Chapter 47 #2
By the time Antoine was back, she’d selected half a dozen possible options from Eve’s list and had found the corresponding entries in the books. He said nothing, but the door clanked and the smell of coffee filled the room.
She looked up, and he smiled apologetically. “I was trying not to interrupt you.”
“You failed. Too swoon-worthy and entirely distracting.”
His smile became a grin, and he set down a steaming to-go cup and a brown paper bag. “Fresh mozzarella, tomato slices, basil leaves, and a balsamic drizzle.”
“Perfect! How did you know?” she asked, ripping it open and pulling out the bagel, wrapped in wax paper.
“First night we met,” he murmured, with a bashful smile. “Balsamic and basil are strong scents, and they lingered.”
That was after her disaster of a date with… what was his name? Stefan. “Good memory.” She took a bite, pushing away thoughts of that creep. What a mistake he turned out to be. But it wasn’t just Antoine who had been lonely. She smiled up at him. “Delicious.”
“Good. Then I will sit on the bed, pretending I’m not here.” He paused. “Unless my help would be useful?”
“Oh, it would!” She set the bagel down and shifted one of the valuable books from the couch to make room for him. “I’d love your input.” That, and the simple act of working together appealed. It felt homey and right—except it was witches and magic. Surreal indeed.
He draped his leather jacket over the chair and sat down beside her. “Talk me through it.”
“Before I do that, I just had a call from my dad.”
“Oh?”
“Seems Mr. Alexander doesn’t want you to drive out west. He paid up.”
“Good. So he should.”
“My thoughts exactly. Dad is puzzled, but pleased.” She took a sip of coffee.
“Anyway, spells. So basically, I need a structure.” She pointed at the column on the screen.
“That was the blood on my forehead and hands last night.” She indicated the next column.
“Then ‘fragments’ I can choose that complement it. I imbue it with my intent, and…” She smiled across at him. “…voilà.”
“Did you download Duolingo already?”
She bumped his shoulder with hers. “No, it’s one of the six French words I already knew.”
He turned the laptop for a better view and read fast. “What are you trying to achieve?”
“A transfer,” she said, suddenly nervous. Was he going to object? “If I could somehow give you the benefit of all my power, would it be enough?”
He looked at her sharply, eyes flicking from blue to lilac and back again. “Is such a thing possible?”
“Well, that’s what I have to figure out.” She scrunched her nose. “I think the concept of power is central, and that’s easy enough to do.” She pointed at two of the strongest examples on the list. “But I have no idea how to make it go from me to you.”
“Mon Dieu,” he murmured, barely suppressed excitement in his tone. “With your strength, this could suffice.” He paused, then reclined on the couch. “What are the risks?”
“What do you mean?”
“When power is involved, there are always risks, ma chérie. What’s the worst that could happen?”
That was the sort of question Eve asked, but when she did, it was more ‘why not do it anyway,’ while Antoine meant ‘I’ll say no if I don’t like the answer.’
“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “All I’m trying to do is boost you.”
He rubbed his chin, and she caught the rasp of stubble against his palm. “The power you have… Is it connected to your life force?”
She shrugged. “Eve might know. I don’t.”
“I suspect it is,” he mused. “After all, that would explain why Belle said you could die if it built up too greatly.”
“Not a problem anymore.”
“True, but now we face the reverse.”
“Meaning?”
“If your spell is too effective, and you give me all your strength, you’re giving me all your life force. In other words, it could kill you.”
She took a nibble of her breakfast, hardly tasting it. “I suppose we don’t want that.”
He rested his elbow on the arm of the couch, his hand clenching into a fist in the air. Then he shook his head. “It is too risky.”
“No.” She glared at him. “I knew you were going to say this. We haven’t even tried!”
“It is in the trying that things go wrong.”
“How can you succeed if you don’t try?”
“These forces, this magic”—he gestured at the laptop, and the books scattered around—“they are dangerous tools.”
“Yes. Dangerous to Roberto, if I can get this right.”
“And to you.”
“Damn it, Antoine!” Cally pushed herself up, pacing toward the bookcases.
She swiveled on her heel to glare at him again, but only concern filled his eyes.
A moment ago, there’d been interest and excitement, a fleeting hope.
Now he was more protective, and willing to stop her.
She took a breath, deliberately calming herself, and spoke softly. “It’s my choice.”
“I don’t want you to—”
She held up a hand, and he paused. “We’re going to be spending a long time together, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” he said cautiously. “Many, many years.”
“Would you have me never explore my magic?”
He shifted on the couch, jaw tightening.
“You’re already powerful,” she pressed. “Mine only matters if I can learn to use it.”
“You can use it by—”
“—Feeding you?” she finished for him. She knew what he was going to say.
“Yes, I can—and will, gladly. But there will be times in our future when I’ll need my magic.
You won’t always be there, Antoine. You might be out…
” She waved a hand, looking for an example.
“…fetching bagels. Or fighting downstairs. How much safer would I be with my own power?” She took a step closer to him.
