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“You know,” I said, “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve actually said to me.”
Confusion ran across his features. “What?”
I grinned. “You called me a normal, sane person.”
He snorted. “A normal, sane person with a past she doesn’t want revealed.”
It took every ounce of control I had to curtail my instinctive response—a response that went along the lines of “mind your own goddamn business.” “And what the hell do you think I’m concealing?”
“You tell me. All I know is there’s a story behind you and Belle, and it’s one that has me intrigued.”
“Ever think that what we’re concealing might be nothing to do with who we are, but what was done to us?” Or, at least, to me.
Surprise crossed his expression. “Abuse?”
I smiled, even though my insides churned and the little voice in my head screamed for me to just shut up. But I had to go on—had to at least give Ashworth some sort of believable explanation. If he kept digging, my parents would come.
Or my father and Clayton would.
The shudder that ran through me was horror. Pure, utter horror and fear. I swallowed heavily and said, “Yes, and I have no intention of ever being found by said abusers. So if you can just drop the damn subject, I’d be obliged.”
He studied me through narrowed eyes for a few seconds, and then grunted. Whether that was agreement or not, I couldn’t say. I took a deep breath and then waved a hand to our dead witch. “He’s got the coloring of the royal witch.”
“So have you, my dear.” Ashworth’s tone was wry.
I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, but I’m an underpowered half-breed and I don’t think he is.”
“I’ll agree with your latter point, but the jury is still out on the former.” He raised his hands before I could say anything. “I saw no lie in your words when you spoke of abuse—quite the opposite, in fact—so I won’t continue my investigations in Canberra. But you should be warned, I will continue to haunt your steps, even if only to satisfy my own curiosity.”
Which I guessed was at least something of a compromise, and one I could live with. “You think I’m somehow concealing the strength of my magic?”
“Definitely not, but there is something else going on with you, and it’s not the connection you have with Belle.”
But did have a whole lot to do with my connection to the wild magic, if I was reading him right. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do about that, though—nothing I could do to even hide that connection, given most of the time I didn’t initiate contact. And it wasn’t just the wild magic coming from Katie’s wellspring, but rather the larger, older one. It had helped me long before Katie had ever come to my rescue.
“There really is nothing more going on than what you’ve already seen.”
“Perhaps, and perhaps not.” He shrugged and motioned to our dead witch. “To get back to our friend here, he’s not someone I recognize, if that’s where you were going with that question.”
It wasn’t, because I was well aware that it was rare for RWA witches to return to Canberra once they’d left. “I was simply noting that—given the fact he’s obviously from one of the royal lines—it’s likely someone up there will recognize him.”
“If luck is on our side, yes.” He glanced at me. “But even if he didn’t hold royal witch coloring, I’d have to call this in. As I said, I’ve never seen a spell like this, and I’ve been with the RWA for more than thirty years. Someone more up-to-date with spellcraft is going to have to deal with this thing, and I’m afraid that means Canberra.”
I half smiled. “The likelihood of that person being the person I’m running from is remote.”
“I hope so, for your sake.” His voice and expression were grave. “Because that brief glimpse of honesty I got was dark indeed.”
Suggesting he, like many RWA witches, held some truth-seeking abilities. They might not be able to drag the truth out of people—there were spells designed for that sort of thing—but they could generally tell fact from fiction.
I hesitated, and then said, “While it is doubtful I’ll know whoever they send, if you could send me a text with his or her name before they gets anywhere near us, I’d appreciate it.”
It was, after all, always better to be prepared. But sooner or later, the one thing I feared would happen, especially if we remained on this reservation. The wild magic had been left unprotected for too long, and its siren call would still be echoing through the deeper, darker places of the world.
A sensible person intent on remaining unfound would leave—would get as far away from this place as possible. But we’d been on the run for twelve years now, and I wasn’t the only one getting really sick of it. I wanted to put down roots. Wanted to belong somewhere.
Castle Rock, more than any other place we’d been to, felt like home.
Ashworth studied me for too many uncomfortable seconds, and then nodded. “I can do that.”
