Okay … so not what Charles had told me. Charles believed the magic of those elementals had died along with their human bodies.
The Council continued to lead the genocide against the Universe’s command, and the spirit elementals, being under attack themselves, did little to slow their efforts.
However, in time, the dual-breeds dwindled so low in number that the war subsided to quieter efforts. When the spirit elementals died, their magic was halved and passed on to their descendants. With each passing generation, the magic halved again, and after several centuries, the witches’ powers tapered away to virtually nil.
Because the efforts had failed, the witches so fearful of persecution that they never even attempted to use their powers, the Universe chose no further spirit elementals.
The section defining spirit elementals said they kept the same life expectancy as any other ordinary human, though rumor spread of witches who gained true immortality through being turned by the Cruor. This weakened their powers, but left them with more tolerance to sunlight than their makers.
After the sixth chapter, I settled on the floor with the book, lying on my stomach as I leafed through page after page. I skipped past the witch trials, covering the Middle Ages, Early Modern Europe, and the Modern Era. They’d taught us about all that in high school, and I’d studied even more extensively in college. The eighth chapter grabbed my attention: Spirit Elementals—The Genetic Legacy of Witches.
I read a few pages, then stood, finally having found something of use. Apparently, there was more to ancestral magic than the ‘halving’ rule.
I held the open book in the crook of my arm. “I got something.”
Charles and Adrian set their books aside and focused on me.
“This Chapter on Genetic Legacy says the descendants of spirit elementals are at times granted their ancestor’s magic on loan. It can manifest in a small burst of power or may develop over time. The Council considers these descendants non-threatening, as most are unaware of their potential. They are considered human because the power is only borrowed and not found within.”
Adrian gave me an empty look and tossed his dreadlocks over his shoulder. “What does it mean?”
“It means I might be able to borrow my ancestor’s powers. Weren’t you paying attention?”
Adrian shook his head. “I mean, how does the information relate to you?”
“Oh, right.” I brought the book over to Charles and Adrian, flipped to the front, and pointed to Elizabeth’s name. “That ancestor of mine? The one on my father’s side who was hanged as a witch during the trials in Salem? Well, she was a spirit elemental. Which makes me—”
“The descendant of a witch,” Charles finished. He leaned back into the sofa, interlocking his fingers behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and pressed his lips together. Finally, his gaze shifted back. “So you have potential for supernatural abilities. How do you tap into them, and what are they? Would you even want that?”
Did I want supernatural abilities? Not exactly. I just wanted to silence the voices in my head. But maybe learning more about my powers would help me protect myself from the Cruor, should we ever cross paths again. And we just might, if I could convince Charles to try to get rid of his Cruor side. He worried they would learn his true nature, but maybe now I could protect him if they did.
I held the book up. “Adrian—do you have more like this?”
“What do you have in mind, and how do you propose it would make any difference?”
I didn’t ruffle at the condescending edge to his voice. I sensed Adrian never took things like ‘feelings’ into account. He just wanted to find solutions and implement them.
After stacking the book on the coffee table pile, I walked to the window. Light from streetlamps glinted off the snow floating to the streets. The old man across the road, wearing a thick plaid coat, frigidly shoveled snow from his driveway. He paused a moment, staring over at me, but I didn’t look away. Everyone stared at me.
I let out a deep breath. “Scrying would be a good start and can also be done with fire, which might be best since I’m a fire sign.” I kept my back to them, hoping to conceal any evidence on my face that I was hiding something. Yes, I wanted to protect myself. But I also wanted to end my family’s curse. “And might you have anything on the effects of magic on the mind?”
Those words having been spoken, I turned to face them. No one flinched. My request had been vague enough. Then again, what were the chances Adrian would bring me a book about hearing voices?
Adrian nodded. “I’ll check my collection and drop anything relevant off here.”
“Wonderful.” I smiled over at him. “Where do you get these books anyway?”
“The library.”
I lifted another book from the table and fanned the pages. “I would have noticed something like this at the library.”
“Different library, Miss Sophia,” he said in his usual refined articulation, a bit of friendliness hidden beneath his stuffy conventions.
“So this library just gave you these books?” I asked, smirking.
“I worked there for a time. When they sought to have some books destroyed, I offered my services.” He grinned mischievously. “I, of course, did nothing of the sort. I realized the Council only sought to hide the truth behind their efforts to eliminate the dual-natured, and I hid the books instead.”
I hated this mysterious Council and that there wasn’t something more we could do to stop them. But while I might never save all the dual-breeds, I might be able to harness enough magic to protect Charles and myself. “Please, bring more books if you can.”
“I will,” Adrian promised.
As I watched him leave, the young woman I’d seen in the street earlier reappeared outside the window, this time standing in Charles’ yard. The breeze swayed the leaves in the trees behind her, but her hair and nightgown were unmoving. The more she closed in with her gaze fixed on me, the more I hoped answers would quickly come.
