“Please?” I wasn’t begging. The words were coming a bit easier now, my voice stronger and laced with irritation.
“You’re going to want to keep your back straight if you want it to heal properly.” He spoke simply as he smoothly changed the subject, like healing on a couch was the obvious thing to do.
“Hos… hospital,” I whispered, the rough movements sending sharp pains through me.
“I can’t take you to a hospital, Joclyn,” Ilyan answered my mostly unasked question softly. “They will be searching for you at hospitals.”
His hands wound under the pile of blankets I had been placed under, pushing and pulling my body to straighten my back and bringing my head back to look at him. I called out as he moved me, each shift in weight sending pain shooting through my body.
“Besides,” he continued, “I can heal you much quicker.” He winked at me mischievously as he finished aligning my back, causing the pain to stop. He kept his palms flat against the skin on my back, sending that familiar warmth through me.
“What…?” I tried again, frustrated when I could still only manage one agonizing word at a time.
“What am I doing?”
I nodded my head, pain shooting down my back.
“Healing you.”
My eyes must have bugged out of my head. That one statement had opened up a floodgate, and every unanswered question and unexplainable occurrence over the past few days begged to be expanded upon. Everything flashed before my mind in quick succession as they tried to fit themselves together; my mind flashing like a badly animated short.
“How?” I breathed out, not sure if I was asking Ilyan or my mind the question. Luckily, Ilyan answered.
“Your father insisted that he told you.”
My head snapped to him, another jolt running down my spine; I ignored it.
“He promised me he would find a way to explain it all when he gave you the birthstone. I assumed he did, but he seems to have disappeared since then.”
I should have cared more that my father was missing, and I probably would have if we had had any sort of relationship. However, my mind couldn’t see beyond that one piece of information that fit everything together: the objects flying around my kitchen, the sensation of flying, surviving a broken back and who knew what else, even Ilyan healing me with his hands. My father wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t deranged. He had told the truth.
“Magic,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
Ilyan nodded solemnly before replying. “I am sorry to have to tell you this way. I had hoped we would be able to gain your trust a bit more before telling you all that was going on.”
“Magic,” I repeated strongly. My teeth clenched in surprise and anger as my stomach spun in a threatening manner. The warmth of Ilyan’s hands grew and the wave of nausea subsided.
“Yes, Joclyn. Magic.”
I didn’t know how to react. Should I be relieved, excited, frightened? Instead, everything absorbed into me, and my breath picked up in short, staccato puffs as I tried to cope with the onslaught.
“I wish I could make this easier on you. You are probably very scared.”
Ryland had said that in my dream, but he also said he knew. I felt my panic surge as my need for answers grew.
“Calm, please, Siln?,” Ilyan whispered. The warmth increased again and I found myself falling asleep, whether I wanted to or not. “If you can stay calm, I will explain a bit to you right now. Can you do that?”
I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to try. As the tired feeling in my body began to subside, I tried to keep myself calm, and my breathing even. Ilyan watched me, his hands still resting on my skin.
“The mark on your skin,” he began, his voice calm and even, “is called a kiss. Although it really isn’t a kiss at all, it’s more like a poisonous bite. When the kiss—or bite—was given, a strong poison entered your bloodstream and changed you. It took the latent powers that you already had and enhanced them. We call those who receive this kiss, a Chosen Child.
“Now, not everyone has to go through this change. I, for example, was born with my magic. It is as natural to me as breathing. You, however, as with all humans who are lucky enough to receive a kiss, have to endure the change to bring the magic into your body.”
“Not human?”
“No, Joclyn, I am not human. Although I do not differ much from your kind, I am part of a race known as the Sk?ítek. We are an ancient people who were once very plentiful; now there are only a handful of us left, only about four hundred.”
“Scree…” I tried to say the word, but my tongue knotted around it. I needed to know more; my mind couldn’t stop placing him inside a spaceship, but that didn’t seem right. After all, he had told me he had been born in Prague, but now I was wondering if he had told the truth at all.
“Yes, Joclyn. Sk?ítek. Think of me as the gatekeeper for the birthplace of magic—the well in the earth where the powers within you originated.”