised---it would explain his magic. A king or queen of Faerie, the stories say, can tap into the power of their realm. Yet that power, while vast, is not thought to be limitless, there are tales of kings and queens falling for human trickery. And Bambleby's exile is of course additional testimony.

There was a gentle tap on the door. “Enter!” Gwendafyn shouted without getting out of bed. The handmaidens tip-toed into the room, bearing trays of food: quail eggs, bacon, breakfast bread, and more. They studiously stared at the trays as they meekly set them on Gwendafyn’s mattress. “If you need anything else, Your Highness,” they murmured as they curtsied together. “We’re fine. Thank you,” Gwendafyn said. The handmaidens nodded, then hurried out of the room. “Fyn,” Benjimir said, practically purring as he leaned into her shoulder. “I believe you have ruined my reputation. No one will think me an innocent flower any longer.” Gwendafyn laughed. “Because surely I’m the swashbuckler out of the two of us.” “We are in your bed,” Benjimir pointed out as he offered Gwendafyn his plate of bacon. “And here my father kicked up a fuss, thinking I would corrupt you. Behold, how the tides have changed.” Gwendafyn swiped a piece of Benjimir’s bacon. “I have no regrets,” she announced.

Magic,” Lila replied after Merlin inquired how she planned to unveil Ivan. “The human brain receives over eleven million bits of information per second, but the conscious mind can only interpret about two hundred bits per second.” Lila tapped his forehead. “The reality you experience, then—the world of your conscious self—is a vast reduction, approximately fifty-five thousand times less than what your senses are actually receiving, which is really another way of saying that in any given moment there are fifty-five thousand other realities you might just as easily inhabit.

Prince Arctic?” A silvery white dragon poked her head around the door, tapping three times lightly on the ice wall. Arctic couldn’t remember her name, which was the kind of faux pas his mother was always yelling at him about. He was a prince; it was his duty to have all the noble dragons memorized along with their ranks so he could treat them according to exactly where they fit in the hierarchy. It was stupid and frustrating and if his mother yelled at him about it one more time, he would seriously enchant something to freeze her mouth shut forever. Oooo. What a beautiful image. Queen Diamond with a chain of silver circles wound around her snout and frozen to her scales. He closed his eyes and imagined the blissful quiet. The dragon at his door shifted slightly, her claws making little scraping sounds to remind him she was there. What was she waiting for? Permission to give him a message? Or was she waiting for him to say her name — and if he didn’t, would she go scurrying back to the queen to report that he had failed again? Perhaps he should enchant a talisman to whisper in his ear whenever he needed to know something. Another tempting idea, but strictly against the rules of IceWing animus magic. Animus dragons are so rare; appreciate your gift and respect the limits the tribe has set. Never use your power frivolously. Never use it for yourself. This power is extremely dangerous. The tribe’s rules are there to protect you. Only the IceWings have figured out how to use animus magic safely. Save it all for your gifting ceremony. Use it only once in your life, to create a glorious gift to benefit the whole tribe, and then never again; that is the only way to be safe. Arctic shifted his shoulders, feeling stuck inside his scales. Rules, rules, and more rules: that was the IceWing way of life. Every direction he turned, every thought he had, was restricted by rules and limits and judgmental faces, particularly his mother’s. The rules about animus magic were just one more way to keep him trapped under her claws. “What is it?” he barked at the strange dragon. Annoyed face, try that. As if he were very busy and she’d interrupted him and that was why he was skipping the usual politic rituals. He was very busy, actually. The gifting ceremony was only three weeks away. It was bad enough that his mother had dragged him here, to their southernmost palace, near the ocean and the border with the Kingdom of Sand. She’d promised to leave him alone to work while she conducted whatever vital royal business required her presence. Everyone should know better than to disturb him right now. The messenger looked disappointed. Maybe he really was supposed to know who she was. “Your mother sent me to tell you that the NightWing delegation has arrived.” Aaarrrrgh. Not another boring diplomatic meeting.

I have lost some fundamental part of my knowing, some elemental human feeling. Without it, the world feels like tap water left overnight, flat and chemical, devoid of life. I am like lightning seeking earth. Uneasy, I carry the prickle of potential energy in my limbs, ever deferred from the point of contact, the moment of release. Instead, it gathers in me, massing like a storm that never comes. I lack the language to even describe it, this vast unsettled sense that I am slipping over the glassy surface of things, afraid of what lurks beneath. I need a better way to walk through this life. I want to be enchanted again. Enchantment is small wonder magnified through meaning, fascination caught in the web of fable and memory. It relies on small doses of awe, almost homeopathic: those quiet traces of fascination that are found only when we look for them. It is the sense that we are joined together in one continuous thread of existence with the elements constituting this earth, and that there is a potency trapped in this interconnection, a tingle on the border of our perception. It is the forgotten seam of our geology, the elusive particle that binds our unstable matter: the ability to sense magic in the everyday, to channel it through our minds and bodies, to be sustained by it. Without it, I feel I am lacking some essential nutrient, some vitamin found only when you go digging in your own soil.

(….) “What does it matter whose head those images came from? ‘Poetry is a conversation not a monologue,’ “ Fox quoted Cooper in a passable English accent. “A writer can only put the words on the paper; the vision has to come from the reader, right? It’s language, not paint, not film. That’s the beauty of it to me. Why do your woods or your Wood Wife, have to look precisely the same as Cooper’s?” “Well in terms of Miller’s work on Cooper-” “We’re not talking literary critique here. We’re talking about poems, words on a page,” Fox said, tapping his knee, “and what those words turn into when they slip inside your brain.” He tapped his head. “It’s magic; and magic disappears if you try too hard to pin it down.

Okay, next one’s . . . a little figure of a cat.” “Can you tell what it is?” “Kind of . . . It feels like it’s something for talking. Communicating? Does it let you talk to cats?” “Not bad,” I said. That had been right on target. “It’s a summoning focus. Toss it over and I’ll show you.” Luna slid the figurine across the desk and I picked it up. It was made of alabaster, and I traced a finger across the smooth surface to the cat’s chest and tapped it. “See this point? When you channel your magic there, it sends out a call to the nearest feline within range of about the right size and draws it to you.” “So it summons a housecat?” “As long as there’s one around.” “That sounds cool. So what, you can get it to spy on people and stuff?” “No, it acts like a normal cat. It checks to see if you’ve brought it anything to eat, and if not it buggers off.

He pushed off from the bed against which he leaned. All signs of worry vanished from him. He forced a neutral expression onto his face. My Beast Lord. "Come," I whispered. He came over to my bed. "Closer . . ." He leaned in closer. It took all of my will. I lifted my hand and punched his jaw. It was the saddest punch on the planet. My fingers barely grazed his stubble and then my arm gave out and fell back on the bed. Curran blinked. "You looked sad," I explained. "Is this you trying to cheer me up?" "What are you . . . going . . . to do about it?" I asked. "Your Wussiness?" He touched his index finger to my forehead. His voice was rough. "Tap. You're out, Ass Kicker." "I leave you alone for five minutes and you're in here punching each other and playing grab-ass," Doolittle said from somewhere in the room. "I expect this from you, Kate, because you have no sense, but you, you should know better. Roughhousing in the hospital.

