It was the same dream, but I wasn’t myself. I knew that, because I could see myself sprawled across the concrete. Naked, red hair everywhere, blood-etched runes marked across the pale skin of my forehead, chest, stomach, and thighs.
But if I wasn’t myself, then who was I?
I could feel the hard, cold concrete beneath me, hear the chanting of the sorcerers situated at the five points of the pentagram as magic dripped, draining from me. I couldn’t move. I was pinned, curled on my side with a sharp slash of pain across both my wrists.
I was dying.
I had died before. At least twice.
But this death felt different. This was a slow, painful pull into the abyss, dying drip by drip.
I was the witch.
I was dreaming that I was the young witch who’d been bled in order to bind me in the pentagram.
I took a breath.
I could smell the magic.
Any moment, Christopher and Paisley were going to arrive, disturbing the casting and freeing me.
Except I wasn’t me.
How could I be the witch in the dream? How could I feel her pain, her slow death?
Magic.
I was being spelled.
Again.
The dream walker had returned to drill into my mind, somehow gaining access to me despite the fact that I’d destroyed the rune on my bureau. But why project my psyche into the witch’s consciousness? How was that even possible?
In the pentagram, the projection of me turned her head — my head. She looked at me, emerald-green eyes simmering with unleashed magic.
I couldn’t see my magic in that way. But apparently the witch could.
As I watched from the dying witch’s perspective, a realization dawned across the face of the other me, followed by an expression of terrible, deadly promise.
That was what the moment before fierce, bloody vengeance looked like. For me, at least.
The dream faded, then snapped back.
I was being carried aloft now. The arms around me gripping me harshly, painfully. Long, brilliant red hair crusted with blood, falling all around my face. Searing magic that wasn’t my own racing through me.
But I knew I was going to be okay.
My avenging angel had rescued me. The other two had come, their magic thundering around them. Sorcerers had screamed, dying, disrupting the spell holding the angel in place.
She had risen. The first sorcerer falling under a brush of her fingers, power crashing over me. She’d snapped his neck, never taking her blazing green eyes from me. She took two more sorcerers down, batting away their feeble attempts to stand before her. Then she’d knelt, laying her burning, searing hands on my forehead and chest, filling me with magic, pulling me back from the death weeping from my veins.
Emma.
Her name was Emma.
My avenging angel.
I wrenched myself free from the dream, sitting up in bed. My heart was racing with emotion that wasn’t my own. My bedroom was dark, the house silent. I couldn’t feel any foreign magic anywhere nearby. But something, someone had snagged me, pulling me into the young witch’s mind.
Opal.
The witch’s name was Opal.
I threw back the covers, crossing swiftly out and down the hall toward Christopher’s bedroom before I’d consciously made the decision to check on him. I pushed open the door. He was sprawled across the bed, naked, face down, sheets tangled through his legs. His curtains were wide open. It was still snowing.
The clairvoyant’s magic stirred, reaching out to caress me lightly. But no foreign power was present in the room.
I stepped away from the door, noticing a soft glow emanating up the stairs. Firelight.
I paused, reaching out farther with my senses.
A sorcerer was in the house. His magic was quiet, inactive.
Aiden.
In the front sitting room.
I stepped back into my room for my robe, brushing my fingers over the destroyed rune on the top edge of my bureau. As far as I could feel, the magic that had once powered it was completely gone.
Someone was entering my dreams. Someone capable of doing so from enough of a distance that I couldn’t sense them. Someone powerful enough to forge a visceral connection with me, getting through all the magical defenses I’d stolen at the behest of the Collective for years.
And they were showing me the witch, Opal. Why?
I reached over my shoulder, touching the tattoo that tied me to Bee. It was still dormant.
I had the feeling I was going to be requesting more reference books from Ember Pine in the morning. Specifically, anything to do with dream magic.
I tugged on my robe, then headed downstairs to interrogate a sorcerer.
Aiden was sprawled across the couch facing the curtained windows, legs akimbo, head back, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He’d fallen asleep reading a leather-bound book, still open across his chest. Though I couldn’t make out the markings on its spine, the cover was a deep brown. So not a book from my meager collection.
A fire was burning brightly in the fireplace. The flames were licked through with tints of blue, indicating that Aiden had started it by magical means. Candles I didn’t even know we owned were arrayed and lit on every flat surface of the room. The overhead light and lamp were off. The old wooden clock that sat on the mantel quietly ticked away.
I had never noticed that the clock made noise before.
Three more leather-bound books were splayed open on the coffee table, along with a sheaf of handwritten notes and a notebook. The open page was filled halfway down with neat but cramped writing.
Aiden was researching something.
I had questions, ideas rolling around in my head that I wanted to share with someone.
No.
Not just someone. With Aiden, specifically. I wanted to speak unhindered, as I had begun to do in our letters. Though admittedly, it had taken me months to get comfortable with that medium of communication.
I settled down on the opposite couch, my back to the window, sitting next to the fire. The candles on the side table fluttered as I passed. I glanced over at Aiden, curling my legs under me.
He was awake, gazing back at me without otherwise moving. His expression was intense, but it held none of its usual sharpness. Perhaps that guardedness was dampened in his sleepy state. Or perhaps there was no need to pretend to not look at me. As I, too, didn’t need to look away.
“Did I wake you?” he asked quietly.
His deep, gravel-filled voice turned my insides to mush. And for the briefest moment, I imagined crawling from the couch, moving over to him, then onto his lap, removing any clothing that stood between my skin touching his.
“Emma?”
I shook my head. “It was a dream. Same dream, but different.”
He frowned, straightening. The book fell from his chest, and he momentarily looked away to catch it and set it on the table. The loss of his gaze was like stepping into a cold pocket of shade when I wanted only to be warm in the sun.
