Chapter 22 #2
His forehead was creased in a frown. “I—I’m worried about you,” he replied.
I sighed. “I’m fine,” I replied. “Or I will be, once I can get a full night’s sleep.”
“What’s stopping you?” he asked. “I thought you were done with the late-night gigs?”
I shot him a look that I hoped communicated how stupid of a question that was. “Nightmares,” I replied shortly.
He swallowed. “Because of the case?” he asked. “Or the protests?”
I looked up at him, studying his face. “They’re the same problem,” I replied, hoping—but knowing otherwise—that he’d tell me they weren’t.
His lips pressed together tightly. It was enough of an answer. “Rayn—” But he didn’t finish whatever it was he’d been about to say. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Then, “Please let someone drive you home tonight. Unless you want me to—”
“I need to just sleep,” I interrupted him, annoyed that he was back on not wanting me to walk home.
“Or try to.” I was working against myself, I knew, since I slept better when he was there if I was agitated or worked up about something, which I definitely was.
Except when the thing I was worked up about was Raj’s stupid overprotectiveness.
Well, when one of the things I was worked up about was Raj’s stupid overprotectiveness.
I saw the disappointment flash across his face, but only briefly, before he made his expression carefully blank. He nodded once. “I understand.”
I didn’t believe him.
He dropped his hand from my cheek, but then caught my fingers in his, as though he was changing his mind. “Can—” He hesitated.
I waited.
“Can I see you tomorrow?” he asked softly. “Would you come over?”
He seemed both nervous and hopeful at the same time. It was endearing, so even though I was annoyed with him, I couldn’t help but be pleased. And I did want to see him. So I nodded.
A smile flickered over his lips, and he lifted my fingers and kissed them. “I’ll text you, okay?”
I nodded, and he dropped my hand and turned to go.
“Raj?” I called, and he turned.
Aware of the hypocrisy, I said, “Be careful, okay?”
His smile flickered again. “You, too.”
It was almost two when Mason came out to the lobby. “You ready?” he asked me.
I looked up at him, confused. “Ready for what?” I asked him.
He frowned a little. “To ward the office,” he replied.
I continued to stare at him. “I don’t know how to do that,” I said, still confused.
He handed me a small sheaf of papers. “You will,” he replied, his voice serious, but not threatening. “Because we’re going to need your power.”
I swallowed, then nodded.
Okay, sunshine, Sylvia said, her voice patient. Try again.
I didn’t, instead dropping down to the couch in the lobby and putting my head in my hands. I can’t do this.
You can, the ghost insisted. You just have to— But she didn’t tell me what I just had to, probably, I suspected, because she didn’t know.
Mason didn’t, either.
They’d both been trying to coach me through the process of setting protective warding, and I hadn’t managed to do anything at all other than throw magic out into nothingness. Wasting my energy and accomplishing nothing.
I felt the couch dip—a lot. “I’m sorry, Mason,” I said to him.
“You don’t need to apologize,” the big orc replied. “There’s something we’re missing about your magic, because you should easily be able to do this.”
I lifted my face from my hands and looked up at him.
“Well, I can’t.” I was getting very fed up with everyone else telling me what I could or couldn’t do.
I knew they meant well—Mason wanted me to be able to do more with my magic, and Raj just wanted me to be safe—but I just wanted to be able to make my own damn choices about what I was and wasn’t going to do.
And I felt guilty that I couldn’t do this, because I wanted to be helpful. I was tired and frustrated and had no idea what I was doing wrong.
Stop thinkin’ about it like they’re thinkin’ about it, sport, Archie said.
Sylvia rolled her vacant eyes. And how else would you recommend thinking about it, dead man?
Life and death, he replied.
I was too tired to try to put together what that meant.
“What are they saying?” Mason asked.
I looked over at him. “They’re arguing about what I should try next,” I replied. “Archie thinks that I should think about it in terms of ‘life and death,’ but I don’t know what that means.”
Mason made a soft humming sound, the way he did when he was thinking. “How would you use life casting to protect something?”
I gave him a helpless look. “I have no idea,” I replied.
