“You sure argue a lot for a team,” I said under my breath, and she laughed.
Deirdre leaned back in her chair, still huffing with amusement. “Well, Miles is an asshole and thinks he knows everything, and he’s an alpha as well, which makes it worse. It’s important to put them in their place every now and then. It’s easier because we’re witches, not wolves, and they don’t know what to do with that.”
I put my head in my hands. “But do I have to... I mean, I might be his mate but I don’t know if I’m... if I can...”
“Again, this is something you should talk with Henry about,” she said. “But my advice would be to relax about it. He’s not going to push you into anything you don’t want. He’s not like that. Henry isn’t the overbearing dick that Miles is, and even then... when I needed Miles to back off, he sensed it. They know, Ophelia. I don’t know how, but they can sense when it’s too much and you need space. And sometimes—God, don’t ever tell Miles this—sometimes they know a little better what you need than you do.”
I could tell from the twist of her mouth that she hated admitting it, and it was enough to make me laugh, too. “If you ever piss me off, I’m holding that in my back pocket to tell your mate. Just in case.”
“I know how to hide bodies,” she said, and even though she was smiling, I figured the glint in her eyes revealed the truth.
I leaned my head against the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “This is very strange. I never thought that I would... You know, I just meant to stay here a few weeks, work on a better disguise, and figure out where I’d hide next. It was just a stopping point so I could throw Rocko off my scent, then move on to somewhere else. I never thought I might actually stay here.”
She made a thoughtful noise, then got up to retrieve a book from one of the many shelves. “Then we ought to work some more on your magic. I had some thoughts about what might help you after you lost control this afternoon. Obviously emotions play a part, but I think the biggest factor is you being afraid of your magic.”
The conversational whiplash left me reeling. “What’s that?”
“You’re afraid of your power and what you might inadvertently do,” she said. Deirdre handed me the slim volume, some kind of memoir or diary. “I’m guessing when you were very young, something bad happened when your power manifested.”
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.
