Chapter Forty - Three
Chapter
Forty-Three
ASHER
There's nothing quite like walking the halls of Malachi's fortress in the dead of night, when even the shadows hold secrets. It's the only time this place feels remotely interesting — when the proper, pristine daytime veneer gives way to something more honest. More real.
I've always loved the night. Fewer rules. Fewer eyes watching. More possibilities.
I spot Sage descending the grand staircase, hair loose around her shoulders, expression troubled. Something about her seems different tonight — a vulnerability, yes, but also a quiet determination that wasn't there before.
I step out from the shadows, unable to resist. "Well, well. Someone's having trouble sleeping."
She startles slightly, hand tightening on the railing before recognition softens her features.
"So am I," I continue, moving to the foot of the stairs. "Fancy meeting you here, librarian. Care for some company?"
A small smile forms on her lips — she's getting used to me, no longer startled by my sudden appearances or forward manner. Progress.
"Actually," she says, continuing down the stairs, "company sounds nice."
"Excellent. I know just the place."
I lead her through the darkened hallways, occasionally glancing back to make sure she's keeping up. She walks with her arms wrapped around herself, like she's holding something in — or keeping something out.
"So," I begin casually, "what has you wandering the halls at this ungodly hour?
Let me guess. Another warlock making inappropriate advances?
Or is it just the general existential dread of discovering you're a long-lost witch bound to a stuffy academic and an impossibly broody warlock in a magical ritual that shouldn't exist? "
She lets out a startled laugh. "You really don't pull any punches, do you?"
"Punches, no. Other things, absolutely," I wink, enjoying the blush that immediately colors her cheeks. Too easy. "But seriously, you look troubled. Anything I can help with? I'm an excellent listener when I want to be."
"I doubt that very much," she quips, but there's no bite to it.
"Wound me, why don't you," I clutch my chest dramatically. "And here I was offering my services as both therapist and tour guide."
"Where are we going, anyway?" she asks, glancing around as we pass through a corridor I'm certain she's never explored.
"Technically, we're starting your training early."
She stops abruptly. "Training? Now? I'm not really in the mood for?—"
"Perfect!" I interrupt, taking her hand and pulling her forward again. "That's exactly the right mood for what I have in mind."
"Asher," she protests weakly, but continues following me. "It's the middle of the night."
"Best time for it," I assure her, stopping in front of an ornate door inlaid with mother-of-pearl that shimmers in the dim light. "Magic is different at night. Wilder. More honest."
I push the door open to reveal my second-favorite room in the entire estate — a domed observatory with a glass ceiling that opens to the night sky.
Stars shine through the clear panels, casting silver light across the circular space.
Plush cushions and low divans are scattered around, and in the center sits a small, shallow pool filled with water so still it mirrors the heavens perfectly.
"What is this place?" she breathes, wonder replacing her earlier hesitation.
"The Star Chamber," I announce with a flourish. "Built in the 1700s for astronomical observation, repurposed by yours truly for slightly more entertaining pursuits."
She moves further into the room, turning slowly to take in the dome above. "It's beautiful."
"I know," I agree, watching her rather than the stars. "Now, about that training."
She eyes me suspiciously. "What kind of training happens in a room full of cushions under the stars?"
"The fun kind," I grin, dropping onto one of the divans and patting the space beside me. "The kind Malachi and Gideon would never think to teach you, and Elias is too proper to mention."
She hesitates, then carefully sits beside me, maintaining a respectable distance. "And what's that?"
"How to enjoy your magic," I tell her simply. "Everyone's so focused on control, on purpose, on defense. But no one's teaching you how to have fun with it."
She blinks, surprised. "Is magic supposed to be fun?"
"God, they've really done a number on you," I laugh. "Of course it's meant to be fun. Power coursing through your veins, reshaping reality to your whims? It's the greatest high in existence."
Her lips quirk up. "Doesn't sound very responsible."
"Responsibility is overrated," I wave dismissively. "Besides, joy is an essential component of powerful magic. The old texts call it 'exultation of spirit' — the purest conduit for magical energy."
"Really?" she looks skeptical.
"Really," I nod. "Now, give me your hands."