{chapter sixteen}
ON THE MORNING OF YULE—or, as Mother called it, ‘that devil holiday a few days before Christmas’—I drove to Charles’ with a strong sense of purpose. I’d spent the last couple of weeks reviewing some books Adrian had dropped off. Last night, I’d stayed up all night reading them. I hadn’t found out anything more about my heritage or curse, but I had found out how to help Charles become a pure Strigoi.
I pulled into his driveway, smiling at the dead leaves the melted snow had caked to the yard and sidewalk. The surrounding houses showed no trace of the season, overstuffed black trash bags stacked high along the roadside, each yard an immaculate carbon copy of the last.
Charles and I had been dating for over three months now, and while I wasn’t seeking a commitment—not now, anyway—I wanted to know if a future between us was even possible. Now I knew it was, but that was entirely up to him.
I lifted a tray of chocolate chip pumpkin spice cookies from the passenger seat, hurried up the walkway, and knocked on the door. An icy breeze whipped across the yard and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The voices in my mind had returned to their wild frenzy, and, this time, it took conscious effort to block them out. I wanted to be honest with Charles about my condition, but if he couldn’t understand, no one would. I wasn’t willing to take the risk.
When Charles didn’t answer, I unlocked the front door with a key he’d given me and went in. My hand moved automatically to the light switch behind the coat rack.
“Charles?” I called. I set the cookie tray on the kitchen counter and headed down the hall. “Charles, if you’re still sleeping, I’m going to kill you.”
I walked down the hall to his room and pushed open his bedroom door. His blue plaid comforter covered him from head to ankles, only his feet peeking out to hang over the edge of the bed.
I sat beside him and pulled the comforter away from his face. “Charles!”
He jolted upright. “Huh? What?” His gaze darted aroun
d until his attention settled on me. Confusion slipped from his features and a crooked grin worked into place. He pulled me onto the bed and propped himself on one elbow.
I giggled and poked his chest. “You were supposed to meet me for breakfast.”
“Oops,” he said, walking his fingers up my belly, between my breasts. “I was out late. Hunting.”
“You at least have to get up to open your gift.”
Charles shoved his blanket away and tossed his legs over the side of the bed. His feet thudded against the hardwood as he stood. My gaze drifted downward, his flannel pajama pants slipping lower on his hips to reveal the upper crest of his butt. I bit back a smile.
He glanced over his shoulder, tugging up his pants. “Hey, no peeking.” He kissed my cheek before stepping into the master bathroom—another one of his renovations.
I flopped back against his pillow. It still smelled like him—like vanilla and sandalwood and musk. I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, which seemed to be taking over more with each passing day, but we’d never made it beyond what Lauren called the ‘heavy petting’ stage. Was it right to be intimate with someone I couldn’t be completely honest with? Would he still want to be with me if I did tell him everything? Ever since I’d told Ivory, she rarely answered my calls, and we’d been friends for years.
Maybe first, before worrying about sharing my secrets, it’d be best to find out if a future between us was even possible, though he wouldn’t like what needed to be done to make that happen.
Charles emerged shirtless from the bathroom, the muscles in his stomach stacked down to where his jeans rested at his hips. My heart thumped against my lungs, and I hopped to my feet. I wanted to run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders and press my cheek against his bare chest, but I remained firmly planted where I stood.
He smirked as he pulled a black and grey striped sweater over his head, and I sighed as all that beauty was hidden from view.
“Just going to run a comb through my hair,” he said.
“To sit in the living room?” I grabbed his hand and tugged him closer, snaking my arms around his waist. “You look good with bed-head. Reminds me of the night we met.”
We headed out of the bedroom and sat in the living room on the floor beside our potted pine tree decorated with candy canes and pine cones and a popcorn garland. I insisted he open his gift first. He peeked into the silver gift bag, removed the pocket watch, and smiled at the inscription.
“‘It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see’,” he read.
“Henry David Thoreau.”
“This is perfect, Sophia.” He smiled, then reached behind him and handed me a box wrapped in recycled paper. “Now your turn.”
I ripped a small area of the wrapping, and a gold foil box peaked out. “What is it?” I asked.
“Open it.”
I tore the rest of the paper away and lifted the lid to the box. Cushioned inside was a spiral bracelet, threaded with iridescent glass balls of gold and garnet and plum, accented with tiny pearls and crystals.
The air rushed from my lungs in a sigh. “Oh. Charles, it’s … amazing.”
I tried on the bracelet, relieved to find it fit perfectly. Only Grandfather Dunne had ever known to buy me bracelets small enough not to slip off.
I lay back to stare up at pine cones in our tree. Charles was perfect for me. Perfect in every way but one: he was immortal. I would age, and he would not. No matter how old he might really be, it’d be too strange to stay with him if I aged while he remained the same.
How could I make sense of all this—of my feelings for him and the reality that we had no future? Why did the one man who knew me so well have to be the one man it was foolish to get involved with?
Charles propped himself on his elbow beside me. “Something’s wrong.”
