Page 40 of Angel of Water & Shadow

Lucky for him, I was too tired to challenge the gesture. And hot tea by the fire sounded so…pleasant. Mild. Just what I needed. But that described everything this situation wasn’t.

I took his silent instruction and sat on the smooth surface, taking an indulgent sip. “So?”

“So.”

“So…” I paused, derailed by the art drawn onto his right forearm. Stories that’d been buried by layers of night and leather now glistened, unearthed in the firelight. And they were as mesmerizing as the flames.

I explored the verses, the symbols, the pictures trailing to his triceps and into the barrier of his t-shirt. Then back down to the unblemished back of his hand, to the lone old English letters on his fingers and the two stenciled in his thumb’s web.

“Um,” I mumbled, tearing my eyes away from his tattoos. “I guess I’ll start. What exactly am I walking into?”

He stirred his tea with a tiny silver spoon. So posh for a hunter. “I’m not understanding.”

“I mean it’s got be like Armageddon out there. Someone lets a demon loose and it flies around terrorizing the locals? We’ve had some weird shit happen here, but not that weird. I can only imagine what’s trending on Twitter?—”

“River.” He stopped short before continuing. “There are no other witnesses. They’re?—”

“DEAD!?” And what did that make me, an accomplice?

“No.” He waved his free hand in attempt to quell my hysteria. “They’re only human.”

That only escalated my fever pitch. “Yeah, and so am I. And so are you. And I happen to think human life is worth something. I assumed you did, too. Unless you really just want to…” Kill me sounded a bit ridiculous, but really? They’re only human? I took the living space in more thoroughly, glazing over the reclaimed wooden furniture and the large woven tapestry, straight to the twig-inspired lamps and the steel fire poker. Weapons, if needed.

“No.” He facepalmed, dragging his hand downwards like he could wipe the expression off his face. “Not ‘only human’ as if they don’t matter. What I meant is they’re people not born with Source in their blood—you know, magic.”

“Magic?” The word soured on my tongue.

His hand remained on his face, cupping his jaw. “Is it that hard to digest?”

“I…” The flames popped, guiding each one of my wispy neck hairs up. The noise felt heavier than the air, pressing on my ears, crushing the drums. My skin got hotter, itchier, with untapped energy just like it had during my last session with Dr. Fairmore, and when the lightning bolt struck the teratorn. Folding my lower lip into my teeth, I clamped down as if I could bite back the overwhelming fear and confusion. Ryder wouldn’t know what to do if I had an episode now, and I didn’t want to explain, even if my mind was starting to feel like it was sizzling on top of the embers.

“You see things for what they are.” He set his drink down and clasped his hands together. “And most people in this world do not.”

I latched on to his voice, to his conviction, as if it was the only sound in the world, like it was my favorite song blasting through my headphones.

“Why does it feel like I’m the first person to tell you this?” Creases were drawn into his forehead. He’d been documenting the delay in my expressions, which to him probably looked like I was struggling to believe what he was saying. Which, yes, but I inclined my head.

He had no idea I’d almost lost myself to an episode.

“Because you are,” I whispered, my voice shaking as badly as my hands.

Everything in the room seemed to still at that—our breaths, the blood in my veins, time itself—until his rough palms cradled my fists.

“Well, I’m a good tutor, as you know. Take a look at this.” He guided me to a window and pulled the linen curtain aside to reveal rows of ripe veggies in planter boxes, water storage tanks, and undeveloped trails that led through the redwoods: his backyard. “Source is as vital as the air we breathe. It runs through everything. Seeds the size of a lentil grew into those towering trees. And eggs, little shells of life, hatched into the circling hawk over there and into the hens nesting in that coop. A spinning ball of gas millions of miles away feeds the days and the plants and our moods.”

I took biology 101; I didn’t need the review. The magic I saw stemmed from the passion in his gestures—not just the flurry of pointing, but the delicate touches to my lower back he didn’t seem to be aware he was doing—the pure enthusiasm in his tone, the excitement flaring in his vibrant green eyes. It totally transformed him to speak about nature. That was magic.

“It’s a miracle.” His whisper echoed across the space between us, which thinned into more of a sliver with each exhale—I couldn’t tell if I was inching towards him or he towards me. I remembered his words—just some girl, just some girl—but my heart would not stop racing. “Everything has a sixth sense. Humans are just born with a mental filter that catches and rejects anything supernatural before it can pass through.”

Geeking out on the magical intricacies of everything sounded lovely, but we had more pressing things to discuss. “So…the teratorn. No one saw it.”

He nodded. “Except us.”

Us. A term that roped me into the supernatural minority.

“And whoever decided to summon it.” There was the harsh truth I’d been waiting for.

I picked at a cuticle. “Who would do that?”

---