Page 17 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

I averted my eyes from his scrutinizing gaze. After what seemed like an eternity, I glanced back up at him, my cheeks now flushed with embarrassment. In the obscurity of the night, it seemed unlikely he could discern the color on my face, yet he nodded and softly murmured, "I thought as much."

I sighed deeply. “I have had…weird things…happen in the past whenever I was in real life danger or something like…” Why I transformed into a stammering, tongue-tied mess in his presence, I did not know, but it was flapping frustrating.

For heaven's sake, would you talk coherently?!

With another deep breath, I swallowed my anxiety and pressed on.

“But nothing like this!” I assured him. “And it only happened twice before.”

He nodded once more, and for a moment, I anticipated a series of inquiries about the specifics and occurrences of my previous encounters with translation. However, he seemed to reconsider.

“I know you must have a million questions,” he proceeded, “and I can’t answer them all tonight. But let me give you the gist.”

I nodded in agreement.

He sighed contently and began to explain. "What we do, what we have—these powers? They are, simply put, an energy that erupts when we, magi, experience emotions. We feel something, and we use that feeling to project, or to translate our energy. It's a form of expression, really."

He gazed at me for a moment, searching my expression for signs of understanding. With a nod, I silently urged him to go on.

"It's a manifestation of yourself. For example, if you want a car, you translate your desire to drive it into the appearance of a car.

And if you want it fully fueled, then you have to know what kind of fuel goes into it.

You can't simply think, 'fully fueled.' There's no outer source backing you on this; it only comes from within you. Which is why education is so important: the more you know, the more powerful you are. And controlled.”

He paused, taking in a deep breath.

"We spend more than half our lives learning how to translate right, and our training begins almost from the day we're born.

We stumble on Humanborns like yourself more often than you'd think, but it's almost always when they're very young.

Mostly when they're still little tots. Hell, sometimes, it's right from the get-go, at birth. "

“So I’m exceptionally old to be found in the Human World?” I asked, far from thrilled.

He nodded.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath.

“Don’t worry, though. You’re still very young. You’re not even twenty-five yet, right?”

I shook my head, and he continued.

“At the age of twenty-five, we all get the ability to age at will. We all live for at least 200 earth-years, or two cycles, as we call it. The first cycle or century, if you will, consists mainly of education and specialization. During the second cycle, we focus more on our duties and procreation.”

I blinked. What?

“So…you all look twenty-five?” I asked, confusion lacing my voice. James looked distinctly older.

“No, we don’t, though we have the option.”

I frowned. “So how old are you?”

“I’m a first cycler and in my thirtieth year on earth. That is the age you’re observing, as I’ve decided against rejuvenation for the time being.”

“Why?”

“Because I will have a certain position that will need to command respect, and I feel a younger look may complicate that.”

“What kind of position?” I asked, intrigued, secretly relieved the subject had shifted onto him.

Again, as if he could read my mind, he asked narrowing his eyes, “Are you deflecting again?”

I widened my eyes while shaking my head innocently and he snorted.

“As I was saying, don’t worry about your age, you’ll have enough time to further your education. Trust me, the age you’re found in the Human World doesn’t mean shit.”

A significant gap in my understanding remained, so I ventured another question. "I apologize for my ignorance, but how do you 'find’ magi? Is there some sort of tracking device or method involved?" The notion sent a chill down my spine.

“Kind of,” he replied, “Whenever we translate, it leaves a trace, sort of like humans leaving DNA at a crime scene. We use a magical object, called the LiaPrism, a crystal that identifies and locates a person through their translation but only in the Human World. In our world the translation simply blends in with the energy, so it’s never traceable there.

Out here it’s visible because the energy you project is not native to this world.

So yes, here we can track you and identify you.

It usually comes out at the first sight of any emotion and because the little brats are known to have tantrums, we usually spot them when they’re still very young. ”

I considered this. “So how come you didn’t find me until now?” I asked a little confused. “I’ve had my share of tantrums.”

He shot me half a smile. “Of that, I have no doubt.”

I stuck out my tongue at him in response, thus proving him right.

“So why then?” I pressed.

