Page 12 of A Winding Wave of Magic
None of that was necessarily surprising. Whatwasshocking, however, was the clarity of his conscious thought in a way I had never experienced with anyone. That, and the sudden flood of my thoughts and emotions mingling with his.
It never went both ways.
Had it?
He yanked his hand away as if he had been stung. I stared down at my arm and then back up at him.
“What did you just do?” I demanded, feeling the blood drain from my face. I knew what it felt like to have other seers read my mind, but never other kinds of people, fae or not. I was the one who did that. Not them.
His face seemed similarly colorless. “Nothing,” he whispered before clearing his throat. “And you?”
I swallowed. My throat was suddenly hoarse. “N-nothing.”
We stared at each other wordlessly while the sounds of the busy street seemed to fall away. A new gust of wind shook the little car, but our gazes remained locked like the snow now falling outside had no effect on the heat caused by that sudden touch.
I looked down at the sorcerer’s hand again. It was so strange. I didn’t know him from Adam, but part of me wanted him to do it again. Touch me. See me.
What would he do with those thoughts? What would it feel like for someone to See me as I Saw him?
“At least let me buy you a cup of tea,” I said. “But only because I’ll probably end up with f-frostbite if I don’t get something warm. Can you wait here while I change?”
He continued to stare, though his brow crinkled in a slight frown. It seemed to be his default expression. Grouchy or not, he was still very attractive.
“I—no,” he said, suddenly abrupt. “No, I don’t think so.”
He didn’t make any move to go, though. Or gesture that I should.
“Well, I’m not going to invite you up, if that’s what you’re wondering,” I told him. “I’m also a very…private…person.”
As much as my curiosity was piqued, my home was my sanctuary. I meant to keep it that way.
The man looked at me even closer somehow. There was something black in the depths of those mossy green eyes. Something steely, but with a strange heat too. It was unnerving. Last time my seer’s gaze caused him to look away, but this time, I found I was the one who couldn’t keep eye contact.
“Wise of you,” he said finally. “I trust you can get yourself inside?”
I closed my eyes. For someone who could read people’s minds, I was extraordinarily terrible at reading social cues. Of course, he didn’t want to get tea or come up. To him, I was a pathetic excuse for a fae. A sad, crippled witch, like a puppy missing its hind legs. Something to pity.
“Yes,” I said, unable to mask my bitterness. “Thank you again for, well, for…”
“Saving your life?” he suggested with an ironic lift of his brow. “You’re welcome.”
I scowled. “I suppose so.” I opened my door. “All right, then. I…” I trailed off, unsure of just what else I should say.
“Quite all right,” said the man. “Good day, Ms. Whelan.”
I frowned. “Goodbye, then.”
And on that strangely formal note, I got out of the car and hurried to my building when a gust of frigid wind swept up the street and froze my sopping clothes all over again. I didn’t look back at the sound of the car pulling away from the curb or the growl of the engine as he sped away.
I needed warmth. I needed fire. Because once again that day, for completely different reasons, I needed to clear my head.
4
THE PACKAGE
Gone is all the glory of the race of Lir,
Gone and long forgotten like a dream of fever:
