“Drift back,” Vincent insisted again, louder this time.
The texture of his voice matched the same urgency that undercut her magic, tempting her to let go and discover just how far she could push herself. It was so compelling that she very nearly released the weight of responsibility that she carried, the one that always made her think through each and every action for fear of the consequences. But in the end, she couldn’t fall into the moment and forget.
“Enough!” Anne cried out, determined to gain sway over her power once more.
The moment she spoke a pulse of light flashed from her hands, pushing Vincent away and knocking all the clocks from their pegs. They crashed to the floor and filled the house with the unsettling sound of metal being twisted out of place.
Anne stood at the center of the wreckage, trying to catch her breath as the finalclick-click-clickof the clocks faded away.
“You’re holding back,” Vincent said accusingly as he raked a hand through his hair, causing the straight locks to stick up like spears.
Anne was startled by how much she missed the soft hue that had saturated his tone only a moment ago, but her shock gave way to a sense of relief at the iciness in his voice. It felt like a window had been thrown open in a hot house, letting in a bracing breeze that reminded her to put some space between them.
“That’s none of your business,” Anne hissed, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.
“Isn’t it?” Vincent spat back. “When you’ve come to my home asking—no,demanding—my help? When leaving my uncle’s Task unfinished will have an irreparable effect on the coven and it’s clear that working together is the only way?”
Anne tried to find a sharp retort, but Vincent’s words struck her to the core.
The only thing she could share in her defense was that she couldn’t control her powers yet, and that was something she most certainly wouldn’t admit. Not when she was the city’s Diviner and even the barest hint of vulnerability could have disastrous consequences.
“Why are you holding back?” Vincent repeated, his tone even stronger and more demanding than it had been before.
“I’mnot,” Anne said, but the lie was so obvious that the smell of burnt meringue instantly infused the air between them.
Vincent’s frown deepened as he drew in the scent, his eyes growing even colder than they’d been during their first encounter. Anne could practically feel the waves of distrust and suspicion radiating from him as he stepped away from her and surveyed the damaged clocks scattered around the room.
“If you’re worried about drifting too far beyond your magic’s control, I could anchor you,” Vincent said.
That final word instantly caused a spark of alarm to shoot down Anne’s spine.
When a witch worried that their powers might lure them away from what made them feel rooted, someone else could offer to ground them. Anne had been told that witches who wanted to be anchored didn’t give up any control over their magic. It was more like calling a friend back when they were about to teeter off the edge.
If Anne let Vincent anchor her, though, she’d have to open her mind to him, exposing her inner self in a way that she’d never done before. They’d lace their hands together, and once Anne lowered her defenses enough to let his magic touch hers, the hidden layers of her awareness would be revealed for him to see. Vincent wouldn’t know exactly what she was thinking, but he’d feel the pulse of her soul, tying his magic to hers long enough so that she would remember to stay rooted. It was an extraordinarily intimate act, one that would make it impossible for them to keep their distance.
Anne may have instinctually grasped Vincent’s wrist when searching for a source of steadiness only a moment ago, but she certainly wasn’t willing to consider letting him anchor her, no matter the strange pull she felt toward him.
“We can’t try again tonight anyway,” he sighed, clearly irritated by Anne’s silence. “The spirits will be too unfocused now to draw in.”
“It seems the clocks will need to be repaired before we try again,” Anne said as she touched one of the gears that had been thrown across the floor with the tip of her boot.
“We won’t be using them next time,” Vincent said, that thoughtful glint having already returned to his eyes.
“What are we going to use instead?” Anne asked, worried now by the excited edge in his voice.
“I think it’s best that you don’t know beforehand,” Vincent replied. “Since you have a tendency to linger too long on all the possible outcomes.”
“You think you know me so well?” Anne retorted, none too pleased that he’d decided to keep her in the dark about the plan that was obviously taking shape in his mind, or that he seemed to have figured her out so quickly.
“Well enough,” Vincent said, his gaze snapping back to hers.
They remained that way for what felt like an unbearable amount of time, her piercing blue eyes melting into the amber depths of his, with neither one of them willing to be the first to break the spell.
“I don’t trust you,” Anne finally said, hoping that it would rattle Vincent enough to look away.
“I’m not surprised,” Vincent replied. “How can you when you don’t even trust yourself?”
The words stung so deeply that Anne found her hand reaching toward her heart. She stopped it just in time, though, moving to clasp the clock that was still pinned to her blouse, comforted by the familiar way it warmed beneath her touch.
