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“If it always changes, why does it matter? Even if I don’t choose magic, it will come back eventually.”
“Because, this time, it might not,” Dugald says.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“There hasn’t been an increase of magic in the last three cycles. Some of us,” the Druid clears his throat, “most of us believe that this is the last chance for magic. That if you don’t choose magic this time, there won’t be a next time.”
“Ever?” I ask, shock leaving me numb.
“Ever.”
“Oh. Shit.”
ChapterThirty
The weightof their stares is palpable. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, hold it, then exhale it in a blast.
“Okay.” Dugald and the Druid exchange a look, but neither of them say anything. I shake my head, stretch my arms, and then roll my neck. When I finish stretching, they’re still staring. “What?”
The Druid cackles madly. His laughter shakes his entire body. I arch an eyebrow, waiting for one of them to speak. Dugald clears his throat.
“Okay? What does that mean?” he asks.
I grunt. A bubbling energetic happiness swells from my belly and rushes through my body. I laugh because I can’t contain it. And as soon as it passes my lips, I can’t stop it. I laugh harder and harder until tears are streaming down my face. I wrap my arms around my belly because I’m laughing so much it hurts.
“Quinn?” Dugald asks, moving closer but stopping with one reaching hand left hanging in the air between us.
The laughter winds down, settling into chuckles. I straighten and wipe my tears with my palms. I shake my head, sniffle, then a final round of giggles slips free. I look up to the sky and rub my face.
“This is…” I trail off, looking for a word that fits the enormity of what I feel. “Absurd.”
The two men shuffle their feet, leather shoes rubbing the grass and making a soft whush sound. I inhale deeply, taking in the fresh odors of the forest. It smells of ozone, pine, and that indefinable odor of the outdoors.
“Are you okay, Quinn?”
“Oh, I’m peachy,” I say, still staring at the bruised purple sky.
A wispy set of clouds drift past us, and if I tilt my head just so they look like a dragon with an open maw. Maybe it will devour the world and I won’t have to worry about any of this anymore.
“Enough of this drama,” the Druid harumphs. “Train. Or do not. The decision is yours.”
“That’s it exactly, isn’t it?” I snap, fixing a steady glare on him. “It’s mine. Not yours.” I turn to Dugald. “Or yours. Or Moira’s. Or the Seelie, or Unseelie. It’s all onme.”
Muscles thrumming with energy, I shift my gaze back and forth between the two men. Daring them to contradict me. Neither of them does. The Druid smacks his lips and shrugs, but Dugald’s face is pained. He drops his eyes and nods.
“Yes, Quinn,” he says. “It’s your decision.”
“Are there rules to this? It feels like there should be rules.”
“Of course there are rules,” the Druid says. “The universe is not chaos. Where you and your kind see chaos is only a signpost for your lack of understanding. Order is everywhere, even in the seeming disorderly.”
I nod, not because I understand or agree with him, but because what he says feels right. My gut is about all I have to go on right now.
“Then what are they?”
The Druid harumphs again and turns his back. Leaning heavily on his walking stick he walks away. The cat, that crazy, uncertain creature, prances out of the forest. It walks past the Druid without a glance and comes right up to me and rubs against my legs, purring loudly. I crouch and scratch behind its ears, which makes it purr louder.
“We don’t know the rules,” Dugald says.
