“You okay?” Riley asked, scrutinizing him right back.
Jax glanced around the cozy kitchen, at the lunch platter—not quite decimated by Riley’s assault—and Melinda. She was the least scary person Jax had met since this all started, up to and including Evangeline and her pepper spray. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
16
AFTER JAX HAD EATEN his fill, Melinda cleared the food from the table. “May I see your mark?” she asked, as if it were an honor, and he held out his hand.
She took it in both of hers. “Your mark is placed on your left wrist over the pulse point leading to your heart.” Her index finger traced lightly up the inside of his arm. “It names what you are and enhances your potential for magic. This is a tradition so old, we’ve forgotten its origins.”
“Older than Grunsday?” Jax asked.
“Much older. And Grunsday is a silly name Arnie Crandall made up for something we should respect. Making fun of the eighth day is dangerous; it encourages a sloppy disregard for powerful magic.”
Jax raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“You’re an inquisitor. Riley tells me you’ve already discovered this. Do you understand what you did?”
He cringed. The term inquisitor summoned images of people being stretched to death on the rack. “I asked questions, and people answered. But I don’t know why, or how I did it.”
Melinda released his arm. “Once you started transitioning to the eighth day, you picked up your potential for magic.”
“Riley said I got it from my dad.”
“You inherited the ability to cross into the other timeline and the nature of your talent from your dad. But if you had never transitioned, you would never have picked up the magical potential to implement it. You would’ve been a Normal, like your mother. Even the children of two Transitioners occasionally fail to transition and develop any talent.”
Jax nodded cautiously. “So, no eighth day, no talent.”
“It’s a side effect of our ancestors’ casting the Eighth- Day Spell and giving themselves the ability to transition in and out of it. Our magic is bound to the day, so to speak.”
“Why did we need to go in and out of it?”
“To monitor the Kin imprisoned there. Can I see your honor blade?”
Jax frowned, unhappy to hear Evangeline called a prisoner again, but he opened the ornamental wooden box without comment.
“May I?” He handed her the knife, and she ran her fingers down the length of the blade and over the engraved hilt. “This is not a very old blade,” she said. “And it hasn’t seen a lot of use.”
“Does that make it no good?”
“It’s easier than starting with a new one, because your father used it before you.” She reached for Jax’s arm again, turning his hand over to look at his wrist. “Your mark has a bald eagle, but your father’s blade has a falcon.”
Jax leaned in to take a closer look at the bird on the hilt of the dagger. “I guess A.J. likes bald eagles better. Does it matter?”
Melinda shook her head and clucked her tongue. “He’s been told before not to get creative with something as important as this. But they’re both birds of prey, and your talent doesn’t seem affected. Do you have a sheath for the dagger?” When Jax shook his head, Melinda returned it and said, “Get one. You can’t keep it in a box on a shelf and expect it to work for you. It has to be worn.”
That was exactly where his father had kept it—in a box on a shelf. But Jax didn’t tell her that for fear she’d think his dad didn’t know what he was doing. “I can’t wear it to school,” he pointed out instead. “They’d expel me!”
“Not to school. But everywhere else—and always on the eighth day. A long time ago, honor blades were used to draw blood to strengthen one’s magic, but there’s a dark element to that, and honorable people don’t do it anymore. The blade is mostly symbolic now.”
“Well, that’s a relief!” Jax exclaimed.
“Holding the blade while using your magic intensifies the effect because it bears the symbols of your bloodline. It’s not absolutely necessary to have your blade in your hand to perform magic, but if you want to be sure your talent is used precisely and effectively, the honor blade will help. Something else that enhances magic is strong emotion. You’ve heard stories of frightened mothers lifting a car off a child?”
“Adrenaline,” said Jax.
“Magic,” corrected Melinda. “Adrenaline makes your heart race. Magic lifts the car. Rage is also powerful. Ancient warriors consumed a drug that brought on uncontrollable rage, and in the berserker state their magic protected them. Even loyalty toward one’s liege can be powerful.”
“Who gets to be a liege lord?”
“Technically, you can swear your allegiance to anyone you’re willing to follow, but in practice it tends to be people with powerful talents.” Melinda smiled ruefully. “No one’s going to follow a sensitive. But as an inquisitor, you might build your own clan someday.”
That didn’t sound appealing at all—being in charge of a bunch of people. “Why are you sworn to Riley?” Jax blurted out. “Is it rude to ask that?”
“Not at all. My mother was sworn to Riley’s father, and I was sworn to him, too. When he died, I didn’t hesitate to swear to his son. Did it right at Riley’s hospital bed, in fact.”
“What do you mean? Why was Riley in the hospital?”
Melinda hesitated. “He was hurt pretty badly in the explosion,” she said finally. “The one that killed his family. Didn’t he tell you?”
Jax shook his head, feeling his mouth go dry. Riley hadn’t mentioned he’d been present when his family was murdered—or that he’d almost been killed too.
“It happened at an engagement party for his sister.” Melinda’s face was grim. “He lost his entire family and most of his family’s vassals.”
An engagement party. That was . . . beyond sick.
Seeing the expression on his face, Melinda rose from her chair and changed the subject. “Come into the living room and we’ll try out your talent.”
Jax followed her and sat on the sofa while Melinda lit candles to brighten the room. Jax squirmed. Candles made the whole thing seem more witchy. “Calling on your talent is a matter of intention,” Melinda said. “You have to learn how to turn it on and off—otherwise people will spout answers every time you ask a question.”
“Like I don’t have to obey Riley every time he tells me to do something,” Jax said. “Only sometimes.”
“Riley’s talent is called the voice of command. With practice, you’ll be able to tell when he’s using it—even if it’s directed at someone else. For someone newly transitioned like you, it’s more common for your talent to fail than to use it accidentally. But Riley says you’re an exception, which suggests you’re pretty strong.” Melinda sat beside him on the couch. “We’ve got no one else to try this on, so you’re going to ask me a question, and I’ll see what it takes to fight you off.” She gave him a lopsided smile. “Feel free to make it a personal question.”
Like what? Jax’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. To avoid her eyes, he looked at his dagger and ran a thumb over the symbols on the crest: the falcon and the flames, the eye in the center of a scroll. He could ask her why she didn’t tell her husband about her magic and the eighth day. But he didn’t really want to know that. Instead his mind was connecting dots and groping for what was missing to complete the picture.