“Yes, please.”
“And what do you intend to offer in return for such a risky favor?”
Right, of course. The fae in every story I’m familiar with are known for bargains. Lifting my chin, I portray full confidence. “Bragging rights.”
Grace incarnate, he laughs. “Very well. An apt exchange. I accept.” Wasting no time, he lifts his hand, and a single dark rose forms from the shadows between his fingers. Holding it out to me, he says, “Describe what you feel when you touch this.”
Taking the flower in my hand, I let the cool stem twist against my skin. It’s warm, warmer than Castor’s magic. It does not bring the same calm with it.
“By the way,” Zylus says as he sits on the couch and yawns, “what are you?”
I touch a petal, to see if the sensation changes. It doesn’t. “What do you mean?”
“What kind of faerie.”
Oh. Right. “I don’t know.”
“That will make things a little more difficult.”
I lift my attention off the rose. “Will it?”
“Yes. All fae are capable of some manner of magic. Many stronger fae are able to write their own. Not knowing what you’re naturally inclined to will make it hard to know what exactly I’m to teach you. We can start with an awareness of what magic is and how to sense it, but beyond that? Who knows what you can or can’t do?”
Zylus’s magic flower tingles against my flesh while I watch him. “If I don’t know what I can’t do…doesn’t that mean I can do anything? Willow told me since I’m paired with Castor, I’m as powerful as he is. What can’thedo?”
The vampire’s eyes glimmer with humor. “Empathize properly.”
Yikes. Ruthlessly accurate. I guess it makes sense for a vampire to be out for blood, but I do not believe I expected him to say something quite that brutal without a second thought. Hesitant, I say, “I was referring to magical ability.”
“I know.” Nodding at the flower, he relaxes. “Well?”
“It’s warm,” I murmur. “Almost pulsing.”
His head tilts, and he lifts his hand.
The properties of the flower somehow shift, somehow…settle. Like the surface of a pond after a ripple.
“And now?” he asks.
“It’s quieter. Like glass.”
His eyes peer. “Change it.”
“What?”
“Reshape my magic and change the flower into something else.”
Change it into…something else?
Okay. I don’t really know how to do that, but I did watch it form in his hands, from shadow. It’s shadow-made. Maybe I can picture molding it like clay, from one thing to another. What to make, though…
My thoughts drift, landing on images of Castor’s hairpins. Elegant. Black quartz and dark pearl. Holding an image of a snake clasp in my mind, I melt the flower.Literally. My hands catch on fire.
Jerking, I drop the ink puddle and watch it reform until a flaming pin launches itself from its flaming clasp as it hits the ground. Both pieces settle on the carpet, fire licking around the ornaments while they solidify, holding true to the mental picture I fabricated. Moments pass, and they cool, leaving a pure white snake and a darker clasp behind.
“S-sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that.” Careful, I crouch and touch the clasp, making sure it’s not hot, then I lift it and check the carpet for singeing. Relieved to find no damage done, I get the snake pin. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” I just caught magic on fire, and turned a shadow rose into a hairpin. So, yeah. Everything’s completely normal andfine.
Without warning, Zylus rises to take my hand, twisting it to examine the hairpin. He hums. “A snake?”
