Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(40)

“Seven.” Lily made a suspicious face at me. “Okay, three.”

“What’s your full name?”

“Allison Alexandra Luther,” I recited.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Your mother throwing me into my car,” I said grimly. My head ached again, and I’d just gotten it to stop aching from the last time I’d been hurt. Unbelievable.

“We used to call it the catapult,” Lily said conspiratorially. She turned her head to look at Simon, who had backed up and was leaning in the wide doorway between the kitchen and living room. Probably to stay between me and his mother. “I think she’s fine.”

“Good,” Hazel said, climbing to her feet. She didn’t sound particularly pleased. “I’m going outside to get some air. And finish the geraniums.” She marched toward a screen door behind her.

After we heard the door slam shut, there was a long moment of silence while Simon picked up one of the mugs on the counter and took a leisurely sip. Then he calmly put the mug down again and said offhandedly, “So, that went well.”

I snorted. “I really am sorry,” he added, sounding sincere. “Mom’s under a lot of pressure from the clan right now. She was raised with a lot of traditions that are becoming . . . unfashionable.”

“When did you get here?” I asked Simon. “How long was I out?”

“Just a few minutes,” he assured me. “I was on my way here anyway, to pick up a bag of veggies for the faculty lounge.” He glanced at something over my head, and I followed his gaze to a clock on the wall.

“What’s a black witch?” I asked quickly, before he could make an excuse and leave. I wanted all the allies I could muster. Which means, I realized, that I already consider Simon an ally. Huh.

Lily put her flashlight back in the little medical kit, then crossed her arms under her breasts as if she were chilled. “The polite term is boundary witch,” she informed me. “The majority of people with active witchblood are trades witches, meaning they can manipulate magic to do a little bit of everything. Some trades witches, like most of Clan Pellar, also have a religious aspect to their magic. They’re usually referred to as hedge witches. You’ve heard of Wicca?”

“Sure.”

Lily raised one hand in a “there you go” gesture. For a second I thought I saw her tattoos writhing on her forearm, and I wondered if I didn’t have a concussion after all. “My mother is our leader. We celebrate Wiccan holidays, we have certain traditions and rituals, and we believe,” she said, cutting her eyes briefly toward her mother’s vacant seat at the counter, “that every creature has a right to free will, and that anything we put out into the world will eventually return to us threefold.”

“Which is why we use very little aggressive magic,” Simon put in. He came over and sat in the lavender armchair adjacent to the couch, so I had a Pellar on either side of me. Now that the two of them were close to each other, I could see the resemblances—the angles of their cheekbones, the shapes of their noses, even their eyebrows. It was just their skin color that varied. “I’ve never seen Mom freak out on someone like that.”

Lily shook her head. “Me either . . . but we’re getting off track. The point is that we can manipulate magic in a variety of ways, as long as we stick to our code and our traditions. But there are also witches who are born with . . . specialties. Passed down through their bloodline.”

“What kind of specialties?” I asked warily.

Simon jumped in. “It can be anything: a knack for finding the lost, a certain gift with one of the four elements, maybe the ability to nudge the weather in a certain direction.”

“Like a talent,” I said tiredly. I just wanted to go home and climb into bed, where I could hopefully forget the last week had ever happened. Instead, I was playing student. “Being good at languages or music or something.”

“Kind of,” Lily agreed. “But there’s one very rare specialty that’s considered a curse rather than a gift.” Stretching out one black high-heeled boot, she traced a line in the nap of the carpet with her toe and tapped a foot on one side of the line. “There’s the land of the living,” she began, and then tapped her foot on the other side. “And the land of the dead.”

“Boundary witches access magic that crosses the line,” Simon finished.

There was a collision in my thoughts. “Oh,” I said softly. I met Simon’s eyes. “It’s true, then . . . I can’t die?”

“You died?” Lily said incredulously. “When was this?”

“I was stabbed by a vampire a few nights ago,” I told her. “My heart stopped. Um . . . a few times.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Your soul tried to cross the line, and your magic wouldn’t let it pass. Was that the only time?”

“No. Three years ago, in Iraq. And,” I said, remembering suddenly, “when I was thirteen. I drowned while I was whitewater rafting. But that happens to lots of people. My friend gave me CPR, I thought . . . everyone thought that’s what brought me back . . .” I realized I was babbling and snapped my mouth shut. John. John had given me CPR. I hadn’t thought about that moment in ages.

Lily and Simon exchanged a meaningful look. “What?” I said, looking between them.