want me to find?” I ask.
“What secret alliance did Charles make?” Oliver has resumed his perch on the edge of my desk. His shoes lightly tap against the front.
I focus on the book and channel my energy. With a wave of my hand, old-fashioned words appear on the far wall. Before I can stop myself, I clap my hands in satisfaction. Retrieving physical objects by imagining them in my mind and making them appear from thin air is much easier than uncovering abstract ideas and information. But this…this was surprisingly easy.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Oliver chides. “You have no idea what any of it means.”
A scowl forms on my face. He’s right. It’s like reading a code you half-understand.
“Translate it,” my guard orders.
My head tilts to the side and I study the words, before turning my gaze toward Oliver. “I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do.”
The words taunt me. I narrow my eyes and lift my hand, carefully pointing my finger in the direction of the text. What does this say? I think.
Nothing happens and I purse my lips.
“Find the source of your magic, Lark. It’s there, you just have to tap it.”
I open my mind and like a tsunami, sadness overwhelms me. Someone nearby is crying, and like a starved child, I gobble up the feeling, churning it in my soul. My body hums with magic.
This time, when I swish my hand, the text rearranges itself on the wall.
Charles Channing and Wang Fong formed an alliance to cut the Northern Society from diplomatic channels.
“Why?” I ask aloud. More text appears.
Officially, to preserve the meager resources left after the Long Winter. Unofficially, to force the problematic witches of the North to other societies where they could be better monitored. The answer covers the wall in a delicate script.
Oliver slides off the desk and touches the wall where the words appear. “So, you just ask a question, and if there’s an answer, you’ll be able to find it.”
“But first I have to know what to ask.” I sigh. There’s so much I don’t know.
My office is a jumbled mess of old-fashioned books, weird metal objects, and obsolete technology that Oliver has had me retrieve. A room full of old, useless things.
Things.
“I know that look.” There’s a playfulness to Oliver’s voice and he grins. “What are you thinking?”
“Is it possible to retrieve living things? Like animals or flowers?” Or people, I think.
“No.”
I must look disappointed because Oliver adds, “Be happy it isn’t. Can you imagine if Malin could summon you whenever she wanted? You’d be in the shower and—pop—you’re suddenly in her office, naked, dripping water?” He laughs.
“Uhhh…yeah. I think I’ll pass.” I shudder. “Does it just not work? Has anyone tried?”
“It doesn’t work and I’m not sure why.” He stands and stretches. “Are you tired? We’ve been at this for awhile.”
“Not even close. I could do this all day long.” My lips turn into a wide smile. The more I tap into my magic, the more alive I feel.
“Well, I’m done.” Oliver makes a half-wave motion and the book and the words disappear. “I promised Fio a trip to the symphony tonight.”
“Fio?” I ask.
“My mate, Fiona.”
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that Oliver is mated. After all, he works for the State. But for some reason, I have a hard time imagining him having a life outside of being a guard.
“Perhaps I can meet Fiona some time,” I say, politely.
Oliver rubs the faint stubble on his chin, as if what I’ve said amuses him. “I’m sure Fio would be honored to meet you.”
A tight smile stretches across my face. I keep forgetting I’m no longer Lark Greene, student. I’m now a States woman. And an extremely powerful one, at least among the Dark witches. Once I was simply fodder for the gossip feeds Kyra loves, now, people are honored to meet me.
I question their judgment.
“You should go. Before Fiona begins to worry about you,” I say while trying to force my voice to sound upbeat. “I don’t want her to think I overwork you.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Oliver says. “Tell Annalise I’ll ping her tonight, will you?”
“Sure.”
Oliver dips his head, steps forward and disappears. A wave of jealousy washes over me. I should be going home to Beck. To our home where I can listen to him tell me about his non-exciting day as a junior diplomat. We’d have tea and maybe watch the wallscreen. We’d be normal like Oliver and Fio.
Instead, I’m sitting alone in my office, waiting for my