“God, no. Leaves. In that case, leaves will do.”
She shivered as she thought of his research. Of the dead man’s feet. “Are you certain about your theory that intelligence explains why people make such terribly effective fuel?”
“No,” he admitted. “It seems to explain why pigs proved the best of the barnyard animals, why primates were significantly better, etc., but I don’t see whybrainpower should have anything to do with it.”
“And the actual size of the brain is irrelevant?”
“Right. Rats did better than cows.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You have a hypothesis, don’t you. You don’t like it, and so you don’t want to put it into words.”
“How well you know me,” he muttered. He stood, gesturing for her to precede him up the stairs. “Magical potential. I think it’s about magical potential.”
She sucked in a breath. “If that’s true, the very best victims?—”
“—would be wizards,” he said. “With women next in line.”
CHAPTER 33
He held the attic door open for her, heart accelerating as the edges of her skirt brushed against his boots. Herskirt, for God’s sake. He got hold of himself and said, “I need a break from my disaster. Let’s see if we can figure out how you teleported the night of your sister’s conference.”
She shook her head. “I still have no idea what happened. And short of recreating the conditions, which for obvious reasons I’d rather not do …”
“I propose something less drastic.” He tapped his watch. “I’ll count down from thirty seconds, and you see if you can relocate yourself across the room before I get to zero.”
“Without leaves?”
“Precisely.”
He could see she didn’t think this likely to succeed, but she arranged herself in the spellcasting position and looked at him expectantly.
“Thirty,” he said, “twenty-nine, twenty-eight ...”
At twenty, her eyes slipped closed. At fourteen, she gritted her teeth. By seven, she’d leaned her entire upper body forward.
“Two, one, zero.”
She sighed. “It just feels ...”
“... wrong,” he finished for her, thinking of an earlier conversation. A dreamt one. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” She frowned. “It’s exactly like a word on the tip of your tongue or a memory just beyond your grasp. Maddening.”
She extracted a leaf and levitated the apple he’d left in the room overnight. “Perhaps it was a one-off,” she said, staring at the fruit. “Nothing else I’ve managed is very impressive.”
“Most of the population would disagree.”
She shot him her don’t-patronize-me look. She’d been extremely competitive in school, always vying for the top grades—a part of her must hate that he was so much more gifted at magic for no reason except luck. Luck that he was born male, and providential good fortune that he could cast spells.
She reversed her own spell, bringing the apple back down. “Try again?”
His locket flared. She sucked in a breath at exactly the same moment.
“Magic,” she said, pulling her own locket out. “A wizard just—at my home?—”
He was already casting the identification spell. Not Garrett. A nondescript wizard with a high forehead, dark glasses and a grim expression.
“I need to call my sister,” she said, dashing down the stairs to the kitchen.