I suggest you stand slowly and walk out with my men,” Zrakovi said, tapping a napkin against his lying, two-faced mouth and putting a twenty on the table to cover the drinks. “If you make a scene, innocent humans will be injured. I have a Blue Congress cleanup team in place, however, so if you want to fight in public and damage a few humans, knock yourself out. It will only add to your list of crimes.” I stood slowly, gritting my teeth when Squirrel Chin patted me down while feeling me up and making it look like a romantic moment. He’d been so busy feeling the naughty bits that he missed both Charlie, sitting in my bag next to my foot, and the dagger attached to my inner forearm. Idiot. Alex would never have been so sloppy. If Alex had patted me down, he’d have found not only the weapons but also the portable magic kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw a tourist taking mobile phone shots of us. He’d no doubt email them to all his friends back home with stories of those crazy New Orleanians and their public displays of affection. I considered pretending to faint, but I was too badly outnumbered for it to work. Like my friend Jean Lafitte, whose help I could use about now, I didn’t want to try something unless it had a reasonable chance at succeeding. I also didn’t want to pull Charlie out and risk humans getting hurt. “Walk out the door onto Chartres and turn straight toward the cathedral.” Zrakovi pulled his jacket aside enough for me to see a shoulder holster. I hadn’t even known the man could hold a gun, although for all I knew about guns it could be a water pistol. The walk to the cathedral transport was three very long city blocks. My best escape opportunity would be near Jackson Square. When the muscular goons tried to turn me left toward the cathedral, I’d try to break and run right toward the river, where I could get lost among the wharves and docks long enough to draw and power a transport. Of course in order to run, I’d have to get away from the clinch of Dreadlocks and Squirrel Chin. Charlie could take care of that. I slipped the messenger bag over my head slowly, and not even Zrakovi noticed the stick of wood protruding from the top by a couple of inches. Not to be redundant, but . . . idiots. None of us spoke as we proceeded down Chartres Street, where, to our south, the clouds continued to build. The wind had grown stronger and drier. The hurricane was sucking all the humidity out of the air, all the better to gain intensity. I hoped Zrakovi, a Bostonian, would enjoy his first storm. I hoped a live oak landed on his head.

PRIORITIZE BEING PRESENT Today’s challenge is to keep your focus and preserve the sanctity of mind required to create, and to ultimately make an impact in what matters most to you. This can only happen when you capitalize on the here and now. To do this, alternate periods of connectedness with periods of truly being present: Be aware of the cost of constant connection. If your focus is always on others—and quenching your appetite for information and external validation—you will miss out on the opportunity to mine the potential of your own mind. Recognize when you’re tuning in to the stream for the wrong reasons. We often look to our devices for a sense of reassurance. Become more aware of the insecurity that pulls you away from the present. You cannot imagine what will be if you are constantly concerned with what already is. Create windows of non-stimulation in your day. Make this time sacred and use it to focus on a separate list of two or three things that are important to you over the long term. Use this time to think, to digest what you’ve learned, and to plan. Listen to your gut as much as you listen to others. With all the new sources of communication and amplification, don’t let yourself be persuaded by the volume of the masses. Nothing should resonate more loudly than your own intuition. Stay open to the possibilities of serendipity. The most important connections—whether with people, ideas, or mistakes that lead to key realizations—often spring from unexpected circumstances. By being fully present where you are, you let chance (and the curious universe we live in) work its magic. You are the steward of your own potential. The resources within you—and around you—are only tapped when you recognize their value and develop ways to use them. Whatever the future of technology may hold, the greatest leaders will be those most capable of tuning in to themselves and harnessing the full power of their own minds.

Rather, I found through this experience that there is significant similarity between meditating under a waterfall and tidying. When you stand under a waterfall, the only audible sound is the roar of water. As the cascade pummels your body, the sensation of pain soon disappears and numbness spreads. Then a sensation of heat warms you from the inside out, and you enter a meditative trance. Although I had never tried this form of meditation before, the sensation it generated seemed extremely familiar. It closely resembled what I experience when I am tidying. While not exactly a meditative state, there are times when I am cleaning that I can quietly commune with myself. The work of carefully considering each object I own to see whether it sparks joy inside me is like conversing with myself through the medium of my possessions. For this reason, it is essential to create a quiet space in which to evaluate the things in your life. Ideally, you should not even be listening to music. Sometimes I hear of methods that recommend tidying in time to a catchy song, but personally, I don’t encourage this. I feel that noise makes it harder to hear the internal dialogue between the owner and his or her belongings. Listening to the TV is, of course, out of the question. If you need some background noise to relax, choose environmental or ambient music with no lyrics or well-defined melodies. If you want to add momentum to your tidying work, tap the power of the atmosphere in your room rather than relying on music. The best time to start is early morning. The fresh morning air keeps your mind clear and your power of discernment sharp. For this reason, most of my lessons commence in the morning. The earliest lesson I ever conducted began at six thirty, and we were able to clean at twice the usual speed. The clear, refreshed feeling gained after standing under a waterfall can be addictive. Similarly, when you finish putting your space in order, you will be overcome with the urge to do it again. And, unlike waterfall meditation, you don’t have to travel long distances over hard terrain to get there. You can enjoy the same effect in your own home. That’s pretty special, don’t you think?

When you lived in the human world, you had legends of the dread beasts and faeries who would slaughter you if they ever breached the wall, didn’t you? Things that slithered through open windows to drink the blood of children? Things that were so wicked, so cruel there was no hope against their evil?” The hair on her neck rose. “Yes.” Those stories had always unnerved and petrified her. “They were based on truth. Based on ancient, near-primordial beings who existed here before the High Fae split into courts, before the High Lords. Some call them the First Gods. They were beings with almost no physical form, but a keen, vicious intelligence. Humans and Fae alike were their prey. Most were hunted and driven into hiding or imprisonment ages ago. But some remained, lurking in forgotten corners of the land.” He swallowed another mouthful. “When I was nearing three hundred years old, one of them appeared again, crawling out of the roots of a mountain. Before he went into the Prison and confinement weakened him, Lanthys could turn into wind and rip the air from your lungs, or turn into rain and drown you on dry land; he could peel your skin from your body with a few movements. He never revealed his true form, but when I faced him, he chose to appear as swirling mist. He fathered a race of faeries that still plague us, who thrived under Amarantha’s reign—the Bogge. But the Bogge are lesser, mere shadows compared to Lanthys. If there is such a thing as evil incarnate, it is him. He has no mercy, no sense of right or wrong. There is him, and there is everyone else, and we are all his prey. His methods of killing are creative and slow. He feasts on fear and pain as much as the flesh itself.” Her blood chilled. “How did you trap such a thing?” Cassian tapped a spot on his neck where a scar slashed beneath his ear. “I quickly learned I could never beat him in combat or magic. Still have the scar here to prove it.” Cassian smiled faintly. “So I used his arrogance against him. Flattered and taunted him into trapping himself in a mirror bound with ash wood. I bet him the mirror would contain him—and Lanthys bet wrong. He got out of the mirror, of course, but by that time, I’d dumped his miserable self into the Prison.

Andrea lifted a black firearm, holding it as if it were covered with slime. “This is a Witness 45. It has a molding flaw on the grip right here, see? If you fire it, it will blister your hand.” She picked up another gun. “This is a Raven 25. They haven’t made them since the early nineties. I didn’t even know they were still around. It’s a cheap junk gun. They used to call them Saturday Night Specials. You can’t put twenty rounds through it without it jamming, and the way this one looks, I wouldn’t even risk loading it. It might blow up in my hand. And this? This is a Hi-Point, otherwise known as Beemiller.” “Is that supposed to tell me something?” She stared at me. “It’s like the crappiest gun out there. Normal guns cost upward of half a grand. This costs like a hundred bucks. The slide is made out of zinc with aluminum.” I looked at her. “Look, I can bend it with my hand.” I’d also seen her bend a steel rod with her hand, but now didn’t seem the best time to mention it. Andrea put the Hi-Point on the desk. “Where did you get these again?” “They’re surplus guns from the Pack. Confiscated, from what I understand.” “Confiscated during violent altercations?” “Yes.” Andrea sagged into her chair. Her blue-tipped hair drooped in defeat. “Kate, if someone used a gun against the shapeshifters and now the shapeshifters have said gun, it wasn’t a very good gun, was it?” “I’m not arguing with you. I didn’t have a choice. That’s what was here when I moved in.” Andrea extracted a fierce-looking silver handgun from the box. Her eyes widened. She looked at it for a moment and tapped it on the corner of her desk. The gun responded with a dry pop. She looked at me with an expression of abject despair. “It’s plastic.” I spread my arms at her. Andrea tossed the plastic gun to Grendel. “Here, chew on this.

