Page 60 of At the Mercy of Midnight
He laughed, letting the objects drift back down. “I can’t help it. It’s like…like something inside me is waking, and it doesn’t want to stop.”
He looked at his hand. It wasn’t visible, but he felt it…a faint shimmer beneath the skin, like veins of light threading through his fingers. “It feelsgood, Winslow. Like I’m supposed to be doing this.”
She said nothing.
He glanced at her, seeing the tension in her jaw, the shift in her stance.
Her cut hand was clenched.
“Winslow—”
“Iamtrying,” she snapped before he could finish. “I’ve been trying. For days.”
He softened. “I know. I’m not…I’m not comparing.”
She looked away, jaw tight.
He gestured to the brass weight on the table. “Try again. Just that one. Just…reach for it, descend into yourself the way we’ve been talking about.”
She didn’t move, hesitating.
Then slowly, she lifted her hand, her other flattening against the worktable.
He watched Amelia focus, lips pressing together, a faint tremble to her fingers. It was the same look of concentration he had witnessed on her face so many times, the same look she’d had that first day in the library, absorbed in her book.
The weight remained, steadfast and immovable.
Her hand dropped.
She didn’t look angry or frustrated, simply resigned.
Silas surveyed the droop in her shoulders, the way her dark eyes blinked slowly at the brass weight like she had failed. He couldn’t stand it.
He stepped around the table until he was next to her.
Amelia tapped distractedly on the table with a sigh, eyes on the weight, contemplating.
He made to reach for her hand, to calm her, to help her. Momentarily undecided, Silas stilled. Exhaling roughly, he shook his head at himself, tired of second-guessing every move with Amelia.
Silas shifted, standing directly behind her, his hand drifting to lay across hers. Amelia stiffened as his chest pressed into her back, his arm flush with hers, his fingers stilling the anxious tapping.
His pulse rose. They had never been this close without the magic forcing them to be. Silas waited for her to shy away, to snap at him to move.
Instead, Amelia’s chest rose with a deep breath before whispering, “what are you doing?”
What am I doing?
He tightened his hold on her hand, lifting it so her palm faced the weight again. Silas leaned down to her ear. “Helping,” he murmured.
Her breath caught, head turning faintly towards him, so his mouth hovered by the edge of her jaw, making his heart jump.
Silas swallowed, brain refusing to focus with her so close. He could move a fraction, press his lips to her soft skin, taste her. His fingers could take the underside of her jaw and turn her head just a touch more, and her mouth would be there…
“Okay,” Amelia breathed, cutting through his thoughts.
He reluctantly set his gaze back to their joined hands, his palm flattening against the back of hers pointed to the weight. “Focus,” Silas uttered softly. “It’s you and the weight, nothing else exists. Reach into yourself, feel the magic within and let it out, give it a voice, a home.” Her shoulders, once stiff, relaxed against him, her breath uneven while he crooned gently into her ear. “Do you feel it?”
Her fingers moved against his, and Silas felt something shift in the air. A current, almost imperceptible.
