It's midnight, and my eyes are still wide open.
Him. That was really Tavion. Tavion in all his charming, late nights out, drink in hand, girl on arm glory.
I don't know why I gave that name to Aster. I didn't think I'd really see anything. It should have been harder—impossible—for him to show me someone random like Tavi than someone like my father. A hard knot forms in my stomach. I wonder if Tavi's thought about me since his late-night, drunken knocking that alerted my mother I had a life beyond vitaliti and got me kicked out of my own home.
It didn't look like it.
I turn over for the dozenth time tonight. There had to be some trick to it. That couldn't have really been Tavion; it was just how I imagined him to be. There had to be some sort of chemical in that powder, some hallucinogen. There had to be.
"But it didn't seem like a hallucinogen," I mutter frustratedly. I pound my pillow, then, still not comfortable, push up. A hallucinogen would have taken too long to kick in, and there would have been something to tip me off. A haze around the edges, a confusion to my thoughts, something. But no. His trick had all the clarity of a normal day to it.
Which is what unnerves me. There has to be an explanation.
Mind made up, I throw the covers off and slip on a robe Marcí loaned me. Wrapping it tight, I cross the hall to Sean's old room, Aster's now. The knob turns easily; Sean must still have the key. My fingertips press the door open, and it slides gently on its hinges.
Moonlight filters through the window, giving form to Aster's sleeping silhouette. His cloak hangs on the bedpost, gently brushing the floor. I tiptoe toward it, reaching inside the folds. My fingers trip over something solid, and I pull out his bowl, along with the little, cloth-wrapped book and bag of powder.
Aster sighs in his sleep and shifts to face me. I freeze. Outside, a nightbird caws, and I cringe, but Aster's breaths stay steady. I relax. He's still asleep.
I slip down the stairs. Where to do this? I consider staying in my room, but the last thing I want is to accidentally wake Aster up. And anywhere downstairs, someone could walk in on the experiment, which won't do either. No. All I need is thirty minutes—just enough time to run a few trials—and then all of Aster's things will be back where he left them. I'll have my answer, and he'll have his materials back, no harm done. As long as no one sees me.
My eyes light on the living room window.
The chill winter air nips at my face as I slip out the door, and I tug the robe tighter. The snow shffs off the porch as I swipe my foot. After a circle is cleared, I sit, facing the forest. The tops of the trees sway, almost hypnotically. Pale moonbeams glisten against the snow, making the air shimmer with an otherworldly light.
You're being ridiculous, Leavi. Focus. I place the materials on the ground in front of me.
The nightbird caws again, and my eyes snap up. There he sits on the railing, black feathers puffed up slightly, as though sensing some danger. Apparently, he pushes his doubts away because he settles down on the bar. His head cocks, considering me. "Kaark!"
I shiver underneath his stare but return my attention to my experiment and unwrap the little black book.
"Hello..." The whispered sound echoes in the wind, one voice overlaying another and another and continuing on over the sea of treetops.
I drop the book, and there's immediate silence, as though someone slammed a door inside my ears. I glance around, but the only other living soul out here is the nightbird, still sitting, still watching. My mind doesn't know how to believe it, but my senses all understand—it's the book. It came from the book.
"Be rational," I scold. "Books don't talk." But neither does anything else out here, and my words sound shaky even to me. I take a deep breath and pick the object back up.
"Well, that was rude..." the voices chorus.
This time I manage to keep my grip. "What are you?" I whisper, my breath frosting in the air.
It's as if the wind-words all turn and confer with one another. The sounds are muffled, whispered. Then they breathe, "We are the Book..."
Words evade me until finally, I manage, "How?"
A light, rustling laugh echoes through the tree branches. They're mocking me. "We just are."
"I'm losing my mind. A book. I'm talking to a book."
They sigh like a hundred bored librarians. "You're not Aster. What are you doing, girl? Are you planning to cast?"
Desperately trying to clear my head, I shake it, black locks tumbling around my face. "No. I'm planning on performing an experiment." This I say more to myself than to the voices in my head, but they still laugh at me.
"Then we fear you're in the wrong place."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"We help with casting, not research."
They still seem derisive, as if they find my attempts childish. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it suddenly occurs to me that they're speaking my language, not Avadelian. A growing unease fills my stomach. "This can't be real."
"Believe what you like. But if you're not planning on casting, could you return the Book to its owner? We don't want it to get lost."
