fireball

Snarling, I cupped my left hand, focused my ongoing anger, and a sudden sphere of light and heat blossomed to life. It wasn't big - about the diameter of a dime. But it was as bright as a tiny sun.
"Harry," Murphy said. Her voice was a little shaky. "We don't have time for this."
"You think you're ready?" I told Molly. "Show me."
I blew on the sphere and it wafted out of my hand and glided smoothly into the open door of the Beetle and toward Molly's face.
"Wh-what?" she said.
"Stop it," I said, my voice cold. "If you can."
She swallowed and raised a hand. I saw her try to control her breathing and focus her will, her lips blurring over the steps I'd taught her.
The sphere drifted closer.
"Better hurry," I added. I did nothing to hide the anger or the taint of derision in my voice.
Beads of sweat broke out on her skin. The sphere slowed, but it had not stopped.
"It's about twelve hundred degrees," I added. "It'll melt sand into glass. It doesn't do much for skin, either."
Molly lifted her left hand and stammered out a word, but her will fluttered and failed, amounting to nothing more than a handful of sparks.
"Bad guys don't give you this much time," I spat.
Molly hissed - give the kid credit, she didn't let herself scream - and pressed herself as far as she could from the fire. She threw up an arm to shield her eyes.
For a second, I felt a mad impulse to let the fire continue for just a second more. Nothing teaches like a burned hand, whispered a darker part of my self. I should know.
But I closed my fingers, willed the ending of the spell, and the sphere vanished.


White Night Chapter 30, page 296-297