I forced myself to look at the fire, before my brain dissolved into a mush of absurd thoughts.
“The power went out.”
Ah. That was why I could hear the clock ticking. The ever-present electrical hum of the house was silent. I shifted forward. “I should tell Christopher.”
Aiden lifted his hand, staying my movement. “The generator turned on for the incubator.”
“But there’s no fireplace in the loft.”
He smiled. “No. And the jet lag is keeping me wakeful.”
“And the meeting with your brother.” From the lower vantage point of the couch, I could see the edge of the envelope Isa had given Aiden from his father underneath one of the open books.
Aiden followed my gaze. “I haven’t opened it. Honestly, I’m slightly concerned that doing so will trigger … events.” He lifted his gaze to me. The firelight danced across his skin, deepening it, warming it. “And I found … I just wanted to be here with you a little while longer.”
“You think the contents of the letter are spelled?”
He shrugged. “I’ll open it in the pentagram in the loft. So even if it’s designed to reveal my location, or simply the fact that I’ve opened and read it, it won’t be able to.”
“The pentagram, with you within it, won’t stop the contents of the letter from killing you,” I said softly.
He laughed, quietly pained. “If Kadar Azar wanted me dead, I’d be dead. All he has to do is cast a spell bound with his own blood.”
That was disturbing. I had no idea that was even possible. “Does a familial blood tie work in the opposite direction?”
“Can a child kill his parent with his own blood? Perhaps. But the wielder would need to be stronger than the intended target. That’s rarely the case for offspring in their younger years, and I am most certainly not as powerful as my father.”
He wasn’t. Yet.
“I could make you that powerful,” I whispered.
My offer settled between us, heavy within the comfort, the ease that had been building in the room.
Aiden sat back on the couch, hands loose at his sides. He smiled, almost gently. “I know, Emma. Eventually perhaps, over many years of being together, you could make me his match …” He glanced down at the coffee table, adding in a hushed whisper, “Your match.”
“Well,” I drawled, trying to lighten the mood, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
He laughed, though I really wasn’t that funny. Then he sobered, his gaze still on his notes. “You know that’s not what I want.”
“It chills me … upsets me.” I struggled to voice the fear that had etched itself across my heart at the revelation of how easily his father could kill him from afar. “I don’t like being upset. Not when I can do something about it.”
“I wear protections, of course. And if I do suddenly drop without warning, you have my express permission to do whatever you can to thwart the death curse.”
“Don’t make fun, Aiden. Don’t make fun of … me, my … feelings …”
He was off the couch and kneeling by me before I managed to get the thought out. “I’m sorry. I would never … you were teasing earlier, yes? I was just trying to match your tone.”
I reached out and brushed my fingers through the dark hair at his temples.
He closed his eyes as if savoring my touch. “I’m sorry about Isa and Ruwa.”
“I care nothing about your brother, or your former lover.”
He opened his eyes, smiling at me. “Of course you don’t.”
“I was just concerned about your father showing up as well.”
“Christopher would have seen that if it were so. And then we’d fight him. Together. He won’t keep you, Emma. Not ever again.”
“No. He won’t.” I dropped my hand, trailing it along Aiden’s shoulder and bicep. The fabric of his sweater protecting his skin from my touch, from my empathy. “But …”
“But?”
“But your father would know how to block Christopher’s sight.”
Aiden looked disconcerted. Then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “No. He only used to know.”
“What do you mean?”
“You two were drained of magic, yes? When you broke out of the compound where you were housed?”
“Yes,” I said, slightly tensely. I hadn’t gone into detail about our escape from the Collective, simply explaining that it had happened and we’d survived.
“And it took years for Christopher’s magic to come back?”
I didn’t correct Aiden’s loose understanding of the timeline, picking up the gist of his argument. “More powerful than before.”
He nodded, smugly satisfied. “And then living in close contact with you for almost eight years, yes?”
My amplification magic leaked, especially while I slept. “Yes.”
“So the sorcerer Azar might try to block Christopher’s sight. But he might not be successful.”
“That’s too many ‘mights.’ ”
Aiden laughed quietly.
I trailed my fingers down his forearm, reluctant to break contact but knowing that we had too much to talk about to linger in the moment. Including the dream that had woken me.
Then I felt a smudge of magic under my fingertips. It crawled across my skin. I withdrew my hand, pushing up Aiden’s sweater sleeve.
A series of runes were etched around the thickest part of the sorcerer’s forearm, just below his elbow. An active spell. It felt like …
Nullifying magic.
I met Aiden’s gaze.
He grimaced, then cleared his throat. But he didn’t speak.
“You … you’re trying to block me?” I glanced at the books strewn out across the coffee table.
“No. It’s a refraction spell. Modified.”
“To refract my magic.” The idea actually physically hurt. I pulled away.
Aiden raised his hands.
As if he thought I was planning to attack him.
The pain in my chest expanded, instantly drowning all logic in its wake. “As if I would hurt you, drain you!”
“Emma. No, no.” He reached for me.
But I was no longer sitting on the couch. I had lunged forward, reaching for Aiden’s notes, then stepping back toward the open doorway with the book and the loose pages in hand.
He flinched, then tracked my movement as he slowly gained his feet.
I paged through his notebook, unable to see the words because — utterly idiotically — my eyes were filling with tears.
“You knew I was looking for a way … for a way for us to be together physically. Without you constantly thinking that … or feeling that you needed to hold back —”
“Right,” I scoffed, tossing the notebook back on the coffee table. I couldn’t read the rune-based language inscribed on its pages. “This is all for me.”
“That’s the point.” He shook his head. “Emma —”
“I’m not being unreasonable.”
He smiled, a flash of white teeth in the muted candlelight.
