“Nas? Nastasya?”
I blinked, focusing quickly on the face of one of my teachers, Anne. Her round blue eyes were expectant, her mink-brown hair in a shiny bob above her shoulders.
“Um…” I fiddled with the scarf around my neck. What was her question again? Oh. Right. “Marigold,” I said, naming the familiar orange flower on the card Anne was holding up. Flash cards, designed to help us students learn the endless facts about Every. Single. Thing. in the physical, metaphysical, and spiritual world. For starters.
Next to me, Brynne uncrossed her long legs under our table and recrossed them. I could feel her vibrating with the urge to jump in—she knew way more than I; everyone here did—but she managed to keep her mouth shut.
“Properties?” Anne was not as patient as River, and we were both starting to chafe at spending so many hours together, trying to funnel knowledge into my brain as fast as possible. I hadn’t been doing too badly—I was willing to learn—but today, focusing seemed out of reach. My cheeks started to heat as the silence swelled to fill the room. I was skin-tinglingly aware of Reyn, sitting silently next to Brynne, and Daisuke, who was studying by himself in the corner. Defeat was imminent: Searching my brain for facts about marigolds was like running around trying to catch lightning bugs. Turbo-charged lightning bugs. On coke.
“They’re used extensively in… Thailand and India, for religious purposes,” I said, trying to save face. I hated looking stupid, though by now it should feel as natural as breathing. But Reyn was here, and I hated, hated, hated looking stupid in front of him, of all people.
“Yes?” Anne said, prompting me.
Images flashed through my mind—wheeled wooden carts piled with musky-smelling bright flowers lining street markets in Nepal. No doubt they still did that today, but the memory I had was from the late eighteen hundreds. Going through Nepal on my way to Bombay to catch a merchant ship to England. And right now, let’s all give props to the Suez Canal for chopping a good four, five months off that whole journey. Who’s with me?
“Nastasya.” Anne sighed and brushed her hair off her forehead. “It would help you to know things like this.”
“I know,” I said, trying not to cringe as I heard Reyn shift in his seat. “I want to. I know I need to. It’s just—my head is really full of stuff already.”
I mean, obviously, right? Four hundred and fifty-nine years’ worth of stuff. Identities, adventures, lifetimes and lifetimes lived, each one as full as the last. Part ’n’ parcel of the whole immortal gig.
Brynne was now wiggling like a greyhound that had spotted a rabbit.
“Okay,” I said briskly, sitting up straighter. I knew this. I’d learned it a million times. “Okay, mainly used for… protection. And strength. Like to strengthen your heart or protect you from evil. Oh.”
The point of learning about the marigold sank in, and I realized that it, along with a daunting number of other things (like frankincense, fleabane, vervain, nettle, iron, and onyx, to name just a few), was intended to help me protect myself from evil. Some people try not to catch colds. I try not to attract ancient evil to me. It’s all relative.
Ancient evil. How odd that it actually exists. But it does. And my most recent brush with it, the whole horror show in Boston with my ex-bestie, Incy, had demonstrated with searing clarity how inadequate my mastery of magick was. If I’d known more that night, I might have been able to save Katy and Boz. Might not have had to witness their nightmarish deaths. I might have been able to save myself sooner, and without almost causing my head to explode.
I’d been back here at River’s Edge for a month now. I could have, probably should have, run off to a distant corner of the world, hidden in a cave, and licked my wounds for, like, an eternity. But I was far gone enough to admit that yes, I really did need help. I needed help more than I needed to be proud, or brave, or cool, or even just not gut-wrenchingly humiliated.
So far everyone here had been awesome about what had happened. No one rubbed it in, no one tsked, no one even looked at me funny. Because they’re all so much cooler than I am, right? So much more experienced, both in the ways of the world and the ways of redemption. By not giving me a hard time, they were advancing on their own karmic joyride. So, actually, they should thank me. For giving them so many opportunities to shine.
