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Because she knew I have magic in my veins? Is that why she called me otherworldly?
“What of your father’s family?”
“I don’t know much. My father is British. Until my mother’s death, I thought he’d died before I was born. He lives in London—or he did twenty years ago. The detective I hired hit a dead end…” Or did he? “Wait, he sent me the address of a man who claimed to be five hundred years old. I assumed it was a mistake, but maybe…”
“He is a wizard with the according magical life span.”
“H-how long is that?”
“Roughly a thousand years, I hear. Though I strove to avoid everything and everyone magical after Morgana.”
No shock there. In his shoes, I’d avoid magickind, too. “Hold up. If I’m related to Morgana…does that mean I’m magical?”
“According to Bram’s aunt, aye. And your powers will be considerable.”
Oh. My. God. I can’t fathom… If my life will truly become that long, it puts a mind-boggling spin on planning my future. “What you’re saying… Me, magical and powerful? Maybe she’s mistaken.”
He shakes his head. “You have a magical signature.”
“A what?”
“An aura that tells magickind of your bloodline. You come from a strong one.”
“That makes a difference?”
“Very much.”
As surreal as this sounds, it makes a weird sort of sense. As a descendant of the Morgana Le Fay, if I have even a tenth of the woman’s power, maybe I can help Marrok…
I spring to my feet and backtrack down the hall. The book sits on the bed, looking innocuous. I steel myself before I pick up the tome. The instant I touch it, the little red volume vibrates in my hands.
It pulsates as I stride down the hall back to Marrok. He watches curiously as I sit with the diary in my lap and grab opposite edges of the book. And pull.
Nothing.
“What if…?” My idea sounds silly, but how much dumber will I feel if this is the answer and I never try? I point my fingers at the book. “Open.”
Apparently not.
“Stupid, huh? I just thought…if I’m really powerful, that maybe… But if I was, wouldn’t I have done something amazing by now? I mean, I’ve occasionally had a dream that came true or a wish that happened moments later. But hasn’t everyone?”
“You are not yet five and twenty, correct?”
“Not for about eighteen months.”
“That is when you will come into the powers destined for you, according to Bram.”
And I suppose that’s why the man made friends with me. He knew my ancestry.
“Oh.” The assertions just keep on coming, one more staggering than the next. I lost my virginity to an immortal knight, and I might be a powerful witch? A week ago, I was nobody.
“What kind of powers?”
Marrok shrugs. “I know not.”
A small beep lets me know a new email has arrived. It’s followed closely by two more. The first one, from a former art professor, wishes me luck but doesn’t know anything. Damn.
The second message is from Dr. Chastain, who has always been bookish, new-agey, and hopelessly lost in “what if.” But she loves solving academic mysteries. Today is no exception, I discover as I open the email.
