And once more, the energy went astray, digging a deep gouge in the floor.
His laughter was an ugly, taunting thing.
You ought to visit a clockmaker, he said. Get those gears back in alignment.
I . . . cant understand it. Shame choked her as she once more gazed at her hands. It felt as though her arms had been severed from her body, something crucial missing. Always, always magic was mine to control. What has happened?
Dont know whether Im relieved or disappointed. He crouched next to the gouge in the floor and ran his fingers over it. Too bad you havent any money, for this will take a good bit of coin to repair. And you owe me a table.
She barely heard him. Instead, she turned her focus inward, searching, seeking.
There had to be a reason why her magic had failed. It hadnt stopped entirely, so it still existed within her. But it was broken. Incomplete.
She inhaled sharply. Incomplete. Half the power it once had. Which meant that the other half of the power was in another place. Where?
Bram rose up from his crouch, sinuous in his movement. And then she understood.
Its in you , she rasped. Drifting closer, she said, My magic . . . when we were bound together, part of my magic went into you. Thats why my spells dont succeed.
His brow lowered. I dont feel a damned thing.
Because you arent cognizant of anything above your waist. But its there. I know it is. Gods, what an agonizing thought. Magic belonged to her and her alone. She shared it with no one, especially not Bram. It was as though she had to share her heart with him, or else the blood would cease to move through her veins.
But she needed her magic. Without it, she was simply another woman. Worse than an ordinary woman. She was a ghost with no strength, no power. As futile as a snakes dream of flight.
We need to work a spell together. She forced the words out.
Youre jesting.
She shook her head. I must have use of my magic. I must.
Ive never performed a spell in my life.
You use the Dark Ones magic to get women into your bed.
He waved his hand dismissively. Entirely different. Im not a bloody sorcerer.
If you just try
No, he roared. He drew a breath, and dragged his hands through his hair. Im no ones pawn, damn it. Not yours, or Johns, or Mr. Sodding Hollidays. I have one agenda. One.
Your own, she surmised.
His mouth firmed. Splendid, Madam Ghost. You have been paying attention.
It doesnt matter if you maroon yourself on an island. The floodwaters continue to rise, and eventually even the most distant isle will be deluged. Youll drown.
I know how to swim.
No, she countered, you know how to float . Swimming entails effort, and thats something you are determined to withhold. This selfishness will destroy more than yourself.
If this is your technique for persuasion, he sneered, its no wonder youre on the losing end. Allies arent won through insults.
Forgive me. I hadnt realized you were weak enough to need flattery.
He spit out a vile curse and stalked toward the door.
Where are you going? she demanded.
Doesnt matter if I tell you or not, he said over his shoulder. Youll wind up there anyway. Pulling open the door, he then stormed from the chamber.
The moment he left the room, it began to dim around her, as though a heavy veil draped over her eyes. Resentment and anger were her most vivid sensations. She refused to follow him. Shed rather dwell in this half-world of mist and shadow than spend another minute in his company.
He possessed half her magic. When he wasnt in her presence, the world retreated. Without him, she was reduced to one of those pathetic specters who drifted aimlessly, frightening weak-minded mortals but capable of little else. Yet Johns appearance this night proved to her that the Dark Ones power waxed, and its poison had sunk deep within Johns veins. He belonged to the one he called the Devilno matter how much the mortal believed he acted in his own best interest, the ultimate victor would be the Dark One.
John planned something, something that would likely engulf the nearby territories of the earthly realm. Yet John had no idea that the Dark One would assume control, destroying everything, devouring the world entirely. She knew this from her own bitter experience. With her lashed to Bram, however, she could do nothing to stop this destruction from happening again.
She needed Bram. And she hated him for it.
But that didnt stop him from trying.
In his bedchamber, Bram sprawled in a chair by the fire, drinking steadily from the decanter. He stared at the flames. They shifted and danced, forming shapes that appeared then vanished. Nothing he could hold.
As a child, Arthur had been the one to watch the fire, entranced by its constant change. He would try to tug Bram down beside him, tell him stories about what he saw within the flames. But Bram had always wrested away, impatient. He had wanted to run, to splash through the creek that ran through the northern corner of the estate, to laugh and stage battles with the boys in the village.