“Well, that explains why Lusce was happy.”
I hum a reply, not willing to risk saying anything else and breaking the connection.
It’s been two weeks since I first held the ball of concentrated magic in my hand. Actuallyheldthe universe's potential energy in the palm of my hand. To beings, it’s an everyday occurrence, so common they don’t even think about it, but for a vamp, forme? It’s unthinkable.
Well, not entirely. Apparently, there is an entire order of religious vamps, deep in the forests of Hedrana where the heat and the night rarely end. They serve the Gods and practice the minimal amount of magic they can. Willan told me all about them in a multi-message Daily Vampire Update. Mainly because I kept asking questions about how he even figured all this out,and it always tickles something deep within me to know that he goes and hunts down all this information—for me.
These old vamps were apparently an isolated monastic order before turned by force more than two hundred and fifty years ago. They mostly keep to themselves, and are largely unheard of, except in super esoteric circles like Willan’s—which means that soon they’ll die and all of their knowledge will be lost.
It makes me kind of sad. And eager to learn more. Ilivedin Hedrana with Laurence, and a whole bunch of other vampires, and I never even heard of them. Thankfully, Willan is always willing to teach me. It’s a solid dynamic we have going right now.
“Focus.” He commands in that deep, almost growly voice he has going on that makes me want to squirm in my seat—torn between behaving for his approval and misbehaving for his attention.
I wonder how many of his students have the same problem? I bet it’s more than he realises. But I only wonder for a second because the pulse of energy we’re passing through our bodies via our connected hands sparks, burning my fingertips and the fire in the bowl Willan is meant to be controlling dances wildly.
After a few nights of practice I’ve managed to get a handle on the energy and can keep the magic Willan channels to me in a mostly stable ball—we can even play catch with it for a little bit.
But only sitting close together, because the ball being magic hasn’t made me any better at catching it. I swear the only reason I can catch the bottles at the bar is because Maddy has the place enchanted.
Changing the way we were trying to do this was a game changer. Until then, I kind of thought it was going to be a bust. Not that I cared—for the first time in the six years since I turned, I got to feel magic flow through me. It’s something I was sure I was never going to get to feel again.
Until Willan.
Once I mastered ball handling—of the magical variety—channelling Willan’s magic through me became easier and we finally conquered his whole circuit thing. I learnt to become conscious of the energy as it passed through me so it didn’t dissipate into the ether or absorb into my body or whatever it was doing. I’ve learnt to be intentional about it all. Now we’ve moved onto something a little more complicated.
With our hands joined, Willan sends the magical impulse through my right hand. It fizzes its way through my body, lighting me up in ways I’d forgotten about, before passing back through my left side into his other hand. From there, Willan directs wherever. Tonight, it’s the flame.
My task is to maintain the flow of magic at a steady pace, for as long as I can. It’s thrilling and it’s exhausting, and I’m trying really hard to not get distracted by what comes next in our late night magical training sessions—fooling around.
I thought it would be harder—not this unnamed thing with Willan—but all of it. Reconnecting with my life. I thought there’d be–I don’t know–friction, or, trouble with all the pieces of my life crashing about chaotically. But it’s all just sliding smoothly into place.
I haven’t spoken about it with many people yet. Except Kroy, who was suspicious anyway because of how frequently I’ve been popping into his store in the very small hours of the morning on my way home. And my maker. Laurence called me the other night. ‘Had a little inkling’ he said—which I’m sure just means someone asked about me and he remembered I exist. It’s not personal; live long enough and time really does become an abstract concept. Though I’m not sure he ever had a solid grasp on it in the first place. I told him about Willan and experiencing magic and he was happy for me.
“My darling, demon child,” he crowed extravagantly. “I told you to have faith and all the threads would weave themselves together.”
I’m pretty sure that he’s never said that to me, but I wasn’t going to push the subject. Especially when he changed topics to update me on Nix, another vamp in his menagerie of lost beings.
“Do you want to stop?” Despite the firm edge to Willan’s voice, there’s no judgement.
I swear if the teachers had been like him back in the day, I might have actually gone to school once in a while. Another pulse of magic flows through his forearm—I can feel the push of it as it draws closer—only for it to spark and fizz out once again when it reaches me.
“Yeah. Fuck it, I’m done. I need a drink.”
“You know where they are.” I get my blood from the kitchen, and a bottle of soda for Willan. It’s warmer tonight, so I know he’s not going to be in the mood for tea and he’s already drunk my body weight in iced tisanes. I meet him in the living room.
“Thanks. So, uh. I heard from my brother.” Willan announces awkwardly.
I only hesitate for a moment. “Oh. Cool. How is he?”
“Promised to be mated. To Morgen.”
“No shit. Really? They’re still together?” They got together around about the time everything went down. “I wonder if he ever told her about Tate from down the mountain.”
Willan pauses. Not like I did before. I was perfectly chill. Willan is locked in sheer panic. In slow motion he asks, “What about him?”
I chew on my lip, unsure if this is going to be a funny anecdote, or, from the look on Willan’s face, potentially traumatising. But it’s not like Willan’s going to let me drop it now, so I dive right in, “He blew your brother behind the pub in town one night.”
“He did not.” Willan denies, looking vaguely green. “Aleksi’s straight.”
