“I…don’t know. I thought it might suit Castor.” Smiling softly, I lift a shoulder. “He likes to wear some of his hair up, in a pin like this.”
“He’s a snake,” Zylus comments.
“Huh?”
Zylus’s unusual eyes settle on me. “Castor is a snake, like I am a cat.”
I blink.
“You didn’t know?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“He’s a basilisk, otherwise a serpent creature that turns anything that meets its eyes into stone. Theoretically, that means he can shift easily into serpentine forms, just like I’ve found affinity in felines.” The vampire studies me. “Are you claimed?”
My face heats. “As…his soulmate?”
Zylus nods once.
“I… Yes. Since Sunday. I claimed him.”
His sharp nail pricks my finger, and I flinch as blood beads. Bending, he sniffs it, then his eyes narrow. “You’re still very human…” he murmurs. “Can you feel the bond?”
“What bond?”
“The soul bond. The connection between you, and him, as soulmates. Right now, can you feel it?”
My lips part. My heart beats. Another heart echoes in the cavern of my chest. It’s racing. Hard and heavy. “I can. I think…he’s having a panic attack.”
A wry tip lifts a corner of Zylus’s mouth. “Yes, I imagine he is. You don’t want him to know where you are right now, do you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“You are strong enough to conceal yourself from him on that whim alone.” Amused, Zylus lifts my wounded finger in front of my face, and says, “Heal this wound.”
First, transmutation. Now, healing magic? Is this really an introduction to whatever my powers might be? It feels somewhat advanced.
I stare at the blood droplet slipping down my finger and remember that introductions are useless if I want power. If I can skip lessons, I want to. I want to be stronger. I want to doeverything. Fearlessly.
I want to bemorethan I have been. I want to embrace beingfae.
With that thought, my finger catches on fire.
And, shocking no one, my fearlessness vanishes.
Yelping, I try to jolt away, but Zylus keeps my hand in his iron grasp. “It’s fine,” he says, tone soothing enough to make me believe him near immediately. The compulsion in his voice sinks me deep into complacency as he murmurs, “It doesn’t even burn, does it?”
Swallowing hard, I stare at the flames whipping off my fingertip and whisper, “N-no. It doesn’t.” The fire flickers away, leaving unblemished skin behind. Slowly, I lift my attention to mismatched eyes. “Would…it burn you?”
“Yes.”
“Why doesn’t it burn me?”
“Because you are meant to be made of fire, and I am not.” He references the hairpin I’m crushing in my grasp. “You took my magic. You burned it away and reinvented it as your own. None of my shadow remains. Can you tell?”
I let my eyes trace the spiral of the snake, feel the warmth radiating from it, like a heartbeat that echoes my own. “I think so.”
“Magic is an undercurrent everywhere, in everything. At any moment, all it takes is a spark for it to ignite into a faerie’s origin. It is my understanding from what I’ve overheard that you’ve already had an origin sprout from within you. Youshould already have an intimate knowledge of what the flickers of magic feel like. Seek them out until recognizing them is as subconscious as breathing. For now, that’s your homework. Recognize the different sensations of magic all around you until it’s effortless, then you can learn to weave it into spells.” Releasing my hand, he settles himself in the window seat, where the sun is, and curls up.
