Chapter 22
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After Zahra drops me off at Willow and Zylus’s, I find myself cautiously approaching the front door while replaying my request for the vampire cat in my head.
I want to learn magic. I want to be strong.
This is what Willow suggested I should do, so I really hope the imposition on her husband is okay.
Blowing out a breath, I knock.
Then I wait.
A full minute passes, but right before I give up and accept that they aren’t home, the front door swings open to reveal the small woman in yet another pure white frilly dress.
“Ugh, company,” she mutters, sagging as she peers past me. “Hm. You’re alone. Have you run away from home already?”
“Oh, no. I haven’t.”
“Hm.” She steps aside to let me in, even though every inch of her seems to regret and reject the action. “I was in the middle of a book. If I weren’t, I’d ask you for the details on how you escaped from Cael—that man is stressed about whatever you did—but, you know. I’m in the middle of a book.”
Dwelling on the sensation of Castor’s magic in my clothes, I say, “I’m so sorry to have interrupted you, but I’m actually here to talk to Zylus, if that’s okay?”
She perks up. “You mean to say you don’t want to continue interrupting my book? What marvelous news. Have at him.” She tosses her hand out toward the black cat lying in a sun spot beneath her coffee table, then she turns and vanishes into a room down the hall.
I blink at the animal when it yawns, unsure exactly how I’m supposed to disturb it. A moment passes, then its fur thins, limbs lengthening until a full-grown man rests in the sun spot beneath the table. Sleepily, Zylus stares at me, dual-colored eyes perfectly feline in their detached awareness.
When I don’t remember to say anything, the man closes his eyes and rolls over, putting his back to me.
I tense. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me,” he murmurs, drowsy.
Oh, good. He’s fae and can’t lie, so that means I’m really not bothering him—despite appearances. The palpable relief that settles in me with that understanding makes me think that I’ve been living in the wrong world my entire life. Reassured, I press on, “I have an odd request.”
His head cocks, and he looks back over his shoulder. “For…me?”
“Well, yes?”
He shifts back into his black cat form, trots out from under the coffee table, then shifts back into a man, standing in front of me, a pleased if interested smile on his face.
“I can’t wait to tell Ollie. We’ve recently bemoaned our placement in this friend group.
People are always going to Pollux or Cael for help, but never us.
” Hypnotic voice sweet and almost sultry, he says, “What can I do for you, Danielle?”
Filling my lungs, I say, “Can you teach me magic?”
His fangs flash in his smile. “You want to learn magic?”
“Yes, please.”
“And what do you intend to offer in return for such a risky favor?”
Right, of course. The fae in every story I’m familiar with are known for bargains. Lifting my chin, I portray full confidence. “Bragging rights.”
Grace incarnate, he laughs. “Very well. An apt exchange. I accept.” Wasting no time, he lifts his hand, and a single dark rose forms from the shadows between his fingers. Holding it out to me, he says, “Describe what you feel when you touch this.”
Taking the flower in my hand, I let the cool stem twist against my skin. It’s warm, warmer than Castor’s magic. It does not bring the same calm with it.
“By the way,” Zylus says as he sits on the couch and yawns, “what are you?”
I touch a petal, to see if the sensation changes. It doesn’t. “What do you mean?”
“What kind of faerie.”
Oh. Right. “I don’t know.”
“That will make things a little more difficult.”
I lift my attention off the rose. “Will it?”
“Yes. All fae are capable of some manner of magic. Many stronger fae are able to write their own. Not knowing what you’re naturally inclined to will make it hard to know what exactly I’m to teach you.
We can start with an awareness of what magic is and how to sense it, but beyond that? Who knows what you can or can’t do?”
Zylus’s magic flower tingles against my flesh while I watch him. “If I don’t know what I can’t do…doesn’t that mean I can do anything? Willow told me since I’m paired with Castor, I’m as powerful as he is. What can’t he do?”
The vampire’s eyes glimmer with humor. “Empathize properly.”
Yikes. Ruthlessly accurate. I guess it makes sense for a vampire to be out for blood, but I do not believe I expected him to say something quite that brutal without a second thought. Hesitant, I say, “I was referring to magical ability.”
“I know.” Nodding at the flower, he relaxes. “Well?”
“It’s warm,” I murmur. “Almost pulsing.”
His head tilts, and he lifts his hand.
The properties of the flower somehow shift, somehow…settle. Like the surface of a pond after a ripple.
“And now?” he asks.
“It’s quieter. Like glass.”
His eyes peer. “Change it.”
“What?”
“Reshape my magic and change the flower into something else.”
Change it into…something else?
Okay. I don’t really know how to do that, but I did watch it form in his hands, from shadow. It’s shadow-made. Maybe I can picture molding it like clay, from one thing to another. What to make, though…
My thoughts drift, landing on images of Castor’s hairpins. Elegant. Black quartz and dark pearl. Holding an image of a snake clasp in my mind, I melt the flower. Literally. My hands catch on fire.
Jerking, I drop the ink puddle and watch it reform until a flaming pin launches itself from its flaming clasp as it hits the ground.
Both pieces settle on the carpet, fire licking around the ornaments while they solidify, holding true to the mental picture I fabricated.
Moments pass, and they cool, leaving a pure white snake and a darker clasp behind.
“S-sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.
” Careful, I crouch and touch the clasp, making sure it’s not hot, then I lift it and check the carpet for singeing.
Relieved to find no damage done, I get the snake pin.
“It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” I just caught magic on fire, and turned a shadow rose into a hairpin.
