A knot of emotion tied up my throat. “There was a fire.”
She nodded, no judgment on her face. She spoke so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t help but listen, couldn’t help but put aside the shame and regret to face the evidence in front of us. “That happens frequently, you know. Any coven worth its salt—and your parents, such as they were—should have been prepared for that. When did your power manifest?”
“I was three,” I said quietly, diverting most of my attention to the book so I wouldn’t have to keep meeting her too-sharp gaze. She saw everything, saw right through me.
Deirdre made an impressed noise. “That’s very young. So they weren’t prepared, and hadn’t prepared you, and when something bad happened, you internalized it as you being bad.”
“Well, I started the fire, and...”
“You were a child,” she said. Deirdre’s dark eyebrows drew together in disapproval. “Your parents should have been ready and supportive. You’re not considered responsible for your magic until you’re at least sixteen, darlin’, and some people it takes until eighteen or older. It’s a matter of training and experience, not age. Your parents bear the responsibility for everything that happened—that fire, every accident after, every issue you have now. It’s on them and whatever stupid coven they brought you to.”
I couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe. “But I can control it. Sometimes.”
“I know,” she said, though from her tone she didn’t really believe me. “You put a lot of energy into trying to control it. But you’re white-knuckling it, holding on as tight as you can. The problem with that is that eventually you slip. Your grip is disrupted or you’re surprised or you just get too tired, and you’ve never been taught how to manage it appropriately. So it spirals out of control, and makes you feel worse, and so you try harder to control it, and the cycle starts over.”
I stared at her, the book forgotten in my hands. Holy Bell and Book, what if she was right? Not that I wanted to just cede responsibility for all my mistakes over to someone else, but it would explain so much... Every time I’d zapped Henry, I’d been at the end of my rope. Tired and uncertain, uneasy or afraid. And then he’d jumped out at me or something else distracted me, and it was like a tsunami growing out at sea. By that point, I was powerless to stop it.
I struggled to find words, my vision blurring.
Deirdre didn’t make me say anything; she was a lot kinder than her mate, at least in a lot of ways. “So what we’re going to do is start with simple exercises to reintroduce you to your magic. It’s frustrating and annoying and remarkably juvenile, but we’ve gotta start somewhere. You have to learn that you can control it in a more fluid, flexible way. It’s not a battle, Ophelia, between you and the power. It should be a dance, a give and take. You’re the vessel through which the power moves, but you determine how it is shaped and channeled. Does that make sense?”
I nodded, since I still couldn’t speak, and clutched the book like a lifeline. Maybe it was. Maybe this was the way to finally being able to put aside being a horrible burden to everyone around me. If I could control my magic, there wouldn’t be nearly as much need to hide away, to run. I could defend myself, and maybe... maybe Henry would defend me, too.
I took a deep breath and sat forward. “Okay. Let’s get started.”
A slow smile spread across her face, a genuine smile, and Deirdre rubbed her hands together in anticipation. “You’re going to hate me for this, Ophelia, but it gets so much better. You and I... we can run this city.”
I laughed, since it was a ridiculous notion, and it didn’t occur to me until much later that the other witch hadn’t.
Chapter 28
Henry
Henry hated every second of loping through the night, searching for more trouble in the form of coyotes and rogue wolves. There just weren’t any traces of them, not a hint of scent, other than the pawprints and tracks randomly scattered around their territory. He at least got into a quick scuffle with Silas, to make it clear that Henry didn’t appreciate the other wolf’s teasing and attention to Ophelia.
Silas brushed mud off his clothes and raked his hair back, rolling his eyes. “Come on, man, everyone can see it but you. She’s yours. I just wanted to