Perhaps you’d like to tell us about your latest quests for wisdom and knowledge instead? O: I’d like to tell you many things, Snorri. But to answer your question: I’ve started a spoken-word poetry group with some of my einherjar. Performances every Thor’s Day night in the Feast Hall of the Slain, with light Saehrimnir refreshments to follow. The Norns are scheduled to make a guest appearance soon, which should prove interesting. Also, I’m taking Zumba classes to understand why in My Name they’re so popular. Finally, I’m researching the magical symbol known in Midgard as [taps first two fingers of right hand against the first two fingers of left hand] hashtag. From what I’ve gleaned, when combined with other words, hashtag has the power to distract the mind from more important matters. If I’m right, I’ll make hashtag the subject of my next book. The working title is…wait for it…Hashtag. SS: An inspired choice, Lord Odin. O: Yes, I know. Sadly, our interview came to an abrupt conclusion at this point.

• How do the seasons change where you live? What changes can you see and feel? • What influence does the moon have on you? What is the phase of the moon right now? • What wild plants are common to your neighborhood? Name at least ten local plants. • Of those ten plants, which are indigenous to your area and which were imported? When were they imported and by whom? • What trees are most commonly found in your neighborhood? Again, which are indigenous and which were deliberately introduced? When and by whom? • What wildlife is native to your area? • Is the water that’s channeled to your tap

By tapping into flowers and their elixirs, we have a method at our fingertips that helps us be our happiest, clearest, and most loving selves. With this book I invite you to catalyze your own personal Flowerevolution and create a worldwide ripple effect of positivity—transforming the world from the inside out.

Necromancy is wrong on two levels,” Lintz said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The first is that it taps into a school of magic which is devoted to ripping the magical essence out of another person. The second is that it involves the removal of a person’s life magic.” He shook his head. “The outside world, it has these notions that necromancy is something you do to a corpse, but it’s not like that. You kill your target, and then their ghost—the remnant of their life magic—becomes your thrall, your slave, bound to your will.

For this reason, it is essential to create a quiet space in which to evaluate the things in your life. Ideally, you should not even be listening to music. Sometimes I hear of methods that recommend tidying in time to a catchy song, but personally, I don’t encourage this. I feel that noise makes it harder to hear the internal dialogue between the owner and his or her belongings. Listening to the TV is, of course, out of the question. If you need some background noise to relax, choose environmental or ambient music with no lyrics or well-defined melodies. If you want to add momentum to your tidying work, tap the power of the atmosphere in your room rather than relying on music.

day: If you’re in the US, tap

Write down what you want and focus on WHY you want it. There’s a powerful magic in doing this,

God Changes Your Brain: Breakthrough

Magic is the natural energy that flows through the world, whereas power is the practical art of channeling that energy. Power is within you, waiting to be tapped into, and magic can be found in natural objects.

I would be lying if I pretended not to find the idea of a new stone circle ersatz. What do they actually mean, these hefts of rock that are not even native to this landscape? What are they supposed to signify? I visited them when they were first laid and found them rather barren, planted in the bald winter ground, still crumbling from their quarrying. I believed at first that they were concrete. They seemed to me to offer and incomplete answer to a question that we have not quite learned how to ask. How do we worship now? How do we get past the blunt knowing of our disenchanted age and tap back into the magic that we used to perceive everywhere? I wanted to touch the stones and for them to return a tingle of meaning laid down over millennia. Instead, they seemed to shrug me off. Make your own meaning, they said. We can't do that for you.

Caleb’s eyes twinkled with amusement and he caught my cheek in his large hand, kissing me again. There wasn’t as much heat in it but it still made me feel a little weak at the knees. Maybe making nice with one of the Heirs wasn’t the worst choice I’d ever made. “Caleb?” a harsh voice came from the doorway beside us and fear darted through me as I pulled away from Caleb in surprise. Darius stood in the hall, the vine which had secured the door burned to a crisp on the ground from his magic. He was scowling at the two of us and seemed even more intimidating than usual. His gaze took in the cards and poker chips all over the floor alongside the less than perfect state of my hair and I was endlessly grateful that he hadn’t turned up five minutes ago. Caleb didn’t release his hold on me but turned to look at the other Heir with a hint of irritation in his gaze. “I’m busy,” he said flatly, a clear demand for Darius to leave. “My father and the other Councillors want to speak to all of the Heirs before we leave. They sent me to look for you,” Darius said, ignoring his friend’s irritation. “Your sister and Lance are already waiting outside for you,” he added to me, his tone dismissive. Caleb sighed and turned back to look at me but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Darius. He looked my way, meeting my eyes and I almost flinched from the anger I found there. “I haven’t finished yet,” Caleb said, his eyes roaming over me but I was still trapped in Darius’s gaze. “Well stop playing with your food and get on with it,” Darius demanded. Caleb growled in response to the command but he leaned in to brush his mouth against my neck. I didn’t bother to try and fight him off but I released my hold on his shirt so I was no longer pulling him towards me. “We can pick this up later, sweetheart,” Caleb murmured. “But I need my strength if I’ve gotta face the Councillors.” His teeth slid into my neck, and his hand pushed into my hair as he held me in place. The strange sucking sensation pulled at my gut as he tapped into the well of power that lay within me, drawing it into himself. Darius’s gaze stayed fixed on us the entire time and I couldn’t help but look back at him. His eyes were like two burning pits of rage and I wondered briefly if Caleb was breaking some rule of theirs by being less than awful to me. Caleb withdrew his fangs from my skin and brushed his fingers over the wound, healing it for me. I looked up at him in surprise and he smiled ruefully. “See you downstairs, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning forward like he was going to kiss me again. I ducked aside with a taunting grin. “Not if I see you first,” I warned playfully. He chuckled darkly. “I look forward to catching you again then.” Caleb moved to join Darius and the two of them turned and walked away down the corridor without another glance at me. “What the hell was that about?” Darius asked him in an undertone. “Lighten up, Darius. We were just playing a game. And you have to admit I got a damn hot prize for winning it.” Darius grunted in response and the two of them turned a corner, leaving me alone. (tory)

My jaw unhinges. “Venin are the stuff of fables. Like the book my father—” I blink. The letter. What had he written? Folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past. Was he trying to say… No. That’s impossible. “They’re real,” Xaden says softly, like he’s trying to lessen a blow. “You’re saying people who can somehow tap into the source of magic without a dragon or gryphon to channel, corrupting their power beyond all salvation, actually exist.” I say the words slowly just so we’re crystal clear. “They’re not just part of the creation fable.

That fourth evening, the dragonet felt especially restless. He flew aloft with Gracewing, carving out a path of their own through the everlasting, smouldering leagues. At last, he turned to his companion and said simply, I fear for her. I know, Flicker, she said, indicating encouragement with a rapid blinking of her secondary eye membranes. The issue is not that we’ve heard nothing from Hualiama. It’s … time. Time to what? Flicker twirled a wingtip flirtatiously. Time. Time for me to demonstrate how insatiable – No … time. Time, my fire-heart. It is … I can’t … it’s time, don’t you see? He took pause at the note in Gracewing’s voice and the truths conveyed by the urgent whirling of her apricot and blue eye-fires. Time, time, there is – Time! yelled Flicker. She’s been pulled out of time – why? The Balance she spoke of must be reaching fruition and the timing is the crucial element! She’s frozen? Paralysed? No, think, Flicker. She’s an incredibly smart – well, almost as smart as me – girl. It takes a great deal to take her out of action. Gracewing, you’re the best! Aye, and he was babbling now, but Flicker knew she had touched upon a truth no other had apprehended. This is the reason for the delay. The magic is being prepared by Dramagon’s wicked brood down there and we must interrupt their plans, strike a blow – bring out the First Egg! Aye! Gracewing yelped in surprise as he danced around her, vibrating wingtips with ultra-rapid taps before tweaking her tail. Flicker! I know. I’m a mad genius. Let’s go convince the Tourmaline. The pretty dragonet paused dramatically. Convince them? They all agree you’re mad already.

But the Nightmare was untouched by my disquiet, his voice almost lazy. Suppose you simply told him you can see Providence Cards? Or rather, that I see them. I stopped fumbling with one of the dust-ridden tomes on the shelf. Don’t be stupid. He may surprise you. He’s already done that, I said, eyeing the door, listening for footsteps. Not all surprises are good. The Nightmare laughed, as if he understood a joke I did not. Mark my words. He’s going to test your magic. He tapped his claws. Or, more accurately, test MY magic.

