by Gabi Moore
“You mean this… filter thing… killed her?”
“It kills all of us,” Lucien replied, as if it meant nothing. “So does life. She held on too long, and she put us all in a terrible position, when we were already weak.”
“One more knock and we’ll fall apart,” Milo sighed. “We can’t keep this up without five. If you don’t off your old man soon, we’re done.”
“That’s putting it bluntly,” Lucien murmured around his coffee. He looked grim as he spoke. “But that’s pretty much how it is. He made his choice, and we’ve got to make ours. And there’s a job to get done.”
Chapter 9
“All right. Let’s try this.”
Lucien rolled his eyes. “You’ve been saying let’s try this for twenty minutes. Time to actually try it.”
They four of them were standing in Lucien’s living room amongst his thousand warding charms. Aurora was still uncomfortably aware of her Witching Hour attire, but none of the boys had said anything—not that she expected them to. There weren’t a lot of men who would complain about a woman in tight black leather.
“Okay,” Lester said for the hundredth time. “Just… Just stand really still. Here goes…”
Aurora took an involuntary step back. She wasn’t really sure what it was going to be like, but this whole magic being real scenario was still surprising to her, whatever form it took. She circled around the back of the couch in three smooth steps. Of course, Milo (who was standing without a care just beside Lucien) still noticed her move.
“It won’t harm you. It’s not even aimed at you.”
“It’s just crowded over there, all right?” Aurora snapped.
Lucien had pitched the idea of casting a ward to Lester after the teen woke up, which was sometime after one in the afternoon. At first, Lester had been rather eager. As Aurora watched, she guessed he was eager to prove that he was able to fill Madame Moreau’s shoes, though, perhaps not her literal black stilettos. Now that the time came to actually perform the spell, however, he was nervous and uncertain as a snake in a shoe store.
The teen closed his brown eyes. He held his hands out, palm up, as if catching rain, and stood there for what seemed like a very long time. Aurora was watching intensely for some glow or shine or glimmer—or anything really. She had already seen a little of the magic last night. After all they’d claimed, she was in a hurry to see more.
Through it all Lucien stood there calmly, hands out at his sides. This, too, was something Aurora was eager to see. Lucien’s change. Her concern for Mr. Cheng and grief over her mother and Moreau were sharp, but her damn curiosity was eating her up.
Finally, something happened, although it wasn’t something to be seen. The air in the room began to thicken with static, tight like cord, as if it might snap. Aurora held her breath.
“Careful of the existing wards,” Lucien murmured, not unkindly. Lester nodded and moved his hands in an arc over Lucien, as if throwing a blanket over his head. The sensation of the air in the room being a little too tight began to ease, and then to disappear.
Lucien clapped Lester on the shoulder. “There. You did good.”
Lester grinned and nodded, and took a deep breath.
“So I’m just going to go back to the hospital,” Lucien repeated, one last time. “I’m going to go as a dog—no one will notice me that way.”
To Aurora’s disappointment, he stepped out the door as a human and shut it behind him. Milo chuckled.
“That eager to see him naked?”
Aurora blushed. “No! That’s vile. You should be ashamed.”
Milo rolled his eyes. “Please. But that’s not really important, not right now. Miss, I think it’s time we start showing you what your father really gave you.”
Aurora stepped back involuntarily. “What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Why bother denying it? Milo could read minds. Aurora exhaled the breath she had been holding and looked down at her hands. Magic.
“What do you want me to do? Levitate the table? Light some candles with my thoughts?” These suggestions came out sharply and without sincerity—and even Aurora found them a little spiteful. Denial was a form of survival for humankind, and in this situation, even that little respite had been taken from her. She flexed her fingers and sighed. “Look, I… I don’t know if we should.”
Milo sat down on one end of the couch and gestured at the other, his meaning crystal clear. “We won’t know what we should do until we’ve crossed over into what we shouldn’t.”
