by Sarina Dorie
Thatch harrumphed.
Jeb waved a hand at Thatch. “Ain’t you got some kind of restorative elixir you fixed up?”
Thatch went to the nightstand and held out a crystal goblet of amber fluid. “Drink this.” Light filtered through it, casting golden shards across the blankets. The fluid looked like urine.
Thatch helped me sit up and shoved it into my bandaged hands. I glanced at Jeb. He waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Poison. What do you think?” Thatch snapped.
Someone had been restored to his normal, crabby self. I tried to hand the goblet back, but he wouldn’t take it.
“It’s a potion to restore your health,” Jeb said kindly. “Felix insisted on makin’ it himself. He’s a true Celestor, sure enough, always thinkin’ his magic, his remedies, his everything is better than all get-out. Thinks this potion is superior to Nurse Hilda’s. Bless her heart. I do feel for her. She’s mighty insulted.”
“Let the old crone sulk,” Thatch said. “Half her remedies don’t work. The other half contain a suspicious amount of excrement. I don’t know why you keep that incompetent oaf around. Students come out of the infirmary sicker than they arrived.” He pointed a finger at me. “Drink your medicine. Now.”
I held the goblet in shaking hands. I stared at the golden fluid, expecting it was going to taste like barf.
Thatch sighed in disgust. “Don’t you think I would have found a more opportune moment if I intended to poison you?”
When I thought back to the way he’d lifted me into his arms and carried me from the stairwell with such concern and tenderness in his eyes, I didn’t believe he would hurt me. I sipped the potion. It tasted like butterscotch, only with the kick of whiskey. I coughed. It warmed my throat and prickled pleasantly against my insides.
“All of it,” Thatch said in his typical unsympathetic tone.
I guzzled it down, fighting the urge to belch. Cozy relaxation spread through my muscles. I wanted to sink into the blankets and go back to sleep.
Thatch poured water into the glass and handed it to me. I drank that too. My arms were weak, and I couldn’t hold the glass for more than a few seconds. He took it from me and placed it on the nightstand before retreating to the corner.
Jeb patted my hand. “You poor dear. Can you tell me what happened?”
Thatch cleared his throat. “I already told you. Julian Thistledown cast a spell on Miss Lawrence, making her behave irrationally. She was then attacked by him in the stairwell of her supply closet. He intended to take her to the Raven Court. Fortunately, she’d learned enough from my teaching methods to stop him before he convinced her to leave the school grounds.” He gave me a pointed look.
That was a slightly modified version of what had happened. I could tell there was something Thatch didn’t want me to say, but I couldn’t guess what. Perhaps he knew I had previously left school grounds with Julian. Or perhaps it had to do with what he had or hadn’t taught me. Julian hadn’t been under the orders of the Raven Court, he’d been under someone else’s employment, but he hadn’t said who. I didn’t know if Thatch knew this or not, but I trusted Thatch.
“Yep, you said as much already,” Jeb said. “I want to hear Miss Lawrence acknowledge the corn herself.”
Who was the one talking nonsensical?
“How did you burn your hands, darlin’?”
I turned my hands over, staring at the white gauze. “Magic.”
“Just so.” Jeb chortled. “But really, how’d you do it? Do you know your affinity?”
Thatch watched me, his expression wary. Behind Jeb, he gave the slightest shake of his head. Apparently, the principal didn’t know I was a Red.
“No,” I said. “Julian said he knew what my affinity was. That’s why the Raven Queen wanted me. Maybe why someone else wanted me too.”
Thatch shook his head. Was it my affinity he didn’t want Jeb to know about? Or that more Fae wanted me.
“I don’t know what I am. Julian didn’t say. He grabbed me, and I tried to push him away. I focused my energy and shot lightning out of my hands.”
“Lightnin’?” Jeb leaned forward with interest.
“She doesn’t mean lightning,” Thatch said. “She means magic. Morties and new Witchkin alike often confuse the fractals of magic as something akin to lightning.”
Jeb stroked his beard. “Perhaps. Or Miss Lawrence might be an Elementia or Celestor with a lightnin’ affinity.”
