Page 93

“As I’ve told you, you wear every emotion on your face. Anyone who knows you could figure that out.”

Anyone who knows me. For a long time, there’d been no one like that. Now, it seemed, I had a vampire who could read me as easily as a book. I couldn’t be sure how I felt about that, mainly because I disliked it less than I was supposed to.

Raphael moved back behind his desk, putting some distance between us. “Join me.”

I followed him and sank into one of the plush leather seats on the other side of the table. I gestured to the stacks of letters and missives. “Don’t you have others who could take care of this for you?”

Raphael gave the piles a rueful smile. “Most of it, I delegate. But some things still require me to handle personally—though in six hundred years I’ve never developed an affinity for paperwork.”

I could make out the familiar scrawl of the common tongue. Having gone a decade without reading or writing, my grasp was tenuous, but returning more each day as I studied Old Runyk and read the books Amalthea gave me. Or at least, the ones worthy of time.

“How much do you know about mental magic?” Raphael asked.

“I’m a void, so I’d sayhardly anything.”

Raphael steepled his fingers on the wood. “It’s like this: With most magic, there’s a physical manifestation that witches focus on. With mental magic, telepaths, truth-seekers, and similar, you instead have to focus on quieting your mind and seeing the magic there.”

“But I’m not a witch,” I reminded him.

“You’ll be able to do this,” he said with conviction. “It simply takes practice. The principle is the same as with other mental magic. Imagine in your mind a barrier around your thoughts. As though they’re foiled in cursed copper, repelling me. Take one emotion and concentrate on stirring it, then hiding it from me.”

It was impossible to concentrate while Raphael looked at me so I shut my eyes. I recalled the frustration from earlier and imagined winding it into a tight ball and covering it in glinting plates of copper. I drew a deep breath, trying to solidify the mental wall. It felt a bit silly, but I wanted my privacy, so I used all my concentration to try to follow Raphael’s instructions.

“Frustration. You’re trying too hard,” he remarked.

“Isn’t the entire point to practice?”

“Not if you want me to be blocked from your emotions throughout the day. Like this, you can try to hide specific feelings, but you’re bound to slip. Try again.”

I blew out a breath, focusing. This time, I picked something else—the shame that lingered over how I’d snapped at Demos. This time, instead of bundling it tight andtrying to press it together, I let myself feel it but imagined a blanket of copper over it.

“Better,” Raphael remarked. “I can feel it, but only if I try to dig into your mind.”

Better. So we tried again. And again. It was difficult to practice something when you’re supposed to make it effortless, and I had no way to know if it was working unless Raphael told me. Still, with every one-word-approval, I grew more confident that I could do this.

Time flew by. Surely Raphael had better things to do, but he didn’t rush me, practicing until finally I slumped in the chair, a throbbing headache brewing between my brows.

I gave him a tired grin. “Now you won’t have to deal with all my nuisance emotions.”

Raphael didn’t return it. “I’ve never minded, Samara. Not once.”

When he said things like that, it got hard to look at him again. He got up and moved to a decanter across the room, pouring bright red liquid into a crystal glass. It wasn’t the same dark shade the blood mead I’d seen other vampires drink. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

A morbid question hit me. “Is it… good like that? Just at room temperature.”

He set the glass down and arched a brow at me. “I’m surprised you’re asking that.”

I was too. A while ago, such a question would have been inconceivable. Just the thought of a vampire drinkingblood was enough to make panic seize me. But with Raphael… there was something I wanted to trust. And I was curious. So I pulled a page from his book and waited in silence until he answered.

“It’s not, which is why most vampires exclusively take a source directly. This is little better than animal blood for me.”

I frowned. “What if you heated it over a fire?”

Raphael barked a laugh, as if I’d made a joke. I’d been completely serious. “That would hardly make it better. There’s more to blood-taking than the temperature of it. I’m afraid if I elaborated, you’d run screaming from my room.”

I snorted. “Yes, run all the way across the hall to my room next door.”

“See if this is more to your taste.” He reached around and picked up a covered tray I’d failed to notice. The polished silver gleamed in the torchlight. I moved away from the piles of important papers and took a seat on the couch, behind a low table. Raphael set the tray in front of me and lifted the lid.