Elliot nods, silently looking over the items.
“And you plan to make how many?” he asks. He lays his hands on the edge of the table, fingers tapping restlessly against the cheap wood. “These sunwalker spells of yours. When will you have enough?”
“When every vampire has one,” I say. Elliot gapes at me, and I sigh. “These spells don’t undo your mama’s curse, you know. They allow the vampires to be in the sun, but not as true vampires. They’re weaker. Slower. Softer. They’re mortal, basically harmless.”
Elliot doesn’t look convinced. He’s scrutinizing my face, searching for something he won’t find. But his stare is too intense. Before long, I’m not worrying whether he believes me. I’m only wonderingwhohe sees, and whether he likes her. When we were teenagers, he thought I was pretty. This stunning, perfect man used to thinkIwas pretty.
I doubt he does anymore. Life hasn’t been kind to me, and these past years have been filled with stress and more work than any one person should have. I’ve spent so long in survival mode, I’m not sure I’ll ever escape it.
He must think I’m hideous. That’s what everyone else thinks, what they’vealwaysthought. It shouldn’t bother me that he thinks it now. It’s better actually. Yes, it’s a good thing?—
“Show me what to do,” he says.
So I do, relieved to think of something other than our lost past.
Two hours later,we’ve made less progress than I hoped. Elliot is bent over the table, breathing hard. Exhaustion flushes his cheeks, and his eyelids droop with fatigue. We’ve been at this too long. I’d suggested calling it twenty minutes ago, but he insisted he could do another round.
“One more,” he says now. Even gasping, even struggling, he looks more determined now than he did when we first began.
“No,” I say. I open my bag on the chair next to me and collect the items from the table. Elliot, still panting, moves as if to stopme. I level him with a hard look, and his hand pauses in the air. “Don’t even think about it.”
“One more,” he insists, but thankfully, he doesn’t reach for the ingredients again.
I stuff them into my bag, carefully capping the magic in its vial. It’s the same amount I would have gotten in two hours by myself, but I can’t deny it was far easier with Elliot’s help. Usually, I’d look a lot more like him right now. My heart would be pounding. My head would be dizzy. My eyes would be blurry from hours of strain.
So yes, while we didn’t get as far as I hoped, it was easier. Now, I should be able to go home and work on it for at least another hour before bed.
“Why aren’t you dying?” he demands. He chugs the water our server delivered. It’s his fourth glass since we got here.
“This comes easier to me than it does to you,” I say.
He doesn’t immediately reply. He’s watching me, an unreadable expression on his face.
“How do you know?” he says. It’s both a question and an accusation, and my heart misses a beat. It was a stupid mistake, speaking as if I know him, and it takes all my effort to keep still. Much as I want to, I can’t panic.
“Well, not to hurt your feelings,” I drawl, “but you weren’t exactly pulling your weight back there.”
“No,” he says. “You know I’ve always been bad at it. How?”
“We were classmates, Elliot.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And yet, I remembernothingabout you. Not your strengths or your weaknesses.”
My heart spikes in my chest. Thank the Mother he’s not a vampire, or he’d hear the panic in my every breath.
“Is that my fault?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. I’m doing my best to maintain control, but it’s hard when he’s looking at me. His hazel eyes are so pure, so desperate for the truth. The weakestparts of me are tempted to give it to him, no matter the consequence. “I was bound as a child. I wasn’t exactly practicing magic in front of you.”
He grows quiet for a long moment, and my insides relax, one by one. Everything I’ve said makes sense, and he knows it. Even if he suspects the truth, there’s no proof.
“If that’s all, let’s call it a day. We’ll meet back here in a week. Same time.”
I push to my feet while Elliot remains in his seat. He’s staring up at me with an expression I don’t recognize. At least, not directed at me.
Fear, I realize.Elliot is afraid of me.
“You stole them, didn’t you,” he says. It’s not a question. His breathing has finally leveled, and the heat has cooled in his face. “You stole my memories.”
I don’t respond. I stare at him, keeping my voice perfectly still. Though my heart pounds, I don’t let myself outwardly react. He has no proof, and as long as I don’t give him any, this is where it ends.