It was the velvet that gave off the light, a light only I could see. Or rather, a light only the creature in my mind could see. The Well Card had been my mother’s dowry, worth as much gold as all of Spindle House. It was one of twelve different Providence Cards that made up the Deck. Chronicled in our ancient text, The Old Book of Alders, Providence Cards were not only Blunder’s greatest treasures but also the only legal way of performing magic. Anyone could use them—all it took was touch and intention. Clear your mind, hold a Card in your hand, tap it three times, and the Card was yours to wield. Pocket the Card or place it elsewhere, the magic would still hold. Three more taps, or the touch of another person, and the flow of magic would halt. But use a Card too long, and the consequences were dire. They were exceptionally rare, Providence Cards, their number finite. As a child, I had been afforded only glimpses at them. And I’d only ever touched one.

Finishing her cigarette, Raven put it out in the ashtray then sighed. “I never really bought into the God thing. Religion felt like a lie men told to make people listen to them. Mostly, it seemed dumb to think a magic man in the sky cared about us. Like if I was a magic man and could make the earth or whatever, I wouldn’t waste time on helping out losers.” Raven set the ashtray on the ground and crossed her arms as if cold. “I see what Lark has now with you, this house, the ugly dogs, her friends, and now the baby. It makes me think God might exist. While losers run in our family, Lark could be more if she let herself. Now she has more and I think God might have helped her out. I prayed someone would. Even not believing, I prayed and told God if He was real and wanted me to believe that He needed to help Lark. I guess He heard me because she’s happy like I’ve never seen her happy before. Not even when Phoenix was alive and we were the best we ever were as a family.” “I’m glad you’re here and you’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but, Raven, my dogs aren’t ugly.” She laughed and tapped her foot against mine. “You’re a good guy. I know I said that before, but I didn’t think you would be. I’ve been around and good guys are rare.” “They exist though.” Raven nodded. “I need to quit men the way I need to quit smoking. Just go cold turkey. If I try to be rational about it, I’ll fool myself into falling for another creep. No, just say enough is enough all that shit. Focus on other stuff like a job and roller derby and family.” “If you ever get sick of living here, the Johanssons have an apartment that Cooper used to live in.” “There are plenty of apartments in Ellsberg.” “Yeah, but if you want to avoid loser men, those apartments won’t help. They’re full of assholes. College shitheads and lowlife fuckers. If you stay out there with the Johanssons, no man will bother you. You might even like Bailey. She’s an acquired taste, but a good friend if you can deal with her mouth.” “Bossy bitches are my favorite,” Raven said, pulling her knees up to her chest. “No hurry moving out though. Lark is feeling unsure about stuff and having you here makes her feel more centered. Like she’s combining her old life with her new one and it fits.” “I just have one question, bud,” Raven said, standing up and ready to leave the cold evening. “Are you planning to fix her damn worm?” “I don’t normally tattoo pregnant women.” “You really going to have your kid born to a chick with a worm tattoo?” Smiling at Raven, I nodded. “I don’t want to do anything to jinx the pregnancy. Since we’ve been together, Lark was hurt by Larry, got into a fight with my ex, and had to hide under the table during a bar brawl. I want the rest of her pregnancy to be as pain free as possible.” “Sissy,” she said, grinning. “I’m really glad you aren’t an asshole. It was a pleasant surprise.” “Glad you approve, but don’t mock my dogs again and stop barking at Pollack.” “Fuck off,” she said over her shoulder while walking inside.

There was a moral foundation to Walt’s movies that people tapped into—a basic moral foundation. In Disney films, you see strong values and role models. You see the importance of being kind to others, of serving others, of finding joy even in adversity.

I found him, with a little hint from Mika, in the gardens where we had met when I first came back to the city. “He goes there every day,” she had said. “Waiting.” He was standing with his back to me, as if regarding a particularly elaborate section of flowers. But he didn’t move when I crunched across the gravel path, and I realized he wasn’t seeing the flowers at all. Still, he didn’t jump when I tapped his shoulder and said, “I’m here.” Kiernan turned slowly, one arm twitching like he wanted to hug me. But he didn’t move. “I’m sorry it took so long,” I said. “But I had so much to think about, and I didn’t…I didn’t know...” Still, he waited. I blew out an impatient breath. “She’s made me her councillor, you know. I’m to help her learn how to be queen, be the voice whispering advice behind her throne. And then she’s going to help me open a school for magic.” He only gazed at me, not helping in the slightest. I jigged up and down a little where I stood, scowling at him. Once, I might have given in to the worries that had plagued me since that first kiss. That he might have loved me once, but had decided it was too much trouble. That he was too angry over the spell I cast over him to forgive me. That our stations were so different that his family would never allow us to be together. I might have faltered when faced with the doubt that nettled me as he continued to stare at me so implacably. I might have turned red and slunk away, rather than stand firm before him. Once, back when I had left my life behind without a fight. But not now. I was stronger now, braver. I had faced my worst fears, and survived them. “So I really think that your parents should let you marry me. Not right now--I have so much to do, with Mika and Philantha and the magic--but someday. Someday not too far away. I did save Thorvaldor, after all, and I expect that Mika will pay me well in exchange for my years of knowledge. She even threatened to title me--it would be just like her to want to rub everyone’s noses in my commonness. And I think that, if they have any objections, you should just--” “Break with them?” he asked. He was trying to be serious, but one corner of his mouth kept twitching. “Well, yes,” I admitted. “I already did,” he said, and my mouth fell open. “Or at least, I threatened to, if they wouldn’t give me their blessing.

and they followed it as it wended its way downward. ‘Where do you suppose the light is coming from?’ asked Eric. ‘That’s actually a really good question.’ ‘There’s not much of it, granted, but we can see, so …’ ‘You’re right. It must be coming from somewhere.’ ‘Yes, but maybe …’ Eric tailed off, drawing a deep breath. ‘Maybe what?’ ‘Maybe it’s like this because it’s waiting to be filled by the you-know-what,’ said Eric, tapping Max on the shoulder and then pointing to the darkness far above them. ‘You could be right. Just as long as it stays all the way up there.’ They walked on, descending on a slight incline for the best part of an hour. During their walk they discussed the possibility of the path not having an end, and just continuing down and down into the earth. The hungrier and thirstier they grew, the more terrifying this possibility seemed, so both were relieved when Eric spotted a change in the rock on their left. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Up there, there’s a gap in the wall.’ They stopped walking and Max peered up at it. ‘I reckon you’re right,’ said Max, as Eric squeezed past him. ‘Look,’ continued Eric. ‘There’s another gap further down, and this one’s lower.’ They stood below this second gap in the stone, which was approximately three metres above them. As Max attempted to get a foothold in the rock, Eric walked on around a corner. ‘Max!’ he whispered urgently. ‘Come here! You’ll definitely want to see this!’ Max stepped back down to the ground and hurried around the bend. Eric was staring through a brick-sized gap in the wall, his mouth hanging

He went into the hall bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and lifted the lid. He yawned. He scratched his head and felt foreign objects in his hair. While he continued to aim the stream into the commode, he leaned to the left to look in the small mirror over the sink and almost had heart failure. He actually might have jumped and briefly missed the pot. Sean had little-girl “things” in his short hair—clips, bows, ponytail bands, jeweled bobby pins. And there was something else—he scraped off some Scotch Tape. His hair was too short so some of that stuff was taped on! But that was the least of it—he had a bright red Angelina Jolie mouth that went way out of the lines. Blue eyelids and pink cheeks. He looked like a clown. He zipped his pants. Then he wet a finger under the faucet and rubbed it over his eyelid. Nothing changed, except that he saw his fingernails were bright green. He washed his hands vigorously. Oh, God—he’d been tattooed in his sleep! He took the bar of soap to his lips; no amount of scrubbing helped. “Frannnnn-ciiiii!” he yelled. A moment later she tapped at the door and he jerked it open. She was casually drying her hands on a dish towel while he was scowling. “Magic marker, I think,” she said, before he could ask the question. “Why?” he asked desperately, totally stunned. Franci shrugged. “She’s not allowed to touch my makeup. And she thinks you look wonderful.” Then she grinned. He stiffened and pursed his lips. “I’m pretty sure I’m out of uniform.” She chuckled. “We’ll think of something. Are you staying for dinner?” “I can’t go out like this!” “Okay, let’s try some fingernail polish remover on your green nails, have some dinner, and then I’ll see what I can do about your, ah, makeup. Really, Sean, rule number one—never close your eyes on a three-year-old.” *

