Xander frowned. He and Edward had read of lesser magic, of simple spells being cast by those born without abilities that went beyond the natural, but those tales had been based on other worlds, other realities. “The Romillys knew lesser magic?”
“They still do. Any mortals who marry into the family or any children who are not born as Incantrices are taught lessermagic. They usually require something physical to work; cards that are laid out one by one to hint at one’s fortune, trinkets that have been blessed with prayers to the Superi, like Soror to provide guidance or Tutel for protection. A few of them even use mixtures of herbs for supposed strength or healing, but the only effects I saw were more of an emotional impact rather than physical.”
“Where did they learn such spells?”
“From Divina, I suppose,” Adriana shrugged, her attention fixed on the shadows in her hands as she attempted to manipulate them to form the same patterns as Xander’s. “Their books didn’t have an author, or at least not one who made themselves known. But they reminded me of my great-grandmother’s writing, the way they taught a lesson within a tale.”
The darkness she held expanded, shadows pulsing against her hold on them, before they suddenly snapped into a similar shape to Xander’s, as if they had eventually given up and succumbed to her will. Perhaps this was just how a second generation Nocte Lamia’s magic worked, Xander thought. His brother’s descendents’ magic worked in similar but not identical ways to their creator's. Each person had their own knack for controlling their gifts, or, in Nicolai’s descendents’ cases, couldn't control it at all. Clearly, Adriana didn't need his help with the darkness. She had found her way through it alone, and had taken it in her own way.
“Let's take a break for now,” he said, releasing his hold on his shadows. “But I want to work on your light next.”
“I already told you, I can’t reach it like I used to.”
“And the reason you gave me is exactly why I want you to. You're holding back, and not just your magic. If you want to gain your control back, first you must let go of it.”
She chewed at her bottom lip in thought, but Xander didn't pry in her mind. He couldn't persuade her to find her balance, only she could make that decision.
“Very well,” she muttered, her feet kicking at the dirt.
They didn't speak as they ate lunch, and Adriana excused herself to drink another bottle of blood away from him. He understood why; it was odd for him to have to consider her own bloodlust, too. As much as he wanted her to feel she could be open with him, especially with her immortal cravings, he knew that it would take time.
He wondered if she always drank this much, or if it was because she wasn't used to using her powers. Or perhaps it was to soothe the burning urge to hurt him, to attempt to quench the desire to make him pay for what he did. Whatever the reason, he wouldn't push. But he wanted her to know that she could talk to him, if and when she wanted to.
“I have a few more bottles,” he said, as he watched her return outside, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He noticed a small speck of blood staining the corner of her mouth, and wondered just how beautiful she would look covered in the blood of her enemies as she fed upon them.
“I'm fine,” she snapped. “Let’s just get on with it.”
She stood before him with her shoulders hunched as if defeated already, before she slowly, reluctantly, raised her hands, turning her palms upward. Xander could see the slight tremor of her lower lip, and the way her eyes darted around the trees, the ground, anywhere but him. He knew she didn’t want to do this, but that fear she held, the reluctance to embrace her true power, was the only thing that would bring her back to herself. He was sure of it.
“Breathe, Adriana,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Focus on the warmth within you. Bring it forward, don’t be afraid of it.”
Her jaw clenched and he half expected her to throw back an insult or reject the idea of being scared of her own magic, but she didn’t. She pushed down every thought, every feeling, every ounce of power. Just like she’d blocked it all out that night.
Xander could sense a darkness in her mind, one that moved and flowed the same way as his shadows. It had clung to her ever since that night, ever sincehehad taken everything away. And it was suffocating her, snuffing out any hope of light and joy.
Her light was her antidote, but to claim it, she would first have to embrace the poison he had left behind.
Adriana squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping to trail down her cheek. “I can’t,” she whispered, the words choked. “I can’t do this.”
“You can. It came to you yesterday, you just need to control it.”
“Ican’t.”
As she spoke, a subtle shift in the shadows beneath the trees caught his attention from the periphery of his vision. Their wispy tendrils began to slither forward, poised and ready to flock to her. Whether they were there to protect her or to consume any flicker of power she possessed, he didn’t know. But he would not let them get her.
With a stern tilt of his head, he urged the darkness to retreat, to give her the space to breathe and continue.
“I can’t find it, I don’t want to,” she sobbed, as she collapsed to her knees, giving up trying to reach for her light. The tears came freely now. “How can I summon something so pure, so good, when my happiness is gone? When I don’t feel like a good person anymore? When I don’t deserve to?”
As her tears continued and her breathing became erratic, Xander felt a distinct pushback against his hold on the surrounding shadows. It wasn’t just a sense of them waiting anymore; they were actively fighting his efforts to keep them atbay. And, as if on cue, the air around them began to crackle with energy.
He had seen her lose control many times, and it almost always started the same way. Sometimes with a spark of a flame, other times with waves in water. More often than not, it was her lightning that made the first destructive appearance; a raging tempest strong enough to summon the gods. That familiar hum of electricity dancing through the air warned him of something far more volatile than a simple storm. But there was no rain, no wind, no lightning. Only power.
Adriana was not the same woman he had known all those years ago. She no longer worked well with being pushed, but as he read her thoughts, it was clear she did not want niceties either. The silent plea for solitude raged in her mind, for a simple mercy of being left alone but not wanting to feel lonely. Of wanting to never see him again but never wishing to be parted from him.
“Tell me what to do,” he said, unable to keep the begging tone hidden from his voice. He crouched down before her, careful to keep his distance. “Tell me how to fix this.”
“There is no fixing this, Xander. What's done is done.”
