“Not anyone.”
Warmth flutters through my chest and I sense the band of magic constricting around me like a protective serpent. He drops his head, leaning down into my space and taking up all the air.
“Only you,” he says again, his hazy eyes trained on mine.
All the admonishments I’d had prepared for him drift away on the heady sense of belonging and needing. Heneedsme. Ibelongwith him.
My palms tingle like electricity begging to be unleashed. I lift my hands, placing them on his shoulders and closing the circuit. Power flows between us and I sense a deep connection unlike anythingbefore. A vision of a blooming flower fills my periphery behind Bastian, blocking out the apartment.
“What’s happening?” I ask, each breath labored by my pounding heart.
His nails tickle my scalp as he fists my hair harder. “You’re falling in love with me.”
I huff. “Really?”
“Or your magic is pouring out uncontrollably,” he says, smirking.
I look down at my hands and see orange mist slipping from under Bastian’s shirt.
“Oh, shit.”
I pull my hands back and look at them. They’re justoozingmagic.
“You’re over-full,” he says, stroking a thumb over one of my palms. “It has to come out.”
“What?”
He sighs. “Your vessel is small. It can’t hold all the magical essence you’ve created over the last two weeks. You haven’t practiced illusions or warded with me. You’re over-full.”
“What should we do?” I ask.
His smirk turns into a grin. “We should set up the first attraction.”
I’m giddy now. “The light show?”
“Yes indeed. I’ve figured out how to get a reader’s top-of-mind thoughts out of their head and into your magic, but only when they’re holding an open book.”
“You’re really incredible.” I’m smiling so hard it hurts, but then I remember something that makes me hurt in a different way, and my grin fades.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I’m just sorry you won’t be able to see what I make,” I say with a shrug.
He huffs. “Did you already forget? Icansee your magic. It’s extrasensory rather than processed through my damaged optical nerves, but my brain processes the data all the same.”
“Oh! But it reminds me,” I say, whirling to the pile of books.
I grab the one I’d set aside and hold it out to him.
He takes it, then scowls. “I’ve consumed the story already.”
“I know, but I wanted to show you something special.”
I flip open the cover and grab his other hand, putting his first two fingers together. I press them to the page on the first raised letter, then slide them across.
He jerks a little, looking at me curiously. “What is this?”
“It’s braille, so you canreadagain,” I say, beaming. “I mean, I know you can consume the story by meditating but I thought maybe you’d like to actually read—”