“Yes, there’s risk. But with it comes the chance for so much more. ”
He pressed his lips to his fist, eyes hooded as he considered her plea, and the silence lingered.
“Very well,” he said at last. “So long as anything we try can begin in moderation… and there’s a way to stop it, once it has started.”
She didn’t know enough to promise that, but she nodded. “That’s fair. And smart.” She sat back down next to him and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
“You’re right, ma chérie.” He unclenched his fist and gave her an attempt at a reassuring smile, but concern lingered in his eyes. “I don’t want to hold you back.”
“Thank you for that too, and I’ll do my best to treat it with the caution it deserves.” She picked up her coffee. “It still leaves the problem I have.”
“Which is?”
“Figuring out how to transfer the power from me to you.” She took a sip, then waved the cup at the books. “All of this stuff is internal, focused on the witch.”
“Hmm. Structure and fragments, yes?”
“Right.”
“Nothing else?”
“I don’t know.” She grimaced. “Maybe?”
“Well, let us assume it is only that. We can’t do anything with the unknown.”
“Fair.”
He leaned forward, reading the notes Eve had made for each of the structures, curses, and boons.
Cally watched him a while, his focus intense.
He was actively trying to help, and he didn’t need to.
He could have blocked her instead—with no spell, there was no risk.
It was a clear show of support, and she loved him more for that.
She reached out with the intention of touching him, of showing her thanks, but he was frowning at the screen as he read, clearly thinking hard, and she didn’t want to distract him. Instead, she took a mouthful of her bagel.
“There is quite a lot of blood,” he muttered finally. “It jumps out.”
“Yes. My blood has always been used to power my magic.” She used to find it distasteful and realized it now didn’t bother her.
“It’s all in the ‘structure’ column.”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
“So if the goal is the transfer of power, what would happen if you mixed my blood with yours?”
She paused with the bagel lifted halfway to her mouth. “That… Could it be so simple?”
“Probably not, but it has a logical elegance to it.”
She dropped the bagel in the wrappings, licked her fingers clean, and pulled the laptop around, biting her lip as she scrolled through the structures. He sat back in the corner of the couch, and she was half aware he was watching her with his intense gaze, eyes even showing a hint of lilac.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly. “You’re on to something. Don’t let me break your flow.”
She found it in a moment, poking her finger at the screen. “This one, here. But we don’t have a chalice. That’s just a big-ass cup, right?”
Antoine leaned in to see. “‘Drink first of the Source…’” He looked at her. “What’s the Source?”
“I’m the Source. It’s my blood, my strength.”
“Huh.” He read on. “‘…then of the Chalice. Mark the Source above the heart, and anoint the Chalice to receive what flows unseen.’” He frowned, leaning back again.
“‘The binding shall be sealed, and the Chalice shall bear it within.’” Cally finished. “Do you have something we can use? Any goblets around here?”
“Ma chérie, you are speaking to a vampire,” he said slowly.
“It’s not like I’ve forgotten.”
“No?” He raised an amused eyebrow. “Read it again.”
Cally gave him a strange look, then focused back on the screen, biting her lip. It didn’t take her long. “You’re the Chalice! But that means we drink each other’s blood!” That didn’t appeal at all—not for her, at least.
“Exactement.” He pushed himself up, shoulders tense, stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and strode a few paces away. Radiating awkwardness.
“That’s another of the six French words I know,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. He didn’t react. “What is it, Antoine?”
He turned then. “Do you know how a thrall is made?”
“Uh, no?”
“I feed them some of my blood. It doesn’t take long, and it’s quite painful, but afterwards, they are mine to command.”
“Oh,” she said quietly.
“Oh indeed.” He pressed his lips together. “We can’t do this. Not if it would enthrall you.”
She considered it, frowning, then lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Why not?”
“Were you not listening? This spell will enthrall you.”
“Yeah, I got that bit. I spoke to Noah. He said he still has free will.”
“Yes, but—” His head fell, and he stuffed his hand back in his pocket. “That’s not the point. You would become a thrall.”
“Would you love me less?”
His head came up and he blinked in surprise. “No, never.”
“Then so what? If I became your thrall—and given that I’m a witch, there’s no guarantee, right?
—then you could control me the way the bond…
” She shook her head, then finished her sentence.
“The way the bond will let me compel you.” She laughed bitterly.
“Maybe they’ll cancel each other out.” She rose, walking to him, and placed her hand on his chest. “There are advantages.”
“I don’t see any,” he said stubbornly.
“You can talk to your thralls from any distance, right?”
“Yes,” he admitted with reluctance.
“And you could have me bend over the sofa whenever you wanted.”
His lips twitched, like the thought appealed, and she made a mental note to try that again, sometime soon.
“The way I see it, there are only benefits,” she continued.
“What did you say when I told you I had this power over you?” She feigned thoughtful recollection, then answered her own question.
“‘There is no one else I would trust with such power over me. And I do trust you, mon amour.’” She went up on her toes to kiss him.
“I love you, with all my heart. If you end up making me your thrall, then… good.”