Page 47 of Her Dreadful Will
“It seems selfish for someone with your power to think only of increasing that power. What about helping others?”
“Like you do?” The twitch at the corner of his mouth sent a pang of irritation through Soleil.
“Yes, I help people,” she said. “That’s my whole thing. Using my powers purely for the good of others, to make their lives better. I’m a novitiate Highwitch, you know. If I succeed in proving my thesis, I’ll become a full-fledged Highwitch.”
“How nice for you.”
“I’m sure you’ve noticed my work around town. People are happier and more stable since I came.” She said it defensively, but her soul ached for the reassurance that someone had noticed her work, that she had made a difference.
“Oh, I’ve noticed.” Achan let a firefly crawl up his left forefinger, over the tattoos for aspen and chaos. “I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s all very Stepford.”
Soleil’s fingers curled. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I am. You should choke me again.” His eyes darted up to hers, teasing.
She sank onto the bench opposite him, dropping her bag beside her. She wanted to hit him, to yell at him—but her throat was tightening, and tears prickled at the corners of her eyes. She looked down at the coarse grain of the picnic table, at the pale splotches left by passing birds.
“You think my project is silly. Fair enough. But it means a lot to me.” Her voice wavered, and she cursed herself internally. “Maybe I haven’t made a deep, lasting difference yet, but now that I have more power, I can reach more people.” She looked up, the tears swimming unshed across her eyes. “Don’t you ever see people in pain and just want to help them?”
Instead of answering, he rose, crossed to her side of the table, and hooked a long leg over the bench, scooting in next to her.
“Yes.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes I do.”
Part of her wanted to shrug him off, but she didn’t. It felt too good to be touched, to be held. One of the things she missed most about her parents were the hugs. Her senior roommate had been a hugger too, and while some people didn’t care for random embraces, Soleil had always enjoyed them.
“What began this crusade of yours?” Achan asked.
“There was a discussion one day in Life Application class,” Soleil said. “Between the teacher and some of us students. About magic, and whether it was good, evil, or neutral.” She glanced sideways at him, but his expression did not change. “Anyway, most of my classmates claimed that no one ever uses magic purely for unselfish good—especially not my kind of magic. They all kind of dog-piled on me, calling me a brainwashing witch, claiming that my affinity is dark and evil by nature. It hurt. And the teacher didn’t even defend me. Only my friend Luci spoke up for me. So that night, after class, I wrote out the proposal for my thesis, to prove them all wrong. To show them that a person can useanytype of magic solely for the benefit of others, with no self-interest involved.”
A soft sound broke from him, half laugh and half sigh.
“You’re mocking me again.”
“No, I’m not. I just have trouble believing that you actually exist.”
She stiffened, twisting to face him. “And why is that?”
“Because you have such a pure heart. Or at least, you think you do. But I suspect there are depths to it that you haven’t explored.” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “I want to know what your soul looks like, Soleil. Will you let me see it sometime?” His voice sank to a velvety murmur, his breath whisking the edge of her hair. “May I touch it?”
Why were his eyes such a deep, vivid green, like a fathomless ancient forest? Between them and his voice, she felt as if she might float out of time and place, into some expanse that was eldritch and unfathomable and contained only the two of them—where he was space, a dark ocean full of stars, and she was a stray comet, lost in him, seeing and knowing nothing else.
She vented a broken laugh, cracking the charm. “You want to touch mysoul?”
“You think that’s beyond the realm of possibility?”
“Yeah. You can’t see somebody’s soul, much less touch it.”
“Oh, Soleil. There is so much you don’t know about magic.”
She bristled. “I went through the Institute. I know plenty.”
“The Institute. Ha!” He swung over the bench as quickly as he’d taken the seat, and strode across the pavilion. The fireflies floated up from their perches, swirling around him in lazy spirals, lighting him in their glow. “The Institute exists to control people like us, to limit our power with their rules. The professors skip over the most important parts of magic, so they can keep the best bits for themselves. But a clever witch with the right resources can unearth all those secrets and put them to use.”
“Uh-huh.” Soleil hitched herself onto the picnic table, tucking one knee under her chin. “So you’re some kind of off-beat experimental DIY witch. That’s why you have confusing tattoos, and your magic is weird.”
“Weird?” He laughed. “Okay, I get it. You’re jealous because I’ve unlocked more power than you have.”
Something inside her uncoiled and hissed at the wordjealous. “You’re not more powerful than I am.” Though she wasn’t sure it was true.
