Page 47 of Dream Weaver
“I have magic. I know I do. But I’ve always done my best to suppress it.”
Cooper nodded along, while Ingo’s look was uncomprehending.
“Why wouldn’t you use it?”
“Because it comes from my father, and I refuse to be anything like him. In any way. No matter what it takes.” My voicecracked a little. Then I jutted my chin. “If you met him, you’d understand.”
To Ingo’s credit, he didn’t ask. He sure looked like he wanted to, though.
And, damn. I found myself burning to explain. To finally get it off my chest.My mother took off when I was a baby, and unlike my sisters, I didn’t have a great dad to fill in the gaps.
Lots of gaps. Chasms, more like.
But expanding on all that would be complaining, and I’d vowed to move on from bitterness. Claire deserved better. So I stuck to the point.
“But sometimes, a little magic slips through. Without my noticing, even. That’s what must have happened when I made that ax for Kevin.” I gulped. “It’s been happening more lately.”
Cooper’s expression was impossible to decipher, and I ached to read his thoughts.
Ingo leaned closer. “What kind of magic?”
I kept my eyes on his. How much did I dare reveal to a man whose job required him to report on supernatural activity? On the other hand, Ingo was a good man who’d chosen to overlook a few things when it came to the interests of our family versus the interests of his job. But how much could he afford to disregard?
“Elemental magic,” I finally whispered. “You know — earth, air, fire, water.”
“All four?” Cooper asked, looking pained.
Oh, I was definitely pushing his limits here.
“Just earth…and a little bit of fire.” I did my best to make it sound insignificant.
“Earth, as in…?” Cooper asked.
“Let me guess,” Ingo interjected. “Metals.”
I nodded, keeping my eyes down.
“A hephto… er, hephaesto—” Ingo struggled with the official term.
“Hephaestid,” I whispered.
The word stemmed from Hephaestus, the Greek god of fire, blacksmithing, and forges. I loved the idea of a god dedicated to blacksmiths, but I’d always denied having any such powers.
Until lately.
Ingo dropped his voice to a whisper. “So, you think some magic slipped into the ax you made?”
“It must have,” I admitted.
Over the years, I’d erected a brick wall against the magic that pulsed inside me. But some snuck through, especially when I was worked up. And I’d definitely been worked up the day I’d made Kevin’s ax.
Lately, though, that magic had been flowing more freely. And, yikes. What did that say about the axes I was making now? All I intended was for them to be effective in firefighting — but what if someone used them for a different purpose?
Happily, Ingo seemed focused on Kevin’s ax…for now.
“So, what exactly is that ax capable of?” he asked.
I bit my lip. “I’m not sure.”
