As a failed social mage, I’d lived through that moment of failure many, many times. I would reach for the magic, and it wasn’t there.
But I was using a different kind of magic now, and we had just spent half a day reading about manipulating magic to make mass, or at least the illusion of it. I steeled myself, focused, and reached again. There’s a hand there, I told myself. A thing with weight and mass, filled with the magic of the ley lines. At the same time, I tried to reach out and just barely skim the energy of the ley line. Not grab it, not get pulled in, just make the smallest possible connection.
When I tried again, our fingertips touched for a fraction of a second before sliding through again. Not the same icy electric feel of Gideon touching my cheek with his magic, but the warm softness of skin.
I stared at our hands for a second, unable to get my mind back into the state to try again—I was too shocked by the fact that it had worked. I had touched him.
When I turned to look at him, to point out that it had happened, I remembered that of course he was well aware.
More importantly, he was watching me with those dark, hungry eyes. “You’re really gonna do it, aren’t you? Hell, Sage, you’re the most talented mage I’ve ever known. It’s a fucking crime you spent so long not knowing it.”
He reached out as though to touch me again but pulled back before making contact, shaking his head. “It’s better when you do it. Not just any feeling, the right feeling. Like touching someone is supposed to feel.”
I shivered involuntarily. “Keep talking like that and I’ll get a big head.”
“Talking like I want to touch every part of you?” he asked, holding his hand up again. “Run these fingers over every part of your body while you writhe under my hands?”
My eyes slipped closed and my breathing went ragged, and for a moment all I could do was imagine exactly that.
Then I shook my head, took a deep breath, and turned back to the book. I couldn’t spend all my time thinking about what I wanted to do when I succeeded, or I never would.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I was practically buzzing by the time we got home. I’d wanted to try it right there in the store when I’d hit on what I thought was the right combination of spellwork—the spells that were going to make Gideon corporeal.
Was it a misuse of my power, focusing so much energy on making a ghost corporeal because I wanted to have sex?
Okay, no, I wanted to have sex with him specifically. It wasn’t like I was desperate and anyone would do. If that had been the case, I’d have said yes when David asked me out. Hell, they even superficially looked alike, all tall and blond and muscular. That, however, was where the similarity ended.
David was a sweet guy who always had a smile for anyone nearby, held open doors for old ladies, and always had something nice to say. Gideon handed out scowls like he had an unlimited supply and couldn’t talk to anyone but me.
None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the book where I’d found the answer, and the spell that was going to do what I wanted. It was called “lend form,” a sort of illusion spell where the caster gave a version of their own form to a human illusion. It wasn’t real, but it was close.
I had worried about the notion of using Gideon as a sex toy, because I didn’t want it to be one-sided. But he’d felt it earlier when I’d touched him. I had to have faith that my magic could do that too, even if it wasn’t an inherent part of the spell.
I had already done it once, so surely I could do it again.
Still, I wasn’t going to starve Fluke while on my quest for nookie, so the first thing I did when we got home was make dinner.
I did not bring the book to the table. I did, however, consider digging up my athame. It could help strengthen the ritual I was planning to do.
But no. I could handle this without that kind of crutch.
Probably.
After dinner and the dishes, I shoved the coffee table against the wall, Dad’s books sliding out of their neat pile into an equally neat array that looked like I had planned