And for a moment, my mind stuttered, overwhelmed by his beauty, his charisma. I shoved the reaction away. “It’s me, Aiden. My magic. It’s who I am.”
“It’s part of you, yes. And I’m not …” He sighed heavily. “This conversation hasn’t gone like I’d hoped. Will you let me start it again?” He reached toward me.
I thought about walking away, about letting the pain, the rejection, resolve into anger. Then using that anger as a buffer against all the other overwhelming emotions that the mere sight, the mere thought, of Aiden evoked.
“Emma,” he whispered, hand still extended. “Please. I should have written. I just wanted to find the grimoire that I’d hoped the vampire had collected.”
“In San Francisco.”
“Yes. I’ve been tracking the bloody thing around the globe. A sorcerer in Scotland sent me to San Francisco. I was awaiting my audience when I got your note about Isa.” He shook his head. “Maybe I should have stayed. You can handle Isa. And Ruwa. But I jumped at the opportunity.”
“A refraction spell?” I asked, allowing logic to cool my anger. “Against any involuntary amplification?”
He grinned, relieved perhaps that I was willing to discuss his research. “A nullifying spell paired with a mirroring spell. So that if we …” His grin widened. “If we touch, then you don’t have to worry about —”
“Fueling your addiction.”
“Yes. When I come to your bed, I want you to know that I’m there for you, to pleasure you. To … make love to you.”
The word ‘love’ hung between us. It wasn’t the right time for such declarations — for me, it might never be the right time. But the sorcerer had phrased it carefully. I wanted to snatch the word up and press it to my heart. But that idea seemed ridiculous, so I smiled instead.
The moment stretched between us, filled with the warmth of the fire and the flickering candlelight, softening all the lingering ire, the misplaced rejection I’d felt.
“You aren’t going to be able to block me, Aiden,” I whispered, slightly regretfully. “No one can. Not long term.”
He stilled. “I’m not talking about your … alternative ability. Or the empathy.” Then he grinned. “Actually, I was thinking we might test the empathic ability.”
I laughed. “Of course you were.”
“Once we really know each other, I mean. Find out what the other likes and dislikes.” His grin widened. “Though I can’t imagine disliking any part of you that wanted to be connected to any part of me.”
“I’m not exactly sure what that means,” I whispered, shifting toward him. “But …” I shook my head, clearing it. This was an important conversation. My magical capacity was something Aiden needed to understand before we could move from inked words on scraps of paper to a physical relationship. “I’m not like other amplifiers. Eventually, I’ll erode any spell set against me.”
He frowned.
The ache that had quieted in my chest now lodged itself in my throat. I wrapped my hand around it, struggling to speak against it. It was ridiculous that emotion could be so overwhelming. I felt as though I was in a constant battle with myself. Shaky, unsure. I didn’t want any of that.
Except I did want Aiden. And apparently, this was part of the price of having him in my life.
“The Collective …” I started to say.
“You don’t have to talk about it, Emma.”
I shook my head. “I’m faster, stronger than I should be.”
“I know. I already know, Emma.”
“Resistant to magic, with a heightened immunity.” I locked my gaze to his. “Do you understand? I gain immunity.”
“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”
“Exactly. Stolen power. Stolen from …” My voice cracked. “Dozens of Adepts. Those that didn’t die by my hand were most certainly disposed of by the Collective.”
“By my father,” Aiden spat.
I nodded. “He was one of them. You’re right to fear me.”
“I don’t fear you, Emma.”
I turned away.
Aiden stepped forward as if to block me, hands raised once more.
I almost shoved him away. Instead, I whirled toward him, ready to show him exactly how much I was to be feared. I thrust my hand toward his chest, already feeling the tenor of his magic lapping against my skin. As if it were drawn to me. He needed to know that he was walking with death when he stood next to me.
I hesitated.
Hesitated.
Me. Hesitating. With my breath tight in my chest and my heart racing. I didn’t want to hurt Aiden. I never wanted to hurt or scare Aiden.
He stepped forward, closing the space between us. My fingers splayed across his chest. His magic danced under my touch. I could feel his heart beating, fast, strong, steady.
He placed his hand over mine, pressing firmly as if he might have been trying to imprint my hand on his chest, on his heart.
And suddenly, there were too many layers of clothing between us.
I met his gaze.
“I don’t fear you, Emma,” he whispered. “I didn’t know … didn’t think that you’d see my attempt to block your amplification magic as a rejection —”
I kissed him. Lifting up on my toes, wrapping my arms around him, threading my fingers through his thick hair, I opened my mouth just enough to tease my tongue against his.
He groaned, meeting my tongue urgently, grabbing my arms to crush me against him. Then he loosened his grip, only to bury his hands in my hair and cradle my head.
I wanted to run my hands all over him. I wanted to hold him, stroke him, feel his skin against mine. I wanted to meet his magic with my own. I tugged at the T-shirt he wore underneath his sweater, tucked into his jeans. Then my brain caught up with my desire.
I always did this. Sex was always on my terms. Solely my terms. With Daniel, with Mark. I initiated. I set the boundaries.
But Aiden had boundaries he also wanted in place.
He stilled, his hands slipping down my back, his touch gentle. “Emma?” He nipped at my bottom lip, sucking lightly.
I wanted to sink back into the moment. I wanted to let it move where it was steadily moving. But this … whatever this was building between Aiden and me, it had to be mutual. Even I knew that. I couldn’t just take what I wanted from him, not if I wanted a deeper connection. I pulled slightly away, murmuring against his lips. “Do you want to test the refraction spell?”
He groaned playfully. “I can already tell you it isn’t going to hold.”
I brushed a light kiss across his lips, reveling in the sensation, the unhindered contact. Trying to hold the moment in check while we negotiated the terms of our engagement. “I know you aren’t just here for my magic, Aiden. Why would you have left? Why stay away so long?”
