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Dalia ignores us, rubbing between her brows as she continues with the heated discussion she’s having with Mildred. “If your magic could solve the problem, you would have done it already.”
“Magic is going to solve this problem because a spell caused it,” she argues, flipping the page on one of the thick family grimoires. “What I need is more information about vampire physiology, so I can understand how, exactly, the spell is affecting him.”
Crossing her arms and tapping her foot, Nolan’s grandmother releases a heavy sigh. “Before I can tell you exactly what the cause is, I need to run some blood tests on both Callie and my grandson.”
I tense at the request, fear digging its claws into my heart. Nolan squeezes me, and I feel the objection building on his tongue, when my nan asks coolly, “What do you need to test my granddaughter’s blood for?”
Feeling the tension in the room, Dalia narrows her eyes, once again suspicious of me—rightly suspecting that there is information being withheld from her. It’s equally clear that she isn’t used to being left in the dark. “Nolan can only safely consume her blood. I need to know why.”
Mildred’s lips press tightly together for a moment, her mind clearly trying to pick and choose words that will help Nolan without exposing me. “What tests do you plan to do? Witches’ blood is a powerful spell component that is shared only in the direst of need.”
“I believe my grandson’s life counts as dire need,” Dalia states with a hard edge, her arms crossing over her chest. “It would be a full panel of tests because I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Then test my blood first,” Nolan chimes in, his voice confident despite the subtle shaking of his body. “See if you can figure out what’s wrong first, and then test Callie for whatever that is.”
His grandmother sighs like she’s surrounded by difficult, idiotic children. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Testing the samples together saves time, which is precious at the moment—something I shouldn’t have to remind you of.”
Angry words bubble up inside me, scathing remarks that she was the one who waited a month before coming to help, but I swallow them down. Be nice. She’s here now. Nolan needs her help. His life matters more than knocking Dalia down a few pegs.
There’s a subtle tightening around my nan’s eyes that seems to telegraph she’s having the same thoughts. Looking up from the grimoire, she stares down the other woman, and with sharp bluntness, states, “I’m not going to give you a sample of my granddaughter’s blood so you can go on a fishing expedition. You weren’t summoned to cure Nolan. Magic will do that. I need to know what exactly is wrong with him so I can fix it.” She puts one fist on her hip while the other lies flat on the wooden work table. “You are an expert in vampire physiology. You must have some opinion based on his symptoms.”
Worried that I’m about to see them come to blows supernatural style, I extract myself from Nolan’s grasp and stand up. Fisting my hands at my sides, I blurt, “It’s okay. I want to help. She can have my blood.”
Nolan reaches for me, his fingers gently encircling my wrist. In a hushed whisper, he says, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to—” Istart to insist, but I’m immediately cut off by Mildred with a harsh, “No.”
The intensity in which she denies me startles me, and it’s only then that I realize how often I’m used to her saying yes—mostly because I don’t tell her the things she’d likely refuse. My heart skips a beat, thinking of how I brought Felix back from the dead. I doubt I’ll be able to keep it from my nan forever, and I fear the day I’ll have to tell her about it. I know everything she does is with love. It’s an odd feeling to have someone who places my well-being in front of everyone else’s, and it’s hard to fault her for it.
Mildred returns her attention to Dalia and repeats, “Your opinion on Nolan’s condition?”
The shrewd woman’s eyes bounce between me and my nan, but her thoughts are hidden by a cool mask. At the very least, she no longer appears to want to strangle Mildred, too occupied with the giant mystery that is me. After a beat, she returns her attention to my nan, answering with a professional detachment that feels off, considering who the subject is and the fact he’s in the room. “Based on his symptoms, he’s showing signs of starvation. Since he’s feeding daily, whatever this spell is doing to him is blocking his ability to absorb the necessary nutrients he needs. His body is literally consuming itself to survive.”
“I could have told you that,” Nolan jokes flatly, running his free hand through his hair. There’s a weary droop to his shoulders that speaks of the exhaustion he’s constantly fighting.
Her gaze softens as she looks over at her grandson. “Yes, the question is what and why. Hence the blood tests.”
“It’s magic,” I announce as I recall my earlier conclusion that the reason he could feed from me but not Anastasia or Donovan is because my blood is more magically rich than theirs is. I swallow heavily under Mildred’s cautious gaze and Dalia’s steely intent one as sweat builds on the back of my neck. “Witches’ power… it, um… it comes from…”
Nolan’s grandmother’s patience seems to be wearing thin from my babbling, her fingers tapping restlessly on her biceps, and it makes me even more tongue-tied. I know what I need to say, but I don’t know how to do it without exposing myself. Just do it, Callie. It’s for Nolan.
“Witches’ power comes from their ability to call on magic from the elements,” Mildred says, stepping in for me, and I could cry with relief. Nolan pulls lightly on my wrist, and I happily sit back down on his lap, hoping they’ll return to ignoring us. My nan flips quickly through the pages of the grimoire until she reaches the page she showed me when I was first learning about magic. She points at the beautifully illustrated diagram that showcases the elements and the abilities they control.
“I’m aware,” Dalia states dryly with an expression demanding someone get to the part that’s relevant to her.
“Yes, well, what you may not be aware of, unlike other supernatural creatures, is that how much magic a witch can call on isn’t universally even,” Mildred explains carefully, clearly uncomfortable sharing anything that could be exploited as weaknesses. “It’s based on the purity of the bloodline, and how close it is to the seven original families. Callie is a Volkov and a Lyncas—a child produced from the daughter and son of two matriarchs.”
Shock washes over me as another piece of who I am falls into my lap. I knew I was a Lyncas, but I didn’t know that the bastard’s mother, my grandmother, was also a matriarch. Is this why I could claim the Lyncas name when the last names of female witches normally go by the maternal line? I’m the granddaughter of not one, but two matriarchs. The thought bounces around my head like a ping-pong ball.I don’t know how exactly this changes things for me, but it feels momentous. It should pale in comparison to being an avatar to the goddess, but my spirit witch-ness is a secret. Who my family is, however, isn’t. Only Nolan seems to notice my mini freak-out, squeezing me tightly as my whole body quakes.
Dalia nods and then lifts one hand to tap a finger against her lips. “If I understand you correctly, because of your granddaughter’s lineage, her blood is more magically enriched than other supernatural beings?”
“Precisely,” Mildred confirms, standing somewhat defensively with her arms crossed. It’s obvious that this information wasn’t something she wished to share. I forget that witches are commonly a secretive bunch. I’m the one who challenges the status quo, telling the guys everything I learn about my abilities.
“Well, it’s a place to start,” Nolan’s grandmother states. She reaches for her medical bag that sits at the end of the workbench and pulls out a smaller zipped bag. Inside is a tube filled with small, narrow, white strips of what looks like paper, a little, square device with a digital screen, and several tiny, blue tubes. As she appears to prepare some type of test, she points distractedly next to her. “I need both of you to stand here.”
We trade concerned expressions. Nolan mouths, “You don’t have to do this,” but I shake my head, take a bracing breath, and stand up. He follows wearily, real exhaustion starting to pull at his features. I grasp his hand, lacing our fingers together, and we stand as one in front of his grandmother.
“What exactly are you doing?” Mildred interjects, looking over the other woman’s shoulder.
