Page 66 of Hallowed Bones

“Haven.” His voice dips lower, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I fight the urge to scoot away, curling my free hand into a fist against my thigh. “Avoiding us won’t change the facts.”

I try to pull my hand from his grasp, but he’s gripping me just tight enough that it would take considerable effort. He sidles closer until he blocks out the morning sunlight cutting over the edge of the greenhouse and stone walls on either side of us.

“Reyes.” I use the same tone that he’d used with me. Still, he doesn’t release me.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” he begins, “but—”

“That’s an understatement,” I snap, tugging against his hold, not that it does much good. “I’m still processing. It’s going to take a bit longer than a couple of days to wrap my brain around this whole…” I trail off, shaking my head. Though I know he and I are alone, I’ve been afraid of being called crazy for so long that I lower my voice when I say my next words. “Witch thing.”

He blinks at me. “Witch … thing?”

“You know what I mean!”

Reyes sighs. “Yes, you’re right. I do. I know it’s not your fault that you didn’t know. We’re trying to give you space—”

“Really?” I swear my blood pressure skyrockets. “And you think sending me books with titles like Occulta Familiae—whatever that means—or Salem’s Greatest Shame: A History of the Lost Coven helps me or gives me space? What am I supposed to do, start taking remedial coven classes after my actual schoolwork is done?”

Reyes’s wince at the second title gives me some satisfaction even if only a small amount. “Yeah…” His shoulders droop. “Some of our ancestors were a little melodramatic right after the trials.”

I stare at him. “Is that all you have to say?”

If it weren’t for the fact that I’d witnessed Lyall shift into a wolf and then put my hands on him, I might, almost, be able to convince myself that it was all a hallucination. I’d lain awake in bed after returning to my dorm room and gone through every explanation I could think of for both the specter and Lyall, but there isn’t any.

“It’s natural to be afraid.” Reyes finally lets go of my hand, but before I can stand up or move away, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. “All of us were at first.”

I go still, frowning up at him. “You were?”

He snorts. “Are you kidding?” With a shake of his head, he releases me and sighs. “Do you really think a bunch of kids and then teenage boys handle magic powers well?” There’s no pause for me to answer. “No, we were just as frightened by the potential as you are. I knew about it—expected it—and still, I panicked when my powers came in. Ly and Ez? They were the youngest. I was … you could say, a late bloomer.”

“If you’re a late bloomer, what would you call me?” I ask sardonically.

Eyes the color of an ancient forest meet mine. “Perfect.” Spoken in a low voice, devoid of any hint of teasing, the word echoes in the air around us. My lips part, and I find myself leaning toward him, the crow forgotten. It’s as if I’m being pulled by some invisible string wrapped around my heart, connecting me to him. I want to kiss him—want him to kiss me, to delve deep inside of me and get rid of all this confusion, filling up the missing pieces of me with himself.

“Still.” His voice, speaking again, is enough to bring me back to myself and realize what I’m doing in time to stop it. Reyes locks his attention on the bird, and though I suspect he’s not actually seeing the animal, he reaches out almost unconsciously to pet the creature that preens under Reyes’s attention and butts his tiny skull into the gentle strokes. “An untrained witch can easily lose control.”

Together, we lapse into a quiet reprieve. The quiet, though, isn’t empty. It’s filled with curiosity and suspicion. Reyes hums to the crow in the box as I study him. I swear there is something about him; even his profile makes me think of a poet or a muse. His curls are dark and unruly, and there’s no hiding the raw edge of him with the various scars on his face, his knuckles, and farther beneath the rest of his clothes.

Then I think about what he’d looked like in my dream—or rather, if it wasn’t a dream but a space between awake and asleep. What had he said it was? Dreamwalking? My shoulder brushes his, and though having him so near makes my insides twist and cramp and my skin dampen with sweat, I can’t force myself to move away again.

Unable to stop myself, I reach for him. My hand touches his, cupping the tops of his scarred knuckles and pressing warmth into the icy chill of fingers that were, at the beginning of this exchange, hot.

“Enough of the past,” he says suddenly. “We should try to figure out whose bird this is.”

“Do you think we can?” I glance down to find the crow at the edge of the box, pecking in annoyance at the top of the cardboard as he tries to recapture our attention.

Reyes chuckles, his fingers easing their constricting hold on mine, but not quite letting go. “Of course,” he replies. “He’s far too used to people and being petted to be anything but a domesticated animal.” Reyes releases my hands to scoop the box up onto his lap and into his arms, cradling it against his chest gently as he gets to his feet. “I have an idea of who to ask.”

I follow him, standing and brushing away the dirt and leaves that cling to my uniform. “You do?”

The smirk he gives me drips with trouble. I can’t tell if he’s trying to ease me back into something normal or if he actually does know someone who might have a pet crow. “Ipswich isn’t very big,” he comments lightly. “I’d say there are a few people who might have a crow as a pet, and if I start asking around, I doubt this little guy’s owner will stay silent for long.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask, “With his wing, I mean.”

Reyes casts me a look. “You care about him that much, hmm?” He doesn’t let me get an answer in before continuing. “You should be careful not to wear your heart on your sleeve like that.”

It’s a soft reprimand, but a reprimand nonetheless. I glare at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Dark smile playing at his lips, he shrugs, jostling the box enough for the bird to let out another caw of annoyance. “No,” he corrects. “I say it like someone who wants to protect that heart of yours.”