She extends her hands cautiously, and I take them in mine, immediately noting how soft they are. Librarian's hands, unmarked by physical labor but sensitive from years of turning pages, cataloging stories.
"Close your eyes," I instruct, my voice dropping lower.
She complies, her lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.
"Now," I continue, "I want you to remember a moment of pure joy. Not happiness, not contentment. Joy. The kind that makes you feel like your chest might burst."
Her brow furrows slightly as she concentrates.
"Got one?" I ask.
She nods, a small smile playing at her lips.
"Good. Now, instead of just remembering it, I want you to feel it. Let that feeling spread from your chest to your fingertips, your toes, the top of your head."
As she focuses, I feel a subtle shift in the energy between us. The air grows warmer, charged with potential.
"That's it," I encourage. "Now, imagine that feeling taking shape, becoming light."
A soft golden glow begins to emanate from her skin, pulsing gently with her heartbeat. It's beautiful—raw, untamed magic responding to pure emotion rather than practiced technique.
"Open your eyes," I whisper.
She does, and gasps as she sees the golden light surrounding her hands, dancing between our joined fingers.
"I'm doing that?" she asks, wonder in her voice.
"All you," I confirm. "No ritual, no incantation, no mystical mumbo-jumbo. Just you and your joy."
The light brightens, illuminating her face in a warm glow. There's something undeniably lovely about her in this moment—all hesitation stripped away, replaced with genuine delight.
"Now for the fun part," I grin. "Direct it outward, toward the pool."
She bites her lip in concentration, focusing on the still water at the center of the room.
The golden light extends from our joined hands, stretching across the space between us and the pool.
When it touches the water's surface, ripples of light spread outward, creating patterns that reflect the stars above.
"Oh!" she breathes, delighted. "It's like?—"
"Magic?" I supply with a wink.
She laughs, the sound uncomplicated and bright. "I was going to say it's like finger painting with light."
"Even better description," I acknowledge, genuinely impressed by her imagery. "That's exactly what it is—playing with power, creating something beautiful just because you can."
The light continues to dance across the water, responding to her emotions, creating swirls and patterns that shimmer in the darkness.
"Try different emotions," I suggest. "See how the light changes."
She concentrates again, and the golden glow shifts to a cooler blue. The patterns in the pool become more structured, geometric.
"What are you feeling now?" I ask, curious.
"Calm," she says softly. "Peaceful."
"Beautiful," I nod. "Now try something more... intense."
Her eyes flick to mine, questioning.
"Desire," I clarify, holding her gaze. "Want."
A blush spreads across her cheeks, but she doesn't look away. The light between us shifts again, deepening to a rich, vibrant crimson that pulses with greater intensity. The patterns in the pool become more dynamic, spiraling and reaching.
"Fascinating," I murmur, genuinely impressed. "Your magic responds so naturally to your emotions. Most warlocks spend decades learning to channel like this."
"Is that unusual?" she asks, still maintaining the crimson light.
"For a witch? I don't know," I admit. "You're the first I've encountered. But for magic-users in general? Yes. Most need structure, discipline, focus. Your power seems more... intuitive."
The light flickers, then fades slightly as her concentration breaks. "Sorry," she says. "It's hard to maintain."
"No apologies," I shake my head. "You're doing remarkably well for someone who only discovered their abilities a few days ago."
She lets out a small, incredulous laugh. "Has it only been days? It feels like forever."
"Time moves differently in our world," I explain, still holding her hands. "Magic bends perception as much as it bends reality."
We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the remnants of her light still dancing faintly across the water. There's an ease between us that feels new—a connection that goes beyond my usual flirtation or her careful reserve.
"Why are you like this?" she asks suddenly.
I arch an eyebrow. "Like what, exactly?"
"So..." she gestures vaguely with our still-joined hands. "Playful. Carefree. Different from the others."
I consider deflecting with humor as I usually would, but something about the night, about her genuine curiosity, makes me reconsider.
"I've seen too much to take existence too seriously," I say instead, surprising myself with the honesty. "When you've lived as long as I have, you realize that joy is rare. Pleasure is fleeting. You learn to grab it when you can."
"But surely there's more to it than that," she presses gently. "You use humor like a shield."
Sharp little thing. I might have underestimated her perceptiveness.
