Page 67 of Her Dreadful Will
“Oh, I am. But I’m sad, too. And afraid of what our boy witch might do to her. She’s not a bad person, honey. Just tired to her bones, and angry.”
Soleil had seen Zillah’s face during the murder attempt. She had felt her volisphere in the restaurant. There was more to this than tired and angry. Deep down, Zillah had the raw, cruel desire to cause pain.
Maybe something of Soleil’s thoughts showed on her face, because Florence said, “I never been one to talk to shrinks, but I know lots of people use ’em now. It helps the ones who ain’t strong enough for life, I guess. Maybe that’s what she needs.”
Soleil winced internally at the woman’s perspective on mental health; but Florence was the product of another century, steeped in decades of preconception and prejudice. Expecting her to have a modern view of therapy wasn’t reasonable, and this wasn’t the moment for a deep re-education.
Achan burst through the front door and set down one of Soleil’s wooden crates next to the couch. In it she glimpsed a jumble of items, including some sprigs of mugwort, star anise, marigold, and nettle leaf. His hair was sticking up in odd places, and sweat dampened his shirt.
“What are you making?” whispered Soleil.
“Shh.” He began shaking bits of the herbs together in a glass dish, drizzling them with a couple drops of different essential oils.
“You’re making a siphoning paste.”
“You need energy.”
Soleil screamed internally at her muscles, ordering them to move; but they refused, so she settled for seething at Achan. “You can’t give meyourradiance. You’ll be too weak. I won’t take it.”
“You don’t get a say. You’ve met your selflessness quota for the day, okay? Besides, I’m not giving you all of it—just enough to help you get by. You’re running on empty. Whatever you did with those rings nearly killed you. You were this close to dying.” He held his fingers a quarter inch apart.
“I broke the rules,” Soleil murmured, giving him a small smile. “I thought you’d be proud of me.”
He almost smiled back before he caught himself. He began mixing the paste with a thin crystal rod. “You brokeyourself. Broke your mind. If I hadn’t been here to pull out the chaos, you’d be trapped in your own head, possibly forever. Comatose, to all outward appearances. You wanna break the rules, you have to be smarter about it. Know which ones to bend and which ones to smash.”
“I saved her, though.”
“You did. Now open wide for me.” He placed the tip of his index finger on the ridge of her teeth, pressing her jaw down with the practiced touch of a dentist. “Bite down on this crystal.”
She wanted to twist away, to ask more questions, but she didn’t have the strength. Obediently she closed her jaws.
“Good.” His hands moved to her stomach, rolling up her shirt, and her breath turned short and quick. “You know I have to take this off, right?”
She nodded, too weak to protest. Achan eased the shirt off, over her head. With two fingers he painted the siphoning medium below her navel—she wasn’t sure what sign he used because the sensations traveling through her were so deliciously distracting, even in her exhausted state.
After painting another sign on her forehead, he connected the two with a long line of the paste, running down her profile and her throat, between her breasts, all the way to the sign on her stomach. Soleil hoped the paste wouldn’t stain her bra—it was her second favorite.
“All right, Florence.” Achan set down the dish of paste. “You ready to see some more magic?”
“It’s about time.” The old woman tapped her fingers on the armrests of her wingback chair.
Achan laid his right hand on Soleil’s forehead and his other hand across her lower abdomen. Soleil couldn’t focus on what was about to happen—she was too distracted by where his left hand rested.
“All right. Radiance from me to you,” said Achan. “Let’s do it.”
The siphoning paste warmed immediately. Soleil couldn’t see it, but from Florence’s fascinated inhale, she guessed that it was glowing, as it was supposed to. Achan had put together a textbook siphoning system in less than ten minutes, apparently from memory. Soleil couldn’t help but be impressed.
The paste grew hotter, and Soleil began to feel tiny spears of sensation along the line Achan had drawn down her torso. She wanted to twist away from the discomfort, but she forced herself to lie still while his radiance penetrated her skin, driving deep, spiraling along nerves and tissue. The feeling was alien and unpleasant, but strangely energizing.
After a moment Achan withdrew his hands. He had gone a shade whiter, but otherwise he seemed perfectly calm. “That should get you going. Wait a second while I clean you up.”
He dampened a cloth and gently wiped the paste from her face, her forehead, and her throat. When he got to her chest, his cheeks colored and his mouth tightened. He moved steadily on, cleaning up her stomach.
When he stepped back, Soleil sat up, rolling her head and shoulders. She could feel every muscle and joint and nerve distinctly. Her body was like a new phone that didn’t have all her favorite apps and settings yet. Familiar in its structure, yet internally alien.
Achan’s brows contracted with concern. “How do you feel?”
“Weird,” she said, flexing her bloodstained fingers. “I’m mobile again, but I don’t feel like myself.”
