He looked surprised for a second, then said, “You don’t know about Counterparts . . .”
I shook my head. “Not a lot.” I could have told him about the children’s book, but withForcing the Bondsitting on the arm of the couch beside him, I worried if I told him much more, he really would think I was obsessed with bonding.
I didn’t think he realized it, but he was running his thumb back and forth over my wrist in a manner of stressed fidgeting.
“Trust is the first part of it,” he said. “There are two ends of the bond that will seal separately. My end. And yours. They don’t have to seal at the same time, and probably won’t. It will happen when we trust each other to fulfill our deepest needs.”
Our deepest needs?
Currently, my deepest need was Leland. For him to give himself to me, for me to stop burning at the thought of sharing him.
“Were you planning to give me your blood?” I asked. “Because, if not, I think we’re safe from it sealing.”
“I knowyou thinkthat’s what you want,” he laughed. “But it’s usually deeper. A need a witch doesn’t realize they’ve been longing for, because they’ve already adapted their life around not having it. The need to stop burning for me is just magic.”
I felt a twitch in my chest, a movement big enough to make me question what he’d said. Leland showed no signs of having lied about anything and continued talking.
“Our magic, joined together, makes us whole. I’m yours. Or part of you, magically speaking. That’s why you’re burning forme. I’m dealing with it too.”
“You are?”
“Somewhat. Mine’s not as painful, because I can spellcast.Your bloodhas no spellcasting magic yet. You need me like water. I need you like a warm piece of bread, only it’s the third time they refilled the breadbasket . . .”
And you don’t want me.
“I want you,” he said, “but I’m too full.”
Full.
Not available.
I shouldn’t have cared, and maybe it wasn’t even the real me who did. But it would’ve been nice, less humiliating, to hear we were on the same page, both struggling with the Counterpart bond in the same ways. Only we weren’t. We weren’t. I needed to accept that.
I still hadn’t solidified, though I had stopped blinking for a battery change, and no longer felt like I was turning to mist. I was a shadow version of myself, something you’d expect to find standing in your doorway after coming out of a dream. Not me. But, for the time being, not leaving.
“How did you know about etherizing?” I asked. “Is it an Allwitch thing?” To my knowledge, it wasn’t. But maybe he knew something I didn’t.
“No. No Allwitch has ever done this. Only the Goddess, and we only know about it from the old stories of the last time she was seen on land. I don’t know what people would believe if they saw you like this. But there are enough people dissatisfied with Her right now that, if they saw you do it, they might take it as a sign of hope, a possibility there could be another deity.”
I looked up at the onyx slate of ceiling and took a deep breath. “I take it that’s bad?”
Leland nodded. “The more witches stop believing in Her, the more it dilutes the magic in the Circle of Seven. The Echelonsput down every threat to Her.” His gaze turned pained. “This — in addition to you being my Counterpart — they can’t know about. I’m not letting you out of here until you look like you again.”
“Is that why you used so many spells to make the alley nice? To convey you don’t care about helping me? Nope. No blood attachment to the half witch at all. Just a penchant for mood lighting and a couch optimized for cuddling.”
“I’m a Creator. I can’t Create anything without the intention to make things better. That’s how creation magic works.This couch?It’s not for cuddling. It’s a place to sit that isn’t shitty.”
“Okay, Leland.” I didn’t point out wewerecuddling, even if he couldn’t feel me. My shoulders slumped as I sank into more of a lounging position. “I’m sorry it’s taking so long. You hate this. Clearly.”
“Yes.” He dropped his head back dramatically to face me, his lips a breath away from where mine should be. “I hate being around you. Particularly when you refuse to do anything to help yourself.”
Only the second half of what he’d said was true.
I took a centering breath to keep my thoughts from running away from me. I would not read anything into the fact that he’d more or less just told me he enjoyed my company. Leland, I was realizing, was a flirt. One who took a sick kind of pleasure in sustaining eye contact past the point of politeness, saying he wasfull, and in the next breath saying something entirely different, something that might lead one’s blood to believe —
No. He wasn’t interested.Neither of uswas interested.
That line of thinking lasted all of a millisecond before I said something stupid.
