Page 9 of Strength of Desire

Dammit. Maybe he’d been paying more attention than I realized.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “Just—he caught me in the refectory on my first day here. Cornered me to ask if I was paranormal and offered some ‘advice’ on who he thought I should and shouldn’t be spending my time with. I told him to fuck off, obviously.”

“You did?” Ash looked surprised.

“Well, in slightly milder language.” I hadn’t been quite as valiant as I made it sound. “But I did tell him I wasn’t interested in that kind of help.”

Too bad he figured out what youwere interested in later, said that little voice.

“I believe you,” Ash said with a laugh. “I was just surprised by your choice of words. You’re too polite to be an ass to people, even the ones who deserve it.” He grinned. “Good thing you have me around for that.”

I said goodnight to him and stepped into my room, leaning against the door in silence. I just wanted to throw myself on my bed, but I couldn’t. I barely had time to change before I had to meet Romero for another lesson. The tugging in my middle was growing stronger.

There were more professors out and about than usual tonight, probably standing guard for the dean. But long stretches of my walk to Romero’s quarters were still empty. The halls of the manor were dimly lit with globes that cast warm pools of light, but they left dark shadows in between. The place would have looked right at home in a Gothic novel.

I hurried my steps. I hadn’t been at Vesperwood for long, but I’d already come to think of the massive old manor as a place of safety. I didn’t like the idea of the building’s strong walls cracking, of tendrils of danger creeping inside.

I turned a corner and saw Professor Gallo standing at the top of a staircase, arms crossed, glared imperiously at a painting in a huge, gilt frame. As I got closer, he sniffed and spun away from the painting, only to look back over his shoulder a second later, arching an eyebrow imperiously.

It wasn’t until I was even with him that I realized it wasn’t a painting—it was a mirror.

When Romero opened the door to his rooms that night, I marched straight in and sat down on the couch. He sat in his usual chair opposite me, picking up a mug of tea.

“How are you tonight, Cory?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned. “I heard what happened in Professor Braverman’s class. Are you feeling alright?”

I opened my mouth to tell him I was fine, and instead blurted out, “Am I a witch?”

Romero blinked. “A witch? You’re an incubus.”

“Yeah, I know. But could I also be a witch? Is that possible?”

His eyes looked at the space above my head, darting back and forth, studying something I couldn’t see. It was a bit disconcerting, but I was beginning to realize this was how he thought things through.

“Possible? Yes, I suppose. But likely? No.”

My heart sank. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted his answer to be different, until it wasn’t. I just hoped it didn’t show on my face.

Romero’s eyes flicked back down to me. “I don’t know if Dean Mansur conveyed to you just how rare your kind is.”

“He said something about that. But I thought he just meant at Vesperwood. So that’s why you’re teaching me, instead of another incubus.”

“Not quite.” Romero took a sip from his mug. “You asked me earlier what an incubus was.”

“Sex demon. Realm of dreams.” I was surprised by how easily I could say those words, when two weeks ago I would have laughed at the concept. “It still sounds like something out of a fairytale.”

“I suppose it does, rather.” He laughed. “Let’s put it this way. You’ll have learned about our solar system in elementary school. The sun, the planets, and then the universe, full of stars and endless, empty, ever-expanding space?”

I nodded.

“Well, from a magical perspective, what we’ve learned is that there aren’t just other stars and planets out there, but inhabited worlds, where magic is much more common.”

“And incubi come from one of them?”

“Yes, and no. The way I defined space turns out not to be quite correct. Space appears mostly empty from a scientific lens, but from a magical one, it’s not empty at all. Not just because it contains other solar systems, but because space itself is not empty. Space is the world of the incubi. Spaceisthe realm of dreams. In a manner of speaking, anyway.”

I frowned. “I think I’m lost.”

Romero looked above my head again. “You might think of all the planets and stars in our universe as being suspended in an invisible but all-encompassing substance. One that holds everything, touches everything, and yet is unreachable by most beings—unless they’re asleep. The dreamworld is that substance, cradling all the other swirling bits and pieces of our universe.”

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