The Devoted: A Reverse Harem Omnibus (The Devoted Season Book 1)(2)

I squint, “Da, are you...feeling okay?”

“I’m serious, Lila,” the shops bright yellow light drapes a sickly tinge across the other side of his face. Dad faces me and I try hard not to turn away, “It’s been two weeks. What are you afraid of?”

That they will send me away. I shrug. I can’t count on my voice this time. Dad’s never gotten like this...so serious. Usually, he lets my business stay my business and enjoys my company at the shop. But today, he’s adamant.

Dad searches my face, eyes scanning. The right side of his face glistens in the lamplight like sunlight gleaming over rubber. I clench my jaw.

He sighs heavily, “Why don’t you come with me?” he asks.

I’ll allow it.

He turns the door sign from open to closed and makes his way up to the second floor of our little townhouse. Up here, the light is much dimmer. Half-finished crocheted blankets are thrown over our two-seater sofa. In the little corralled off kitchenette nearby, something whistles and I stop dead in my tracks.

“You didn’t leave that on, did you?” I grind out, “Without watching it?”

Dad stops and throws a look over his shoulder, one that says, “I’m the adult here.”

I can’t let him off the hook, “You know that that isn’t safe,”

“Yes,” he says, “Which is why I’ve been up here for the better part of the day,”

“I thought you were...”

“It was my last day, Lilac,” he smiles softly and disappears into the kitchenette, “they let me off early.” The hurt in his voice pulls at my heartstrings. Dad lived to be the city sorcerer.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my feet slapping across the hardwood floor ruins the emotion, “I know how much you loved working for the city.”

“Eh,” he shrugs while pouring steaming water into two identical rose-painted teacups, “Water under the bridge, yeah? Do you want sugar?” he asks, dipping purple teabags into the two cups.

“Is that kava?”

He gives me a forced wink, the scarred skin on his right side making it tougher for him to close his eyelid quickly.

I force a chuckle.

Dad motions me over and shares a cup of kava with me.

“It’s time you moved on,” he tells me between sips, “I know you’re frightened—”

“I’m not!” I snap, “I just...don’t see a point,” I’ve placed the letter on the cedarwood countertop between us. Dad doesn’t even bother bending over to scan it. He knows I haven’t got a chance in any dimension of getting into a mage academy. Any academy, really. But like every other magically endowed Lucan whose finally hit their eighteenth birthday, I need to go to a magic school or I’ll never be certified to freely practice magic (magical muck-ups notwithstanding), or do any magic related jobs.

Unfortunately, that includes running wand shops.

But Dad knows an academy seal when he sees one. I recognized it too and can barely believe it’s even real.

“Lilac,” the more he says my name, the more I want to grind my teeth, “you’re afraid. Afraid of yourself—of what your magic can do,” he turns and faces me as I stare at my teacup, “ever since—” he jerks his head at me “—you’ve been afraid.”

I let that sink in, and it sinks its dirty, scrubby, claws into my doughy emotional center. I’m not on the verge of tears—yet—but I know that if I try to say anything at all, my voice will quiver and then the tears will come. Along with it’s best-frenemy, the I’m-such-a-horrible-person monster.

“Listen,” his voice lowers an octave, softens like I’m a kid again, “back then, if you knew how to control your outbursts...”

He’s taking his time, thinking that if he drives the knife in slower it’ll somehow hurt less.

It doesn’t.

“...then, maybe that entire block wouldn’t have...disappeared. In fact, Lilac, it’s a definite. Discipline, knowledge...Firedrake could give you everything and more. A safe place to grow and practice. Other mages with as much magical power as you—maybe even more,” his good eye blinks rapidly and it’s not like he’s got something in his eye. He’s lying through his teeth in the hopes of making me feel better.

I really wish I could believe it. Just pull the wool over my eyes and relax.

But I can’t.

“Lilac, listen,”

Our eyes lock. The kava is practically boiling in my hand.

“You can’t keep running from this.”

Don’t do it. Don’t do it.

Magic is like the seasons. Beautiful. Predictable. An awesome reason for festivals and holidays.

My magic is like nature on magedust. Uncontrollable. Volatile. Usually wants to kill you.

The teacup cracks in my hand as my fingers ball into a fist. The steaming, always yummy, kava spirals out of my palm and blasts itself toward Dad’s face.

This time, he’s ready. He brings up a shield of screaming air and narrowly avoids getting the good side of his face scalded. If only the Courier were as fast as my Da.

My shoulders droop, I drop my chin to my chest. “Sorry,” I murmur.

“I know you are,” Da sighs. His rough hand chucks my chin and he makes me bring my face up, “But, don’t you see? I can’t teach you how to control your magic—I’m not trained to do that. But the instructors and mentors at Firedrake are, Lilac. You must give them a chance,”