Page 58 of Possession

Let me die, and he would be free to act on it.

Yet, when presented with the opportunity, he turned it away. He saved me because, according to him, he wants me to die on his own terms. But that doesn’t make sense either. If he wanted to kill me, he could murder me from the inside out; it would take half of a thought with the power he has.

Aris’ steps slow. I know he can hear what I’m thinking. Why isn’t he saying anything?

I don’t like the thought of using Henry, I decide to say, choosing my words carefully. If he’s hiding something, it’s for a reason; if I ask what that reason is, it could set him off. Release a sliver of that anger he’s been nursing, and down the drain I go.

We stop outside of the living room. From the door, I can see Henry flipping through a book, his back to us.

Talk to him, Mary. Aris says gently.

He’s offering control, just like that?I almost ask if he’s all right.

He doesn’t say anything but lightly pushes me to the front. It feels like I’m being plucked from bed while half-asleep, carried and set down somewhere else. I’m so surprised by what he’s done that I stumble forward once I have control of my feet.

Henry instantly turns at the noise, wrinkled brow smoothing when he sees it’s just me. “Mary!” he says pleasantly. With a flash of his grin, my worries dissipate, a different kind of nerves taking root in my stomach.

I’m walking towards him before I’m even aware that my feet are moving, only hesitating when I stand before him—where do I sit? On the couch, by him? Would that be presumptive

I take what I know is too long before finally sitting on the far end of the couch. When I feel brave enough to look at him again, I see that he’s still smiling, the ends of his lips twisting with humor.

“What have you been doing?” he asks.

I glance outside, then at a clock. Is it really only noon? “We were in the library,” I say.

Henry raises a brow. “The one behind the locked door?”

I pause, not having noticed a lock or Aris breaking one. “Maybe,” I said sheepishly.

“Huh,” is all he says with a shrug, stunning me with his tolerance. Just like that, he goes to return to his book.

With his attention off of me, it is much easier to study him. One of his tan hands holds a leather-bound book open while the other hangs off the back of the sofa, the muscle of his bicep protruding from the pressure. I watch him for a few moments more as he continues to read, unable to believe that he’s here. Not just that he’s here, but that’s here with me. He left his whole life.

Someone so friendly and amicable and handsome made such a sacrifice… for me.

“I can feel you looking at me,” says Henry suddenly, glancing at me with a grin.

I comb my brain, desperate for something, anything, to say to justify my staring—to justify my presence. What I end up saying is, “Do all wizards need wands?”

His head tilts to the side, sticking a thumb in his book to mark his page as he focuses his attention on me entirely. “Why do you ask?” asks Henry.

“Just… wondering.” I think of Dominachion vanishing the night of the gala in an act of magic, though he spoke no words and didn’t appear to cast a spell. I think then of Cera, who just touched the stone on my amulet and changed it entirely. If that kind of magic is possible without wands, why use them?

A thought occurs to me. We could try to find Cera. She altered the amulet—maybe she could do it again.

People like her cannot easily be found. Another nuisance of magic, I’m afraid.

As Henry contemplates answering this fairly straightforward question, I wonder if Cera could be summoned, and if Henry would be willing to help. Then again, she did murder one of his brother mages. He might not be too keen for contact.

“For some people, it is necessary,” Henry finally says. “For others, no. But there is a cost to that; the world has to remain balanced.”

Magic is a construct of order. The statement makes a little more sense now, but I still have so many questions. And the more that I learn, the more equipped I’ll be in dealing with my enemies.

Our enemies, Aris whispers.

I’m so excited, I hardly process his words. Maybe I could learn magic. I wouldn’t have to be powerless; I wouldn’t have to be the victim anymore. Pay the cost, get the power, and then…

Henry stops my thoughts with a shake of his head. “You don’t want to be part of this world, Mary,” he says, jovial manner evaporating. Suddenly, he’s as serious as I’ve ever seen him, words forceful and almost angry.

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