Don't Hex and Drive (Stay a Spell #2) - Juliette Cross Page 0,100

with intensity.

“I’ve heard of Conduits who could do this, but it’s a rare gift, Isadora.”

It was true. Magic-infused onto paper could make spells more powerful, could render the bearer of such a spell formidable just from possessing it. I’d given all of my sisters, my parents, and my grandmother incantations of protection the Christmas after I figured out I held this power. If they recited the incantation on a regular basis, they inhaled my magic from the pages, my energy. It was a unique way of transference of magic. One I didn’t advertise because I didn’t want any extra attention from the witch community. I preferred to remain in the background.

“I’ll bet you keep this all to yourself, don’t you?” he asked, as if reading my thoughts. “Except for family.”

“I don’t want the attention,” I defended.

“I know you don’t,” he said softly. “You don’t want the world to see too much of you.” His voice was a whispering caress, searing along my skin. “But I see you.”

I glanced at him sharply. “What do you see?”

“A lovely woman who knows the meaning of humility and kindness and true beauty.”

I swallowed hard, unable to look away.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, holding my gaze as he asked softly, “Can I hold the letter you’re sending to your mother?”

With a stiff nod, I picked it up and set in his hand.

He made a soft sound in his throat, something like surprise. “Incredible.”

“What?” I asked, glancing at him in the mirror. “What do you feel?”

“Magic. Your love for her.” His gaze softened, holding me with reverence. With awe. “You’re so amazing.”

“Me?” I huffed, trying not to let his beauty steal my breath. But it was so, so hard. My God, he was gorgeous.

“Yes, you.” He licked his lips. “So quiet. So unassuming. Lingering behind the bold front of your sisters when you hold such power in that pretty body of yours. That pretty mind. That pretty heart.”

My pulse throbbed in my veins, adrenaline spiking at his description of me. I couldn’t speak.

“Write my name,” he commanded softly.

My gaze sharpened on his in the mirror. I shook my head. The thing about this type of magic was that it didn’t always obey your will. It wasn’t just energy that poured onto the page, but emotions. A Conduit was most closely related to Auras, the magic wanting to escape and heal with power and heart and soul. Sometimes, my magic cut loose from me, spilling more than I intended.

“Please, Isadora,” he begged, his brow furrowing in a pained expression. “Write my name.”

I couldn’t deny him, no matter how afraid I was of what he might discover. I pulled a blank piece of the thick parchment from the drawer and tore off a strip at the top. Sitting up straight and leaning closer to the desk, I lifted my quill pen from the inkwell and tapped it on the edge to release any loose drops from the nib.

After a concentrated inhale and exhale, I put the nib to paper and looped a flourishing D with an extravagant tail, my heart pounding hard, my magic pulsing harder. I didn’t think of any one thing at all as I scrawled the rest of his first name with purposeful loops and curves, not daring to write the second, my hand already shaking. I set the quill pen in the inkwell and picked up the paper, blowing to dry the ink, noticing the pale glow of my skin, my magic pumping hard enough to shine.

Sweat broke out on the nape of my neck. I was afraid of what he’d pull from the parchment. He was a Stygorn after all. What could his senses read? But it was just his name. Not much to go on. I hoped.

“Here you go,” I tried to say lightly, passing him the paper, then turned back to the mirror.

Pressing my hands between my bare knees to keep them still, I watched his reflection as he held the torn piece of paper. I couldn’t see his eyes, his head bent as he stared down, his long hair hiding his face, but his shoulders started to rise and fall. His chest heaved deep breaths, and he was so quiet as he swept his index finger over his inked name. Almost with reverence.

With his head still down, he stood, folded the piece of paper, and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans. Then he moved behind me, one hand sweeping lightly to my throat, his fingers