Page 10 of The Banshee and the Warlock

"I guessed."

"Oh, right." I touch my hair with my free hand. "Yes, it's my favourite colour."

He cocks his head to the side, an intrigued expression on his face. "Is that so?"

I nod.

He finally lets go of my hand, and I mourn the contact even though I know I shouldn't. I examine my hand, surprised to find that there isn't a single mark on it. "That's amazing." I prod and poke at it a little.

He chuckles. "The perks of being a warlock, even a dark one."

"What's the difference between a dark warlock and a non-dark warlock?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that. It's a personal question." I turn back to the task of cutting up the root so we can add it to the cauldron simmering between us.

"We can trade questions, if you want," he suggests.

"Okay, but I think you're going to be disappointed in some of my answers."

"Don't I get to decide that?"

"Mmm." I move my knife carefully. While I like the attention he gave me when I was hurt, I don't want to do that unnecessarily.

"The difference is a corrupted bloodline," he says.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, should have been clearer. Dark warlocks come from bloodlines that were corrupted by dark magic generations ago," he says. "There are theories that it's because using dark magic corrupts the soul or some nonsense like that."

"You don't believe it?"

"No. I think magic is magic, and bad people are bad regardless of what they use. You don't have to use dark magic in order to hurt someone, you can just as easily do it with something that's meant to be good. That knife isn't bad because it cut you, right?"

I lift it to examine it, even if I know the answer already. "I guess it's just a tool. Whether it's good or bad depends on the way it's being used."

"Exactly."

"So why do you think dark warlocks came about?"

He shrugs. "Maybe a spell gone wrong, maybe a deal with a demon. It's hard to say. I don't worry about it too much because it changes nothing. I am what I am, and I'm not evil because of it."

"A good discussion point for our essay," I muse.

"Indeed. I think you're done with that now." He gestures to the root.

"Right. I just drop it into the cauldron?"

He nods.

I pick up the board and push the chopped root into the potion. It hisses and bubbles hard as it hits the surface.

"So I guess it's my turn for a question," he says.

"Fire away."

"Which has a very different meaning to someone who can create fireballs," he jokes.

I let out an amused laugh. "But you're not going to do that, right?"

"I think I'd probably end up thrown out of Rosewood if I did."