"So I'm destined to keep blowing fuses?"
"Not necessarily. It's about finesse, not limitation." I approached her again. "Let's try something simpler. Rather than creating fire, try adjusting the temperature of this." I handed her a glass of water from my desk.
She stared at the glass, clearly trying to focus. Nothing happened.
"You're overthinking it." I stepped closer and placed my hand over hers. "Feel how the energy moves. It's about flow, not concentration."
The moment our skin touched, I felt the connection between us flare to life. The water began to steam gently.
"Too much," I said softly. "Pull back just a little."
Charlie exhaled slowly, and the water settled into a perfect temperature for tea.
"There," I said, though I made no move to step away. "You see? It's about harmony, not force."
Charlie turned her head slightly, and suddenly we were standing much closer than any reasonable training exercise required. I could see the glow in her eyes, feel the warmth radiating from her skin, sense her quickened heartbeat.
"Harmony," she repeated softly, her voice slightly breathless.
"Precisely."
We stood there for a moment, neither moving, the air between us full of more than just energy. Then Charlie's phone buzzed with a text notification.
"That's Jada," she said, checking the message. "She's bringing vendor contracts and supplies. I should go."
"Of course," I said, stepping back.
"We'll continue later?" she asked, with something almost hopeful in her voice.
"Absolutely."
As she headed for the door, she paused. "Please tell me you're making progress on reversing this. I appreciate the lessons, but what I really need is to get my normal life back."
"I'm exploring all possible solutions."
She nodded once before departing. "Later, then."
After she left, I returned to my study, the warmth of her presence still lingering in the air. I tried to focus on the correspondence piling up on my desk, but my mind kept circling back to the way her eyes had lit up when she'd successfully controlled the water's temperature. The way she'd looked at me.
I was still contemplating my own moral failing when the door burst open without ceremony.
"Sir! Malrik! This is catastrophic!" Paz stumbled through the doorway, arms laden with ancient leather-bound texts, spectacles askew. "I've been researching, and the implications are simply... oh dear, oh dear..."
"Good, what did you find?"
"There's nothing good about it!" He dumped the books on my desk with a resounding thud. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The protocols you've violated?"
"Enlighten me."
Paz adjusted his spectacles with shaking hands. "There are procedures, sir! Contracts! You can't just go around sharing your power willy-nilly!"
"I assume you found something relevant in these books?"
"Oh yes, terrifyingly relevant." Paz flipped through pages frantically. "Here! 'On the Permanence of Demonic Power Transfer.' It's all here in alarming detail."
I leaned over his shoulder, reading the ancient Demonic text:
When a demon of significant power shares his essence with a mortal vessel, the binding remains temporary and reversible for a time. However, as the mortal's essence adapts to and incorporates the demonic power, the transfer becomes progressively permanent. This process accelerates when genuine emotional attachment exists between demon and mortal, as the powers themselves resonate in harmony...
