He dragged the chair closer to the bed and sat in it. “This is going to be a lesson in body awareness.” He made a gesture as though he was reaching into a pocket of an invisible shirt. He drew out his sketchbook. I wished I had invisible pockets like he had. Magic was so cool. Or the magic I couldn’t do was anyway.
The sketchbook expanded to the standard nine-by-twelve-inch size. He found a fluffy ostrich quill between the pages. It must have been a self-inking quill because I didn’t see a well of ink.
He swept a few light lines across the page. “For many Witchkin, it takes intense spellcasting and wards to be able to have awareness when someone is looking at them or thinking about touching them. You, on the other hand, have an affinity that lends itself naturally to this kind of touch magic. In the past, you’ve brought your awareness into your subconscious—and into the minds of others.”
My smile faded as I thought about Derrick and how I’d visited him in his dreams. Thatch had disapproved of me using my magic that way—or perhaps he’d only disapproved of me involving myself with Derrick because he hadn’t been cured of his curse. That hadn’t been the only time I’d used this magic. I’d also invited myself into Thatch’s subconscious, and he hadn’t been able to stop me. I felt ashamed of myself for the way I’d blamed him for being unprofessional when I was the one who had manifested those fantasies from my subconscious and his.
“So you’re going to teach me how to use my superpowers of self-awareness? How is this going to benefit me?”
Thatch was silent, his quill scratching lines onto the surface of the paper. He glanced at me and back to his paper. “Were you always this insolent to your teachers in school? Were you that student who asked, ‘Why do we have to learn this?’ and complained about learning mathematics and grammar?” He lifted one imperious eyebrow. “We always could go back to the chair. . . .”
“I’m not complaining,” I said quickly. “I just like it when you explain the logic behind your lessons. Remember that communication thing we talked about?”
His amusement was evident from the little smirk he was trying to hide. “I’m helping you tap into your affinity. Think about how useful it would be if you sensed danger before someone had a chance to hurt you. Imagine you could feel someone’s gaze and intentions. You would be able to feel the desire or anger in someone’s body. Had I been able to teach you this skill earlier, it might have saved you and Miss Kimura from quite a bit of embarrassment.”
Ah, so I was learning how to not get bitten again by my best friend. “But if you had taught me this before and I had thwarted her, I wouldn’t be here with you at this moment, would I?”
“Touché.”
From the angle where I lay, I couldn’t see what he was drawing, but I noticed the way his hand moved from large sweeping arcs to smaller ones. I suspected he had blocked in shapes, sketching the whole before focusing on details.
“First you shall meditate and focus on your affinity. Anchor yourself in your affinity and expand your awareness to your body. Your consciousness will become aware of my gaze on you, what part of your body my pen is drawing. At first I will consciously make my presence known through kinetic magic, but slowly I will withdraw my powers so only my awareness remains. It is your job to sense that awareness and tell me where I am.”
I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of his quill scratching against the pad of paper. Slowly I sank into myself and meditated.
His voice drifted over me like music. “Where are my eyes on your body?”
I moved my awareness throughout my body. The distraction of the cold room made it difficult to focus. I didn’t feel anything. I said so.
“Keep trying. I will help you.”
A gentle pressure, so subtle I could have believed it was a ghost, brushed against my cheek. His hand solidified. I gasped and opened my eyes. Thatch stared into my face from where he sat in his chair.
“Did you just touch my cheek?” I asked.
“Indeed, with my mind. You’re getting it.”
“Do I get a reward if I do well in my lesson today?”
“You would ask that.” He snorted out a half laugh. “Sit up. I’ll sketch you in a different position, and you can try again.”
“Are you going to show me your drawings?”
He flipped the page in his book. “We’ll see.” I caught a glimpse before he hid it away but was only able to catch a vague shape of a woman drawn with cross-hatching in ink.
I pushed myself up, curling my knees to my chest. I rested my head on my knees. He didn’t object to my shoes on the white sheets. He swept my hair away from my face and adjusted the pink locks so that they cascaded down my back.
From this position, I could see the surface of his sketchpad. He brushed the pen across the page with quick, confident lines.
“Close your eyes and focus,” he said. “Tell me when you can sense me.”
It took several minutes as I refocused and placed my awareness in my skin. I listened to the short strokes of what might have been hatching as he darkened the shadows he observed.
I reached beyond myself, outside my own skin while simultaneously sinking deeper into myself. A whisper of a tickle traced a line along my knee, down my leg and along my ankle. From the side to side swipes across my leg like stripes, I knew exactly what he sketched.
“You’re drawing my stockings,” I said.
“Very good. Which one?”
“My left.”
We practiced in this manner for a few more minutes, but my neck started to ache from the slouched posture. It shouldn’t have surprised me he knew the moment my spine began to protest.
“Let’s try again with a different position, shall we? We don’t want to tire you out before we have even gotten started.” He suggested I lie down on my belly. He positioned my legs so that my knees were bent, my ankles crossed.
“Turn away so you won’t be inclined to peek.” He swept my hair along my back.
“This is how you know what my affinity is doing, isn’t it?” I asked. “Because you’ve trained yourself to do this remote-viewing technique?”