“That’s a terrible saying. I hope you don’t live by that kind of logic.”
“Of course I do,” Milo replied, smiling a little. Lester had quietly, half-unnoticed, taken a place across from the couch on the loveseat. Milo’s smile widened wickedly. “That’s the only way to really live, when you think about it.”
“That doesn’t make much sense,” Aurora retorted, but she was already sitting on the end of the couch that Milo had indicated. Against the leather couch, her pants grated and made an obnoxious creaking sound. “I have got to get some new clothes.”
This time, Milo didn’t argue, but nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. Any preferences?”
Aurora thought about what Lucien had said this morning. You’re one of us, now. You don’t have to worry about money again. A shiver went down her spine. It sounded too good to be true. She’d never been free of debt, free of bills before. She believed in witches and shapeshifters and magic before she truly believed that she would never worry about her bank account again.
“Jeans,” she said finally.
“Skinny jeans? Boot cut?”
“I… I like skinny jeans.”
“And a warm coat—”
“Two lighter ones would be better,” Aurora admitted quietly. “And sneakers. Something without a heel. Please.”
Milo nodded, leaning back a little into the couch; it was a soft piece of furniture, and the cushions molded around his body. “I’ve told Lucien what you need.”
Aurora stared. “Just like that?”
Milo shrugged. “He might not be able to get it just now—when they transform, they lose their clothes, and he’ll have to stay in dog form until he gets back, but he might be able to arrange something sooner. He’ll probably want to look for Cheng first—”
“Of course,” Aurora blurted. “There’s no rush. Whenever it’s… convenient. I suppose. Thank you.”
“Aurora, Lucien told you the truth,” Milo leaned forward again, out of the couch. “We’re going to take care of you now, because like it or not, you’re one of us. Our lives are stuck together. So yes, we’re going to take care of you, like you would if our roles were backwards.”
Oh, there it is, Aurora thought to herself. The catch, finally. I knew it was here, somewhere. Of course they weren’t going to just take care of her. That… that would be too simple.
Yes, actually it would be. Aurora thought of how her mother had just taken care of her, until it had destroyed Ramona Potier and driven her mad under the weight. Another, fresher, stab of guilt pricked Aurora in the chest, so raw still from the heartache of yesterday. And then what had happened? Aurora had taken it upon herself to do what her mother had done, fighting for years, alone, to stay afloat.
Nothing was ever that simple, and by now, Aurora felt that she should know that lesson through and through. You didn’t get something for nothing; these people were convinced that they were part of her life, now. And she was part of theirs. They didn’t want her enslavement, not like she’d been a slave to keeping her mother. No… they wanted her to be on a team. Part of a… a different kind of family.
Aurora looked up at Milo and nodded. She understood.
“Great!” If Milo had been listening to her thoughts, he didn’t show it. He made himself comfortable on his side of the couch, leaning closer to Aurora. Lester watched in eager silence. “So what I want you to do I just to touch the power. Just… get
in contact with it, and see where we go from there.”
Aurora watched him suspiciously. “How do I do that?”
With a sigh, Milo scratched his head; with a start, Aurora realized his gun was still in the holster, which he wore even without a jacket as cover. It just seemed such a part of him that she’d forgotten to notice it. “There’s a problem. I’m not a vampire. I’ve never been a vampire, so I don’t know exactly how to access your powers.”
Aurora shook her head. “Don’t say that.”
“Say what?”
She exhaled impatiently. “The ‘V’ word.”
“Vampire?”
“Yeah,” Aurora agreed, annoyed. “That would be the word I asked you not to say.”
“That’s a bad strategy,” Milo warned. “That, my dear, is called, denial, and it will never, never, never help you. Not once.” He looked at her, intent, for several minutes. Aurora stared back, wondering if he was trying to read her mind. “I’m serious. It will blind you to truth. It will take reality from you. It will leave you helpless. The moment you decided to deny what is real, the power to see it for what it is flies out the window.”
