“I was thinking about the ley lines. What’s actually involved in charging them.”
Rhys shifted in his seat, putting the coffee in her cupholder. “Less than you’d think, really. A few magic words, a little razzle-dazzle”—he stretched out his hands, wiggling his fingers—“and it’s done.”
“Oh,” Vivi said, sagging a little in her seat, and he grinned, leaning back.
“Were you expecting to be more impressed?”
“I don’t know what I was expecting,” she admitted, and Rhys looked over at her, folding his arms over his chest.
“You were the Full Potter, right?”
Vivi screwed up her face as she turned the car down the narrow lane right off the highway, the one most people would miss completely. “The what?”
“The Full Potter,” he repeated. “Not finding out you’re a witch until you’re older, not growing up with it. ‘Yer a witch, Vivi,’ that sort of thing.”
Now that she didn’t have to watch for oncoming traffic, Vivi turned the full force of a glare on Rhys, knowing it was somewhat hampered by the smile she could feel tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“That is not a thing people say, ‘the Full Potter.’”
“It is, too. You just don’t know because you are, as stated, the Full Potter.”
“Okay, so if you can hear me thinking again, know I’m back to the ‘bastard’ thoughts.”
Still grinning, Rhys turned to look out the window as the car started its descent into the valley below. The night had gotten darker now, the sky more indigo than lavender, and the moon rose over the hills, bright and cold and white.
The perfect night for witching.
“Your mum was a witch, though, yes?” Rhys asked, turning back to her, and Vivi’s fingers flexed a little on the steering wheel.
“She was, yeah. Apparently really good at it, but . . . I don’t know. I guess that was her form of rebellion, rejecting all things magic.” It didn’t hurt to talk about her parents anymore. The loss still ached, but the pain was a weight rather than a sharp edge. Still, it had been forever since she’d mentioned them to anyone.
“Love a rebellious woman, me,” Rhys mused, leaning back. He was still watching her. Even though Vivi’s eyes were on the road, she could feel it.
“So you really didn’t do any magic growing up?” he asked. “Not even accidentally?”
“Oh, I totally did,” Vivi replied, smiling at the memory. “Did my first spell when I was five. I was in this tree house my dad had built for me, and I was making tea. By which I mean I was stirring dirt and water into an old teapot I’d found in the garage.”
“My father makes tea that clearly uses the same recipe,” Rhys quipped, and Vivi laughed.
“Anyway, there were these big azalea bushes under the tree house, and I thought it would be nice to add some of the petals, but I didn’t want to go all the way back down the ladder, so I thought really hard. About them floating up through the window. And then they just . . .” She lifted her hands off the wheel for just a moment, fluttering her fingers. “Did.”
She glanced back over at Rhys, who was still watching her with that fond smile, and it made something in her chest go so tight that she had to look away, concentrating on the road in front of her again.
“Anyway, my mom freaked, and had this big talk with me about how that kind of thing wasn’t safe, and she was right, really. I’m sure if the neighbors had seen, I would’ve ended up on some kind of really lurid talk show or something.”
Vivi hadn’t thought about that moment for years, but now she could see it all over again, her mom sitting at the edge of the bed, her hair the same color as Vivi’s, but shorter, brushing against her shoulders as she leaned in, smelling like smoke and spice.