CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE #2
Deckard took a step back at the ferocity in Hewitt’s glare.
The ghost pointed at the trees as though accusing Thom from afar.
“He’s not man enough for my Evie. His self-conceit and arrogance disqualify him.
Everything that makes him different from you, every last distinction, is the very reason I would never choose him.
He couldn’t be the man she wanted; he couldn’t be worthy of her love.
Because you are the only one who can love her the way she deserves—the way she needs. ”
The weight of the sentiment felt equal parts fulfilling and damning. Deckard desperately wished that Hewitt was right. He wanted to be that man for Evylin. Yet, he heard her voice in his head, her declaration, “You can’t make me happy.”
“Had I been strong enough,” Hewitt growled, drawing Deckard’s attention once again, “I would have told your brother that if he ever tried to take her from you, he would only prove his worthlessness, and I would personally see the rest of his days made a living hell for ruining her happiness.”
Deckard flinched. Hearing the rage in Hewitt’s voice made his own anger feel small, trivial, and insufficient.
Yes, he was hurt. Yes, he wanted to rail at his brother.
His basest instincts urged him to return to the days of their youth, when conflicts were resolved with fists.
However, in the wake of Hewitt’s violent fury, Deckard found his passions tempered.
He’d lost the ability to hold resentment toward Thom long ago.
This was just one more wound in their long-scarred relationship.
And in truth, Deckard’s guilt outweighed his anger. He’d known of his brother’s infatuation as Hewitt had, and he’d done nothing to dissuade Thom. He hadn’t bothered to confront or resolve the hurt between them. In the end, Thom’s pursuit of Evylin was just as much Deckard’s fault as his brother’s.
“It’s good you didn’t tell him those things,” he said weakly. “It would have only made him try harder to prove himself.”
Hewitt narrowed his gaze, but Deckard continued before the ghost could comment on his dejected mood. “What do I do now?” he asked. “We’re days away from reuniting, but we’ve no idea if Thom’s said a word or not. How do we prepare for that? What’s even the point if Evylin doesn’t want—?”
“So this is what you’ve been doing,” a voice interrupted.
Deckard whirled around, finding Auden standing a handful of paces away. His dark brown coat blended with the trees while his red hair shone like a flare in the final, lingering light of dusk. He stepped into the clearing, expression taut. “Dealing with the dead?” he concluded.
Deckard’s heart seized.
Hewitt heaved an annoyed sigh. “This ought to be good,” he muttered.
“You’re going to get us killed,” Auden spat, eyes locked on Deckard. “Ilain told me—she warned me that you were interested in ghosts, but she said not to worry. She was so sure you wouldn’t go back on your word, yet here you are.”
Deckard opened his mouth to apologize but paused. He’d kept Hewitt with him constantly over the last two weeks. Only now, Auden had discovered his duplicity. If Auden hadn’t seen Hewitt during their travels, could he now? Did he have any proof aside from Deckard’s one-sided conversation?
Choosing to test the boundaries of his magic, Deckard furrowed his brow intentionally. “What are you talking about?” he asked in incredulity.
“Don’t play the fool.” Auden gestured vaguely in Hewitt’s direction. “I can see Hewitt right there.”
The ghost stepped around Deckard. “Can you hear me as well?”
Deckard waited for Auden’s reply.
There was none.
Hewitt scoffed. “Apparently not.”
“Explain yourself,” Auden demanded in the prolonged silence hanging between the living men.
Deckard hesitated a moment longer. Auden’s inability to hear Hewitt brought into question his claim that he could see him as well. After all, if the ghost was visible, Auden would have seen Hewitt’s lips moving as he spoke.
For a moment, Deckard considered continuing to deny the ghost’s presence. But by the fury in Auden’s glare, he knew the Mage wouldn’t let it go.
Raising a placating hand, Deckard tried to play the conversation to his advantage. “All right, I admit it, I summoned Hewitt. But it was long before I made that promise to Ilain. Before I knew I was a Mage at all.”
“Before—” Auden gaped at him, terror evident in his dark green gaze. “That’s not possible. No one can use magic without knowledge, without training.”
That caused a stir of worry within Deckard.
From the moment he’d discovered his connection to the Mages’ power, its force within him had been stronger than he’d learned should be possible.
Summoning a ghost unintentionally, healing rapidly, calling forth those crystalline clouds with barely a thought.
None of that was normal, according to the Calders.
And it only served to deepen his apprehension toward the path of magic.
Deckard ignored his concerns, focusing on the matter at hand. “I swear, it wasn’t intentional. Had I known. . . .”
Auden stepped closer, unwilling to hear him out. “Release him,” he ordered.
Without thought, Deckard said, “No.”
Shock and fear blended in Auden’s expression, causing a spike of anxiety in Deckard too.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hewitt said, his voice a low rumble in Deckard’s ears.
Deckard gave the ghost a reassuring glance, unable to promise his agreement any other way. Regardless of Auden’s worries or the threat of madness, Deckard couldn’t let Hewitt go. Not until Hewitt could speak with Evylin.
“This magic isn’t safe, Jonn.” A wild look filled Auden’s eyes, his voice tremulous. “You’re playing with death. Every Mage who’s started down this path has lost their mind to the Deep. Often at the expense of innocent lives as well.”