I suggest you stand slowly and walk out with my men,” Zrakovi said, tapping a napkin against his lying, two-faced mouth and putting a twenty on the table to cover the drinks. “If you make a scene, innocent humans will be injured. I have a Blue Congress cleanup team in place, however, so if you want to fight in public and damage a few humans, knock yourself out. It will only add to your list of crimes.” I stood slowly, gritting my teeth when Squirrel Chin patted me down while feeling me up and making it look like a romantic moment. He’d been so busy feeling the naughty bits that he missed both Charlie, sitting in my bag next to my foot, and the dagger attached to my inner forearm. Idiot. Alex would never have been so sloppy. If Alex had patted me down, he’d have found not only the weapons but also the portable magic kit. From the corner of my eye, I saw a tourist taking mobile phone shots of us. He’d no doubt email them to all his friends back home with stories of those crazy New Orleanians and their public displays of affection. I considered pretending to faint, but I was too badly outnumbered for it to work. Like my friend Jean Lafitte, whose help I could use about now, I didn’t want to try something unless it had a reasonable chance at succeeding. I also didn’t want to pull Charlie out and risk humans getting hurt. “Walk out the door onto Chartres and turn straight toward the cathedral.” Zrakovi pulled his jacket aside enough for me to see a shoulder holster. I hadn’t even known the man could hold a gun, although for all I knew about guns it could be a water pistol. The walk to the cathedral transport was three very long city blocks. My best escape opportunity would be near Jackson Square. When the muscular goons tried to turn me left toward the cathedral, I’d try to break and run right toward the river, where I could get lost among the wharves and docks long enough to draw and power a transport. Of course in order to run, I’d have to get away from the clinch of Dreadlocks and Squirrel Chin. Charlie could take care of that. I slipped the messenger bag over my head slowly, and not even Zrakovi noticed the stick of wood protruding from the top by a couple of inches. Not to be redundant, but . . . idiots. None of us spoke as we proceeded down Chartres Street, where, to our south, the clouds continued to build. The wind had grown stronger and drier. The hurricane was sucking all the humidity out of the air, all the better to gain intensity. I hoped Zrakovi, a Bostonian, would enjoy his first storm. I hoped a live oak landed on his head.

For once in his life, Charles didn't care what anyone thought of his behavior.  He marched straight up to Perry, tapped him on the shoulder, and jerked his thumb to indicate that Perry had better relinquish Amy to him. Now. Perry, grinning, bowed and backed off.  At the same time, Amy turned her head and saw Charles, her face breaking into such an expression of joy that he was nearly undone. "Charles!" she cried, and he knew then that if they weren't in the middle of a crowded ballroom, with everyone staring at them, she would've thrown herself straight into his arms.  As it was, she stumbled such that he had to catch her and set her on her feet, a move that he managed to carry off such that she barely missed a step.  "Oh, Charles, I've been waiting all evening for you to arrive!  Where have you been?" "Looking for you."  He stared at her.  "Amy, you look . . . ravishing," he said, and it was all he could do not to claim those smiling, carmine-rouged lips and kiss her senseless. "For once in my life, I actually feel ravishing!  Oh, Charles — will you look at all these powdered heads, the jewels and silks and satins, everyone having such a good time!  Isn't it just wonderful?  Isn't this just the most magical place on earth?" He swung her through the steps.  "Amy, I do not wish to spoil your enjoyment, but exactly what are you doing?" "I'm dancing!" she said, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling as he led her through the steps.  "Oh, Charles, this is such fun!  Your brother was so kind to give me this night . . . I feel like Cinderella!" "What?" "Lucien!  He was so grateful for what I did for you back in America that he gave me this night, this gown, a new identity, and . . . and, even these diamonds at my ears!  Well, he didn't actually give them to me, I understand that they belonged to your grandmother but he said that only someone with my coloring would be able to carry them off. . . ."  She blushed.  "Charles, you don't think everyone's staring at me because I'm the only one here with unpowdered hair, do you?  Lucien said that I really should leave it natural, and —" "No, Amy," he said tightly, realizing that everyone was staring at her, and it had nothing to do with her hair. It was because she was the most strikingly beautiful woman in the room and one couldn't help but stare at her. "Charles, are you angry?" "Yes, Amy, I am angry, quietly furious, in fact, but not with you." "Then with who?  Certainly, not Perry I hope, because he's now dancing with your sister — she has a tendre for him, you know." "And where did you learn that word, Amy?" "Oh, Nerissa taught it to me.  I understand it is quite the thing to know some French.  Oh, Charles, please don't be angry with Perry, he did nothing wrong —" "It's not Perry I'm angry with, it's Lucien."  The dance ended.  "And by God, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind." His

Actually, I have very acute night-vision. I can see you perfectly, and I like what I see.” “Cheater!” she said, feeling her cheeks heat as a blush raced over her skin. “Never. I will never cheat or leave you, Adina.” He tapped a finger to his heart, right over her name. “I’m yours, and you are mine.” She

you want to add momentum to your tidying work, tap the power of the atmosphere in your room rather than relying on music. The

My Philosophy as I wish my beautiful daughter a Very Happy Birthday, I hope your day is as beautiful as you are. The magical miracles of Life are all about tap dancing on the pages of your own story book. Within each one of our story books are chapters of the mystery and adventures of all the stages of our life. Well on May of 1997, not only did a new chapter begin in my story book. A sequel was created. I was blessed with the gift of motherhood and from that moment on it was not just about my story anymore. It was about hers. It was about my story branching off into hers. It was all about giving her the love and tools to create a healthy foundation for her storybook. Well, I pray every day that I did a great job giving her all the love and tools to dance as she embraces all the mysteries and adventures life throws at her. Here's to 100 ♾️more and beyond Happy Birthday my daughter !!!!!!!!!!!!! (c)By Bonnie Zackson Koury

A tool. A compass. A key that leads to other things.” “What other things?” Ishqa was terrible at this. What was it about six-hundred-year life spans that made one so frustratingly bad at communication? “You are aware of how magic works,” he said. “That it is like rivers running beneath our world, different streams of different substances. Solarie magic, Valtain magic, and our Fey magic.” “And the deeper levels beneath them,” I added. Ishqa nodded. “Yes. The deep magic that is still connected to you, even if that connection had been severed and stitched over. The very same magic that your lover drew from, that… Reshaye drew from.” He rarely spoke of Reshaye—of Aefe—by name. He never seemed to know which term to use. “But,” he went on, “magic is far more complicated than those four levels. None of us know how many different streams lurk beneath the surface of our world, or what they are capable of. Even the extensive modifications that humans and Fey have done to tap into deeper streams merely allow us to reach a fraction of what exists. And for many years—millennia—the Fey had no interest in learning more about those powers. The humans, at least, always strove to innovate. We… thought such things were blasphemous and unnatural. That is, until Caduan took power. He saw how we could use magical innovations to strengthen our civilization and help our people—end hunger, cure illness, even advance art and music.

Chronicled in our ancient text, The Old Book of Alders, Providence Cards were not only Blunder’s greatest treasures but also the only legal way of performing magic. Anyone could use them—all it took was touch and intention. Clear your mind, hold a Card in your hand, tap it three times, and the Card was yours to wield. Pocket the Card or place it elsewhere, the magic would still hold. Three more taps, or the touch of another person, and the flow of magic would halt.