He kissed me again, darting his tongue into my mouth as he slid his hand down to cup my ass and press me firmly against him. The hard length of him confirming that he was more than happy to move forward.
Move forward … with making love?
Without the magical protection he desired?
“Wait …” I murmured.
Aiden stilled, but didn’t pull away.
“I’m … sorry … I was just thinking that I’m forcing myself on you, and —”
“You’re not forcing yourself on me,” Aiden growled, tightening his grip on my ass.
“Magically,” I clarified. “That’s the same thing, isn’t it? The same as … not using a condom when your lover wants to use one?”
His head snapped up. “Fuck. I forgot to pick up condoms.”
I laughed involuntarily.
He shook his head. “It’s not the same.”
“It really is.”
“It isn’t.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to have sex.”
“Yeah, I do. And so do you … I hope?”
“Yes, of course. But I don’t want … it would hurt me, Aiden, if you regretted it. If we were casual about it —”
“There is nothing casual between us.”
“Exactly.”
He groaned, pressing his forehead against mine.
The sound of teeth gnawing viciously on bone drew our attention back toward the fireplace. Paisley had abruptly appeared, or had otherwise entered the room while we were occupied. She was now sprawled on the floor, slathering over the magical bovine femur that Aiden had brought with him. The firelight caught in her red-hued eyes. When she saw us looking at her, she unhinged her massive jaw, flashing a double row of sharp teeth.
Aiden cleared his throat. “Well, that’s not disconcerting at all.”
I laughed.
Paisley chortled.
Aiden shifted his hand around my neck, laying his thumb across my throat thoughtfully, mimicking the first time he’d touched me. In the diner.
“Are you checking my pulse, sorcerer?” I murmured playfully.
Aiden shook his head, just once. His gaze intensified. “How is it possible to …” He shook his head again, checking himself. Then he pressed another kiss to my lips.
I swayed toward him, then forced myself to straighten my spine, to allow the moment to ebb.
He sighed, muttering darkly, “If I can’t get the spellbook from the vampire, I’ll drop the idea. Or we’ll figure something else out.”
“Okay.”
He took a step back, seemingly forcing himself to drop his hands away from me. Then he managed to take two more steps back, coming up hard against the end of the coffee table.
His gaze was soul piercing. I allowed it to pin me in place, even when all I really wanted was to tug off my robe, free him of his jeans, and take him on the floor. The couch would have been too small for the freedom of movement I desired.
I grinned at the thought.
Aiden cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Not helpful, Emma. I’m already severely testing my willpower.”
I laughed. Then, just to be helpful, I stepped around him and settled on the couch next to the fire. “Tell me about the spell.”
He paced over to the other couch, eyed it for a moment, then apparently decided it wasn’t time to sit down.
I quashed a smile.
He stepped over to the fire instead, standing next to Paisley. She bumped his shin playfully with the bone.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said to her with all seriousness, treating Paisley as if she were a person and not a demon dog. Not some magical freak.
A sharp emotion bloomed behind my eyes, and I had to look away. It was a kind of happiness, but I didn’t understand why it hurt so much.
“Tell me about the dream instead,” Aiden said, his gaze on fire. “Coming up with a way of blocking the telepath will distract me.”
“You think a telepath is involved?”
“A powerful one. If they can reach you without being in the house, or even on the property. And anyone with any magic running through their veins would have triggered my ward line.” The boundary Aiden had erected when he arrived wouldn’t stop a powerful Adept from coming onto the property, but the sorcerer would have felt their approach.
“It doesn’t feel like a telepath,” I said. “And the perspective was different this time.”
“Different?”
“As if I was the girl. The young witch who I rescued when the San Francisco contract went sideways. It was as though I was in her mind. Seeing the scene from her point of view.”
“The witch,” Aiden murmured thoughtfully. Then he turned back to the coffee table and picked up a spellbook. It was slightly thicker than the others. A compendium, perhaps. He opened it and started flipping through it. “If it was witch magic, you’d know it.”
“If it was any magic being used against me, I should know it.”
Aiden scanned a page, then flipped quickly forward and back again in the book. “Remember in the clearing, when you asked Daniel if he’d added a back door to the cages he’d constructed and sold to Silver Pine?”
“How could I forget?”
Aiden snorted. Then he held the book out open toward me. I took it, scanning the pages. The text was written in runes, and what looked like Arabic script.
I gave Aiden a look.
He laughed huskily. “The title and the first set of runes are translated.”
And so they were. “Setting an intent?”
Aiden nodded, taking the book back from me and scanning the few pages he’d selected again. “Same idea as a back door. Embedding a suggestion, to be triggered at another time.”
“A way in … to someone’s mind?”
Aiden shrugged. “A telepath might be able to forge a similar connection, leaving it dormant, then retriggering it when needed. How many telepaths have you come in contact with?”
“Intimately enough that they could spell me without me noticing? Not one. Not even Bee, and especially not since …” I hesitated. I hadn’t actually mentioned the blood tattoos to Aiden. He’d see them soon enough, hopefully, but I was hoping that we could broach the subject of me being magically tied to four other people in that more intimate setting.
He glanced up at me, his expression softening. “I don’t need the details, Emma. I’m just trying to help you brainstorm.”
I shook my head. “It could only have been Bee. And it wasn’t.”
My gaze fell to the coffee table, snagging on Aiden’s notebook and thinking back through our earlier conversation. He was looking for a way to block my amplification, and I was researching rune spells, trying to figure out how the sorcerers had held me in San Francisco. How they’d drained my magic involuntarily.
And oddly, both of those things connected me to the witch haunting my dreams.
“The witch … I amplified the witch.”
Aiden stilled. “And do you forge a connection to the people you amplify?”
