I motion for her to sit in the circle with me, and she holds the child in her lap. Up close, he’s even cuter than I thought initially. His snout is short and rounded, and his wings are soft and leathery, like a bat’s. He hasn’t grown horns yet, but his claws are already sharp, as are his teeth.
“Watch out,” Mary warns me softly. “He bites.”
“That’s fine,” I say, stroking the dragonling’s back. “He’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she says. “How does this work?”
I sit cross-legged opposite her and offer her my hand. “I’ll take the power from you, if that’s okay? I’ll only need a small bit, hopefully, and just to heal him, nothing more.”
We try to give Ben a sip of the healing infusion, but he’s not very cooperative. He splashes the tea all over his mom’s jeans, and I snort out a laugh at his outraged squawk.
“Yeah, it doesn’t taste great, does it, buddy?”
Mary offers me a grateful, if tentative smile. “He’s much better behaved when he’s a boy, not a dragon, I swear.”
The little one’s flailing helps lighten the mood, and I use the moment to connect with his mother’s magic. Her power is shimmering teal, a beautiful, rich color that’s in contrast with her plain clothes and fearful manner. I take a small pinch of magic from her, then focus on Ben, who stills at the sensation of magic entering his body. He lets out a yelp, then quiets down as his mother holds him closer.
I work with my eyes shut, sending the magic flowing through him. I urge the bone to knit together, fusing the shards and soothing the pain. Now that I’ve done this a couple of times, it becomes easier to direct the energy to the right place, even if I’m still not surehowall of this works. But that’s how magic is—there are very few rules. My analytical mind isn’t too happy about that, but for now, I’ll have to make do. I’d love to visit one of the great libraries that some covens are rumored to have. Supposedly, witches have gathered and passed down books and scrolls for centuries.
I sigh, knowing it’ll likely never happen.
The healing energy fades, and I open my eyes to find Mary and Ben both staring at me. Ben is a human boy again and promptly sticks his fingers in his mouth. He watches me with blue eyes so like his mother’s. Mary gasps and touches his leg. The boy giggles, squirming in her lap, completely naked.
“Thank you,” she whispers and clutches him close. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
I wave it off, though exhaustion seeps into my bones. “It’s fine. He would have healed on his own anyway, I just sped up the process.”
“Let’s do an x-ray to be sure,” Nurse MacLeod says, steering Mary into the next room. She looks over her shoulder at me and winks.
Who would have thought?
I sweep up the remains of the circle and extinguish the candle and the incense. When I straighten up from putting my things away, the room spins around me.
“Whoa.” I put out a hand and catch myself against a filing cabinet. “Not good.”
I should probably call one of the guys to walk me back to the Lodge, but they have enough to worry about. I can make my own way there, and I don’t want to be a burden to them all the time. I wave goodbye to Nurse MacLeod and Mary. Ben doesn’t acknowledge me. He’s playing with the stethoscope and munching on a banana. I guess he’ll be fine after all.
Every step through the gathering dusk is a chore. My feet feel leaden, and my breaths make pale clouds in front of my face. It’s freezing, so I tuck my hands in my pockets and trudge on. Just a little farther.
A bramble snags my parka, and I twist to disentangle myself, but the movement is too quick, so I lose my balance. I topple over and land on a heap of wet needles. The ground is cold but soft.
I blink wearily. Maybe if I rest, some of my power will return. I pull my hat lower over my ears and zip up my parka to my chin. I glance up to find the moon rising above the treetops, yellow and pockmarked and so huge.
Then I close my eyes.
Just for a minute.
Fourteen
Ty
I knockon the door to Aiden’s office.
“Come in,” he mutters, barely audible through the wood.
I push open the door and find him sitting behind his desk, poring over fishing boat brochures. His wavy hair is unusually messy, and he has his shirt sleeves pushed up so his muscular forearms are exposed. He looks like a man with a shit ton of work to complete—only he should be outside, hauling lumber, not doing paperwork.
“Hey, do you have a minute?” I ask.