So, yeah. Everything’s completely normal and fine.
Without warning, Zylus rises to take my hand, twisting it to examine the hairpin. He hums. “A snake?”
“I…don’t know. I thought it might suit Castor.” Smiling softly, I lift a shoulder. “He likes to wear some of his hair up, in a pin like this.”
“He’s a snake,” Zylus comments.
“Huh?”
Zylus’s unusual eyes settle on me. “Castor is a snake, like I am a cat.”
I blink.
“You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“He’s a basilisk, otherwise a serpent creature that turns anything that meets its eyes into stone. Theoretically, that means he can shift easily into serpentine forms, just like I’ve found affinity in felines.” The vampire studies me. “Are you claimed?”
My face heats. “As…his soulmate?”
Zylus nods once.
“I… Yes. Since Sunday. I claimed him.”
His sharp nail pricks my finger, and I flinch as blood beads. Bending, he sniffs it, then his eyes narrow. “You’re still very human…” he murmurs. “Can you feel the bond?”
“What bond?”
“The soul bond. The connection between you, and him, as soulmates. Right now, can you feel it?”
My lips part. My heart beats. Another heart echoes in the cavern of my chest. It’s racing. Hard and heavy. “I can. I think…he’s having a panic attack.”
A wry tip lifts a corner of Zylus’s mouth. “Yes, I imagine he is. You don’t want him to know where you are right now, do you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“You are strong enough to conceal yourself from him on that whim alone.” Amused, Zylus lifts my wounded finger in front of my face, and says, “Heal this wound.”
First, transmutation. Now, healing magic? Is this really an introduction to whatever my powers might be? It feels somewhat advanced.
I stare at the blood droplet slipping down my finger and remember that introductions are useless if I want power. If I can skip lessons, I want to. I want to be stronger. I want to do everything. Fearlessly.
I want to be more than I have been. I want to embrace being fae.
With that thought, my finger catches on fire.
And, shocking no one, my fearlessness vanishes.
Yelping, I try to jolt away, but Zylus keeps my hand in his iron grasp. “It’s fine,” he says, tone soothing enough to make me believe him near immediately. The compulsion in his voice sinks me deep into complacency as he murmurs, “It doesn’t even burn, does it?”
Swallowing hard, I stare at the flames whipping off my fingertip and whisper, “N-no. It doesn’t.” The fire flickers away, leaving unblemished skin behind. Slowly, I lift my attention to mismatched eyes. “Would…it burn you?”
“Yes.”
“Why doesn’t it burn me?”
“Because you are meant to be made of fire, and I am not.” He references the hairpin I’m crushing in my grasp. “You took my magic. You burned it away and reinvented it as your own. None of my shadow remains. Can you tell?”
I let my eyes trace the spiral of the snake, feel the warmth radiating from it, like a heartbeat that echoes my own. “I think so.”
“Magic is an undercurrent everywhere, in everything. At any moment, all it takes is a spark for it to ignite into a faerie’s origin.
It is my understanding from what I’ve overheard that you’ve already had an origin sprout from within you.
You should already have an intimate knowledge of what the flickers of magic feel like.
Seek them out until recognizing them is as subconscious as breathing.
For now, that’s your homework. Recognize the different sensations of magic all around you until it’s effortless, then you can learn to weave it into spells.
” Releasing my hand, he settles himself in the window seat, where the sun is, and curls up.
His eyes are closing before I compute that lesson time is, apparently, over. It hardly feels like ten minutes have passed, but I now have a grasp on magic. I now have knowingly and intentionally performed magic.
Looking at my finger, I touch the pad of my thumb to the tip. Shifting my gaze, I take in the clasp. Delicate, ornate, warm. My own magic. In my hands. Physical proof that I am capable of so much more than sitting still and looking pretty.
Something dastardly sparks in my chest, and I wonder if it’s a different kind of origin.
I wonder if maybe, just maybe, it might be the start of my own.
“Zylus?”
He makes a small sound.
I smile. “I don’t know how to correctly express my gratitude without thanking you, but please know I’d like to extend such a sentiment. Your help means a lot to me.”
Gentle, he returns my smile. “I’m glad you’re finding security in what you’re capable of. Don’t undermine yourself or who you are, because my wife is right. To be Castor’s mate is to rival ancient powers with your own. I strongly advise you to act like it.”
The heat in my chest swells, stoked by the magic in his hypnotic words. “I’m learning to.”
“Do you need help getting home?” he asks.
My smile falters. “Oh, yes, actually. I’m not exactly sure I know the way. Traveling by trod is a bit chaotic.”
He points, out the window. “My carriage will take you to Zahra’s. That’s a single trod hop to home. You know where it is?”
In the bushes, a little ways up the street. “I do.”
He nestles in. “Very good,” he murmurs, sleepily. “In that case, best of luck with Castor. He seems…overprotective. Not that I know anything about that sort of thing…probably.”
Probably, huh?
“How in trouble would Willow be in my position?” I ask.
Surely a good sign, Zylus neglects to reply, laughs, and puts his back toward me.
Even assuming my very limited knowledge of magic won’t help me deal with my overprotective soulmate at all, I shake off the worry in favor of the buzz it offers anyway.
I can do magic. I am a creature of fantasy.
My potential rivals whatever Castor is capable of.
I am strong.
I can be fearless.
I will be free.
And handling an angry little snake is nothing to be worried about.
So, I exit the cottage, climb into the dark carriage driven by two skeletal horses waiting for me outside, and make my way home.