“I would have said no six months ago. But Jenni Raymond has been complaining about wanting to …” I glanced up at Aiden, slightly concerned about admitting that I had inadvertently forged a connection with the shifter. Especially since I’d pretty much been about to throw him on the coffee table and have my way with him, sexually and magically.
He grinned at me. “The shifter’s magic was practically dormant. Mine isn’t. You would have been a real shock to her system, while I’m … let’s say, prepared …”
I laughed quietly. “Even well versed.”
He chuckled agreeably. “Open to possibilities.”
Aiden was actually very well acquainted with at least one spell with a sexual component that drained magic — when wielded by a black witch. I didn’t doubt that he had the same experience with sharing power sexually. “Apparently, you’re also part telepath yourself.”
He laughed. “We’re on the same wavelength. Thank God.”
“Well …” I said, grinning but heroically attempting to keep the conversation on topic. “Jenni has been complaining about the need to be around me. Seek me out, check up on me.”
“But you’ve amplified others.”
“Yes, but …”
“But?”
“They were already tied to me.” I hesitated, then offered up a half lie. “Teammates. But the young witch … her name is Opal. I checked in with my lawyer after I had the first dream. Opal was dying when I amplified her. I could have inadvertently forged a connection. But one strong enough to have sustained itself for more than a year? Sixteen months? Strong enough that someone else could be tapping into it now?”
Aiden was thoughtful. “Not someone else. The girl.”
“I would have recognized witch magic, Aiden,” I said, slightly peeved to be repeating myself.
“But you did feel magic. Otherwise, you would have dismissed the incidents as dreams.”
I looked at him questioningly.
“The girl is a dream walker,” he said. “A rare witch-blooded talent, similar to telepathy. Similar to amplification, actually. But if I’m remembering correctly, having never met one myself, it’s a talent that can remain dormant unless it’s specifically identified, and the witch is specifically trained to wield it.”
“Or … while on the brink of death, and possibly on the brink of puberty, that magic is amplified by an unusually powerful amplifier.”
Aiden closed the book, nodding but still deep in thought. “It’s possible.”
“As best Ember Pine could figure out, Opal is an orphan. Ember’s cousin was fostering her, but she entered the Academy this fall.”
Aiden hummed attentively, but he didn’t add anything further to the conversation.
“You think the girl … Opal … is trying to communicate with me?”
“Maybe.” Aiden glanced at me grimly. “But what the hell does my brother have to do with it?”
“Why would you think Isa is involved?”
“The timing is suspect.”
“I’m not a fan of coincidence myself. But if there’s a connection, I have no idea what it could be.”
“There’s a connection,” Aiden muttered, casting his gaze over the coffee table and books. “And once again, I don’t have enough information.”
“Books?” I asked.
“Yes. And contacts I would trust with even the little bit of information I’d need to impart to get their assessment.”
“About me?”
“About amplification in general, but yes. And also how the incident in San Francisco might be connected to Isa.”
“Which could draw attention to me. Just in a different way.”
“Yes,” Aiden growled.
“I can’t help with that. Obviously, I need to keep my past as deeply hidden as possible.”
Aiden grunted.
“But …” I hesitated, then forced myself to plow forward. I had never needed to drum up as much bravery as I did around Aiden. Apparently, the anticipation of getting my heart destroyed was worse than anything else I’d ever endured. And again, that was ridiculous.
“We could build up the library,” I said. “I’ve added my books to the shelves in the study. Christopher has set up some lights for the avocado, lemon, and lime that he’s growing. But there’s plenty of space, and a desk.”
Aiden settled his gaze on me. Then he stepped closer, leaning over to brush his lips against mine. “I’d like that, Emma.”
“Okay,” I whispered. Magic shifted between us, around us, as if we were cementing a binding contract.
Paisley began snoring, loudly.
Aiden laughed, glancing back at the demon dog. She had rolled over, all four legs in the air, and was pretending to be asleep. She peeked to see if we’d noticed.
I shook my head at her.
She chortled, then rolled back over and started chewing on the bone again.
I looked up at Aiden. The magic we’d called forth with our words hung suspended between us.
“I’ll start making a list. Basic building blocks,” he said. “Though texts on witch magic will be hard to come by, so we might not be able to find any written authority on the dream walker. Will you let me know if you have any works you need that your lawyer hasn’t sourced yet?”
“I will.”
The magic settled, as if accepting those words as the terms of our agreement. To build a library. Together. I was fairly certain that was what some mundanes called ‘baby steps.’
Aiden settled on the couch across from me. His gaze was weighted, but he appeared pleased. Content.
Paisley snarled, then growled at the bone.
I curled my legs under me.
Aiden nodded as if coming to some decision. “Tell me about the spell you’re researching. Is it connected?”
“Yes. I’m looking into magical transference and binding in general,” I said. “For obvious reasons. But the sorcerers in San Francisco used the witch girl — her blood, her life force — to hold me. And I want to know how to safely counter that spell.”
Aiden frowned. “In a pentagram? Blood etched? Runed?”
“Yes. I still can’t remember all the runes used. Not even with the recent dreams.”
“Not surprising. If the witch is a dream walker, I doubt she has the foundation to replicate them with any accuracy. But … I’m surprised anything like that could have held you, Emma. With your inherent immunity, as you call it.”
I thought about how I might respond. Then I decided in that moment that when I did share parts of my life with Aiden, I wanted only the truth between us. Even if it made me appear weak.
“Breaking the spell would have killed the girl,” I said. “I was certain of it, and … I was just assessing my options. Then Christopher and Paisley distracted the sorcerers.”
“I bet they did. And the point of the spell? An attempt to harness your magic?”
