Page 49 of Possession

Quite a performance.

“What… are you saying?” I ask, briefly disregarding Aris as I study Henry. At some point during his impassioned speech, he’s come closer, practically hovering over me now, while I’ve leaned into my pillow to create some distance, uncertain what to expect next from him.

Noting my discomfort, he backs away with bunching shoulders, so tense that even he notices; he brings a hand to briefly rub at a shoulder muscle before collapsing back in his seat unceremoniously. The display is so undignified and emotional that I don’t know how to respond to what is clear distress.

“I—I’m saying,” he says with some difficulty, “I’m saying that I care about you, that I want to help you. I made a mistake, and I’m trying to correct it. Please, let me help you.”

He sounds so tired. So sad.

And he looks it, too, with pursed lips and furrowed brows betraying genuine concern and regret. Blue eyes shine with a thin sheen that could give to tears. I can’t imagine that he would cry for me, over this, but his voice did in fact crack in some places.

I try to match the animated, manic man in front of me with the blank-faced guard who so often disregarded me. No conversation… because he wasn’t allowed to, not because he didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t help me, because he simply wasn’t able.

But he wants to help now.

Do you seek validation so desperately that you’re actually falling for this second-rate manipulation?

I let out a breath sharp enough to hurt my abdomen, which is unfortunately too brief a distraction from my annoyance. Is it really so impossible to accept that there are good people in this world?

Humans do what benefits themselves. How does it benefit him to help you, in any way?

Maybe it’ll make him feel good about himself!

You can’t seriously be that naive.

You know what, I don’t think you should be the one talking about naivete and falling for tricks. Last I remember, you were fooled by your own followers.

His temper flares like a furnace suddenly turned to its highest setting, but I don’t care. He can be as mad as he wants.

But what if he’s right? This could be a ruse. Then again, this level of passion isn’t easy to fake. He should get an Oscar if he’s lying.

“How would you help us?” I ask carefully.

“There’s a few things we can do, but…” For the first time, Henry glances at the door he closed when he first entered. When he turns back, some anxiety has entered his expression. “It would be smart if we could talk about it on the road.”

Now I cast my own glance at the door. “How much time do we have before the other mages come?” I ask apprehensively.

“Not long.”

I glance at my stomach. “I can’t exactly walk.”

“I can heal you.”

A shoot of envy rushes through me: Aris’. In no universe is he okay with someone having power that he doesn’t. I try to gauge his mood, but it’s like he’s turned away, staring at a wall. And he says I pout.

“Okay,” I say maybe too eagerly. “How long does it take? What would you need?”

He smiles. “Most of it is saying the right words with the right intention. May I?” Henry asks, gesturing to my wound.

I nod and try to relax as he peels back away layers of fabric, making quick work. His fingers are warm, soft like a musician’s and lacking any callouses from labor. I try not to shudder when he sets his whole hand on my gauze pad. The pressure is light and more comforting than I expected it to be, reminding me of Aris when lounging by my heart.

In Henry’s spare hand is his wand: a long, thin black stick not unlike what magicians use.

You don’t know magic. He might say that he’s healing you while actually putting a generational curse on your family.

My eyes shut in annoyance. And why would he do that?

Because he’s a little wizard.

---