“Maybe I don’t want to see it for what it is,” Aurora hissed. “Don’t you think I’d find it a little shocking to have someone suddenly tell me I’m a vampire? I’m not! I’ve lived a normal life for twenty-four years, without a speck of magic—”
“Because we hid it from you,” Milo interrupted, his voice a coaxing murmur. “Come on, Aurora. We had to. If you discovered your magic, your father would have found you long before you were strong enough to threaten him.”
“Well, that’s convenient,” Aurora replied.
“It’s not wild, things flying off the shelves, lights flickering, storms coming out of nowhere, magic. Your power is much more subtle—even if we hadn’t hid it from you, it’s possible you would have never noticed.”
“So, what do you want me to do?” Aurora asked again, sharply.
Milo held his hands out. “Try to feel my energy. My life force. Take my hands—or don’t, suit yourself; you don’t have to give me that look—and just… feel.”
Hesitant, Aurora held her hands near Milo’s. She didn’t feel anything, and she told him so. Milo rolled his eyes.
“Did you expect it to jump out and bite you? You have to meditate, a bit. Focus.”
“On what?”
“Your breathing, or something. I don’t know. Breathing always worked for me when I was learning.”
With a small growl, Aurora took a deliberate inhale. Still nothing. Slowly, she pushed out the breath through her nose, feeling her nerves settle a little as she did so. She could definitely do with less nerves, so she took another breath in, and another breath out.
“Concentrate on feeling the air circulate through your body.”
“That’s not what happens—”
“Don’t get scientific on me. Just focus on the feeling of drawing in life with each breath, and exhaling the stress and negativity.”
“Don’t get meta on me, now,” Aurora muttered, but she did as Milo said, envisioning the air circle through her. But then, in her mind, it wasn’t really air. That isn’t what it felt like, after all. When she focused, it felt more like particles, dust motes, glowing and living, that she drew in with each breath. And when she exhaled… it seemed as though she was expelling ash.
Shocked, Aurora blinked. The vision in her head had been so vivid. She closed her eyes and tried again, not even noticing how closely Milo had begun to watch her.
It came easier this time, the glowing particles and dark ash spots clear in her mind’s eye. Aurora followed their progress, watched the golden specks gather in her chest, and the black ones swirl into the room and dissipate. Fascinated, she had no idea how long she watched, when she realized all of a sudden that she wasn’t the only one with the glowing dust motes.
They flocked around Lester and Milo, in much greater density than Aurora. She kept her eyes shut, but in some abstract way she could see the two of them sitting there, glowing.
“Whoa,” she murmured, hardly daring to breathe. The particles filtered in and out of her with the air the moved with her speech.
Milo’s hands were still outreached; Aurora inched her own hands closer to them without even a thought for what might happen. She watched, amazed and enthralled, as the gold particles in Milo’s skin began to creep towards her, like metal shavings to a magnet. Her fingers grew nearer and nearer until his hands were just below hers; still the particles snailed up to the surface, as if they were survivors hailing a plane.
Aurora had no idea what all this meant, but she took the next obvious step. She lowered her hands to rest on top of Milo’s, as he had asked.
Immediately, the gold particles seeped into her. Aurora gasped; it felt like summer sunlight, after a long winter. Wonderful, full of hope and promises of better days. Tears welled up in her still-shut eyes. It had been a long, long time since she had ever felt something so warm.
Take more. The voice in her head was unfamiliar; it wasn’t even a voice really. It was something primal, like the need to sleep and eat. It wound through her brain over and over, with the same two words. Take more take more take more take more…
It seemed a thrilling thing to do, and Aurora couldn’t figure out why. Yes, these light drops, like snowflakes, were beautiful and filled her with contentment and wellness. When they absorbed into her skin, she felt rested and whole, as if she would never need anything again. She knew she didn’t need more, but she called for it anyway, summoned it instinctively from Milo’s body, just because she could.