Duff tapped the ex-Marine-or-SEAL on the shoulder. “Hey, do rich people have access to cleaning products the rest of us don’t?” The guard said nothing. “You don’t clean anyway,” said Abe. “I might if I had magic rich people cleaning powder.” “Why don’t you start with a bottle of Comet and work your way up?” “Comet is for commoners. I’m more refined than that.” “No, you’re not.” “Let me dream, peasant.

How do I channel Emyr’s energy? [...] Cavenia says I can feel the bond from his end, but I have to channel him to do it. How do I do that?”
 “You have already done it. [...] When you brought him back from the dead. [...] I can see the mark of his energy in your blood, Wyatt. And Emyr, Wyatt’s is anchored within you. It is clear to me that your magic nearly faded. That you were almost snuffed out—from all worlds. But Wyatt brought you back.” She tilts her eyes toward me, all at once. “And you did that by tapping into his power.” I remember it clearly, more than I’d like to. The feeling of Emyr’s body in my arms, dead but still warm. The darkness around us, lit up by flecks of gold.

Over the years, Facebook has executed an effective playbook that does exactly this, at scale. Take Instagram as an example—in the early days, the core product tapped into Facebook’s network by making it easy to share photos from one product to the other. This creates a viral loop that drives new users, but engagement, too, when likes and comments appear on both services. Being able to sign up to Instagram using your Facebook account also increases conversion rate, which creates a frictionless experience while simultaneously setting up integrations later in the experience. A direct approach to tying together the networks relies on using the very established social graph of Facebook to create more engagement. Bangaly Kaba, formerly head of growth at Instagram, describes how Instagram built off the network of its larger parent: Tapping into Facebook’s social graph became very powerful when we realized that following your real friends and having an audience of real friends was the most important factor for long-term retention. Facebook has a very rich social graph with not only address books but also years of friend interaction data. Using that info supercharged our ability to recommend the most relevant, real-life friends within the Instagram app in a way we couldn’t before, which boosted retention in a big way. The previous theory had been that getting users to follow celebrities and influencers was the most impactful action, but this was much better—the influencers rarely followed back and engaged with a new user’s content. Your friends would do that, bringing you back to the app, and we wouldn’t have been able to create this feature without Facebook’s network. Rather than using Facebook only as a source of new users, Instagram was able to use its larger parent to build stronger, denser networks. This is the foundation for stronger network effects. Instagram is a great example of bundling done well, and why a networked product that launches another networked product is at a huge advantage. The goal is to compete not just on features or product, but to always be the “big guy” in a competitive situation—to bring your bigger network as a competitive weapon, which in turn unlocks benefits for acquisition, engagement, and monetization. Going back to Microsoft, part of their competitive magic came when they could bring their entire ecosystem—developers, customers, PC makers, and others—to compete at multiple levels, not just on building more features. And the most important part of this ecosystem was the developers.

How do the seasons change where you live? What changes can you see and feel? • What influence does the moon have on you? What is the phase of the moon right now? • What wild plants are common to your neighborhood? Name at least ten local plants. • Of those ten plants, which are indigenous to your area and which were imported? When were they imported and by whom? • What trees are most commonly found in your neighborhood? Again, which are indigenous and which were deliberately introduced? When and by whom? • What wildlife is native to your area? • Is the water that’s channeled to your tap hard or soft? • What type of soil does your neighborhood have? Is it chalky, clay, sandy, or other? Is it alkaline or acidic?

dream is “the magic mirror that never lies.

bear to prove the validity of their points of view. The problem arises when the dream theoreticians suggest, “Having demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that all dreams mean thus and so, we have somehow magically proven that all other ideas about the meanings in dreams must be false.” Good science, like good art, doesn’t try to close down the universe of discourse or exclude new possibilities, but rather tries to discover and interpret previously unappreciated patterns and connections. Freud is right—all dreams do have an element of sexual energy and “libidinal” desire woven into their imagery and emotional impact; Adler is also on-the-case—all dreams

I imagined becoming lost in some spiritual plane. Would my body stay here while my mind fled, never to return? “I still want to learn,” I said eagerly despite these risks. “Then close your eyes, Yaga, and raise your arms up to the sky.” Dusha’s voice was soft and reverent. “Can you feel the cyclone of energy above you in the sky?” I raised my arms and immediately sensed a force pressing against my fingers, as if the clouds were slowly creeping toward the Earth, toward me. “Feel your body, Yaga, hollow, waiting to be filled!” chanted Dusha. “It is only with your entire being that you can tap into this place of earth magic, this spot of spiritual power. Feel the energy from the sky and draw it into your body with your arms!” I felt my heart pounding and my blood heating, then my body emptying. I allowed the energy from the sky to flow into me through my arms until a warm light burst into my every cell, my every organ, my very skin—natural energy, the magic of the earth, spiritual power. It crackled until my entire being vibrated with it, as if I had come in contact with a lightning bolt and swallowed it whole. Though I had always been attuned to nature, I had never felt it to this extent or felt such power in the earth magic. I had never known how to accept nature into my own body and harness it. Indeed, how to be aware of my body at all. Dusha was right—Mother had taught me the immortal side of earth magic, of doing without awareness, without feeling. With Dusha, I learned to listen to the natural world around me, not only to the sky, the trees, the waters, the very air, but also to myself.

There’s only one activity that stimulates the brain to produce all seven at the same time, and that’s the ecstatic state of flow. The shortest way there is deep, alpha-driven meditation. When you blend all seven into a single cocktail, the result is euphoria. Let’s see: What might a combination of the first letters of each drug look like? Serotonin, Oxytocin, Norepinephrine, Dopamine, Anandamide, Nitric oxide, and Beta-endorphin? Just for fun, let’s combine them, and call our cocktail’s special blend SONDANoBe. This is the magic formula that, produced inside our own bodies in the proper ratios, bathes the brain in the chemicals of ecstasy. GETTING HIGH ON YOUR OWN SUPPLY When I meditate, I can feel the moment when each drug in the cocktail kicks in. First, I use EFT tapping and release any and every negative thought, emotion, and energy. This drops my level of cortisol, along with suppressing the high beta brain waves of stress. I now have a molecular substrate in my brain upon which I can build a deep and focused meditative experience. Next, I close my eyes and focus. Dopamine kicks in as I anticipate the delicious hormone and neurotransmitter drug cocktail I’m about to be rewarded with. The dopaminergic reward system of my brain fires up and the “body learning” of how to meditate—stored in my basal ganglia, which memorize frequently performed actions—comes online. Ingredient one. My mind starts to wander. My email inbox. The morning’s first meeting. The laugh line of the movie I watched last night. An overdue deadline. Damn, I’m way out of the zone already, cortisol rising, and I haven’t been meditating more than 5 minutes. Dopamine brings me back to focus, aided by norepinephrine. I’m motivated. I want Bliss Brain more than I want an endless loop of the Me Show. I return to center. Cortisol drops. Ahhh, I’m back. Norepinephrine stimulates my attention. Ingredient two. Then I realize that my body is uncomfortable. I have a twinge in my right knee. My lower back hurts. My tummy’s rumbling because it’s empty. I consciously shift my wandering mind back into focus. Back in sync, my neurons secrete beta-endorphin, which masks the pain. The discomfort drops away, and being in a body feels wonderful. Ingredient three. I tune in to each of the archetypal strands that guide me. Mother Mary. Kwan Yin. Healing. Strength. Beauty. Wisdom. I imagine myself meditating in a field of a million saints. I’m lost in Bliss Brain, as serotonin, the satisfaction drug, kicks in. Ingredient four. I feel one with the universe. Oxytocin starts to flow, as I bond with everything. Ingredient five. That releases nitric oxide and anandamide. Ingredients six and seven.

A plate of food appeared, dumped unceremoniously onto the place mat. Even the House hated her. Nesta scowled at the red-stoned room. 'Wine.' None appeared. She lifted the glass before her. 'Wine.' Nothing. She tapped her nails on the table's smooth surface. 'Were you told to not give me wine?' Talking to a house: a new low. But as if in answer, the glass filled with water. Nesta snarled toward the open archway at her back. 'Funny.' ... Nesta stood and aimed for the doorway. 'Keep your wine. I'll get my own.