“It wasn’t the right color for lightning, I guess. And there wasn’t the smell of ozone.” I lied, but I didn’t know why I was lying. My intuition told me to trust Thatch.
Jeb asked me a few more questions. I yawned and closed my eyes.
Thatch crossed his arms. “See, you’ve fatigued her.”
“You never cease to amaze me, Felix. I didn’t know you had it in you to be such a devoted nursemaid.”
I forced my eyes open, but the room was a haze.
“I’m not a nursemaid. I simply think that if I’ve gone to all the trouble of making drafts of medicine, it would be just as well not to interrupt the healing process so I’m not forced to waste even more of my time on such an ungrateful patient.”
“Ah, yes, ever the practical one.” The principal winked at me. “Never a kind bone in his body cuz that would be uglier than sin. It’s all pragmatism.”
Thatch nodded. “Exactly.”
Jeb shifted to the edge of his seat and groaned as he got up. “Could use one of those restorative drafts myself.” He looked to me. “I reckon you’ll be well enough to be moved to the infirmary soon.”
“It’s far more practical to keep her here, away from students until she can return to her room. Let them think she’s caught a bad case of the flu. That way she won’t be associated with his death.”
Jeb tugged at his beard. “Not a bad idea if it’s just for a day or so. I can’t have three teachers missing from their classes for long. Puck and Khaba can’t cover for y’all.”
“Oh no! My classes! What day is it?” I tried to sit up.
Thatch pointed his wand at me. “Lie down, or I’ll bind you to that bed with magic.”
I didn’t doubt he would do such a thing.
Thatch turned back to the principal. “You needn’t fret about overworking the staff. Miss Lawrence is near enough I can check on her easily from my classroom. I will resume my classes next period. I’ve taken the liberty of notifying her adoptive mother. Mrs. Lawrence will arrive this afternoon. I’ve made arrangements with Sam to escort her to the school.”
The two men walked toward the door as Thatch and Jeb made plans.
My mom would be here? Oh boy. I didn’t know whether to be grateful or afraid. I was going to be fussed over and pampered whether I liked it or not.
I sat in the bed, trying to go back to sleep, but I couldn’t. My bladder was too full. I kept thinking about all Thatch had said—and what he hadn’t wanted me to tell Jeb. Julian had used me and cursed me, made me forget Jeb’s rules, my hope to find Derrick, and tried to force me to become his love slave. It all made me sick.
At last, Thatch returned.
“Why am I really in the dungeon?” I asked.
“So that I can ensure your safety.”
Maybe that was the truth. Or maybe it was because he was a control freak.
“Okay, so I’ve been laying in a bed for an hour. You didn’t give me any reading material. My bladder is about to explode, and I didn’t know if it would be a problem if I wet the bed or you have a magical bedpan in here.”
He glanced at the blankets and sighed in exasperation. “Did you urinate in my bed?”
“No. But I will pretty soon if you don’t get me some kind of enchanted chamber pot.”
He peeled back the blankets, revealing my purple Eeyore nightgown.
My eyes widened. “Did you undress me?”
“You never cease to ama
ze me with your insipid concerns. Of course, I had to undress you.”
Ugh, my humiliation would never end. Thatch had seen me naked. He’d probably enjoyed it too.
He eased me forward. “If you could grasp the nature of what you did, you would be far more distressed to learn about your use of forbidden magic. I couldn’t allow anyone to see your electrical burns.”
“Why not?”
“Let’s attend to more pressing concerns first, shall we?” He scooped me up in his arms and nodded toward the door on the far wall. “There’s a water closet over there.”
I slid an arm around his neck, securing myself against him. My face flushed with warmth when I thought about how close we were. He smelled nice, like dusty books and oil paints. “Please don’t set me on a toilet. I’ve died of embarrassment enough times lately.”
He chuckled. “Oh? More humiliating than tearing the turban off Darshan’s head?”
“That’s a hard one to beat, but yeah.”
He exhaled against my cheek as he carried me. “What exactly went through your head that you thought that would be a good idea?”
