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“You aren’t a witch. Our line doesn’t breed boy witches.” She frowned as though the thought pained her. “That’s why—”
I cut her off, my blood boiling. “I’m sorry. Are you telling me, a male with magic, that I am not a witch? Am I a fucking wizard, then? I didn’t get a letter for Hogwarts, so I’ll be fucking pissed if I missed that.”
“You aren’t a witch, and there’s no such thing as Hogwarts.”
I took a breath through gritted teeth. “What’s the definition of being a witch?”
“Human who has magical abilities.”
“I don’t know how to use magic, but I can promise you that I have magical abilities.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Your father was human, and we—”
I interrupted, “He wasn’t human. He was of the Bradbury line. Seems like he was given up by the matriarch.”
She paused. “What makes you think that?”
“Bradburys find things. I’ve been doing that unintentionally for years. I found a cousin on my father’s side, and he told me a little about the family.”
“He was human. I would have known if he had magic. I was so careful.” She shook her head and muttered to herself before standing and pacing the room. “You’re absolutely sure he was a witch?”
“Someone did a seeking spell for me, and I found a cousin. I don’t have reason to believe he’d lie,” I admitted.
I didn’t trust him anymore, but at the time, I hadn’t had any reason not to trust him, and he hadn’t had any reason to lie to me.
“I thought it was safe because you were half human, but you're not. You have the blood of two powerful witch families and could turn at any moment,” she said mostly to herself as she paced.
She was agitated and frightened for reasons I didn’t know, but she clearly believed I was dangerous. I needed to convince her I was a good guy. “Look, I need to learn how to use my magic, and you’re my best option for that. It’s a life-or-death situation. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have come looking for you.”
She paused mid step. “Life or death?”
I nodded emphatically. “I don’t know where in the world you are or what’s being reported, but there’s a dragon in Sweden—”
She gasped, “That’s you?”
“I mean, it’s partly our fault but—”
She stopped me with a puzzled look and a sharp question. “You haven’t changed?”
“I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.” The ropes were starting to really hurt. “Can you let me out of these? I promise I’m not here to hurt you.”
“No.” I huffed a breath of frustration and tried to stay calm as she continued, “This dragon, how did it get to Sweden?”
“A bunch of witches tried to drain me and my friends to raise this ancient protector, and a dragon popped out of the grave too. Probably the magic-eating dragon the protector killed. So now it’s going around eating witches, and I need to use magic to help protect my friends if it comes to it.”
“He is risen?” her voice trembled. “Fafnir is risen?”
“The dragon? Yes.”
“Goddess, protect us.” She sank into the sofa and placed her head in her hands.
“I need your help,” I implored.
“You cannot be saved,” she whispered.
There was a pregnant pause while I tried to understand. “What do you mean?”
“He will call to you. He will use his blood to control you. You’ll turn against your friends, and commit atrocities at his side.” She continued to look at her feet as she spoke emotionlessly. As though this had already happened. As though it was useless fighting against it.