If you were using death magic, Archie said. You’d make a booby trap.
How is that supposed to be helpful? I asked him. You might be able to do that with your magic, but I can’t make a tripwire or something like that out of magic.
“Did someone have an idea?” Mason asked.
“Archie suggested that you can make a booby trap with death magic,” I reported.
“I’m sure he could,” Mason replied. “Just like Ward easily could, and Vi probably could.” Vi was on her way in from Williamsburg. “Their magic is like threads that can be woven together to create magical barriers or thresholds. Ours… isn’t.”
I sighed, then leaned forward and picked up the packet Mason had given to me. “I understand sigils,” I said. “But what I can’t figure out how to do is activate it.” I’d copied the sigil exactly—and I’d been trying for the last hour to actually make it do something.
“How do you make anything do anything?” Mason asked me.
I regarded him balefully. “About all I know how to do is kill things, and I really don’t think that’s useful here.”
Mason grimaced, pressing his lips together around his protruding fangs. “Well…” he murmured. “How would you do that?”
“I’d pull the power from here,” I explained, pressing my hand to my low abdomen, “and push.”
“Okay, so try that,” Mason said.
I looked at him, worried. “And what if I make it into a death trap instead of a protection ward?”
“It would still have a deterrent effect on anyone who wanted to harm us,” Mason replied mildly.
I gaped at him.
He grimaced. “I’m tired,” he informed me. “That seemed funnier in my head than it clearly was coming out of my mouth.”
“I don’t think you want me to accidentally kill a client,” I grumbled.
“No,” Mason agreed. “I definitely do not.” He sighed. “I don’t know what you need to do,” he admitted. “But it might be worth trying, at least?”
I glanced over at him. “I—don’t want to hurt anyone,” I replied.
He nodded once. “Ward!” he called.
The warlock, looking a little paler than usual, with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, rolled his way out to the lobby. “What?” he asked.
“Can you watch Rayn to make sure he doesn’t accidentally create death traps that might kill us or our clients?”
“And I would do that how?” Ward asked.
Mason shrugged. “Make sure the magic is the right color?” he suggested.
“Red or other red?” Ward asked, sounding annoyed.
Mason hummed again, a dissatisfied sound, this time.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Sylvia snapped, popping into visual presence so that Mason could also see and hear her.
“Archie or I should be able to tell whether it’s life or death magic.
” She offered a smile that I wouldn’t really call friendly.
“And as a lovely bonus, we’re already dead, so there’s only so much it would do to us. ”
“What would happen to you?” I asked her.
“Death magic would do very little if it were designed to target the living,” she replied primly.
“And if it’s life?” I asked.
This smile was definitely not friendly, although I didn’t think it was hostile, either. Mischievous, maybe? “Well, that’s when things have the potential to get interesting,” she replied cheerfully.
“Oh, dear God, save us from that shit,” Ward muttered, dropping his head into one hand.
I looked at Mason, who shrugged. “Only one way to find out,” he replied mildly.
“Is that really a good idea?” Beck asked, coming into the room. “Like, do it for science or whatever, but…”
“But?” Mason asked.
Beck held up both hands. “Your problem if Rayn accidentally resurrects Sylvia,” she replied. “Or Archie.”
I’d be okay with that, as long as you let me bring Barney.
I stared at him. Who’s Barney?
“Barney,” Ward said, as though he’d heard my question. “For reference, was Archie’s dog. Which, if I remember right, Archie, was destroyed by the Ordo after you resurrected him.”
Archie cackled. Yeah, well, sport here’s got a much more interestin’ way of resurrectin’ than I do.
Ward shot me a look. “Do not resurrect Archie’s dog.”
“I definitely won’t do it on purpose,” I replied. I couldn’t exactly promise not to do it at all, since I had a track record now of accidental resurrection.
“What if,” Mason said, sitting up suddenly. “You give the sigil an energy boost the way you did me when we were first experimenting with life casting?”
We all stared at him. “Um,” I said. “I can try?”
At the time, it had essentially confirmed—for Mason, anyway—that I was in fact a life caster. It had felt disturbingly easy to just… elevate his energy levels.