Emily took Hartgrave’s directive seriously. But it was like trying to hit a home run without a bat or even a clear idea of where to procure one.
She settled in a lotus position on her couch that evening and large parts of the next day, attempting to sense anything unusual about her skin. How could it seem unusual, though, after a lifetime spent wearing it?
She was sending mental commands to her body to just get along with magic, pretty please, when Hartgrave arrived at seven o’clock, punctual as always. Because she could be distracted temporarily, but not forever, she said, “What intentionally evil uses has magic been put to?”
“No, no, no. I’m here only to see how you’re getting on with your aura.”
“You owe me an answer a day, you know.”
He narrowed his eyes. “If Ioweyou anything, it’s merely something you want, and lessons—if you’ll recall—were higher up your priority list.”
Magiclessons, not instruction in how to be more ordinary. She let out an exasperated breath. “You’re not the least bit afraid I’ll tell on you, are you?”
“No.” He smiled—all teeth. “Do it to me and I’ll do it to you.”
“What?”
“Your living arrangements break half a dozen school rules.”
She gaped at him. Not because she didn’t know it was against the rules, but because she’d never considered that was precisely why he’d suggested it.
“I can’t believe you had the unmitigated gall to imply you were helping me when you told me to move in here,” she said.
“Iwashelping you. It just happened to help me, too. Do you want lessons? It’s either that or the daily Q&A, but not both.”
Unfortunately, she did want lessons. Needed them, really. She gave a sour nod.
“Come with me to my room, then.”
She hadn’t expected that. She zigzagged the corridors with him, indignation tinged with curiosity, and headed for his chair after he let them in.
“No, sit on the bed,” he called out. He crossed the room and did likewise. “Give me your hand.”
Sitting next to Hartgrave (on his bed, no less) and holding hands—while aggravated at him—was not her idea of a good time.
“Stop glaring at me, I’m not going to ravish you,” he said. “This is purely for”—he grabbed her hand—“bloody buggeringhell!”
Essentially her reaction, too, though it came out as an incoherent noise. At least the agony of contact was quick. She pulled away with the speed of a person discovering the stovetop was on. “What did you think you weredoing?”
“I didn’t expect that,” he protested. “I thought you might find it helpful if you could feel the process of magic dispersal, but—”
“Only if by ‘helpful’ you mean ‘searingly painful’!”
He threw up his hands. “I hadn’t started yet! I let my magic build up a bit, that’s all. And not nearly as much as I did that last time here, so I didn’t count on anything worse than mild irritation.”
“An explanation would have been nice. Ahead of time,” she added, anticipating him. He closed his mouth, temporarily silenced. “But—well, all right, it was a good idea. Could you disperse a small amount now and try again?”
After a second or two, he held out his hand. She took it, teeth gritted. But the sensation was so much better, it was almost as surprising as the first attempt. Every spot where his palm and fingers touched hers was prickling, smarting, but not truly hurting.
She stared at him. “That’s asmallamount gone?”
He nodded, lips twisting into a thoughtful frown. “Uncharted territory, remember.”
“What happens now?”
“I’ll push more magic away. Pay close attention.”
She closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling. Slowly, subtly, it diminished to an itch.
