Page 20 of Wolf, Willow, Witch
Her stomach dropped. She quirked an eyebrow, masking a surge of adrenaline with a fake laugh.Don’t, she thought, chastising herself.Don’t let him see you weak.She sidestepped him in the doorway, but before she could brush past him, Lincoln grasped her elbow.
“It’s foolish to underestimate me,” he said, low and rasped.
Tehlor flashed a grin and leaned closer, mouth inches from his chin. “Uwu,” she teased, mockingly high-pitched. “Ara-ara—”
Lincoln palmed her face and gave a gentle shove. He laughed, boyish and genuine, and she did, too. Laughter came too easily, felt too natural. She cleared her throat and pointed at the stairs.
“We’ll try a transference spell. Nothin’ extreme,” she said, nodding, convincing herself. “You good with that?”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’m good with that.”
“Good. Eat something. Can’t have you sleeplessandfatigued.”
Tehlor strode down the hall to her bedroom. She expected to hear footsteps on the stairs, but when she looked over her shoulder, Lincoln was still there, watching her walk away.
Silver sunlight slipped through the skinny cracks in the blinds, striping the living room windowsill.
Lincoln lit a pillar candle and placed it on the floor beside three others. He’d dressed in a basic long-sleeve and denim and his socked feet made annoying, scuffing sounds on the carpet beneath the coffee table. Tehlor eyed him from the kitchen, stirring cinnamon into a cup of cabernet. He plopped down inside the makeshift chalk circle and offered his hand to Gunnhild. The rat crawled into his palm, and he lifted her up. Tehlor shot Gunnhild a narrow look—what the fuck are you doing—but her familiar simply perched on Lincoln’s shoulder, cleaned her whiskers, and played at innocence.
“Let’s not call any demons today, all right,” Tehlor said, dropping a cardamom star into the reddish liquid. “This is a transference spell. Me borrowing from you.”
Lincoln rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know what a transference spell is.”
“Well, you’re sure good attaking, hence the demon, murder, brujería bullshit. Just want to make sure we’re on the same page,” she teased, and brought the charged wine into the living room, setting it in the center of the circle beside her boline. She went to her knees and sat back on her ankles, flicking her gaze from Gunnhild to Lincoln. She pointed at his necklace. “C’mon, take it off. I need you raw and wolfy, Michael Corvin.”
“One more dog joke and I’ll drown you in a lake.”
“That was a werewolf joke,” she corrected, scoffing. Lincoln cocked his head, confused. She furrowed her brow. “Underworld? Kate Beckinsale? The vinyl onesie—really?” She gaped when he shook his head. “Are you, like,gaygay? Do you evenlikewomen?”
“I’m whatever the new bisexual is.”
“Pansexual and bisexual are a little different—”
“Please, for the love of God, can we do the spell?” He stripped away his necklace. The cloaking spell peeled up and off like ash. All at once, the human mask Lincoln donned shimmered and shook as if a camera had gone in and out of focus, rapidly. She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to it—watching him come apart, come back together.
Tehlor snickered. “Fine, fine. Okay, I’ll need that,” she said, pointing at his hand.
Lincoln scooted closer and offered his palm.
She inhaled, reaching inward, gathering energy, and brought her boline to his skin. Blood seeped beneath the white-handled blade, flowing from an insignificant wound. A tiny line opened on the heel of her palm, too, following sharp steel against his skin. Carefully, she took his hand and smeared blood across her face. His thumb clipped her mouth, accidentally intimate. She watched his ears twitch, and his pupils expand, and resisted the urge to sink her teeth into his wrist.
Concentration took the utmost importance in any transference spell but being near Lincoln made focusing difficult.Get it together. Tehlor tunneled toward the source of his magic, sifting through their shared, sticky threads until she found the place where his energy collided with her own. A small, surprised breath caught in Lincoln’s throat. He snatched her bloody hand and squeezed. Suddenly, Tehlor’s vision blurred, quivered, changed. She saw her own face, streaked red, eyes clouded white, lips moving around soft spellwork. She’d stepped into Lincoln’s mind, and he’d stepped into hers, and their conjoined magic thrashed and collided.
Let me in.
She flipped her hand over in his and gripped, palm to palm, lifeline to lifeline. He was chaos where it mattered. Wild, debauched, and fucking terrifying. His spirit snapped at her, sharp and metallic, like a sword pulled from cinders. She couldn’t shy away from him. Couldn’t deflect or shield herself. The entire point of the spell was to absorb a piece of him, but she didn’t know how to take what he wouldn’t give. Vorðr be damned, Lincoln Stone was not simple, or gentle, or weak.
Tehlor gritted her teeth and grappled for his other hand, finding purchase on his forearm. She rose to her knees and loomed over him, yanking out of his hold to seize his face between her hands.
Command him.But she knew better.
“Blessed by Fenrir, keeper of old, I ask for assistance,” she hissed, inhaling the breath he exhaled. “Give unto me that which you do not need, guardian of Valhalla.” Her tongue almost tripped, but she forced the words out. “How I beg of thee.”
Lincoln made a growlish noise, like laughter but worse. He gripped her hipbones, held on, and all at once, like a circuit blowing, his power surged through her. She saw her jaw slacken, watched her eyes close, and made a point to thrust her soul toward him, to be present and attentive, to hook her thorny spirit around the ichor he poured into her. She came back to herself the same way a person woke from fainting, except quicker. The fuzzy edges of reality cracked into place. Her heart hammered, drumming in her ears, elbows, stomach. She felt sick for a moment, but the nausea passed as soon as the room stopped spinning.
Well, fuck. Not your grandma’s transference spell, I guess.
Tehlor recognized vitality. It soaked her bones—raw, unkempt power—and like a dying hearth stoked with fresh flint, her magic flared red hot.