A sharp cry jolted Aurora out of her meditation, and her eyes snapped open.
“That’s probably enough for now,” Milo said hastily. He’d already withdrawn his hands.
Her heart punched a beat against the hollow of her throat, terrified. “What was that?” she asked. If her voice was higher and shriller than usual, no one mentioned it.
Milo went through several facial expressions, a grimace, surprise, hesitation, then resignation.
“That… well, that was a taste of your powers.”
“That was…” Aurora’s voice failed her, and she flopped back against the couch. “That was… amazing! What—did you see the lights, too? What was that?”
“It was how your father beat me the first time,” Milo muttered.
Aurora froze. She dropped from her cloud like a stone, and looked at Milo, really looked at him, in the light of the lamps. His young face seemed to have aged a few years in just seconds—or had it been minutes? Aurora was no longer sure. She felt bright and vibrant, which was the exact opposite of how Milo looked. His skin was grayish and his hands were shaking. His blue eyes were sunken and ringed in dark bruises.
“Oh my God!” Aurora leapt forward and put out her hands to help, although she had no idea what she was going to do about his condition.
Milo flinched back. It was clearly a reflex, but it stung nonetheless.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora snapped—and felt sorrier still for snapping. What had she done?
“You did what you’re designed to do,” Milo answered her thought. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the couch. “You took some of my energy. I can regain it the normal way, sleep and food, but I can only recover so fast. Don’t worry, I’ll be all right… eventually. And hey, can you check to see if Lucien has anything to eat in that fridge? Shapeshifters are always hungry, I’m sure he has something…”
Aurora leapt up in her socks (she still hadn’t put her boots back on) and hurried into the kitchen. Like the bathroom, Lucien kept his kitchen neat and clean, and she dug out a can of loaded baked potato soup from the cupboard and threw it in a bowl. All of this she jammed in the microwave and hit buttons until it roared to life.
“What was that?!” Aurora asked again, even less calm now than before. “Milo! Did I just suck the life out of you?”
From the couch, Milo looked at her, eyes glittery brig
ht in his sunken face. And that was answer enough for Aurora. She stood there, breathing as if it pained her, feeling the euphoria of Milo’s life force that she’d stolen right out of him. The microwave beeped before she spoke again, and then Aurora was able to busy herself in retrieving the sizzling canned soup stirring it frantically to hide her fear.
“Here,” she set it on the table in front of Milo. “Careful. It’s hot as hell.”
Milo gave an unimpressed snort and scooted towards the bowl. Indeed, it was still sending up wafts of steam where it sat. He sighed.
“Look, don’t get upset,” he told her. But even as he told her this, his voice was scratchy and small, like a lesser version of what it had been just minutes ago. Aurora rubbed her face.
“Don’t get upset? How can you say that? Could I have killed you, if I kept it up?”
Milo shrugged. “Of course. You could have taken all my life force—the coroner would have said I starved to death and wasn’t getting enough oxygen at the same time. The cells of my body were straining to support me on nothing, and finally, everything just shut down.”
“And you tell me not to be upset?!”
“Yes, Aurora.” Milo picked up the spoon and tried a tiny bite of soup. “Mmm loaded baked potato. Anyway, yes, I’m telling you not to get upset. It’s not like this is some uncontrollable thing. You chose to take more of me than you needed. Next time, just don’t.”
At the mention, Aurora grew uncomfortable. She sat back down on the couch. “You know?”
“Of course I know. We were connected for a minute.” Milo took another bite, and blew madly on the soup until he wheezed. It didn’t work very well; the bowl still steamed. “But you’re learning. You had to learn what could happen, and it’s better that it was with me than with someone who doesn’t know to pull away, believe me.”
“I don’t think it’s better,” Aurora pointed out irritably.
“It probably is.” Milo shrugged. “Just look at yourself. You look almost back to normal. The energy did you good.”
“Yeah, by taking it from you.”