But it was clear that my centuries-old pattern of not learning anything was not, in fact, working well for me. So I’d sat pinned, a fish on a hook, and had lesson after lesson thrown at me: spellcrafting; the uses of stars in magick; magickal properties of plants, stones, crystals, oils, herbs, earth, sky, water—everything everywhere is connected, and everything around me can be used for good or for evil. My head felt crammed full of facts and lore, history and tradition, forms and patterns and sigils and meanings—if I barfed right now, actual words would spill out onto the floor in a spiky, tangled heap.
“Nas?”
I blinked and tried to look alert, but Anne sat back and put the flash cards down. “Let’s all take a break,” she said. She looked tired—teaching me wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good day at the fair. Doing most things with me wasn’t a rockin’ good time; I know this, and traditionally I haven’t given a flying fig. Lately, with my gradual uphill meandering toward maturity, I’d started to feel guilty and a twinge embarrassed. But so far I’ve been able to shake that off.
“Okay,” I said, trying not to sound elated. I glanced toward the window; the early February sunlight was trying to be brave but not quite succeeding. I judged it to be around ten in the morning and couldn’t help flashing to just a couple weeks ago, when at ten in the morning I would have been tidying the shelves at MacIntyre’s Drugs. If I still worked there. If I hadn’t been fired twice.
“I hope there’s coffee left in the kitchen.” Brynne unfolded her long, lean self and stretched, the tightly wound coils of her caramel-colored hair bouncing slightly. She was the closest thing I had to a friend here, even though we couldn’t be more different: tall and black versus short and snow-white; American versus Icelandic; 230 years old versus 459; cheerful, friendly, confident, and competent versus… not. With a large, loving family versus having no one.
“Maybe I’ll go check the chore chart,” I said. “Do something mindless for a while.”
“Good idea,” said Anne, smiling gently at me. She came over and rubbed my back for a moment—Anne was real touchy-feely, in the literal sense of the words. I’d been practicing my not-flinching, and I barely hunched my shoulders before making myself relax. “Sometimes doing something boring or repetitive is a good way to have knowledge sink in.”
I nodded and picked up my puffy coat. If doing something boring or repetitive was the path to knowledge, then I was on the fast track. Daisuke stayed behind in the classroom as Brynne, Reyn, and I filed out. Of all the students, Daisuke was the furthest along, in my opinion. He was the closest to peace, the one who had the fewest large, visible flaws. But no one ended up at River’s Edge just for kicks. I didn’t know what kinds of things Daisuke had done to make spending years in rehab seem like a good plan, but there had to be something. I’d learned that much in my four months here.
Brynne slanted me a tiny smirk, then strode quickly out the door ahead of me and Reyn, oh-so-obviously giving us space.
I glanced at him, but his face was—and I know you’ll be surprised by this—impassive. As usual, being close to him made my heart carom from skipping a beat to racing, feeling like hard rain hitting a metal roof. I was about to say something that had a 99 percent certainty of being inane when I heard a skittering sound in the wet leaves behind us. We turned to see a small white object catapulting our way: Dúfa, Reyn’s runt puppy. She must have been watching, waiting for him.
Reyn stopped and knelt, the easy smile that crossed his face making my chest feel tight. Dúfa galloped clumsily toward us with a puppy’s single-minded intent, giving a couple of high-pitched yips in case we hadn’t noticed her. She flung herself at Reyn, rising up on her hind paws to
lick his face, and I have to say, I knew where she was coming from.
“Okay,” he said softly and held up his hand. “Sitta.” Instantly Dúfa’s small hindquarters dropped to the cold ground, her odd hazel eyes focused on Reyn’s face. He kept his hand up as he stood, six feet of overwhelming attractiveness and danger, and Dúfa’s eyes didn’t leave his face, though she allowed her overlong, skinny white tail to give a small swish. “Okay,” he said, and released her. She sprang up, leaping into the air and yipping.
“She knows sit already,” I said, with my gift for stating the obvious. “In Swedish.” How could I put my next plan into action? I want to lure you someplace. Jump on you. Not think about whether our “relationship” makes “sense.”
