flickum bicus

“Success or failure of the spell is not the issue,” he said. “What matters is the success or failure of your will. Your will to overcome human weakness. Your will to work. To learn. I will have no shirkers here, boy.” He settled down onto the floor next to me and nodded toward the fireplace. “Again, if you please.”
I stared at him for a moment, then down at my hand, at the discarded lighter.
No one had ever told me I was special before. But Justin had. No one had ever taken so much time to do anything with me. Ever. Justin had.
I thought of going back into the state system—to the homes, the shelters, the orphanages. And suddenly, I truly wanted to succeed. I wanted it more than I wanted dinner, more even than I wanted to watch Knight Rider. I wanted Justin to be proud of me.
I left the lighter where it was and focused on my breathing.
I built up the spell again, slowly, slowly, focusing on it more intently than on anything I’d ever done in my life. And I was nearly thirteen, so that was really saying something.
The energy swelled until I felt like someone had started a trash fire in my belly, and then I willed it out, through my empty, outstretched right hand, and as I did, instead of using the Egyptian phrase, I said, “Flickum bicus!”
And the remaining tinder under the logs burst into bright little flames. I didn’t think I’d ever seen anything more beautiful.
I sagged and almost fell over, even though I was already sitting on the floor. My body suddenly ached with hunger and weariness, like this one time when all us orphans had gotten to go to a water park. I wanted to eat a bucket of macaroni and cheese and then go to sleep.
A strong, long-fingered hand caught my shoulder and steadied me. I looked up to see Justin regarding me, his dark eyes flickering with warmth that wasn’t wholly the reflection of the small but growing fire in the hearth.
“Flickum bicus?” he asked.
I nodded and felt myself blushing again. “You know. ’Cause…the mediocrity.”

Ghost Story Chapter 20, Page 229-230