"Maybe I do," I acknowledge. "Or maybe I just prefer laughing to brooding. Have you seen Malachi's forehead wrinkles? Tragic. I'm preserving my youthful good looks."
She doesn't laugh as expected. Instead, she studies me with those thoughtful blue-grey eyes. "You told me a little about your past before. About saving your sisters from a fire. What happened after?"
I sigh dramatically. "Are we really doing deep, meaningful conversation hours under the stars? I had much more entertaining activities planned."
"We could do those too," she suggests, then immediately blushes at her own boldness.
Now that catches my attention. "Well, well. Look who's getting brave."
She shrugs, the movement making the loose collar of her sweater slip further down her shoulder. "The binding with Elias ans Malachi... it changed something in me. Made me more willing to acknowledge what I want."
"And what is it you want, librarian?" I ask, voice dropping lower.
She meets my eyes steadily. "To understand. All of you. Myself."
"Understanding's overrated," I tell her. "Feeling is much more interesting."
"Then tell me," she challenges softly. "Help me understand how you feel. What made you who you are."
I could easily change the subject, distract her with flirtation or magic tricks. But something about her quiet persistence makes me want to offer a piece of truth.
"After the fire," I begin, keeping my tone deliberately light, "after I saved my sisters and the village turned against me, I ran. For decades, I just... ran. From town to town, country to country, never staying long enough to form attachments."
She listens intently, her hands still in mine.
"Magic wasn't something to celebrate back then," I continue. "It was dangerous. A death sentence in most places. So I learned to hide it, to use it only when necessary. But that's no way to live—constantly suppressing an essential part of yourself."
"What changed?" she asks.
I smile, remembering. "I met others like me. Warlocks who had formed their own communities, their own rules. And for the first time, I could be myself. Use my power openly. Experience the full range of what magic offers."
"Including pleasure," she guesses.
"Especially pleasure," I nod. "I discovered that magic and pleasure are intrinsically linked—one amplifies the other. A revelation that forever changed my perspective."
"Is that why you offered to teach me?" she asks, a hint of teasing in her voice. "Your 'lessons' in pleasure?"
I laugh, genuinely pleased by her boldness. "Partly. But also because I meant what I said—you need someone to show you the joyful side of magic. Not just the duty, the responsibility, the burden of being the last witch."
Her expression sobers. "Do you really think I am? The last?"
"I don't know," I admit. "But if there are others, they're hiding well. The Magister and his council were very... thorough... in their purge."
She shivers slightly, and I realize I've dampened the mood.
"But that's enough history for one night," I declare, releasing one of her hands to create a small flame that dances on my palm. "Let's get back to the fun part."
The fire shifts from orange to blue to purple as I manipulate it, forming shapes—a bird that flaps its wings, a flower that blooms and withers, a tiny dancer that pirouettes across my fingers.
"That's beautiful," she says, watching intently.
"Your turn," I challenge, closing my fist to extinguish the flame. "Show me what brings you joy."
She hesitates, then closes her eyes, concentrating. The golden light returns, flowing from her fingertips, taking shape in the air between us. It forms a book that opens, pages turning as if blown by a gentle wind.
"Of course," I laugh softly. "The librarian creates a book."
Her eyes open, a smile playing on her lips. "Books were my first love. My escape when the world was too much."
"And now?" I ask. "What's your escape now that the world has gotten significantly stranger?"
She considers this, the golden book dissolving back into formless light. "I'm not sure I want to escape anymore. I think... I think I want to face it. To understand it. To be part of it."
"Bold," I approve. "The meek librarian is finding her spine."
"I was never meek," she corrects gently. "Just careful."
"And now?" I press, leaning closer.
"Now I'm learning when to stop being careful," she says, meeting my gaze with newfound confidence.
The air between us shifts, charged with something more than just magic.
I've flirted with countless women over my centuries of existence, played this game more times than I can count.
But something about Sage feels different—she sees through the performance to the truth beneath, and still she's here, looking at me with those clear, intelligent eyes.
It's unsettling. And utterly intriguing.
"These lessons in pleasure," she says softly. "Were you serious about them?"
"I'm always serious about pleasure," I reply, voice dropping to match hers. "It's about the only thing I am serious about."
"Show me," she challenges quietly.