“She’s smart,” he said, scooping the puppy up and tucking her into his corduroy barn coat. Her white face and long, floppy ears poked out below his chin, and she looked both adoring and self-important.
A small ding sounded inside my head. “Like, she’s smart, but I’m not?” As soon as the words left my mouth, they sounded ludicrous—I mean, how paranoid am I, to assume a simple statement about his dog was somehow aimed as a dig against me?
“Exactly,” he said coldly, and my eyebrows shot up.
“What?”
He stopped abruptly on the path and turned to me, his face angry. “You almost died in Boston!” he snapped. “You’re a thousand times more powerful than that pathetic waste, but he had the upper hand. You were this close to getting your power ripped from you like ore from a rock!” He held out two long fingers very close together in case I needed visual representation.
“I know!” I said defensively. “I was there! I remember. Muy bad. So?” I crossed my arms and tried not to notice when Dúfa gave Reyn a lick on his neck.
“So why aren’t you studying your ass off?” he exclaimed. “Why are you not taking this seriously? You saw two of your friends die horrible deaths. You should be scared, doing everything you can, reading, studying, practicing.” Narrowing his eyes, he jabbed me in the chest with a strong forefinger, which actually hurt. “Next time you might not be able to pull your magick off,” he said. “Next time you might get killed. You might be dead forever because you were too much of a lame-ass to get your shit together and learn how to protect yourself!”
How dare he? My own eyes narrowed and I started to jab him in the chest, except Dúfa was in the way and I couldn’t tell where she began and ended. So I scowled and gave him the old threatening schoolmarm finger-shaking—so much less satisfying. Between that and the fact that he was almost ten inches taller than me, I might not have presented as fierce a picture as I hoped.
“You—” I started furiously, but I really had no follow-up to that. “I—” As I began to vigorously defend myself, it dawned on me with crushing humility that he was right.
He waited, his breath making little puffs in the air.
“I am trying,” I said stiffly.
“You’re full of crap,” he retorted, completely unappeased. “You’re here to begin taking things—like life, and yourself—more seriously. Let me know when you start.” Before I could even pretend to come up with a snappy response, he pushed past me and strode to the house, his long legs covering ground fast. I hesitated for a few moments, unsure of what to do.
After I’d gotten back from Boston, Reyn and I had almost come to theoretical terms with how we may or may not feel about each other. Okay, maybe not exactly how we feel about each other, but more like we agreed that we would attempt to stand each other. Like, enemies with benefits. Enemies is too strong a word. Maybe benefits is too strong a word.
But right now he was really furious with me. Why did he even like me, anyway? Why did he keep grabbing me and groping me and kissing me with that hot, hot mou—
Okay, this was bad. Nastasya? Get it together, I told myself sternly. Yeah, that should have some effect. Very, very slowly, I started toward the house, giving myself some time to think.
Finally I went up the steps and opened the kitchen door, to be greeted by the scent of baking bread and Reyn still in the kitchen.
At the worktable, Rachel nodded at me, her tan arms strongly kneading a smooth, elastic lump of dough as big as a melon. She was wearing a dark green sweatshirt, her shaggy black hair held back by a bandanna. I knew she was originally from Mexico, and was about 315, younger than me by more than a century. She looked like a college student.
“Hey,” I said, striving for normalcy. “That smells great.”
She nodded again—Rachel wasn’t a smiley person, but her face did soften when she glanced over at the gorgeous man holding the small, ugly puppy under his coat. I mean, could you come up with a more estrogen-spurring picture? Scowling again, I went past him to the dining room just as the swinging door opened and Charles came in. His face brightened when he saw Reyn, and he came over to scritch Dúfa under her chin, which she relished.
“Glad I ran into you,” Charles said to him. “Can you come help shift the big hall wardrobe upstairs?”
“Sure.” Reyn gave me a look that made me shiver, and followed Charles out.
I tore my eyes away from his back to see Rachel watching me.