“At the time, I thought they were trying to drain me.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “They thought they’d captured a powerful amplifier and were willing to kill a witch to hold you? I doubt draining you was their goal.”
I nodded, still waiting for him to comment about my lack of self-preservation when it came to breaking free and potentially killing the witch.
He didn’t.
And that made me realize that Aiden didn’t see me as a cold-blooded killer. Didn’t assume that was my default response to every situation.
We were slowly being trapped by a snowstorm. Facing at least one unknown opponent, not to mention two well-known threats — to Aiden at least — whose intentions and motivations were obscure. And I felt peaceful, content. At home. With the sorcerer in my sitting room.
“We’ll rebuild the spell from what you remember,” Aiden said.
I shifted from the couch, a little reluctantly. “I’ll get my notes.”
“And I will watch you leave the room, mourning every moment you’re gone.” He spoke what should have been utterly trite, teasing words with deadly sincerity.
“I’ll be quick.”
He grinned. “Good.”
Aiden eventually fell asleep, awkwardly sprawled across the couch, with my notes and the books in disarray all around the coffee table. It stopped snowing before dawn, and the sunrise spread a touch of warmth across the cool cocoon that had literally encased the property.
The power clicked on an hour later, bringing with it the return of the furnace and the Wi-Fi. The fire had died, leaving hints of blue in the embers. Paisley had started snoring, for real.
I gently laid a blanket over Aiden, possibly lingering to stare at him long enough to be considered creepy. Then I laid a second blanket over Paisley, who was using the bovine bone as a pillow. I didn’t want her to feel left out if she woke up before Aiden.
I headed upstairs for my iPad, checking my email and finding the follow-up message I’d been hoping for from Ember Pine. Except the message had been sent through a Gmail account, not from the lawyer’s Sherwood and Pine email address.
I scanned the message, then read it slowly a second time.
Emma —
I find myself flustered to report that Opal’s mother showed up at the Academy two weeks ago with a birth certificate in hand. Though, obviously, her identity was confirmed by Opal herself. The mother — Tandy Sherwood — immediately removed Opal from the Academy, refusing to leave any contact information, or in fact, to linger a moment longer than was necessary. The school reports that Tandy tried to suggest that Opal leave without even packing her belongings.
I must apologize. Neither Opal nor her parents are registered with the Convocation. The birth certificate indicated that Opal was born in a mundane hospital in San Francisco. I would never have placed Opal with my cousin if I had any hint of her parentage.
With that said, there is something odd, something irksome about the situation, and I feel compelled to investigate further.
I normally would hesitate to ask, but since you opened up the conversation, do you have any other information you can impart to guide my inquiries?
— Ember
P.S. I have found nothing connecting the Azar sorcerers and Opal, but am still looking.
That was odd. Odd timing. And odd behavior on Opal’s mother’s part. Where had Tandy Sherwood been for the last two years? Why the urgency to remove her child from the school?
And why was I dreaming about the young witch?
Aiden was right. Too many oddities couldn’t be coincidence. And Ember obviously agreed, though the use of the Gmail address made it clear that the inquiry she wanted to conduct was personal, and therefore off the books.
I hit reply.
I agree with your assessment of the oddity of the situation. Though Adepts are private, and a witch might have chosen to separate herself from her coven for many reasons. But I’m not certain I can offer any clarity. Simply more questions that might help lead us in the right direction.
What was Opal studying at the Academy? Had she shown a talent for dream walking? And, if so, what range would she be expected to have? Can that ability be co-opted by another, perhaps a telepath? And, when you look further into any possible connection between the Azar sorcerers and Opal, perhaps focusing on the San Francisco contract would be beneficial?
I hesitated to put down the next information in writing. But if I wanted answers, I had to give the lawyer witch as much to go on as I reasonably could.
Would the fact that I amplified Opal create a connection through which she could manipulate my dreams? Or through which she might be trying to communicate?
I moved the cursor to hit send, but then added an addendum. Something that had been niggling at me.
In the dream I’ve been having, Opal calls me Emma. But I never spoke to her, never introduced myself. Was that information you shared with your cousin, that she in turn possibly shared with Opal?
I hit send, then deleted Ember’s message. Christopher handled the extra security with anything having to do with our so-called digital footprint, and Daniel had added some extra precautions as well. Something about wiping messages from all servers every few days, and ghosting our email accounts.
I carried my iPad with me, setting it on my bedside table as I burrowed under the sheets and quilt. I would have preferred to curl up with Aiden — or better yet, to haul him into bed with me. But no matter how annoying they were, boundaries were important guideposts. Especially for me.
There was a shapeshifter in the house when I woke, which was becoming a far too frequent event for my liking. Happily, I could also feel Aiden’s magic in the kitchen. Reaching farther, I could sense Christopher and Paisley in the barn. I was getting the feeling the clairvoyant was avoiding the shifter in question. And while I wouldn’t have minded encouraging that distance, I thought it might be wearing on him.
I checked my email, finding no new messages. Only a couple of hours had passed, but I hoped Ember would get back to me on my questions quickly.
I tied up my hair, rinsed off in the shower, and layered a long navy sweater over a lighter-weight sleeveless cotton-blend dress, leaving my legs bare. The sweater was twined around with cables that Hannah Stewart had ecstatically declared to be curve enhancing. So I gathered that was a good thing, especially because the sweater itself was delightfully comfortable. And it had pockets.
I picked up a murmur of conversation from the base of the stairs. Aiden was questioning Jenni, quietly but intently.
“When did the feeling kick in?” he asked.
“What?” the shifter said caustically. “The need to wander around after her like a lovesick puppy? You should know as well as I do, sorcerer.”
Aiden laughed quietly. “I suspect my reasons for doing so are different than yours, Jenni.”
