Page 88 of A Winding Wave of Magic
Those green eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”
Wisely, I didn’t, partly because while I was clean, Jonathan was still a complete mess. Black soot streaked from his right temple to his shirt collar, and half his right sleeve was burned away. The rest of his clothes that weren’t stained with smoke and soot were wrinkled and wet from the storm and the surf.
“Your turn,” I said, nodding toward the bathroom.
“Later.” For once he didn’t fidget. Didn’t try to fix things or rearrange a coaster or anything else.
We sat in silence until the questions in my head began to bubble up all over again.
“Did you know from the beginning? Did you know that it was him?” I asked finally.
I knew he did. But I wanted to hear him say it.
Jonathan opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, but then seemed to deflate. “I suspected it might have been,” he admitted. “Although there are any number of people who have wanted to know where the Lost Mage was and find her Secret.”
“Did she tell you what it was? The Secret?”
He shook his head. “No, she didn’t, and even if I had tried to probe, I wouldn’t have gotten very far. Penny was the most powerful shield of her generation. It’s why she was chosen in the first place. Once she asked me to be her executor, she still wouldn’t tell me where she was. It was like she knew I would try; every time I’d attempt to book a plane ticket or hotel reservation, something would happen. Flights would be canceled or I’d be called away on urgent business. I’d even come up with reasons not to, even of my own accord. I know it was her.”
I snorted. That sounded like Gran, all right. I could think of more than one instance where I had set out to do one thing during the day and ended up doing something completely different. Decided to go to a frat party in college only to find myself at the library reading old Irish poetry. Wanted to gosurfing on a particularly stormy day only to discover that all the beaches were closed until further notice. Despite all her warnings against mind bending, she seemed to skirt that line more than once. Shield indeed.
I worried the edges of my robe. “I’m sorry.”
Jonathan looked up. “Good gods, Cass, for what?”
“For forcing you out. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. Goddess, Jonathan, I’m so confused. And I never should have tried to…you know…”
I blushed, remembering my awkward attempt at kissing him—was that really only a few hours ago?—and then tossing him out in the rain in his bare feet. My head hung in shame, causing the towel to fall to the floor and my tangled black hair into my face.
When I looked through it, Jonathan was crouched in front of me. He reached out and tucked a wet lock behind my ear. Sympathy pulsed there. But nothing more. I didn’t think.
“I’m just glad I got there in time,” he said quietly.
Somehow, I managed a smile. “Thanks. So…a bobcat, huh?”
He pursed his lips together and looked away, a mild flush rising up his pale skin. “Lynx, actually. And you’re one of the few people in the world who know that now, so I’d appreciate it if you could keep that information to yourself.”
I nodded. “Of course. But why the secret?” Something else occurred to me. “Are you actually a shifter, not a sorcerer? Or can you just transmogrify temporarily? Like commanding the rain the way you did? Do you have other unusual talents, like your ability to receive my thoughts, and?—”
I was interrupted when Jonath stood, his face reddened even more. “I—am. A shifter, that is, of a sort. But also a sorcerer. And—it’s…a complicated thing.”
I frowned. Though we intermixed all the time, I’d always been told a fae’s sort depended on their manifestation. Youcould have a mother who was a seer and a father who was a sorcerer, but you’d only inherit one of their powers. It was sort of like eye color that way.
Or so I thought.
“We’re a special breed, Father and I.”
Oh. I blinked up at his wry tone. Shape-shifters were often referred to as mongrels or mutts by other fae. Perhaps he assumed I was one of those who held that common prejudice. It wouldn’t be unreasonable.
“I don’t—it doesn’t matter to me what you are,” I told him.
Relief seemed to relax his broad shoulders. “No?”
I shrugged. “You’re some kind of cat wizard who can command the rain to fall harder. I’m a dysfunctional seer who goes crazy with a bad touch. We all have our quirks.”
His mouth—that irritatingly full mouth—twitched. “So we do.”
“Besides, being a lynx half the time is pretty damn cool. And now it makes sense.”
