7. Morgan

I need proof.

I can’t just take his word for it. I have to see it.

“Show me,” I say, watching him with challenge.

He says nothing. Instead, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a coin, and places it in front of us. A Swiss coin—five Francs—which is a bit larger than a quarter.

Next, he retrieves a small, sleek penknife from his pocket and opens it with a careful flick.

I hold my breath, the room suddenly feeling small, the air heavy with anticipation.

With slow precision, he draws the blade across the tip of his finger, his breathing steady and controlled. Blood wells up against his skin, and with intense focus, he dips the end of the knife into it, coating its tip.

Using his blood for ink, he writes on the surface of the coin.

I watch, still holding my breath, afraid a single sound will mess him up.

Soon, the word is complete.

Levitas.

As he pulls the knife away, the coin begins to stir. First, a subtle vibration. Then it’s lifting off the table, floating into the air, following the motion of his hand as he guides it in a dance between us.

“Believe me now?” he asks, smiling as he focuses on the coin.

It’s a good trick. But at the same time…

“How do I know you’re not actually a vampire, and that you’re not using air magic?” I ask, even though if he was using air magic, I would have felt at least the semblance of a breeze around us.

“An excellent point.” He lets the coin drift back onto the table, and the blood inked on its surface fades to nothing.

Then, with his hand now free, he conjures a small ball of fire in his palm. Pure, unfiltered witch magic.

The fire disappears in the blink of an eye.

“Now, I think you’re the one with something to prove,” he challenges.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I still haven’t seen your magic.”

My heart pounds so fast that it feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I try to swallow down my panic, but it doesn’t work.

He knows I’m also a blood witch.

How?

“Oh.” Realization crosses his eyes, and he places the pen knife back inside his pocket. “You’re a cinder.”

A cinder.

A witch that can’t use fire magic.

“No,” I say quickly, offended by the accusation.

At the same time, relief floods through me.

He doesn’t know I’m a blood witch.

Technically, he doesn’t know for sure that I’m a witch at all. Because he’s yet to see me use fire magic.

Well, at least there’s an easy solution to that.

Without a word, I stand and move toward the center of the room. Best to not risk burning the book. As I do, I keep my gaze locked on his, excited for the challenge.

Time to show him what I’m made of.

I gather my magic, and the air between my hands and the floor shimmers, heat distorting the space. Then, a spark ignites. Not a simple flame, but a swirling vortex of fire that rises like a serpent from a charmer’s basket. It twists and dances, casting flickering shadows across the walls, illuminating our faces with its warm glow as he gazes upon it in awe.

“This is only a fraction of what I can do.” I keep my voice steady as I control the fiery display, expanding it into the shape of a snake. A cobra ready to attack.

The fire reflects in his eyes, making them appear as if they, too, are glowing with wild energy.

Finally, I close my hands into fists, and the fire implodes into a shower of sparks that disappear before they can touch anything else in the room.

“As you can see,” I say proudly. “I’m no cinder.”

Blaze leans back in his chair, his earlier confidence replaced by admiration. “I stand corrected,” he says. “Your magic is just as fiery as your charming personality.”

I narrow my eyes at him, unsure if he’s being sarcastic or not. I assume he is. I’m a lot of things, but “charming” isn’t one I’ve ever heard before.

Tension hums between us, pulling me closer.

In this moment of shared magic and vulnerability, it would be so easy to tell him the truth of what I am.

But I’ve lived in the shadows for too long, guarding not just my secrets, but those of my sisters. I’m not about to change that just because an insanely attractive guy with eyes that feel like they’re burning into my soul is looking at me in a way no one ever has before.

I don’t have to share my secret simply because he shared his with me.

Plus, I’m still processing the fact that there are blood witches in the world other than me and my sisters.

Why have I never seen this in my visions? How have Blaze and his family remained hidden for so long? What more can they do that he’s not showing me?

So many questions… and there’s only one place I know of in this moment where I can find answers.

“Enough about me,” I say, keeping my tone light. “We have a book to read. And, from what I’ve seen of it so far, it’s going to be quite the dense one.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he says simply. “I’ve never read it.”

It takes me a few seconds to process that one.

“You’ve never read it?” I repeat. “Why not?”

It’s not a question—it’s an accusation.

How can someone have all this knowledge at their fingertips and not bother learning it? How can he not care?

He shrugs, a shadow casting itself over his features, and I worry I’ve closed off the connection between us.

And so, slowly, I rejoin him at the table, saying nothing to give him space to open back up to me.

When you give someone space to talk, it compels them to fill the silence.

A psychological trick taught to me by my conniving oldest sister, Zara. It’s always been ironic that she has such good insight into the way other people’s minds work, when I’m the one able to see the future. Then again, I suppose it goes hand in hand with her unique magic—the ability to create blood oaths between people. In order to open people up to making risky promises, you have to first learn their deepest desires.

Come on, I think, trying to channel Zara’s energy as Blaze watches me, sizing me up. Spill your secrets.

The air crackles between us, wrought with caution and stubbornness. But I keep my eyes locked on his, waiting for his response, unwilling to let this one go.

“My father’s obsessed with magic,” he finally gives in, and victory floods my chest at the fact that I got him to talk. “He believed that through magic—specifically, the magic written in this book—he could alter the fabric of reality itself. That he could change the world’s true nature.”

I run my fingers lightly along the cover of the book, soaking in the enormity of his words.

“Believed?” I finally ask, since he originally spoke of his father in the present tense. “Is he still alive?”

“He’s alive.” Blaze huffs. “But his quest for power consumed him. He’s alive, but he’s not truly here anymore. Not really.”

“And your mom?” I ask.

“Gone.” His walls go up again, and I can tell that no matter how much of Zara’s energy I try to channel, he’s not going to say more.

It’s the same way I close myself off when people ask about my parents.

“I’ve seen what this type of magic can do to people,” he continues. “I respect its power, but I also know its potential to destroy. That’s why I’ve kept my distance from it. I didn’t want to end up like him.”

This time, when he speaks of his father, he’s angry. I can feel the heat emanating from underneath his skin, fire begging to be released.

“I understand,” I say slowly, pausing to make sure I don’t say the wrong thing. “Magic can be a double-edged sword. It offers so much, but it demands a price. Your caution makes complete sense.”

Blaze nods, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Thanks,” he says, and much to my relief, the wall between us disappears again. “But before what happened to my mom, she told me to share this book with you. So, here I am, sharing it.”

“So…” I say. “Let’s dive in?”

“Let’s dive in,” he repeats, and he opens the book, our heads coming close together as we peer down at the first page.

The proximity sends an unexpected jolt through me, like the thrill of a spell being cast for the first time.

As we start reading, there’s tension. But, as the night continues, the tension fades, replaced with a camaraderie. A partnership.

And no matter what we discover inside this book, one thing is clear: our journey is only just beginning.