You in my eyes! You wake up in my eyes like the morning Sun, You surround my life like the day and its busy schedules, You are there when I am sitting idle or pursuing errands undone, Because thinking of you is the default part of all my schedules, Then when the day tires me, You sleep in my eyes, There in my dreams with me to be, While I wish I never opened my eyes, And in the darkness of the night that spreads everywhere, I hold my eyelids tight, To not let your dreams escape from the crevices in my eyes somewhere, And throughout the night I hold you in this dreamy delight tight, Then as the morning bird taps its beak on the glass window, I let the night cease for me as I let your beauty leave the territory of my eyes, And percolate into the morning light that flashes over the willow, Then begins the magic of recreating you in the light of the day with my open eyes, And then my darling Irma, you spread like the sunshine in every corner of my world, And wherever I go I carry my universe with me, In my eyes, your dreams your views and my entire world, And that is how I like it to be, at least for now this is me, But there are moments when dreams in closed or open eyes, Are awakened by your memories, And how I wish I could vanish into the skies, Because on Earth I miss you and our realities, How you feel I do not know, maybe you feel the same, But then a Summer without flowers is not a true Summer, And in a flowerless Summer nothing feels the same, You too could have evolved the feeling to tell me, “my darling let me be your flowery Summer!” Nevertheless, for now let me close my eyes and dream again of you, The Summer, the flowers and us together, To feel once more how I once felt with you, And maybe this time when I vanish into the skies we shall be together!

There is... a sickness in these lands. Across Prythian. There has been for almost fifty years now. It is why this house and these lands are so empty: most have left. The blight spreads slowly, but it has made magic act... strangely. My own powers are diminished due to it. These masks'- he tapped on his- 'are the result of a surge of it that occurred during a masquerade forty-nine years ago. Even now, we can't remove them.' Stuck in masks- for nearly fifty years. I would have gone made, would have peeled my skin off my face. 'You didn't have a mask on as a beast- and neither did your friend.' 'The blight is cruel like that.' Either live as a beast, or live with the mask.

SUMMARY To be a more effective leader, put these four leadership principles to work 1. Trade minds with the people you want to influence. It’s easy to get others to do what you want them to do if you’ll see things through their eyes. Ask yourself this question before you act: “What would I think of this if I exchanged places with the other person?” 2. Apply the “Be-Human” rule in your dealings with others. Ask, “What is the human way to handle this?” In everything you do, show that you put other people first. Just give other people the kind of treatment you like to receive. You’ll be rewarded. 3. Think progress, believe in progress, push for progress. Think improvement in everything you do. Think high standards in everything you do. Over a period of time subordinates tend to become carbon copies of their chief. Be sure the master copy is worth duplicating. Make this a personal resolution: “At home, at work, in community life, if it’s progress I’m for it.” 4. Take time out to confer with yourself and tap your supreme thinking power. Managed solitude pays off. Use it to release your creative power. Use it to find solutions to personal and business problems. So spend some time alone every day just for thinking. Use the thinking technique all great leaders use: confer with yourself.

While many say Schrager’s work is about design, it isn’t—it’s about ideas and experiences. Ian uses the power of his ideas to tap into what he calls the “collective unconsciousness, the ethereal, elusive, and hard-to-define magic and energy.” He understands the power of this intangible, emotional place and uses it to connect deeply with his customers. He knows that “the way a product makes you feel is more important than how it looks. The goal is to create experiences that people will remember, to touch them in emotional and visceral ways, to lift their spirits, to assault their senses, and to wow them in tasteful ways.” But just as important, Schrager under- stands that an amazing experience can’t be created from ideas alone, knowing that “good execution is just as important as a good idea.” And he has consistently manifested his creative potential because he has regularly married the four key elements that create value in our new age: purpose, creativity, execution, and emotion.

was used to deter and chase away evil spirits, and to determine where they came from.

All we can say with any confidence is that hypnosis is a form of focus—usually directed by someone describing a soothing narrative—that causes some people to enter a trance-like state in which their minds are open to outside suggestion. One thing that is certain is that, just as with placebos, the element of storytelling is crucial to hypnosis. In the case of placebos, that means painting a worldview of how a certain remedy could help you: Ginseng taps into your chi; homeopathic treatment cancels out the childhood fears that haunt you. Hypnosis, on the other hand, presents an actual story, painting pictures of magical places that relax you and prepare you for suggestion: walking through a field of flowers or descending a staircase or floating through space and becoming relaxed.

You want to save me from them so you can force me to lead you to one of the glass prisons. I'll release the Warper trapped inside and you can learn how to finish the Kirakawa ritual." “That’s not why. Although you don’t appear bothered by that scenario.” I shrugged. “At least the Council would believe a Warper still lives and others are using blood magic.” “But people would die,” he said in shock. I almost laughed out loud at how we had reversed roles. It was fun playing the heartless destroyer. “It would be the Council’s fault. In fact the idea is growing on me.” I tapped a finger on my lips as if lost in thought. “If I release a Warper, I don’t really need you at all. Unless we use you as a sacrifice.: I studied him. He backed up. “You really are insane.” I pished. “I’m being smart. Think of how powerful I would be if I teamed up with a Warper. WE’d have my messengers, blood magic and, with my ability to siphon power, we’d have diamonds to fund our takeover. I could release the others and be unstoppable.” Delven’s shoulders dropped in chagrin as he realized what I’d been doing. “I should have known. You may have changed, but you’re not a ruthless killer.”I can learn to be ruthless.” I bent down to retrieve my switchblade. He grabbed my arm to stop me. This time I grasped at his wrist with my free hand and clamped down on his pressure point. He fell to his knees. “After all, you taught me well.

Your connection to the natural world grants you access to the energy all around you for spiritual purposes, but it also helps you tap into the magic inside you.

Now Joy explained about her Christmas Joy website. “I suppose some people think I’m a bit silly, starting up something like that at my age. But after my George died, well, I just felt so lost . . . I needed something to occupy my time. And since I’d always loved Christmas and had been giving people suggestions for holiday activities and recipes and decorating tips, well, it just made sense to share it in a bigger way. My neighbor Miranda knows all about computers and she helped me set up a website.” Joy laughed. “Oh, listen to me—just rambling away. And I really came here to get to know you. I heard that you would’ve been celebrating seventy years of marriage this week.” Joy reached over and squeezed Madge’s hand. “Congratulations on your anniversary!” Madge frowned. “But Ralph’s not here. How can I celebrate?” “Oh, he’s not here physically,” Joy said, “but I suspect he’s right here.” Joy tapped her chest. “My George is still here for me.” Madge nodded. “Yes, that’s true.” “And the purpose of an anniversary is to honor the day you and Ralph were wed, right?” “Yes . . . that’s right.” “So why not celebrate? Just because Ralph isn’t physically with you now shouldn’t erase any of the magic you experienced seventy years ago, should it?” Madge’s lips curved into a smile. “That’s true.” “Now, tell me about that day,” Joy insisted. Joy

The Magic of Thinking Big by David J. Schwartz Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl Understanding Understanding by Richard Saul Wurman The Tapping Solution for Manifesting Your Greatest Self by Nick Ortner Start With Why by Simon Sinek The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey

I scooch my body over so I’m on the bed, and we’re head to toe. She’s lying next to me. “Sixty-nine,” I say with a smirk. “Oh. I’ve never done that.” “Hop on. Don’t be shy.” She doesn’t hesitate, and the next thing I know, my tongue is on her again and my cock is taken in by her magical mouth. I love the weight of her tits on my abs as she bobs up and down on me. I wrap my arms around her waist, and as much as I want to see what she’s doing that is making me feel so amazing, I love how I can make her wiggle in this position. Her body shudders again, and I wonder if she’s coming. I damn well hope so. I feel some combination of her hands, mouth, and tongue on me as she slides up and down, slick hands on my rock-hard erection. I gyrate up and down a little, rocking my hips into her. Our bodies press together in an explosion of sixty-nine heat and sweat and sex. For a moment, I pull her hands behind her back, forcing her to sit up and on my face. She’s hesitant at first, but I think my enthusiasm overrides any shyness she might have, and she’s twisting into me as she comes again. I know because she tells me, even though her words are barely a whimper at this point. She lifts her body up and off me, then kneels between my legs and pushes her hair behind her head. “D, tell me how you want me to finish you,” she says as she runs her hand up and down on my cock. I bite my lip. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to fuck your tits.” “Well, I’m glad you’re not lying.” She looks down. “Fuck these things? And how would you do that?” I narrow my eyes. “You’ve never done that?” She shakes her head. “Never.” “So I get to take your boobs’ V card?” I exclaim. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it.” She lies down on her back and I position my legs on either side, straddling her upper body. I slide my cock between her breasts, and just enjoy the beautiful view for a moment. When I lean back with one arm for balance, I find myself fondling her clit again—instinct—but she grabs my arm. “Nah-ah. This is about you, now. This is about D.” Grabbing my cock, she pulls me toward her face and leans forward at the same time, then takes me to the back of her throat, leaving me nice and slick. She puts my cock between her tits and then presses them together. “You like that?” she asks, and I nod vigorously. “Very much,” I grit out. “Good. I like watching you do it.” Her eyes flicker with excitement and that turns me on even more. I press her boobs together myself and she grabs hold of my ass and slides her hands around my hips. It’s so damn hot and this is goddamn reckless abandon, and I feel like I can do anything sexually with this woman, like I’m free and she’s my toy and I’m hers, too. I pump my cock between her tits again and she lets out a moan that puts me over the edge. “Gonna come,” I growl. “Where should I come.” “My tits, baby,” she says throatily, and next thing I know I spurt ropes all over her breasts and neck. By some miracle, none gets on her face. When it’s all over, both of our hearts are racing. She looks down at her chest, and then up at me. “Wow.” “I would say sorry, but that would be a lie.” She touches a tiny bit of the liquid with her finger and taps her tongue. “You taste good, actually. I mean, I already tasted you before.” I laugh as I unstraddle her and go grab a towel. “I’ll let you taste me as much as you want, babe. By the way, let me just say you kind of look hot as hell right now.” “Thanks.” I wipe her off, wipe myself off, and then lean down to kiss her. I envisioned a peck, but it ends up being a long, lingering kiss that promises more. She takes my hand and I stand there for a minute, next to her.

pendulum is not a new invention.

Today, the pendulum is the most used item in the dowser’s toolkit.

The pendulum reads energy patterns. It is able to extract information from deep inside our subconscious minds.

Principles and Practice of Radiesthesia

With the pendulum, information can be transferred from the subconscious to the conscious mind, easily and effortlessly.

pendulum to help them find lost items. I

divination.

became interested in the psychic world in 1830 while director of the Natural History Museum in Paris. He was fascinated with the pendulum and studied it for many years. Eventually, in 1834, he came to the conclusion that the movement of the pendulum was created by the unconscious will of the person using it. Chevreul found that when he stared at the pendulum he seemed to enter into an almost trancelike state. This made him conclude that “an intimate liaison established between the execution of certain movements and a mental act relating to it, even if the thought is not yet the intent to command the muscular organs.” 4

It’s the truth. I feel blessed ... and happy ... and excited every day that we’re together. I feel something extra here.” He tapped the spot above his heart with his free hand. “You’re it for me. You always have been. What I feel for you can’t be duplicated. That’s the magic of us.” Rowan’s eyes burned with unshed tears. “That could be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to anyone.” From the next table, a misty-eyed blonde interjected herself into the conversation. “Oh, honey, I guarantee that was the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to anyone over the course of history. If you don’t snap that man up, I’m kidnapping him.” Rowan laughed, genuinely amused. “I think I’m going to keep him.” “Forever,” Quinn agreed. There was no fear in the declaration.

Mindfulness is about focusing on the magic of the present moment. Rather than fretting about the past or worrying about the future, the aim is to experience life as it unfolds moment by moment. This simple practice is immensely powerful. As we rush through our lives, mindfulness encourages us to stop constantly striving for something new or better and to embrace acceptance and gratitude. This allows us to tap into the joy and wonder in our lives, and to listen to the wisdom of our hearts. This book will show you how to experience small but beautiful moments of mindfulness every day and so guide you along the path to finding more peace and contentment in your life.

It wasn’t a dream, it was a glimpse of the future. You’re a Shadow, Rae. That means you’re human but you have magic ancestry. That makes you also a vessel for magic. With the right training and blood magic, you can become a powerful ally or a formidable enemy to my kind. We call you Shadows because once you tap into your powers, you are invisible to witches. That makes you dangerous to the Council, and if they get wind of your existence, hellhounds will come for you.

I was trained as a scribe, remember? All we’ve done is defend our borders for six hundred years. They’re the ones who won’t accept peace as a solution. What shipments have you been giving them?” “Weapons.” My stomach hits the ground. “That they use to kill dragon riders?” “No.” He shakes his head emphatically. “These weapons are only to fight venin.” My jaw unhinges. “Venin are the stuff of fables. Like the book my father—” I blink. The letter. What had he written? Folklore is passed from one generation to the next to teach us about our past. Was he trying to say… No. That’s impossible. “They’re real,” Xaden says softly, like he’s trying to lessen a blow. “You’re saying people who can somehow tap into the source of magic without a dragon or gryphon to channel, corrupting their power beyond all salvation, actually exist.” I say the words slowly just so we’re crystal clear. “They’re not just part of the creation fable.” “Yes.” His forehead creases. “They drained all the magic out of the Barrens and then spread like an infestation.” “Well, at least that’s in keeping with folklore.” I fold my arms across my chest. “What was the fable again? One brother bonded to gryphon, one to dragon, and when the third grew jealous, he drew directly from the source, losing his soul and waging war on the other two.” “Yes.” He sighs. “This was not how I wanted to tell you.” “Assuming you were ever going to tell me!” I glance to where Tairn watches, his head low as though he might have to incinerate Xaden at any moment. “Care to add to the discussion?” “Not yet. I’d prefer you come to your own conclusion. I chose you for your intelligence and courage, Silver One. Don’t let me down.

☚✿+91-9636763351 ✿☛ Vashikaran Specialist Spell Caster In Canada World Top Tantrik Baba +

Vashikaran Specialist +91-9636763351 How to learn black magic in hindi In United Kingdom World Top Tantrik Baba +

Vashikaran Specialist +91-9636763351 How to learn black magic in hindi In United Kingdom World Top Tantrik Baba +

Orion continued on as if there had been no interruption at all. “-are razor sharp and can be inserted into the heart of a Fae to extract their magic. The process takes less than two minutes and once completed, the Fae will of course be dead and the Nymph will acquire the full power of the Elements that Fae possessed.” “So how can we defend ourselves against that?” Sofia begged, her eyes rounded with fear. Orion tapped the screen in response, revealing a page entitled Shields and Defences. “The draining sensation is a tell-tale sign of a Nymph in your vicinity. A bluish flash often precedes the blast of energy,” Orion said. “Before any other tactic is even considered, I highly suggest you run. You are freshmen, not trained Fae. You will stand little to no chance against a Nymph if they begin the draining process.” “And what if they get too close for us to run?” a guy asked, anxiously scraping a hand through his dark hair. “Then you are most likely dead already,” Orion said completely deadpan. Way to give a pep talk, sir. “But,” Orion said with a dark grin that made his dimple pop out. “Most Fae are too tenacious not to fight to the bitter end. So here are a few tactics you can employ.” He pointed at the first line on the board. “In light of what has happened, shields will no doubt take precedence in your Elemental Classes from now on. If used well, you may be able to shield yourself from the effects of a Nymph's draining power long enough for you to get away. The second tactic.” He pointed to the next line. “Is to engage them in combat before they have a chance to start draining you. As you are not yet trained for battle, I would encourage you to blast the extent of your powers at the creature in one single, wide blow to increase the chances of you hitting your target. The third and most effective means of defence for you to use is to shift into your Order form. Nymphs cannot disable your Order abilities with their power so a Dragon can still breathe fire at them, a Vampire can still use their enhanced strength etcetera. At the very least, your Order form will make it easier for you to run.