Fuck, is this what Hoot feels when I use my abilities? No wonder he’s been trying to choke me to death with his noxious farts. I rack my brain for a way to make it stop, but once again my lack of attentiveness in Witch 101 is coming back to bite me in the ass. I could scream in frustration at being such a shitty witch heir, but my lungs feel cold, and I feel like I’m being stripped of my essence from the inside out.
Words pop up in my mind, disjointed and unhelpful as the Blood Witch pulls on my magic to free himself from my laurelwood prison. I can practically hear Grammy Ruby’s voice spouting off the different languages that witches use for their incantations, but none of it is helpful as a flicker goes through the barrier separating me and Rogan Kendrick. I can think of nothing that will give me the upper hand as he siphons my magic with each second that passes.
And then it comes to me.
“Tedas ruk shaw aus forin ve Hemamancer. Ise hiruse ou fooiq tork shin iei.”
Rogan shouts no as the last syllable leaves my lips, but the heat that slams into me denies his plea. My feet lift off the ground as a blazing force bows me to its will. I’m all at once consumed by power as I do to him exactly what he did to me. I bind his essence, his magic, to mine, making us both a conduit for each other’s abilities. I seal the circle between our souls, and then I collapse in a battered heap on the floor as the power ebbs and I’m left seared inside and reeling.
“What did you do?” Rogan coughs out, his voice pained and gravellier than it was before.
“What you deserved,” I retort, my own tone mimicking that of a chain-smoker of fifty years. If he thought I was just going to sit idly by while he treated me like some magical gas station, then he just learned how wrong he was. If you take from me, I’ll take right back. I’ve always been an eye for an eye kind of girl. Let’s see him command me now.
Rogan tries to push to his feet, his corded arms shaky and his legs stiff. On the second try, he finally gets himself upright and fixes me with a glare. I’m still on the ground, and if I have it my way, I’m just going to take a little nap before I’m forced to start cleaning up the mess that’s one hundred percent Rogan’s fault.
“You tethered us,” he accuses, his lichen-laced eyes all the more beautiful for the fury floating in them.
“No, fucker, you did that,” I argue, trying and failing to get up myself. No way am I going to let this prick lord over me, disdain dripping from his every word. Maybe I can stand on a downed shelf, bring us closer in height. My arms do their best impression of over-boiled noodles, and I give up. Screw it, standing is overrated.
“I created an anchor, you tethered us!”
“What the hell does that even mean?”
“Tethering makes our power reliant. They’re no longer individual sources of magic, they’re linked.”
“How is that different from what you did?” I demand.
Rogan releases an exasperated huff, and if I had the energy and Giselle Bundchen’s legs, I’d kick him in the throat again.
“Familiars are a one way connection for a reason. We pull magic and energy from them as an extra layer of protection for us. We can also siphon magic and energy into them to be stored in the event that we get overloaded to the point of danger or death. The witch decides and takes or gives what he or she needs. But it doesn’t work the same if the link is full circle. Both the witch and the familiar then have control, and that’s dangerous. You just tainted a link that was meant for protection, and now calling on the familiar bond will be dangerous for both of us.”
Well, isn’t that just perfect. I haven’t even taken my magic for a proper joy ride yet, and already I’ve wrecked it.
“Maybe next time you’ll think twice about flouting magical law and pulling crap like this,” I lob at him, the accusation sounding impotent and juvenile even to my ears.
He scoffs. “Next time? There won’t be a next time for either of us if we don’t fix this. I don’t know everything there is to know about tethering—other than there are several pages warning against it in my line’s grimoire—but it’s bad, really fucking bad. What the hell were you thinking?” he demands, reaching down and plucking me from the floor like my mass is completely inconsequential to him. He sets me on my feet, and I’m annoyingly too wobbly to immediately shove him away like I want to.
“Me? Are you kidding? This is your fault. Nobody ever teach you not to take things that don’t belong to you? What were you thinking?” I defend on a yell.
“I didn’t think you’d do this,” he shouts back. “Ruby was powerful from what I understand, maybe even one of the most gifted Osteomancers left. I figured her heir would be even stronger, or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work. I didn’t know you were worse than useless.”
Wrapping my fists in his T-shirt, I release a threatening growl. “Worse than useless?” I repeat, hating that this conversation has me sounding like a drunk parrot that’s only capable of regurgitating the insults he keeps flinging my way.
Is this asshole serious?
Menacingly, I use his shirt to pull him closer. It’s a weird move to make, it feels very wild-west-saloon-fight—which isn’t my usual style of aggression—but it serves to help me stay on my feet while yanking him around like he’s the puppet and I’m the master. Or at least it would if he weren’t so damn tall.
“Ruby was powerful, and like it or not, I’m the bloodline’s next Osteomancer. I will get the hang of things, and when I do, do you really think it wise to fuck with me, Rogan Kendrick?” My voice is even, and I have to school my features so as not to show the raw astonishment I feel over the power that saturates my every word.
A knowing runs through my bones, and my statement rings with just as much prophecy as threat. Goose bumps kiss a trail up Rogan’s arms, and a visible shiver licks up his spine. His pupils dilate, the black overtaking the green, and we both stare at each other for a moment, the bottom of his pecs skimming the tops of my breasts with each heavy, traded breath we pull in and then release.
I’m not sure what’s happening right now, but I’m not going to abandon the indignation and outrage I’ve wrapped around me like a comfy fall sweater to explore the intrigue that’s scratching at the back of my mind—no matter how persistent it might be. No. This witch needs a reality check, we both do. I may have been doing this for less than a day, but I am the next Osseous heir, and none of my ancestors would stand for this shit.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Rogan tells me, his husky voice breaking the silence, his eyes searching my face, a hint of contrition in his studying stare.
“You think?” I deadpan, unfisting my hands from his shirt, the soft charcoal-colored fabric now scrunched and creased as though I’ve left my fury stamped all over it.
He doesn’t move away, and his features soften ever so slightly. His shoulders drop almost imperceptibly as though a burden was just heaved squarely on them, and I feel more than see a heaviness settle in his countenance.
“I came here because I needed your grandmother’s help finding my brother. She was my last hope.” His gaze is earnest, and his tone is softly pleading. “Lennox, will you please help me? I’m running out of time.”