“I can’t. It’s not my secret to tell.”
“But you want a vow from me, that I won’t mess with your memories.”
He glanced at her again, regretful and pleading.
She sighed. “Okay then. We’ll do this right, with an official vow.”
Across the parking lot, a car door opened, and a family in ball caps and shorts spilled out, arguing loudly about which trail to take.
“Not here at the head of the trail,” Achan said. “Somewhere more private.”
They walked the main trail awhile before taking a narrow side track that Rick had shown to Achan.
“Rick gives you a lot of handy info,” Soleil said. “Do you have one of his teeth?”
“Of course not. He likes to help me. I’m his Coven Lord.”
Soleil would have mocked the title, but she had to dissuade Carebear from trying to pursue a squirrel through the undergrowth. The Doberman obeyed, but his stiff shoulders and taut neck told Soleil that he still craved the chase.
“Here,” Achan said, as they entered a small clearing. “We can do the vow and our lesson right here.”
Soleil knotted Carebear’s lead to a tree, so he could snuffle around while she kept an eye on him. The instant she faced Achan again, he seized her left hand in his, wrist against wrist, pulse to pulse, and she had no way to hide how the soft heat of his skin quickened her heartbeat. “I swear to you, Soleil Epinette, that I will never spy on you again through Florence Fowler, unless you ask me to, or unless I suspect that you are in danger.”
“Mortal danger,” she corrected. “If you just say ‘danger,’ you’ll twist that into some kind of voyeuristic loophole.”
Achan rolled his eyes. “Mortal danger, then. Good enough?”
“Yes. And I swear to never use the power of Catherine Monvoisin’s ring on you, Achan Gilliam. Never, without exception.”
“And the price of breaking this vow shall be?” He hesitated, looking at her with brows raised.
“Immediate sleep,” Soleil said. “Complete unconsciousness for a full cycle of the moon.”
“I accept the price. And now, the sealing of the vow.”
Magical vows could be enacted with a simple verbal pact and a pulse-to-pulse clasp of hands, but they were stronger if sealed with something—a talisman, like Soleil’s vow ring from the Convocation; or an act, or tracing a pair of matching symbols on the skin, or walking five circles, one circle on each point of a pentagram, with hands still clasped. The mingling of bodily fluids was a stronger way to secure the pact. When she had studied magical oaths with the Institute, Soleil had come across an old wooden block print in the text she’d been assigned—two male witches crossing streams of their own piss to seal a pact. A spit handshake or a kiss would do just as well and was far less disgusting. But for the most powerful magical vows, copulation or a blood exchange were commonly used.
She forced herself to look up at Achan. His eyes were green and soft. “Five circles?” he said gently.
She nodded.
They walked the circles slowly, methodically. Soleil stared at their joined hands—she could barely think beyond the curve of his long fingers around hers, the press of his thumb, the heat of his palm and the flicker of his heartbeat through the thin skin of his wrist.
By the end of the second circle she couldn’t help glancing at his face—and once she locked eyes with him, she couldn’t pull away. The fall of his hair cast sharp shadows across his cheekbones, shadows that shrank and lengthened as he moved through the steps of the circle. His lips parted and his lashes flared, as if what he saw in her face awed and delighted him.
When he spoke, she jumped a little.
“After our lesson, we could grab some dinner, and then I could observe one of your subjects with you, maybe even help you out. It could be an experiment in joint magic. Which one of your people is giving you the most trouble?”
Soleil had caught on to Achan’s strategy by now, always scheduling their meetings an hour or two before mealtime, so he could have an excuse to join her for lunch or dinner. Not that she minded. She liked that duality of their “dates”—first the magic and mayhem, mysteries and barbed secrets, and then food fueling conversations about music and TV, memes and disturbing headlines. They shared a similar perspective on a surprising number of topics—though Achan’s solutions to human social issues pretty much consisted of “burn it all down,” while Soleil prided herself on a more nuanced approach. On their last date, they’d reimagined the entire American education system while sharing an enormous banana split.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about Achan touching one of her hyacles, much less interfering in her dealings with the townspeople. But he looked so earnest, almost penitent—as if he was trying to make up for questioning her and spying on her.
She’d never done any joint magic, not on purpose. It could be interesting. And since it was in the pursuit of her thesis, it wouldn’t break any rules. Not that she cared too much for the rules anymore. The idea of breaking them bothered her less and less.
“My most troublesome subject,” she said thoughtfully. “That would be the mayor, I guess. I checked in with him the other night, after our—our dance. He was acting so stiff and weird that I had to ease off on his sense of duty and loyalty. But the problem is, when I ease off on those impulses, his entire will goes lax too quickly, like a string slipping out of tune.”
Achan cocked his head, interest lighting his face. “You’ve mentioned music a couple of times when talking about your magic. Is that how you conceptualize it?”