"I'm not going to lose you!" I protest.
Tinkling laughter.
I pull my hair up, trying to gather my wits. "Just do what you came out here to do," I murmur to myself. I stand, scooping water into Aster's bowl from the barrel Jacin keeps filled on the porch. Returning to my spot, I open the powder bag.
"What are you trying to cast?"
"I think he said it was 'scry,'" I answer distractedly. Imaginary or not, the voices don't seem to be going away.
"Scrying," they correct.
This time I ignore them, focusing on sprinkling the powder into the water like he had.
"Here..." Suddenly, the book flips page after page, coming to rest on one crowded with foreign words. My jaw drops. That had to be the wind.
"Say this..."
The first word lights with a golden glow, and I gasp.
The voices sound impatient. "We're waiting, young lady."
Experiment, I remind myself. This is just an experiment.
My lips struggle to find the right sound of the word, and the voices help.
"Ahresåe..." they breathe.
There is something ancient in the tone of the word, something beyond comprehension yet compelling. Almost unconsciously, I repeat it, and the next word lights up. It passes from my lips quicker than the last, the action almost frightening in its ease. From there, the words are drawn out, not of my will, but from somewhere deep inside me. The voices guide me, reminding me of Aster's movements from before, perfecting my pronunciation, lighting up word after word my tongue can't help but speak.
Pressure builds inside me, rising through my body, urging me, pressing me, pushing me, forcing me. It swirls inside like a living force, demanding control, ordering submission. Panicked, I fight back. It cannot have me. I will not give in, I cannot give in, I cannot—
The pressure twists into pain, like water in my lungs, like fire in my soul. I am teetering on a precipice, and the force is a wind raging for me to fall, but I refuse.
The pain redoubles, and a scream tears out of me. I curl inside myself, aware of nothing but the foreign force and my death-grip on my will.
Suddenly, murmured words in my ear break through my field of isolation. "Let go, Leavi. Let go. Give in to it."
But I can't; I can't fall off the ledge, I can't give in to this force, I can't let it take over me...
Suddenly, the pressure is decreasing. I become aware of someone's hand on my shoulder, and then a splash as they dash the water in the bowl. My lip is wet, hot and sticky, and my mouth tastes of salt and iron. Slowly, my head rises from its rest on my knees. Aster is there beside me, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. His eyes dart across my face, and he pulls another out from his cloak.
"Here. You might want this."
Dazed, I take it, but it stays fisted in my hand. "What was that, Aster?" My voice trembles in the air, giving away exactly how terrified I am.
His answer is simple. "Magic."
My lips move, but no sound comes out.
"Are you alright?" He jerks his hand from my shoulder, as if having forgotten it was there, and sets it on the ground, a few centimeters from mine.
I manage to close my mouth. I nod once, then immediately shake my head. "No! I mean, what was that?" I'm one crack away from shattering. I'm shivering. Blood still seeps out my nose. Distractedly, I wipe at it with the kerchief.
"I told you. But magic can be dangerous. That's why I don't go around handing out the materials." His eyes hold a pointed look.
"I—" My mind is swirling in circles, a spiraling path to nowhere. I'm finally freed from the loop, asking, "How did you know—I mean, why did you come—" I can't manage a full sentence and end up just making a gesture at the surrounding area.
"You screamed."
My words are numb. "I remember that." More coherently, I ask, "So you came toward it?"
His breath swirls white in the winter air. "I... I wanted to see if I could help."
A short laugh bursts from me, more disbelieving than amused.
He considers me, eyes concerned. He sighs lightly, a small, sad smile playing at his lips. "How about I take you back to your room? We can talk about this in the morning," he offers gently.
My eyes flick up to his. "Oh." My fingers tangle themselves in my necklace. "Sure."
He nods, then pulls himself to his feet, offering a hand to me.
I take it, but my knees buckle beneath me, and I stumble.
"Whoa." Aster catches me, steady arms surrounding my shaking body. My dazed gaze takes in his face. His warm amber eyes have flecks of deeper brown close to the iris.
He stands me up. I feel like I haven't eaten all day.
"You might be weak for a little while," he says. "You'll feel better after you get some sleep."
I nod, and he helps me back to my room. I collapse into bed, and I'm faintly aware of him pulling the covers over my shoulders. I fall asleep as soon as I close my eyes.