“Remote viewing . . . indeed, you could call it that. I project my awareness out and sense other energies. I stay attuned with my own magic so that I might know if someone is trying to break through my wards to hex or curse me. I’ve learned to sense other energies at work for defense. After refining this technique, I adapted this method for finding children with magical gifts out in the Morty Realm to bring them here where they’ll be safe.” His pen scratched against his drawing pad in rapid bursts.
I could see how this was useful magic. I could defend myself if I knew I was in danger. If the Raven Queen tried to break through my wards, or if any pervey green man or cowboy wizard attempted to use magic on me and seduce me, I would feel their intentions. If students thought about hexing me, I would be able to sense their energies.
This was one of the most useful lessons Thatch had ever taught me. A renewed confidence settled over me at the idea that I could do something useful that others couldn’t.
Thatch trailed a finger along my spine. “Use your mind to sense the difference between the physical and the spiritual.”
I shivered at the tickle of his touch. “That was real, right? Not your awareness projected onto my skin?”
He didn’t answer. He kept sketching.
It reminded me of the times I hadn’t been able to sense the difference between reality and fantasy in my meditations. I’d feared he had actually kissed me. Perhaps he’d been thinking about it, and that’s why my mind had imagined it. That didn’t excuse Elric for accusing him of molesting me.
But Elric was a liar. I was certain he’d been lying. I pushed the doubts from my mind.
When I turned my head to take in Thatch’s expression, he slapped me on the rump, his grin growing wider. “Stay still. Have you never modeled for someone before?”
“No.” My behind smarted, but it
didn’t really hurt. I suspected he knew enough about the effect of pain on me not to overdo it.
“Truly? You never posed for an artist while in college?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Stop moving.” His large hand closed around the back of my skull, keeping me in place. “You didn’t let Elric draw you like this?”
I snorted into the pillow. “Elric couldn’t draw.” He appreciated art, but in five hundred years of immortality he hadn’t learned how to use his creativity for anything more than scheming.
“No one has ever drawn you? Not even Derrick?” He said it casually, oblivious to the way mentioning Derrick’s name so cavalierly hooked barbs in my heart.
I turned away. “No, he never drew me like this—nude—if that’s what you mean. Only portraits.” Derrick’s art had been sweet and whimsical. He’d made me feel like a cute little witch or fairy—even before I had known such things were real. My art seemed to see inside people’s souls. His art had shown his optimistic view of the world. He’d seen the good in people.
I wondered where he was now, and if he was all right.
Thatch swept my hair back into position. His chair creaked. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought him up.”
“No, it’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” Only, it did. I just couldn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t help him. Even Elric had said it was best to stay away from Derrick and his curse, or else I’d worsen his condition. If he could be believed.
Thatch’s hand lingered on my shoulder, the gesture tender. Perhaps he could feel some of the pain Derrick’s name caused me.
“Does this awareness help you read people?” I asked. “You can sense their emotions?”
“No. Only where one carries his or her pain, whether it’s a wound or heartache.”
Thatch leaned over me and kissed the back of my head. “Let’s get back to your lesson.” He walked me through the steps of meditation again.
I slipped my awareness back into my body. I explained where I felt his gaze, the tickle of his perception translated through his pen. There were moments I couldn’t tell if I was feeling my own skin or I’d become one with the paper. His hand danced across the white surface, his ink sketching over my skin. The scratch-scratch-scratch of the pen floated in the air like notes of music. My senses became muddled, unable to figure out what was happening.
Thatch tapped my forehead with a finger, grounding me and keeping me from floating away. “Stay closer to yourself. There’s no need to stray so far.” His hand settled warm on my shoulder. “Now, am I touching you with my hand or my mind?”
“Your . . . hand?” Uncertainty crept over me.
He didn’t answer. I reached out again. I felt his hands on his sketchpad, but his mind reached out to me as tangibly as though it actually was him.
“That’s your psychic power?” Awe filled me that I had gotten it correct this time.
“And yours because you’ve opened yourself up to me.”
“Sounds sexy.” I blinked my eyes open. I started to turn to take in his expression.
“Close your eyes, and I’ll show you sexy.” His chair creaked.
I refocused. The warmth of his body radiated so close to me, he was almost touching. He nudged the inside of my knee, indicating he wanted me to spread my legs apart. I lowered my feet and obliged him. His kisses were whisper soft along my spine. I couldn’t tell if they were real or not. Fabric rustled behind me. His erection pressed between my legs. My affinity flared to life inside me so suddenly my breath caught in my throat.
“Is this real or not?” he asked.
“Real.”
He didn’t answer, only pressed himself against me. His erection slid slick against me. I clutched at the blankets, the sensation too overwhelmingly good to want him to stop.
“Condom?” I managed to say.
He chuckled. The sound came from the chair, not from behind me as it should have.
I reached my awareness past my skin. He wasn’t actually there. I felt his hand sketching a fresh page. For the briefest of moments I saw what he saw. I was inside his eyes, seeing a young woman with pink hair writhing on his bed. The sight filled him with desire.
