Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Flint’s story plays in my mind as I try to ready myself for the day.
I had thought that I would be ruminating on how he mentally joined us yesterday — in multiple ways, wink wink — but the story he told me about Goira is taking precedence.
There was something… I don’t know. Was it just the emotion in Flint’s face, his voice, as he recounted these moments in his life that made it feel like I had been there?
That I had lived those moments with him?
It was so powerful. Since I had met him, Flint appeared to be unbreakable. Fearless, strong, unflinching. To hear his voice shake, feel him shake… I think that shook me as much as the scenes he’d described.
To be stripped of all power, autonomy, emotions? Is there any hell more devastating, more punishing than that?
It sounds like a special sort of Hell, honestly.
I may not have a lot of my memories and, don’t get me wrong, that shit haunts me, but to not have my feelings?
That sounds… torturous. I mean, I feel all the “bad” shit.
I get angry, tired, upset, angry. But I also feel love, joy, happiness, contentment, lust. I feel all the things that feel “good” I guess this is one of those life lessons where you can’t feel the “good” without the “bad”, or some shit like that.
What type of mark does that leave on a man… er… male? I can’t imagine having to live through something like that.
Suddenly, I’m no longer in the bathroom, a brush in one hand, my toothbrush dangling from my mouth. I’m standing next to Flint on a battlefield. A group of men stand before us, wearing robes, with various bones on pieces of leather around their necks.
I know the bones are from the females they’ve vanquished, although I can’t explain how or where the knowledge comes from. It makes no sense — not to me, at least.
A blink and I’m back in my bathroom. I don’t know what to think, what to feel. When I glance in the mirror, silver eyes stare back at me.
“Flint!”
I blink but they don’t change.
He barges in, throwing the door open.
“What is it?”
I gesture to my face, my breathing rapid, palms sweaty. “What the fuck?”
“Ah, love.” He scrubs both hands through his fair, then uses one to cup my face, the other bringing my hand to his chest.
“How are you this fucking calm? Flint — WHAT THE FUCK?” I try to reach for grounding and falter.
“Breathe. Breathe with me, love.”
I stare into his eyes and try to focus on matching his slow, even breathing and not think about the fact that my eyes are fucking silver.
Flint
Well, fuck.
I reach out and lightly weave a soothing spell around Ash, hoping to calm her down, at least enough to have a conversation. The silver in her eyes doesn’t shift, but her breathing slows.
“It’s fine, love. Everything’s fine. Just keep looking at me.”
I hold her gaze, and when I feel the soothing spell lull her further, I allow some of the power to show in my own eyes.
Her breath catches again. “Your eyes… my eyes… fuck. Flint?”
I smile softly, brushing a thumb back and forth across her cheek. “It’s okay. Just keep breathing with me.”
“I thought I’d imagined it but your eyes fucking glow.”
I nod. “When I channel my power, they do. And apparently, so do yours.”
Before she can protest, I kiss her, pouring my hope, my love into the kiss. Is it wrong to distract her? Probably, but what comes next will be easier if she’s calm. Especially if her power is leaking through. The last thing I need is my beloved witchling leveling the entire building.
She’s not to be deterred. She breaks the kiss before things can get interesting, pulling away abruptly.
“My what?”
I rest my forehead against hers, feeling her hand fist in my shirt. I know she wants to shake me. I can hardly blame her.
“Your eyes glow… when you channel your power.”
She wheels away and I feel a surge of her power rip through the web of my spell around her.
Guess we’ll be doing this without a buffer.
Shit-fuck-damn. I brace my back against the door frame, putting myself between her and the exit, crossing my arms over my chest. Rather than risking her bringing the walls down around us and praying to all the Gods that we both survive this, I put a shield around our apartment.
No sound will get in or out unless I allow it.
It will also help contain any magick Ash may cast without meaning to.
“What do you mean ‘my power’? Flint, I don’t have any fucking power.” She paces the small bathroom, hands tugging at her messy curls.
I remain motionless, following her with my eyes. I might appear relaxed, but I’m braced to counter anything she might accidentally whip out in her distress.
“I’m not Fae. I’m human. Just human. This is crazy. Maybe I really am finally losing my mind. I mean, why not? My brain is clearly fucking broken. If it worked like it was fucking supposed to I’d remember my life. If it worked appropriately, I wouldn’t lock patrons in the shop overnight.”
She seems to come to a realization and whirls back to me. The silver in her eyes shines like a beacon and I feel the flame of hope in my chest burn brighter.
“I’m not Fae. I can’t be.”
Her eyes dart to mine again and I tense, thinking she’s going to rush me.
“Flint. It can’t be true.”
“It must be. There’s no other explanation.”
“No! That’s not possible. I don’t want this, I can’t— I don’t know what to do with it—”
“Yes.” I’m losing patience, which I know is the last thing either of us need. She needs me to be calm and rational. “Yes, you do. I bet you’ve always known. Don’t fight it.”
“If I’m Fae then… th-th-that means that…”
“It means what, Cas? It means that you have power. It means that you’re more than you know. It doesn’t change anything.”
“If I have power then why didn’t it manifest when I was fighting off Brett? Why did I need you to ride to my fucking rescue? Not once, but twice. This can’t be happening.”
The mirror on the wall spiderwebs with the force of her emotion. I wince, blowing out a deep breath.
“It must have been blocked, love. It happens.” I hedge. “Especially if there’s been a significant upset in your life. But having magick is hardly the end of the world.”
“You mean kinda like waking up and not having any fucking memories?”
I don’t flinch as she sings from rage to fear to despair, but I’m thankful that at least some of the block on her powers remains. Better we get there slowly rather than her using flaming whips or worse.
Water runs into the tub; a trickle at first called by her power, but it quickly increases to a rush. Guess I spoke too soon. Her eyes grow wide.
“Yes, exactly like that.” I still don’t move toward her. It feels too soon and I don’t want to push her over the edge.
I’m terrified and elated. Surely, if she’s conjuring now, then she’s closer than ever to remembering. I’m still not sure if it’s too much, too fast or if I’ve made a grave error.
She stares at the tub in disbelief.
“Love.” She ignores me. “Casie!” Her wide eyes finally meet mine.
“Am I doing that?”
"Yes. So I need you to focus on your breathing and ground yourself. Like the day in the flowers? I need you to calm the power you’re pulling.”
"How?” she almost wails.
“You don’t need the power. Just relax and let it go. Focus on the flowers.” I gesture to the glass of flowers I freshened for her yesterday, a mix of wildflowers. “Focus on the scent — breathing it in, letting it go.”
I try to guide her through breathing and grounding, but her emotions continue to swell and spiral. It’s not working. I move away from the door, stepping into her line of sight and blocking her view of the flowers.
“Love,” I say, gently, “look at me.”
Molten eyes find mine. My heart lurches.
I’ve missed that gaze so much.
I extend my hand to her. “Give it to me. Don’t lock it inside. Just… breathe it out. Push it through me, like a storm. I can take it.”
Her breath is ragged, hitching. “I’ll hurt you.”
I shake my head. “You won’t. But even if you do, let me be hurt. I’d rather bleed with you.”
I stand and wait, arm still extended. The choice has to be hers.