I rolled to my side, resting my head in the palm of my hand. My legs stretched out, though my feet didn’t reach far past his knees. I was looking at our feet only because I feared what I might find if I looked in his eyes—not just in his expression, but in my heart as well.
Could I be with him, even with his immortality and my own secrets standing between us?
“Look at me,” he said in a firm-but-gentle tone. I lifted my gaze, and his eyes burned with a familiar intensity that heated me from my core. “I know you are worried about what will become of us. I am, too. You need to trust things will work out.”
“How?” I asked. “How can you be sure?”
“Because,” he said. “Because I have never allowed myself to get involved before, but with you I am unable to deny the connection. Things have to work out.” He tucked a loose curling strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re my life now, Sophia. That will remain so. Always.”
“Am I?” I whispered. I grazed his forearm with my fingertips. His skin was warm, smooth, and buzzing with energy. Touching him … it was how I imagined it would be to touch light. Not the heat, but the very essence.
“I’ve stopped protecting my heart from you,” he said. “I’ve stopped fighting the way I feel, stopped fighting the natural draw I feel toward you. Now you need to do the same.”
My throat tightened and I squeezed my eyes shut, wanting to disappear from the moment.
“Stop fighting it,” he murmured. “You can’t treat everyone in your life the same. You can’t treat us all as though we’ve hurt you.”
I shook my head slowly, opening my eyes. “I don’t.”
He grinned, lifting my hand and grazing his lips over my knuckles. “Don’t you?”
Faces of family and friends flashed through my mind—times where I’d completely shut them out in fear they’d react the way Mother would. Shit. He was right. “It’s not that easy,” I said, finally.
“Everything has to make sense with you.” Charles’ voice edged on frustration. “It all has to add up, to be perfect, neat, in your control. You make your decisions based on fears of how others might judge you. How can you live like that?”
I cleared my throat, easing my hand away from his grasp and sitting up. “Wow,” I said, unable to contain my defensive tone. “Don’t hold back for my sake.”
He sat up and grasped my hand again. “I wouldn’t want you to hold back for mine.”
“I’m not holding back,” I lied.
“Do you think, after three centuries, I can’t read a person? Auras or not?”
“Fine. You want me to tell you what’s bothering me?”
“Yes,” he said. “That’s exactly what I want.”
I searched his face. Should I tell him what Adrian’s books had said? How would he react to the idea of sacrificing his Cruor side? His immortality, at the very least, would remain so long as he continued to shift. I wasn’t asking for a commitment, only a promise of possibility.
He caressed his thumb across my bottom lip and along my jaw. “Thinking again?”
I inhaled deeply, repressing a sigh. “I read something in one of Adrian’s books about your … you know … problem?”
I hated calling it a problem. Being a dual-breed wouldn’t have really been a problem if the Council hadn’t made it one. But his immortality—admittedly, that bothered even me.
His easy smile slipped. “Is this in regards to the Ankou?”
I straightened, trying to contain the fluttering in my stomach. “I know you’re skeptical,” I said, “but this sounds promising.”
“They do have a special form of magic—especially where transformations are concerned—but they aren’t going to help unless something’s in it for them.” His hand dropped back to his side. He was all discussion now; clearly, this wasn’t what he expected me to bring up.
“It’s worth a try,” I said quietly. “I have a feeling this might work.”
“First tell me what the book said.”
I spun the beads on the bracelet he’d given me. He wasn’t going to like my answer. “We kill the part we want gone?” I said, my uncertainty strong enough to turn my s
tatement into a question. “They performed the same procedure at the start of the genocide, but the recent success rates have been flawless.”
“Genocide?” Charles repeated.
“The Council killing people who aren’t ‘pure’.”
“Not exactly a genocide. Go back to what you were saying: I have to die first? What kind of theory is that?”
“How is it not like genocide?”
“They didn’t kill off all of one kind. Only those who were dual-natured.”
“The dual-natured are a kind of people.” Sadness tugged at my heart. He’d grown up in a world where his mixed nature wasn’t accepted, and this had become his ‘truth’. “I’ll stop looking into this if you aren’t interested.”
His expression sagged. “I don’t trust the Ankou. They might do a lot of good, some of them, but they aren’t any better than any other supernatural race. There’s a good chance they’ll turn us in to the Council, and the Council gave up their efforts for purification long ago. If they find out about my nature, I’m dead. My family’s dead. You’re dead. That’s all there is to it, Sophia.”
“The Ankou have been helping save other dual-natureds from being killed,” I persisted.
“Even if this were true—and we have no way to know for certain—you must understand my position. I’m trapped between worlds. You are mortal, and my parents are not. I refuse to let go of either of you. There has to be another way.”
“What other way?” I asked.
He exhaled quietly, setting his gaze on mine. “Please try to understand what it’s like for me. There is no in-between. There will never be any sense of death coming. It’s not something that will creep up on me as the years pass. When I die, it will be at the hands of someone else—someone who knows how to kill my kind. It’s not as though I asked for this life.”
The Forever Girl Page 16