Page 92 of Her Dreadful Will
She nodded. “Each person’s will is like a song, a melody with layers and orchestration. I guess it’s always felt like that to me. How do you think of yours?”
“I think of it like painting,” he said. “More abstract than realistic, as you probably guessed. But there are colors and shadows and shapes involved. Magic is my art. Some of my pieces might seem ugly or grotesque to others, but they serve a purpose. They evoke a feeling, create a desired reality.”
As they ended the fifth circle, a swirl of tingling magic twined around their fingers and looped between their wrists, sealing the vow.
Soleil let go at once, massaging her left hand with the other, but she could still feel the heat of his fingers like an invisible glove.
The lesson did not go well. Achan gave Soleil tender green leaves and asked her to shrivel them, but she couldn’t focus. The tiniest things distracted her—Carebear scratching his ear, the tiny hole near the shoulder of Achan’s gray T-shirt, the remarkable length of his sneakers compared to hers, and the skittering of small creatures in the bushes nearby.
“Concentrate,” Achan said again. His fingers slid under her cupped hands. Maybe he thought he was helping, but now she couldn’t think of anything but the way his breath stirred her hairline, and how he smelled like cedar and woodsmoke and oranges. His T-shirt looked so soft. She wanted to lift its edge and run her hand along his stomach, his sides—
She backed away, heat prickling in her cheeks. “I can’t do this.”
“It’s all right,” he said. “Take a minute, and we’ll try again.”
“I’ve been trying to rot this damn leaf for ten minutes already. Taking a break isn’t going to make any difference.”
“Maybe not. But I’m willing to try.” The gentleness in his look was sweeter than a smile. “I believe in you. I always have. Always will.”
I always have.An odd thing to say, especially when he’d just met her recently.
“I’m going to check in with Florence,” he said, and strode to the other side of the clearing, pulling his necklace of teeth from under his shirt.
Too bad hisbeliefin her couldn’t be translated into actionable magical skill.
Why couldn’t she do this? She’d disintegrated bricks last week—why couldn’t she shrivel up a single leaf?
Soleil beat her fist against the trunk of a beech tree a few times and then pressed her palm there, over the grooves and lanes in the bark. Her bog oak ring, fully recharged now, touched the rough surface, and suddenly she could feel the tree—the ebb and flow of sap through its channels, the slow push of persistent growth. The tree knew, at its core, that fall was coming. Already its leaves were beginning to shut down their food-making process, the creation of usable nutrients from water, sunshine, and carbon dioxide. Soon those leaves would transform, turning yellow and orange, detaching, drifting down over the roots of the beech tree.
Soleil released magic, pouring it through the bark, pushing it upward along the natural channels of the tree, following the branches and twigs out to the leaves. She had to hold the power back because it wanted to rocket through the tree, bursting cells, catching on hints of rot and expanding them, exploding the growth of the mites in the wood, flooding the bark with scaly fungus. But Soleil didn’t want to hasten the tree’s death, inevitable though it might be. She only wanted to shake things up a little. Eyes sealed shut, she focused her mind.
Something skimmed against her hair, her shoulder. She opened her eyes and found herself in the center of a golden storm of beech leaves. They caught in her hair, drifted onto her shoulders, floated to rest on the ground.
Achan stood across the clearing, his mouth open, his necklace of teeth dangling forgotten from his hand. The leaves fluttered through the air between them like giant flakes of gold, speared and turned translucent by the shafts of sunlight slanting into the glade.
He moved slowly, purposefully, batting a few leaves aside and cupping Soleil’s face in his long hands.
“You absolute goddess,” he whispered.
“I did something,” she said, beaming.
“Yes. And you do this every time—you go farther than I think you will. You are more than I expected, more than I wanted—” His words choked off, and his hands slid to her shoulders, tightening. “You asked me to let you in—and I can’t give you everything, not yet—but until I can, you should know that I never watch horror movies because my own mind is dark enough without them. I love TV sit-coms because they’re chaotic and ridiculous and they take me out of myself. I hate eating alone. I ate alone all the time growing up, and I hate it. I wash my lights and darks together and it doesn’t really matter because most of my clothes are medium colors anyway. I won’t eat cereal, I think it’s dumb, because it gets soggy in like two seconds. If I get a drink at a soda fountain I will mix at least three different sodas in one cup and I’ll drink it all even if it doesn’t taste great. I’m not a fan of musicals butHamiltonandThe Greatest Showmanare fucking awesome. I took a pottery class elective in college because I found it relaxing, and I still have every slipshod piece I made, and I didn’t use a shred of magic on any of them. I have big dreams, Soleil, so big and scary that I won’t tell anyone about them yet, not even you, you beautiful, astonishing woman. You take up more space in my head than I ever thought anyone could. So... that’s a start.”
His eyes burned into hers, green glass heated to the verge of melting.
Soleil cupped the back of his neck in her hand and kissed him, hard and hot and sure. It was the only answer she had. Her heart swelled and flamed with emotion that couldn’t be distilled into words.
Two blazing seconds, and it was over, and she darted to Carebear, untying him and ruffling his ears. It was safer here, with the dog, because she was terrified that Achan might try to kiss her back. And that he might not.
“It’s getting late,” she said. “Let’s get takeout. We can eat with Florence at my house—she’ll be glad to see you. And I can make sure she takes her medication before she goes to bed.”
Achan’s cheeks were flushed, but at her words his eyes clouded with concern. “Is her memory slipping again?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that. She remembers her pills, she just doesn’t like taking them. I have to bribe her with sweets.” Soleil grinned at him.
His smile blazed back at her, glorious as unshadowed sunlight. They stood there for a moment, caught in mutual joy.
Then Carebear decided it was time to go, and began pulling Soleil down the trail.
