Boundary Crossed (Boundary Magic #1)(42)
I freaked out. Well, actually I burst out laughing, but it had an edge of hysteria that I couldn’t control.
“In theory, any really, really powerful witch could raise the dead,” Lily said over the sound of my laughter, as though that might help me understand. “But trades witches would need a full coven and a shit-ton of mandragora in order to do death magics. Even then, it’d be dangerous for us.”
I stopped laughing. “Manda-whata?” I asked, feeling helplessly lost.
“It’s an herb for death magics,” Simon explained. “Not important right now.”
“Death magics,” I echoed, suddenly dazed. “Magic for death.”
“Uh-oh,” Lily said, raising her eyebrows at her brother. “I think you broke her, Si.”
He ignored her. “Look, Lex, the short version? Boundary witches have been hated and feared since the Inquisition. They did some stuff back then, and they ended up being seen by many people as an . . . accident of nature and magic, like an . . .” He winced, looking apologetic. “An abomination.”
I looked between the two of them. Simon was clearly uncomfortable, and Lily was still having trouble making eye contact with me. But neither of them seemed afraid of me. “You two seem to be handling it okay.”
“Well, Simon’s a scientist,” Lily answered, giving a little shrug. “And I have a particularly liberal outlook when it comes to marginalized minority groups.” She wrinkled her nose wryly, and I realized she was referring to her skin tone. “But most witches, especially the ones from our mother’s generation, see it differently.”
“Mom doesn’t think you’re going to murder us right now or anything,” Simon offered. “She’s just afraid that if we teach you how to use your power, you’ll . . . well, use it. And grow more powerful.”
“Like breast-feeding,” I said absently. I shook my head, trying to ground myself. In the army, I’d been to briefings where we had to process a lot of information very quickly. Either I was out of the habit, or the bump on my head was a lot worse than Lily had thought.
“Okay, fine. I can get more of the history later. For now, though, what do we do? Maven wants me trained, and your mom wants me banished from the state.”
Part of me was hoping they’d say they couldn’t train me, that I’d have to go home and find another way to keep Charlie safe. I didn’t want to be a witch, and certainly not one with death in her blood. I just wanted to go home, maybe go for a bike ride, and then watch something with Gregory Peck saving the world from corruption and tyranny.
But both of the Pellars suddenly looked very sober. “We have to train her,” Lily said to her brother. “We can’t let Mom renege on the deal. It could start a war, Si.”
Simon gave her a long, speculative look, then nodded. “I don’t remember her actually forbidding us from training her,” he said to the ceiling. “We’ll really just be carrying out her wishes, by keeping her deal with Itachi.” His gaze flicked back to Lily. “If I cancel my class,” he began, “can we divide and conquer?”
She made a sour face. “I hope you don’t mean—”
“I’ll start working with Lex; you start working on Mom.” Lily was obviously about to protest, so Simon added, “Come on, Lil, you’re the baby—and her favorite. You know she’ll listen to you.”
“How come I’m only her favorite when my older siblings want something?” Lily complained, but I could tell by the look on her face that she was going to acquiesce. She let out a frustrated grunt. “Ugh, fine. Just go out to the barn or something so you’re not right in her face.”
Lily went out the back door to run interference with their mother, who had progressed to the geraniums behind the house. Simon led me out the sliding glass door, across the wooden porch, and along the driveway toward the old barn I’d seen when I drove up. I felt his eyes on me most of the way. “You okay?” he asked when we were nearing the barn.
I shook my head. “Not even close.”
He shot me a sympathetic look and slid open the enormous wooden door, motioning for me to step past. Inside, I paused for a second so my eyes could adjust to the dimness. There was a fenced-off concrete walkway cutting straight through the barn, which was otherwise divided into a quartet of large stalls, each big enough to comfortably house six to eight cows. The barn was deserted now, but I could tell that at one point there had been actual cows here—the air still smelled faintly of stale manure, and there were pockets of griminess where years of caked-on dirt and cow feed had left permanent stains on the furnishings. Despite the barn’s obvious age, everything was well cared for, with swept concrete floors and signs that the fences were hosed off regularly.
“There used to be a few dairy cows here, but when my mom took over the farm she switched to agriculture only,” Simon explained. He led me to the center of the building, where a decidedly rickety-looking wooden ladder led up to a plain square hole cut into the wooden ceiling. “This way,” he urged, and without waiting to see if I’d follow, Simon hopped onto the ladder and began climbing, disappearing through the hole. I didn’t like the idea of following him into a room I couldn’t see, but I swallowed my discomfort and began climbing after him.