I nod. “I’ve tried everything, for nearly a year. My grandmother died of something similar. Witches, Warlocks, no one could cure her. And now, my mom—you two—are the only people in the Holler I’ve never been able to help.” A hairline fracture cracks my voice.
His eyes roam over me, and I wonder if this is how his plants feel under his careful stare. Noticed. Protected. “Two minds will be more efficient than one. In the library, with my archives, I mean. We’ll start with the restricted section.”
“Really?” Fragile hope seeps into the word. With his help instead of defiant roadblocks… I might be able to do this.Wecould do this.
His lips part, as if he can’t decide whether to say what he’s thinking. He extends a pale hand, palm upward. “May I see your hand?”
Please! Touch me! Praise be!My sensical side wins out and hesitates, only because I’m still not used to seeing his bare hands. Then my palm meets his, face down, like we’re starting some Regency-era dance I definitely didn’t practice. Or learn.
Though none of this, here between us, feels like anything I’ve ever learned.
Gently, he flips my hand so all the little kitchen battle wounds I’ve accumulated over the years on my palm are visible. He runs one calloused thumb over the inside of my wrist, right over my veins. Static tickles the veil of my skin at his touch. Then wildfire rushes through my blood as I sense his magic reach out to mine, hot but not scalding.
He’s reading my magical signature. I think? Some Witches and Warlocks can determine the strength of magic in others, like studying ley lines and energy thrumming beneath the earth. Hidden, but potent. Ancestral, but alive.
“You’re absolutely wasted at that Apothakery,” he murmurs, eyes on our hands, even though whatever he’s seeing has to be more of a sense of energy. “Your magic is strong. But—restless. Unwieldly. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Whatever magic you have, Ms. Frost, it isn’t little.
Hehas. All along. He must feel my pulse pick up. I can practically see my heartbeat thumping right under his fingers. “My mom was supposed to be my mentor. So I’ve just learned on the job.” I fake a smile. “I like to think of it as a work-study program where the work and study are both full-time.”
He’s not amused. “You need a real mentor, someone who will tutor you properly. Higher or lower, magic should never be left untrained. The consequences—itneedsdirection. Trust me.”
“So… I should do more than just be a Farewitch?”
His frustrated sigh hangs between us. “No, Honey. You should doless. Less for people who take your labor for granted, who would ignore your best interests as a Witch.” He almost sounds offended, like how I’ve been treating my time and magic is a terrible injustice.
Surprised, I look up to find him closer than I remember. I’m suddenly shy. Frosts don’tgetshy. And way too warm. Jesus, I’m already feeling swoony enough as it is. And he’s still holding my hand.
“I don’t even know your name,” I realize.
“No one told you? It’s Knight.”
Ass. “Yourfirstname.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Is it terrible? Something likeKaren? Or, God forbid—are you aJunior?”
“God, no. Warlocks… we don’t give our names away. It’s akin to giving up some of our power, and I’m weak enough as it is. I won’t survive you.”
“You won’t survive telling me your name?”
A sharp breath leaves his chest. “Sure. That.”
“Does anyone know it?”
“Lazlo and Ms. Zeen.”
On its own, my free hand rises to his shoulder to remove a stray leaf. Then my rebellious fingers roam gently over his shoulder, grazing the lean muscles through his shirt. Damn a good white shirt on a man. This close, he smells like a bottled botanical garden. Earth. Growth. Life.
His unoccupied hand drops over mine. “That’s distracting,” he rasps, eyes hooded. He leans down close enough for me to see those pesky, endearing lines by his eyes. “You said you felt like taking risks tonight. What did you mean?”
Oh. Lord. In. Heaven. And below, for good measure. Where’s a Kentucky Coffee for courage when a girl needs one?
Forget that. I’ve got plenty of grit without magic.
“You know,” I say through a sly grin, “I would think you were about to kiss me, but given how rarely you’ve left your house, I’m not sure you know how.”