“I was trying to follow my intuition.”
“We can see how well that worked out for you.” The warm wind of his breath tickled my hair.
It took all of my will to focus on his words instead of how close his lips were to my skin, how I wanted his lips on my skin. Probably my affinity made me want him. “You were the one who gave me the book on lucid dreaming. I dreamed my mother’s face was under Pro Ro’s turban.”
He set me on my feet outside of the door and opened it. “Walk slowly,” he said. He held onto my arm as if afraid I might flop over.
Shuffling was about as fast as I could go. My legs didn’t want to move. The tile was cold on my bare feet. The sensation grounded me and woke up my senses. I held onto the marble counter for support. The bathroom was brighter than the rest of the dungeon. The stone of the walls and the floor was pale umber. Greek columns held up a domed ceiling decorated with Etruscan art.
“This is pretty swanky for a teacher’s water closet,” I said.
He remained at the doorway, looking like he was ready to leap forward in case I fell over. “I’ve lived in the dungeon for over thirty years. I wouldn’t tolerate these rooms if I hadn’t been able to incorporate my own renovations.”
As I came into view in the elaborately carved frame of the mirror, I realized I didn’t look as bad as I could have. My lips weren’t blistered anymore, and my pink hair had been brushed. My hair had body rather than frizz and reminded me of Thatch’s. Wherever he kept his magic hairbrush I was going to find it and try it out.
Through an adjoining door, I spied a fireplace. On the other wall, a waterfall trickled into a steaming pool. Tropical plants grew along the edges. It was lush and beautiful. I had never guessed Thatch had such good taste.
“I haven’t got all day,” he said.
I glanced over my shoulder. He closed the door between us.
His voice came through the door muffled. “I shall wait here in case you need assistance.”
Great. Like my shy bladder was going to be able to pee now.
Ten minutes later I was back in bed eating a bowl of hot chicken and rice soup from a tray. Holding the spoon with bandaged hands proved to be more difficult than I’d imagined. I shoveled a spoonful in my mouth, dropping a chunk of chicken onto my lap.
“You’re getting cock-a-leekie on my blanket,” Thatch complained.
“Cock-a-what?” I burst into laughter. I didn’t want to say what that sounded like.
He removed the spoon from my hand. “It’s a Scottish soup. Really, you’re as bad as the students.” He said it with a groan, but there was a smile on his lips. He held up a spoonful.
I accepted the mouthful. “So, are you ever going to tell me why the burns and lightning zapping is such a no-no?” There had to be a reason he was keeping secrets from Jeb.
“Normal Witchkin cannot process electromagnetic energy.” He shoveled another spoonful into my mouth. “They cannot channel lightning or cause electrical storms. There are few exceptions, but even Elementia with lightning affinities don’t tolerate electronics, nor are they able to power technology through their energy. Human generated electricity weakens Celestor, Amni Plandai, and Elementia. It doesn’t make them stronger like it does for those with the Red affinity.”
I noticed how he kept saying “them” and “they.” He didn’t include himself in that list. “So lightning is our affinity? That doesn’t make us a special kind of Elementia?” Lightning sounded like something that came from water, wind, earth, and air.
“No, electrical impulses are not the same as lightning. All Red affinities come from the body, whether your own or someone else’s.”
“I’m a conductor of electrical magic,” I said. Now that he was being forthcoming, it made more sense. All along he’d been leading me down the right path, trying to test what I was, and giving me the knowledge I needed to figure it out on my own. Every book he’d given me, from lucid dreaming and developing intuition, to Elementia magic for lightning affinities or Amni Plandai fertility magic, it had all been meant to help me, not give me pointless reading to do.
Thatch set down the spoon. “There’s something else you should know. Something you need to know.” He wet his lips, the gesture uncharacteristically nervous. “The information I’m about to share is of a delicate nature. It would be best not to repeat it, as it will put you and others at risk.”
“I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“Promises can be broken. It would be more pragmatic to bind you to your word with a spell. That way, I can ensure you never tell another soul what I’m about to tell you.”