“You can’t tell the difference between an astral body and a real one yet, but you will.” There was a smile in his voice, though I couldn’t see it from this perspective behind his eyes.
My attention returned to my own body. He remained seated in his chair, but his consciousness thrust inside me. I cried out in exquisite pleasure.
The sensation should have anchored me, but I couldn’t fully sink back into myself.
My senses grew confused again. I was his hand and the paper and my skin being touched by his mind and the curtains draped around the bed all at once. I drifted around the room, at one with the wood of the bed and the stone of the walls. I felt his hunger swelling inside him as he gazed at me. Longing filled him like water poured into a cup, taking on the shape of his body and expanding to every boundary. I sank into his heart, the steady rhythm forgetting it’s worry and sorrow as it slowly increased and beat in time with my own. His focus wavered.
He set the art book and quill on the floor. His knee sank into the mattress beside me. I tried to stay there inside his awareness, but I drifted out again. I bounced like a rubber ball, my attention sinking into the feathers in the pillow, the paintings stacked in the corner, and the motion in the bathroom as the door slid open an inch.
Anger radiated from a shadowy figure watching us through the sliver of open door. Her mind was alien and exotic, the air around her fuzzy, her figure blurred. Venom flooded her veins. I wanted to recoil, but I couldn’t.
Someone was here watching us. Someone who loathed me.
“Can you tell if this is real or in your mind?” Thatch lowered himself onto me, his naked chest warm against my back.
I’d been too distracted to notice him removing his clothes. He didn’t shift all his weight on me, just enough that I could feel him. It was his real erection this time that grounded me.
I gasped and came back into myself. I tried to roll over, but Thatch was behind me, unintentionally trapping me.
“In the bathroom. She’s in the bathroom.” I pointed. I didn’t know if the presence was a woman’s. I hadn’t seen a face or even an actual figure. Everything about her had been indistinct and hard to grasp. But it felt right to call her female. It felt right to think of her as other, as Fae. “She’s watching us. She wants to kill me.”
Faster than was humanly possible, Thatch left me. His body shifted into a black swirl of mist and shadows as he launched himself into the bathroom. He threw back the door, untwisting from his shroud of shadows.
Watching his magic was almost more terrifying than the presence I had sensed. I pushed myself up, hoping he hadn’t unnecessarily expended his magic just to run across the room.
My affinity was awake enough to do as much harm as I suspected he could. I reached inside and drew out a ball of electrical fire. It hovered in my palm, snapping and crackling blue, ready to be used.
Thatch stood in the open doorway, staring into the bathroom. The lights were on, but I couldn’t see past his tall frame. I tried not to let his naked backside distract me.
Thatch turned back to me. “No one is there.”
“Yes, someone was. I felt her, just like I felt you. Couldn’t you feel her?”
I didn’t want him to turn away from the bathroom. It felt like a horror movie when the innocent victim looked away, and the creaky violin music stretched out just before the monster jumped into view. I stared into the space behind him, willing it to be safe.
“Who was it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. She was just . . . dark. Full of hatred. She was watching us. You didn’t sense her?”
The corners of Thatch’s mouth turned down. “No. My attention was focused . . . elsewhere.” He closed his eyes and drew his hand in the air, an arc of light for
ming in front of his fingers. “I can’t sense any trace of magic, which either means it was someone very skilled—or no magic was used at all.”
He stepped deeper into the bathroom. I held my breath as he inspected the shower, the mirror, and the adjoining room with his hot spring and garden.
“I know someone was in there. It wasn’t my imagination.” I didn’t want to say it, but there was only one woman who would want to spy on me. There was only one Fae powerful enough to pull this trick off.
It had to be the Raven Queen.
“I didn’t say it was your imaginings.” He strode back to my side.
“I think I might have felt her presence before, only I didn’t realize what was going on at the time. I hadn’t practiced this skill before. It was when I was having a panic attack. And then later that same night when I was walking in the hallway. I thought I felt a presence next to my biological mother’s portrait.”
The corners of his mouth turned down. “I see. And you neglected to inform me of this because. . . ?”
“I was distracted.” And I hadn’t believed my own intuition.
He eyed the ball of electricity in my hand. “Would you mind putting that out before you set the bed curtains on fire?”
I snuffed it out.
“Reach out with your awareness again. Tell me if you can see who it is or where she’s gone to.”
I felt naked and vulnerable, which I essentially was. I hugged his pillow to my chest as though it were a shield made of steel. I attempted the exercise Thatch had just taught me, but I was too nervous to focus. I couldn’t even become one with my skin or whatever I had done before.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” I said. “I’m too tired.”
He placed an arm around my shoulder. “Yes, of course. That’s understandable.”
“Do you think. . . ?” I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “Do you think the Raven Queen has found a way to get in through the school’s wards?”
“No. Absolutely not,” he said firmly.
“Then who else would it be?” I thought back to the note that had been folded in the book Forbidden Affinities. Jeb had allied himself with a Fae princess who had wanted my biological mother dead. For all I knew, she wanted me disposed of as well. She might be the one sending me the flowers. She might have been spying on us and intended to kill me—and Thatch.
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