Page 42 of White Charms and Dark Secrets

“Let it happen, Harlow,” a voice demands, breaking through my haze and confusion from the pain. I remember Kier telling me to accept the agony, but every fibre of my being wants to fight it off, to push back against it. Somehow, I force myself to suck in a deep breath, trusting in him as I stop fighting the pain. As soon as I do, the pain dulls, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation dancing over my skin. I blink open my eyes and turn to look at Kier.

“What the hell was that?” I croak out.

“I needed to fix your damaged nerve endings before fully healing you. The split second of pain was the moment those nerves were fixed, but I hadn't yet fixed the rest of you,” he explains. I open my mouth to ask something else, but he waves me off. “Let me get you some water and a blanket or something first,” he says, gesturing in my direction, though he avoids looking at me.

I glance down at myself, realising the burned remains of my clothes don't leave much to the imagination, especially on the upper half of my body. The holes in my shirt do allow me to notice my skin appears burn free, smooth and unblemished despite this whole ordeal. Kier possesses a healing ability stronger than any I’ve ever witnessed, and I can't help but wonder if he ever considered a career in healing.

He’s quick to return with a blanket and water. I gulp down the water greedily, even before reaching for the blanket; my modesty forgotten with how thirsty I am. After placing the glass onto a small, black coffee table beside me, I take the blanket from Kier, wrapping it around my shoulders before forcing myself to stand. My legs feel unstable beneath me as I move, so I quickly take a seat on a dark brown leather sofa. I sink into the leather and breathe in the smell of it, feeling my muscles begin to relax a little.

“Where are we?” I ask, feeling curious after looking around a few minutes in silence. I notice that he seems fine, no damage other than messed up hair and a slightly burnt shirt.

“My house,” he answers. “I actually only live about a twenty-minute walk from you.”

“What? Really?” I question in surprise. He nods, moving and taking a seat on the other side of the sofa. I swivel around and kick off my boots that, by some miracle, escaped with only minor burns marks. Getting comfortable, I bring my feet up onto the sofa and cross my legs. My boots will probably be the single salvageable item from this outfit. “I'm sure I would remember seeing you around more if you live that close.”

“I tend to drive or use portals to get around, so that doesn’t leave much opportunity for us to run into each other. If I ever want to go for a walk, I open a portal to Devon or the Lake District or something and go there. After an afternoon there, then walking around in London, you realise the air just isn't the same. I would move, but I inherited my mother's family home, so I can't exactly relocate. Sometimes having magic has its advantages, and sometimes it has its annoyances, as I'm sure you know.”

He smiles at me, but I can see the frustration in his eyes. He's annoyed at me, and he’s probably right to be. I ruined everything, not just once, but twice, and now I'm sitting here making small talk. Goddess, he must hate me, but he's just too much of a nice guy to just tell me to leave.

“I should probably get going,” I mumble, moving to stand.

He moves quicker than I can blink, suddenly appearing by my side and pushing down on my shoulder to keep me sitting. “Don't go just yet. You still need to rest for a minute. Let me get us both a drink. I think I can find you something to wear other than a blanket.”

“Okay,” I reply, all too happy to remain sitting for a while longer. He may have physically healed me, but I still feel weak and shaken from the trauma. The fact I got burnt from my own messed up magic stings extra hard too. He disappears from the room, and I hear his footsteps pounding up a set of stairs, making no effort to be quiet.

Noticing that my hands are trembling, I hide them under the blanket out of sight. I can't believe that my own magic came close to killing me today. All because of some stupid bad luck curse I have no control over. Whichever ancestor of mine pissed someone off this royally to curse not just them, but our entire family line, could burn in hell.

What did someone do that deserved this? How far back does this curse go? The way Silvia talked about it makes me think that it goes pretty far back, but it's impossible for me to know just how far reaching this thing is.

“This was all I could find that might fit, I'm sorry,” Kier tells me, as he approaches with something black in his hands.

I reach out, grateful for anything to cover myself, and hold it out in front of myself to inspect. “I assume this isn’t yours,” I comment, pressing my lips together to refrain from laughing at the expression on his face.

“Definitely not,” he agrees, looking at the black dress in a mixture of horror and concentration, as if he's picturing the sight he’d make getting into it. “A friend left it here a while ago. I doubt she'll miss it if she hasn't yet.”

A friend? What kind of friend leaves a dress like this in someone's house?

“Is she still yourfriend?” I ask, trying to act casual as I move to get up and change. The dress may be more suited to a nightclub than post-fighting attire, but it beats wearing a blanket.

“Not really,” he answers, sounding guarded, before turning away to give me privacy. “I'll sort our drinks while you get changed,” Kier calls, already heading out of the room. He moves fast, but not so much to look like he’s running away. I know better though, and I can't help but wonder why he's acting evasive.

I drop the blanket onto the sofa and pull off the ruined remainders of my new clothes, mourning the loss of them already. I really hope Rhydian wasn't expecting to get them back. Grimacing at the thought, I pull on the black dress. By some miracle the dress fits, but only just. I tug it down a little more, frowning when I realise the back of the dress touches the floor already. The dipped hem in the back of the dress is floaty and low, and it contrasts with the shorter front that sits tight against my thighs. My legs aren’t the ideal length or size for a dress like this. I marvel at the smoothness of the skin on my legs and arms, you’d never know that an hour ago it had suffered horrific burns.

I try to adjust the dress a little, hoping to get just a little more coverage on the front of my legs, but I have no luck with it. With no other option for something to wear, I sit back down on the sofa, pulling the blanket across my legs for warmth and coverage. Just as I settle, Kier walks back in with a glass bottle and two tumblers.

“Really?” I question, gesturing at the bottle. It's ridiculously late, and with everything else going on, I'm not so sure now is a good time to get drunk.

“Yes, really. We can drink a few, we deserve it,” he replies, unperturbed by my query. He takes a seat next to me and hands me the glasses to hold. My hands still tremble a little as I take them, but I try my best to keep it under control. I'm grateful he chooses to ignore it, silently filling both the tumblers with an amber liquid before taking one of the two for himself.

“What are we drinking to?” I ask, as I clink my glass against his with a smile, deciding to unwind a little, even if only for a little while. Even if it’s mostly faked relaxation too.Fake it till you make it, I guess.

He considers it for a moment, staring at the drink in his hand as if it will somehow give him an answer. “We're alive,” he toasts finally, clinking his glass back against mine.

“Well, mostly,” I correct him, pointing in his direction before miming fangs in my neck with my spare hand. He chokes on his drink, and I pat his back, laughing with him before draining my own tumbler. It burns a little but is smoother than I'd expected going down. I smile as he refills our drinks without pause.

A few drinks never hurt anyone, right?

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