He hesitated.

“Because Emma, for reasons unknown, your translation doesn’t leave any trace in the Human World.

It’s visible though, so I don’t really know what that means.

I have gone over this a trillion times since Stephen told me about you and I have no clue how that’s possible.

If it hadn’t been Stephen himself who’d seen you project, I wouldn’t even believe you had any powers at all. ”

“But,” he continued, “Stephen did see your haze when you jumped over the car so there’s no doubt.

Your translation in the Human World is visible, luckily only by magi, but untraceable.

It’s like you’re bleeding without leaving DNA.

And tonight confirmed what you already thought: you translate your fears of dying or at least when you feel very threatened, and for some reason our world is incapable of tracking it. ”

“A haze?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Yeah, it’s a color which emerges from your energy.

Yours is apparently dark red, which indicates a great deal of very old and raw power.

But as I said, we can only see it here in the Human World, we can’t see the haze in our world except for educational purposes, though I’m starting to wonder if yours might be the exception to that too. ”

I contemplated this for a moment, recollecting the first time I had met Stephen and the bright white haze I thought I’d seen. So, he was "translating" or "projecting"—I still wasn't clear on the correct terminology—when we first met each other.

“What color is yours?” I asked, curious to learn more about him.

James stared at me for a moment before replying, “Cerulean.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Blue?”

His eyes narrowed. “Cerulean.”

All right, fancy blue. “Isn’t that just an overcomplicated way of saying blue?” I pressed, only half-kidding.

His jaw tightened, and I could practically feel the restraint it took him not to roll his eyes.

I cleared my throat. “Does that color, I don’t know, have some grand significance?”

“Yes,” he answered curtly. I waited, but no elaboration followed.

“Ah. Well, thank you for that thrilling insight,” I said, not even trying to hide my sarcasm.

Again, no reply. Just the quiet satisfaction of a man who clearly enjoyed keeping his secrets.

“Why do I only translate when I feel threatened?” I changed the subject. “Why not any other emotion?”

“I don’t know,” he responded truthfully. “I’m not even sure you don’t. As we can’t trace it here, there’s no definitive way of knowing. Maybe you have translated other emotions without realizing it. I’m not sure Emma, but these questions are why you have to come in now.”

I came to a halt and turned to him slowly. He regarded me with raised eyebrows, conveying a questioning expression.

I thought it best to be as honest as possible. After all, someone assists you in getting away with attempted murder, they might be deemed trustworthy, wouldn't they?

In a subdued tone, I confessed, "I'm...scared.

I have no idea who I am in your world. I know so little about that place, and if your world can't provide any answers about what I am, I'll be an oddity, an outcast, a scientific experiment, a failure.

" As I voiced my deepest fears, I found myself stammering, and I couldn't help but curse my spontaneous inability to maintain composure.

Normally, I was far more collected than this.

Why was I sounding like a blithering idiot?

Expecting James to try to reason with me, convince me of the unlikelihood of anything bad happening to me in his warm and cozy witchy world, he surprised me by promptly gripping my shoulders more forcefully than I anticipated.

He took a deep breath and spoke with unwavering conviction, leaving no room for doubt.

“I promise you, Emma, I will never let anyone hurt you or use you. You won’t be a failure, and you most certainly—” he swallowed and shuddered in disgust, “will not become an experiment. I will protect you but I can only do so if you’re close.

I can’t protect you out here in the Human World. ”

The moon shone bright as it lit our path through the park.

The shadows of the trees seemed to embrace our bodies and while James’s silhouette was cloaked in darkness, I sensed an inexplicable pull toward him, gawking at him with sultry eyes, wanting to feed on the metaphorical light he projected so clearly.

My heart was pounding, and my body was reacting to only the idea of being “close” to him, being protected by him…Good gods, I had to squish this crush immediately, it was getting embarrassing. I knew the guy for five minutes. What was going on with me?

He released my shoulders as quickly as he had grabbed them, and we resumed walking.

I could still feel a tingling sensation in the spots where his hands had made contact.

I tried to focus on the zillion questions I still had, attempting to redirect my thoughts away from the sensations coming to life a little more south.