I swallowed. “I understand.” After the way his trust had been broken before, I understood why he required this. “What do I need to do?”
He eyed me doubtfully. “You agree to a magical contract just like that, even though it could shatter your soul if you break it?”
My mouth went dry. I nodded.
“You’re too trusting for your own good.” He lifted another mouthful of soup to my lips. He shook his head. “You’re too weak for a binding spell, and I don’t relish the idea of making you worse and then having you here any longer than necessary. Your word will have to do.” He fed me the last spoonful of cock-a-leekie. “Do you remember when I told you your body doesn’t like pain?”
“Yes.” I’d responded that no one likes being hurt.
He set my bowl aside. “Your affinity is touch, or more accurately, human electrical impulses transmitted through touch. Pain is the opposite nutrient your affinity needs, which is why you have an especially low threshold for pain.”
“I just don’t get why touchy-feeling magic is so bad. Is it all because Fae are jealous?” I asked.
“Touch magic is lumped into the same category as blood magic. When you think of tales of human sacrifice, can you see why Witchkin might be afraid of this? They shun anyone who might be capable of drawing power from others. They consider them dangerous. As if it isn’t difficult enough being a Red and hiding what you are so that others don’t shun you, you have an extra burden. You’re Alouette Loraline’s daughter. People already assume you’re like her. It’s only a matter of time before the greater Fae community discovers what you are. When they do, they might assume you are the key to all their problems.”
“How would I be the key?”
“You have noticed you bring out the magic in others? You increase their powers. So it is with the Fae. They can use you to increase their virility and fecundity so that it solves their fertility problems. They can use you as a weapon. If they think you possess the same powers of Loraline’s affinity, they will enslave you to do their bidding.”
Just like Julian had attempted to do. He had been a fertility creature, wanting to increase his powers. A green man, he’d said. I shuddered, remembering his true form.
“People—Fae and Witchkin—knew my mother was a Red? So that means they’re going to come after me?”
“Most Witchkin don’t know what she was. Few Fae do. The Raven Queen has seen to it that the secret remains concealed. Certainly she must suspect you’re Red, but she hasn’t spoken of it. It is in her best interest not to draw attention to you. She won’t want competition from other courts. Should you side with any particular house of Fae, they will exploit you. I had hoped to save you from this by draining you.”
“I don’t want to be drained,” I said quickly.
“I know. That’s why I must teach you in secret.” His brow crinkled with worry.
He would teach me? Truly? My heart could have soared out of my chest.
“This is why I have to keep it a secret?” I asked. “But Jeb must suspect.”
“If he does, he hasn’t said. The less he knows, the better.” He swallowed and shifted in his chair, looking uneasy. “Give me your hand.”
I flushed, remembering the last time he’d asked me to do that. His usually austere aspect was replaced by something softer and more vulnerable. He unwrapped the long strip of gauze from my palm. The skin was red and raw underneath, red scabs glossy with ointment. The charred skin was gone at least.
He unscrewed the lid of a glass jar and scooped out a dollop of thick cream. “There’s only so much healing I can do with potions, spells, and salves. Your affinity, however, can do far more than I can.” He dabbed the ointment on my palm. On my fingers there were no burns, but he massaged the cream into the unmarred skin anyway. It was relaxing, and I closed my eyes.
“Keep your eyes open.” The sharpness in his tone startled me out of my complacency. “You need to be lucid and observant. I don’t want you to later claim I … touched you elsewhere like you did in the tattoo parlor. If my suspicions are correct, your magic will make you feel more than … well, you’ll see.”
His touch was whisper soft over my injury. He smoothed his fingers up my wrist. My skin tingled. Warmth radiated from his touch. I sank into the comfort of it. The longer he stroked me, the more alive I felt. Another caress up the inside of my arm and my heart fluttered. My fingers twitched, and I noticed the burns didn’t hurt at all anymore. The angry red sores on my palm darkened into scabs. The skin puckered and tightened, an uncomfortable itch tickling my palms. He massaged more salve onto the injuries. With his touch came the calm relief I needed. Tremors of pleasure shot up my arm.
