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His brow furrows.

“Stores?”

“Not stores like shops. Stores of magic. Reserves. Artifacts. Grimoires. Enchanted objects. Family magic.”

Understanding crosses his face.

“That's what your mother wanted.”

“Yes.”

I swallow.

“I finally went through some of it.”

“And?”

“There's a lot, Damian.”

“How much is a lot?”

“Enough that I understand why my mother suddenly cares so much about Aunt Margarita's will.”

His expression darkens.

“She isn't getting it.”

I raise an eyebrow. He catches himself.

“Sorry.”

Despite everything, I smile.

“Try again.”

He exhales through his nose.

“What do you want to do with it?”

There. Much better.

“I don't know yet.”

I look down at my glowing hands.

“But it's mine. She isn’t getting it,” I repeat his earlier words and he grins.

“Yes.”

“The house is mine.”

“Yes.”

“The magical stores are mine.”

“Yes.”

“My aunt chose me.”