The shifter huffed. I picked up the sound of a stool being shifted on the tile. “It’s better …” She faltered. “Or at least it eases if I don’t fight it. That’s weird, right? Even for magic?”
Aiden hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not an expert on shifter magic, but I suspect that because you were suppressing your changes —”
Jenni snarled. “I wasn’t … suppressing.”
I stepped into the kitchen. Aiden had already turned to greet me, and Jenni did so as I appeared.
The shifter sighed with relief. Which was the opposite of the reaction she usually had upon seeing me. “I thought I heard you.”
“What you felt was my magic moving through the house. Then you heard my footsteps on the stairs.” I crossed toward the fridge. The kitchen smelled like coffee again. A stainless steel machine I’d never seen before was sitting on the corner of the island. It looked complicated, covered with dials and a number of arms and nozzles.
Jenni set her mouth belligerently. She loathed being schooled about her magic, but I felt oddly responsible for the shifter now. That was a feeling I was hoping would wear off, for both our sakes.
“Juice?” I asked Aiden as I pulled the apple juice from the fridge.
He lifted his mug. “I’m fine with coffee, thank you.”
Jenni groaned dramatically. “I wish you two would just get it over with. The tension is unbearable. Fuck, already.”
I glanced at Aiden. He shook his head, reaching into the cupboard with his free hand for one of our tall crystal glasses.
I frowned at Jenni as I poured the apple juice. She squirmed, then stopped herself, clenching her hands into fists before taking a swig of her coffee.
“Sorry,” she said. “That was rude. I just don’t like …” She didn’t finish the thought.
“Being able to feel magic isn’t going to go away,” Aiden said. “Though I don’t think it’s typical for all shapeshifters?” He glanced at me.
“Smelling magic might be,” I said, leaning back against the counter. “But I’ve actually only worked with one shifter … closely.”
Jenni glared at me. “Got her killed, did you?”
“Yes.” I met her gaze unflinchingly. “You already knew the answer was yes. I already warned you to stay away from me. Did you?”
“No.”
“And now we’re dealing with the consequences of that choice. Both of us.”
Jenni settled her gaze on the depths of her mug. “I wouldn’t have made any other choice.”
“There you are, then.”
She nodded.
Aiden ignored the conversation, glancing back and forth between Jenni and me, eyes narrowed as if looking beyond us. “If you two share a bond, it’s invisible to me.”
“Is your sight for magic fairly sharp?” I said.
He nodded. “I rank the highest among the …” He glanced over at Jenni, amending what he’d been about to say. “Among my sorcerer kin. But I wouldn’t be considered a sensitive.”
“You can see magic?” Jenni asked. “And you thought Emma and I were bonded, magically?”
I gave her a look.
“What? He asked me about magic first. It can’t be rude to question him when he started it.”
She had me there.
Aiden snorted. “Yes, I can see magic. Occasionally in color.” He slid his gaze my way with a slight smile. “If the Adept is particularly powerful. But doing so is usually a witch trait. And only a sensitive, occasionally called a dowser, can pick up the most minute traces.”
“Like Daniel?” Jenni asked. “And, um … Christopher picks up magic too, right?”
I automatically stiffened under Jenni’s barrage of questions.
“I can’t speak to that,” Aiden said, smoothing over the situation. “But probably not to the same degree. I might be able to see more if I sealed you both in a pentagram, and —”
“Nope,” Jenni interrupted. Then, just in case her protest hadn’t been strong enough, she shoved back her stool and stood up. “Nope. Nope. No. No.”
Aiden eyed her dispassionately.
As did I.
She stood, resolute in her denial.
I quashed a smile. The last thing I wanted was to start liking the shifter.
Jenni’s gaze flicked between us, then her shoulders sagged. “Is it important?”
I had to smile at that. More than anything, Jenni Raymond was a protector.
“Probably not,” Aiden said. “Just a possible line of inquiry.”
“Okay, then … well, let me know …” She turned toward the doorway, then shook her head. “I almost forgot why I actually came out. Peter Grant is demanding a restraining order.”
“Against me?”
“Yeah.” She snorted. “He’s not going to get it, of course. He’s got nothing tangible. But he’s pretty fixated on you, Emma.” She paused, presumably looking for some reaction.
I shrugged.
Aiden stepped forward, placing his mug into the coffee maker and fiddling with the dials. Something within the machine started grinding. The sorcerer looked unconcerned.
Jenni eyed the machine. “Makes a damn fine cup of coffee.”
Aiden grunted agreeably. “Christopher sourced the beans from a roaster in Vancouver.”
An emotion I couldn’t read flashed across the shifter’s face, disappearing quickly as she leaned toward me. “You know who actually needs a restraining order.”
She meant Hannah Stewart. “Have you seen Tyler?”
“Nope. Tracked him to Nanaimo, after your, uh …” She glanced over at Aiden, who appeared focused on making a second cup of coffee. I knew better, of course. But I also had no issue with Aiden knowing about the Grants. “After your kerfuffle.”
I waved my hand, prompting her to continue. But hopefully quickly. I wanted to talk to Aiden about Opal and her mother. “And he’s still there?”
“I have a couple of friends I went to the academy with keeping tabs on the asshole.”
Aiden lifted his head.
“Different academy,” I said. “RCMP.”
“Ah.”
“But?” I said to Jenni.
“But Hannah’s been getting threats. She’s been keeping them to herself. Except I found a note last week stuck onto the door of the thrift shop.”
“Do the notes smell like Tyler? Or Peter Grant for that matter?”
She shook her head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure. It’s hard to sniff them in front of Hannah. I had to pretty much force her to even admit that the one I found wasn’t the first.”
“Did you smell it or not?”
She sighed. “You’re such an asshole, Emma. Yeah, I smelled it. But I don’t have, like, a database in my head —”
“You do, actually.”