“Uh-huh,” she said, and pushed her glasses up on her nose, leaving a floury white streak.
“Uh-huh what?” I said coolly.
She just nodded, looking amused, and I rolled my eyes at her and headed into the large, plain dining room where we ate. Right now there were thirteen of us—four teachers: River, Asher (who was River’s partner), Solis, and Anne; and eight of us students: me, Brynne, Rachel, Daisuke, Charles, Lorenz, Jess, and the forbidding Reyn. Plus Anne’s sister Amy, who was visiting.
I hung up my coat and actually checked the chore chart in the hall, and the mere fact that I did this and did not, say, quietly slip upstairs to my room for a little naparoonie was testament to the strength of my commitment to taking life and myself seriously. Said commitment was stronger some days than others, and there were days when I had to force myself to recommit, like, fifty times.
Damn Reyn. Who did he think he was?
All of a sudden the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Footsteps vibrated on the wooden front porch, and a tall shadow appeared across the frosted glass of the front door. The paranoia I’d felt since I got back from Boston kicked in instantly as the doorknob turned.
The door opened. And if you were going to cast someone in the role of “Devil” in an old Hollywood movie, this would be your guy. He was tall, dark, and handsome in a severe, possibly soul-snatching way. Gull-wing brows arched over eyes as black as mine—no, blacker, deeper, with no light shining from them at all. Shark eyes. He focused on me instantly, then set a suitcase down on the floor and put his head back. I watched tensely, expecting a wolf howl.
“River!” he bellowed, filling the hallway with reverberating sound. I shrank against the steps, planning to edge backward a bit to disappear into the back parlor.
Almost instantly the door at the end of the hall opened and River came out of the small room she used as her office. I glanced at her; if she showed anything but delighted good cheer, I was going to snatch up the brick holding the parlor door open and brain this guy.
It was delighted good cheer, mingled with astonishment around the edges.
“Ottavio!” River exclaimed, and then I remembered him, vaguely, from when River led me on a guided memory from her life. (One of those immortal magicky things.)
This fierce-looking guy was River’s big brother. She had three younger brothers as well.
Holy moly, I thought, the weight of it hitting me. This is River’s brother. He was even older than River, and she was one of the oldest people I’d ever met. She’d been born in Genoa in 718, and at one time had been very, very dark (magickally). Today River was just about the best person I’d ever met. Here’s hoping her brother had also made a few strides forward.
“Dearest!” said River as they hugged and then kissed each other’s cheeks—both sides, the Eur
opean way. “Why on earth—why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” She drew back, searching his face. “Is everything okay?”
Ottavio nodded, and I again noticed his severe handsomeness, the perfection of his Roman-statue features, the faint lines around his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he said, then pointed to me. “I’m here because of her. She shouldn’t be here.”
My eyes widened. Very nice. So much for the Italian charm.
River blinked, surprised, then glanced at me. “Maybe just give us a minute,” she murmured.
I managed a tight smile and nipped sideways into the dining room, then escaped outside, wondering what the hell Ottavio had meant.
Now what? It was cold out here, and of course I had no coat. My eyes fell on the big barn, straight ahead across the yard. I headed for it.
Inside I heard Anne humming in her classroom, probably still enjoying the Nastasya-free space. I put my shoulders back and knocked.
“Hi.” Anne looked surprised to see me.
“Hi,” I said awkwardly. “I thought… if you had time, or wanted to… maybe we could go over herbs again?” Please don’t say no. Don’t be too fed up with me already.
Anne looked at me, as if weighing her options. “I would like that. Sit down.”
“I know I need to get better. And… I’m avoiding the house,” I admitted. And admitting this instead of making up a white lie to make myself look better was more progress, visible to the naked eye. “River’s brother Ottavio is there.”
Anne’s surprise changed to astonishment. “Ottavio! Here?”
I nodded. “He already hates me. And he just got here. Usually I have to, you know, talk or something.”
“Hmm,” Anne said thoughtfully. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Yeah. Whatevs.
CHAPTER 3