Page 45 of Bewitched By the Djinn
“We have one plant.” I wince. “It’s on the porch, dying a slow death.”
“Then you get more.” Bennet’s voice is firm. “Many. She won’t need much from each. Just enough to balance herself. Enough to stop taking from her own body.”
Mimi swallows hard. “Could this work?”
I want it to work. I need it to work. But I’ve had my hopes up so many times—Mimi and I both—and what if it doesn’t? What if it’s just one more dead end? I don’t know if my heart can take another hit. But of coursemyheart isn’t the one in danger here. I swallow a surge of dread and weariness. “We won’t know until we try.”
Mimi heads up to bed while Bennet and I put the empty mugs in the sink.
“We can go to the front room to try and track Helen together. The couch in there is more comfortable.”
He follows me out of the kitchen and into the front room.
I drop onto the love seat, tucking one leg under me. “How do we start?”
He lowers himself next to me, resting his hand on his knee, palm up. “Your hand.”
I place mine in his, palm to palm. Warmth passes between us like a slow tide, settling low in my stomach.
“Close your eyes. Drop your shields and focus on what we want—to find Helen. I will conjure her in my thoughts and share her likeness with you.”
I lower my mental walls and an image fills my mind. Helen. In Bennet’s mind, she’s laughing, standing on the edge of a cliff that’s straight out of aPride and Prejudiceremake, all white rock and rolling green hills in the distance. She’s petite, dark haired, dark eyed. She doesn’t look anything like Bennet, who is all sharp cheekbones, green eyes, and dirty-blond hair.
I shut my eyes. At first, there’s only silence. Stillness. My own thoughts, too loud.
Then a pulse, like a tugging, from somewhere deep in my chest. His hand tightens around mine, and it builds—warmth, pressure, and need. Not mine. His. Or is it mine? I can’t tell.
My breath catches.
“Bennet—”
“I know.” His voice is tight with strain. “It’s not—just focus. Don’t feed it.”
But that’s the thing. The harder I try to pull away from it, the more the bond winds around me like velvet and fire.
The tug intensifies, just for a moment—like something stretching out to meet us—and then snaps.
I gasp, eyes flying open. “Did it work?”
He looks just as startled as I am, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in slow, shallow breaths. “No,” he says finally. “I mean, yes. I could access my magic, but she’s not...there.”
“What does that mean?”
“I couldn’t feel her. Which means she’s either shielding herself, or someone else is doing it for her. Or... I don’t know.” He scrubs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Either way, we can’t find her. Not like this.”
My hand’s still in his, and neither of us moves to let go.
“Well,” I murmur. “That was weird.”
He huffs a breath, not quite a laugh. “We may need more practice.”
“Or better boundaries.”
His eyes meet mine. Heat simmers there.
I slam my mental walls down and shoot to my feet. “Uhhh, do you think maybe we can try our magic on the water heater?”
The basement is cold and dark and creepy. I flick the light on before we head down ragged wooden steps. A single bulb at the bottom illuminates the concrete floors, piles of sagging boxes, and shelves of canned goods.