She growled under her breath. “It smelled like cigarettes. Menthol. And like … it had been there all night, sheltered from the rain.”
Aiden glanced at me. “You need to start training with Jenni.”
“No,” Jenni said.
“She’s not my responsibility.”
“She’s an asset,” Aiden said.
“She is not an asset.”
“She could be.”
“For what, Aiden? Not for the life I want, not for what I want to build here.”
Aiden smiled gently. “No, Emma. That’s true. But she’s an asset for the life you actually do lead.”
Jenni glanced back and forth between us. “I’m my own fucking person. Not some fucking tool.”
“All right,” I said, giving in to Aiden’s logic. “We’ll start training.”
“So I get no say?” Jenni growled.
“No. Do you want a cookie to take with you?” I reached back for the cookie jar.
“No, I don’t want a goddamn cookie …” Jenni flushed, grumbling as she stomped toward the hall. She paused in the open doorway, clenching her fists, then stepped stiffly back toward me.
I took the lid off, offering her the jar of ginger snaps.
She plucked a cookie from its depths, the color in her face easing back to normal. “Thank you,” she murmured politely. “I’ll keep you posted about Hannah.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded, sending a glare Aiden’s way.
The sorcerer sipped his coffee impassively.
Jenni exited the kitchen, then the front door closed quietly behind her.
“Interesting,” Aiden murmured. “The feeding soothes her.”
“Yes.” I plucked two more cookies from the jar, offering one to him. He took it, then took the opportunity to skim his fingers across mine with a slight smile. “She needs a pack,” I said.
Aiden hummed thoughtfully. “Looks like she’s found one.”
I nibbled on my cookie and sipped my apple juice, hoping that the sorcerer was reading the situation wrong. “I heard from Ember. About Opal.”
“Your lawyer? Tell me.”
“Her mother showed up, pulled her out of the Academy.”
He frowned. “Odd choice. Entry isn’t automatic, not even for established families. Opal would have had to prove herself to gain entry, even with tuition and housing covered by the Convocation.”
I must have looked surprised, because he added, “To keep the playing field completely even.” He shrugged. “You know witches.”
“Apparently not.”
He laughed. “You do keep terrible company, Emma Johnson.”
“Are you including yourself in that assessment, Aiden Myers?”
“Most definitely.”
I gazed at him. His stubble was longer, roughening his normally pristine exterior. I liked the look on him, because something about it meant that he was relaxed when he was with us on the property.
“You’re making me forget what we were discussing,” he murmured, his gaze falling to my mouth.
Desire fluttered in my belly. I forced myself to take a bite of my ginger snap, but somehow that didn’t help. Not with Aiden watching me so intently. “Opal,” I blurted.
“Right. Right.” He shook his head, taking a sip of his coffee. “Possible dream walker. It’s too bad I can’t trust Isa. Chances are he’d be able to offer some clarification on a dream walker’s abilities. Any of the witches I know are going to be close-mouthed.”
“What about Ruwa?” The question, once out of my mouth, felt oddly pointed.
Aiden shook his head. “Her specialty is binding spells, trained by her grandfather. You actually have one of his spellbooks.”
“Isa said it was a bad translation.”
Aiden snorted. “I’m oddly peeved that he knew you had it before I did. How ridiculous is that?”
I smiled at my cookie and didn’t comment on his possessive tendencies, however begrudgingly admitted.
Aiden laughed quietly. “The translation is fine for your purposes. You aren’t trying to cast with it.”
“You noticed, didn’t you? Last night. There’s something wrong with Ruwa’s magic.”
He nodded. “I thought at first it was the binding spell between her and Isa.”
“It isn’t?”
He sipped his coffee thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I’m hoping it’s none of our business.”
“You think they’ll leave? Now that the letter has been delivered to you?”
“No,” he said grimly. “I don’t. And I’d like to start strengthening the property ward before it starts snowing again.”
I groaned despite myself. “It’s going to continue snowing?”
“Yes. Hopefully until we’re completely cut off from the world.”
I smiled. “We’d eventually get hungry.”
“Please. Have you seen Christopher’s pantry? You could survive a siege.” Aiden’s smile dimmed. “Sorry … maybe that’s the point.”
He meant if the Collective ever came for us, but canned goods wouldn’t protect us from whatever they could throw our way. Assuming the Collective even existed in an organized form anymore. I’d had no confirmation either way. “No. Christopher just likes to cook.”
Aiden rinsed out his mug, placing it in the dishwasher. Then he wiped down the coffee machine and tucked it into a lower cabinet in the island that I’d thought was empty. I hadn’t even known the machine existed.
“I’ll miss you today.” The idiotic statement was out of my mouth before I could call it back.
Aiden looked at me, smiling as if I wasn’t acting oddly at all. “I miss you when we aren’t in the same room.” He brushed his fingers against the back of my arm. “Will you let me know if you hear anything more from Ember?”
“I will.”
He nodded, then seemingly had to force himself to step away, crossing into the laundry room. He threw on his jacket and boots, then exited out onto the patio.
The house felt empty with Aiden, Christopher, and Paisley gone.
I gathered all the notes and books from the front sitting room, carrying them into the study on the other side of the hall, tucked underneath the stairs. The tiny room was filled with built-in shelves and a west-facing window seat currently occupied by Christopher’s plants and grow lights. Dark wood covered every surface of the room, except for the fir flooring.
I systematically arranged the texts alphabetically on the lowest shelf over the built-in desk, intermixing my spellbooks and Aiden’s. I set the two notebooks on the desk, along with various pens and pencils.
I sat down on the antique chair I’d purloined from the matching set in the front sitting room. Then I tried to make sense of over a year’s worth of notes, factoring in the new context of the dreams — and Opal’s possible connection with me through my amplification.