“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about flouting magical law and pulling crap like this,” I lob at him, the accusation sounding impotent and juvenile even to my ears.
He scoffs. “Next time? There won’t be a next time for either of us if we don’t fix this. I don’t know everything there is to know about tethering—other than there are several pages warning against it in my line’s grimoire—but it’s bad, really fucking bad. What the hell were you thinking?” he demands, reaching down and plucking me from the floor like my mass is completely inconsequential to him. He sets me on my feet, and I’m annoyingly too wobbly to immediately shove him away like I want to.
“Me? Are you kidding? This isyourfault. Nobody ever teach you not to take things that don’t belong to you? What wereyouthinking?” I defend on a yell.
“I didn’t think you’d dothis,” he shouts back. “Ruby was powerful from what I understand, maybe even one of the most gifted Osteomancers left. I figured her heir would be even stronger, or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work. I didn’t know you were worse than useless.”
Wrapping my fists in his T-shirt, I release a threatening growl. “Worse than useless?” I repeat, hating that this conversation has me sounding like a drunk parrot that’s only capable of regurgitating the insults he keeps flinging my way.
Is this asshole serious?
Menacingly, I use his shirt to pull him closer. It’s a weird move to make, it feels very wild-west-saloon-fight—which isn’t my usual style of aggression—but it serves to help me stay on my feet while yanking him around like he’s the puppet and I’m the master. Or at least it would if he weren’t so damn tall.
“Rubywaspowerful, and like it or not, I’m the bloodline’s next Osteomancer. Iwillget the hang of things, and when I do, do you really think it wise to fuck with me, Rogan Kendrick?” My voice is even, and I have to school my features so as not to show the raw astonishment I feel over the power that saturates my every word.
A knowing runs through my bones, and my statement rings with just as much prophecy as threat. Goose bumps kiss a trail up Rogan’s arms, and a visible shiver licks up his spine. His pupils dilate, the black overtaking the green, and we both stare at each other for a moment, the bottom of his pecs skimming the tops of my breasts with each heavy, traded breath we pull in and then release.
I’m not sure what’s happening right now, but I’m not going to abandon the indignation and outrage I’ve wrapped around me like a comfy fall sweater to explore the intrigue that’s scratching at the back of my mind—no matter how persistent it might be. No. This witch needs a reality check, we both do. I may have been doing this for less than a day, but I am the next Osseous heir, and none of my ancestors would stand for this shit.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Rogan tells me, his husky voice breaking the silence, his eyes searching my face, a hint of contrition in his studying stare.
“You think?” I deadpan, unfisting my hands from his shirt, the soft charcoal-colored fabric now scrunched and creased as though I’ve left my fury stamped all over it.
He doesn’t move away, and his features soften ever so slightly. His shoulders drop almost imperceptibly as though a burden was just heaved squarely on them, and I feel more than see a heaviness settle in his countenance.
“I came here because I needed your grandmother’s help finding my brother. She was my last hope.” His gaze is earnest, and his tone is softly pleading. “Lennox, will you please help me? I’m running out of time.”
His stare is intense, and I suddenly feel like he’s too close. His presence is sucking up all the oxygen, and it feels as though this is more of an illusion of choice that’s being offered than an actual choice. His long black lashes and green eyes do their best to hypnotize me, but I trace the scar that cuts down part of his face from brow to cheekbone to keep from falling into them.
I need to go through the guidebook I have somewhere in my apartment, and then I need to find the Osseous grimoire and see what it says about tethering. Fixing whatever happened here today is the priority, and then I need to stake my claim on this shop and get established in the magical community. The last thing I need is to get caught up in whatever is haunting this man and his family. Maybe that’s callus, but his attempts to force me into helping him haven’t earned him any of my sympathy.
I’m about to open my mouth and tell him no, but something happens that has me pausing. A stinging current strikes through my limbs. With a sigh, I’m reminded of the fourth task I was sworn to uphold: take over the shop and guide anyone the magic chooses. As much as I want to deny it, I know that I can’t. The zap I just felt was inarguably the magic choosing him.
I have to help.
It’s written in the stars with the blood of my ancestors.
And I fucking hate it.
5
Resolve leaks out of me like I’m a sieve. It’s as though someone has come along and poked enough holes in my determination that not even my stubbornness can keep the purpose from spilling out. I have to help this self-righteous prick, and it’s honestly the last thing I want to do.
Out of nowhere, Mary Poppins’s “A Spoonful of Sugar” starts in my mind, but I mentally flip off the perky anthem and press the off switch to my subconscious’s efforts to cheer me on. Dancing cartoon penguins and Julie Andrews’s silvery voice aren’t going to make this fucked up pill any easier to swallow.
I step away from Rogan, my teeth gritted against the capitulation in the move, and run my fingers through my dark-chocolate and cinnamon swirled curls. He watches me carefully like my surrender is suspicious and he’s not quite buying it yet. Good. I may have to help him, but I don’t have to be nice about it.
“Fix what you did to my magic, and I’ll help you,” I offer, deciding that he doesn’t need to know that my assistance is already, so to speak, a done deal.
“I told you, I don’t know how to reverse it, but I know who does. If you help me find my brother, I’ll make sure to set things right. I vow it.”
I study him for a beat and then nod. “So vow it,” I agree, wondering what a vow looks like to a Blood Witch. It better not be that blood brother kind of crap, because science has come too far and taught us too much to go mixing our lifeblood all willy-nilly.
Osteomancers in my line will give away a bone. Usually something small from an animal, but the bone will be infused with the magic of that Osteomancer’s promise. When the vow is complete, the bone disintegrates to dust. I hope this doesn’t go in the direction of Angelina and Billy Bob. I really don’t want to wear a vile of anyone’s blood around my neck.
A switchblade once again appears in Rogan’s hand. Now that I’m closer, I can see it’s not just your run-of-the-mill pocketknife either. It’s gold and it appears to have Rogan’s family sigil in rubies on the handle. He better be careful flashing that thing around; we’re not in a bad part of town, but people have been mugged for less.
Rogan pricks his finger and then draws a line of blood down the front of his throat. He whispers an incantation so quickly I can’t make it out, and the next thing I know there’s a tickling sensation on my wrist. I look down to see a delicate, ruby-red, lace-like circle with a swooping and elaborateKin the center. I stare at the magical tattoo for a moment, sifting through the surprise I feel over having it there.
