I knew I should have phrased this more carefully, especially when speaking to the Lord of the Legion himself. But Ronan seemed like the sort of person who appreciated candor.
“You certainly have a way of cutting straight to the core of the issue,” he stated, his face impassive.
“My way is not the Legion’s way, though,” I said. “We’re supposed to expect casualties, to eliminate threats by any means necessary. We’re told that collateral damage is unavoidable—even preferable to the damage a villain will continue to do if he remains free.”
“And what do you think?” Ronan asked me.
Dangerous grounds lay ahead. Ronan might seem approachable. Sometimes, he even seemed almost human. But I couldn’t ever forget that he was a god, and gods were not the same as humans. They weren’t even the same as angels.
“Perhaps the Legion is right about that, that saving lives at the expense of capturing a criminal allows that criminal to do more damage for longer,” I allowed. “But I can’t just sacrifice innocents. Because where is the line? When does the coldness of a Legion soldier doing their duty cross the line into indifference for human lives? Or worse yet, devilish delight at ending lives?”
“You’re worried about your power lust.”
“How do you not get caught up in the magic of the moment? How do you not answer its seductive call when it’s flowing through you, burning like wildfire, screaming to be unleashed?” I asked desperately. “And you just want more and more. Everything else falls away and you become the monster.”
That was the way I had felt when I’d interrogated the mercenary. At the same time as I longed to feel that power burning through me, I never wanted to feel that way again.
“The answer is: you learn to control your power,” he said. “You’ve gained so much magic so fast. It’s not surprising that it’s overwhelming you. Control. It’s all about maintaining control.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I said drily.
“It’s not.”
Something about the way he said it, about the look in his eyes, made me wonder if he was speaking about himself too. Did even gods struggle with not getting caught up in all their power? Had I caught a rare peek into the soul of the impervious God of War?
“The magic consumes some people,” I said bluntly. “They change. They begin to see humans as nothing, as beasts who exist solely for their amusement. That’s what happened with Balin Davenport, the Deserter. I’ve read his report. He certainly has a colorful portfolio of accomplishments since leaving the Legion. He’s a cruel and twisted man. Did the Legion’s training cause him to be like that? Did his time here turn him into a monster?”
Ronan was quiet for a few heavy moments. “You aren’t making your life easy by asking these questions,” he finally said.
“I’ve been accused of a lot of things, but never of making my life easy,” I replied. “Or anyone else’s life for that matter.”
“Keep asking those hard questions, Leda. Just not too loudly,” Ronan added. “I’ve lost too many angels to this cruelty of which you spoke, this hardness that makes them arrogant, makes them believe that they can challenge the gods’ authority and hurt anyone they wish to. The angels are the protectors of humanity, the champions. They are given powers mere mortals do not possess so that they can protect the Earth and the humans who live there. Don’t make the same mistakes those fallen angels did.”
“I’m no angel,” I stated.
“Not yet perhaps, but Nyx is convinced you will be.”
“And you? What do you think?” I asked him.
“Time will tell.” He lowered into a fighting stance once more. He was giving me a warning before he attacked.
It didn’t help much. We went for another round of training. Or more like ass kicking.
I kept my distance from him, giving myself time to evade his magic blasts and psychic-powered fists. I even got in a punch. But when my fist slammed into his hard stomach, it only seemed to amuse him, not hurt him. I realized too late that he had drawn me into a trap.
Lightning fast, he snatched hold of my wrist, locking it inside his hand. Then he hit me point-blank with a telekinetic blast. It sent me flying across the room. This time I managed to catch myself on the training ropes hanging from the ceiling. He blasted me again, and I fell out of the ropes. I hit the ground with a thump that echoed through the room—and through my body.
“You still have zero telekinetic resistance,” he said.
I rubbed my aching head. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Do you usually go out so easily?”
I sighed. “Pretty much.”
“How long have Nero and Harker been training you for Psychic’s Spell?”
“Months.”
“And your telekinetic resistance is not improving?”
“Not really.” I tried to get up, but it hurt too much.
“Are you done napping?”
“Come a bit closer and you’ll find out,” I said, sarcasm biting my tongue.
“You’re very bold with the gods,” he commented. It was a statement, not a judgment.
“Nero isn’t here to make me behave myself.”
He actually looked amused. “Just don’t forget to be afraid of me. Of all of us.”
“Oh, I am afraid,” I assured him. “Scared out of my wits actually. But I’ll be damned if I let fear freeze me. That does no one any good.”
“You are very wise. The other gods don’t recognize that. Well, perhaps Valora does. The others underestimate you. They think you are a fragile human,” Ronan said. “But humanity is stronger than they think. And you aren’t really human, are you? You never were.”
I grabbed at his words, latching onto them. “What do you think I am?”
“I don’t know,” he declared, looking at me closely. “A magical mystery. A conundrum.”
“Perhaps that’s why I can never gain the power of telekinesis.”
“Oh, you can gain it, I’m sure. You just have to go about it differently.”
I perked up. “So there’s a better way than the usual torture-with-magic-until-you-are-immune-to-it method?”
He laughed. “Oh, no. There’s no way around that, I’m afraid.”
I sighed. Of course there wasn’t.
“Someone with high magical potential often has particular strengths or weaknesses depending on the origin of his or her magic. That’s what we call your magical ancestry,” he told me. “Take your friend Drake, for example. He has shifters in his family history, so he’s strong. And he is predisposed to pick up that type of magic easily. Or consider your friend Ivy. She is good at calming people. That’s because her mother was a telepath, a ghost. And Ivy is obviously empathic. It’s the same branch of magic. That’s how our soldiers can possess hints of some kinds of magic before they reach the corresponding levels in the Legion.”
That didn’t explain my magic, though. My single pre-Legion magic was my vampire-mesmerizing hair, and I’d never heard of any supernatural with that power.
“When the gods came to Earth, we gave humanity gifts of magic,” Ronan continued. “Seven gods, seven gifts. My specialty is telekinesis, so that was my gift to humanity. I turned a few select humans into telekinetics. Humans with psychic power are my children, the progeny of my magical gift to humanity.”
“I am obviously not one of your ‘children’.”
“No, your magic lies elsewhere on the spectrum. Or more specifically, as I suspect, on the opposite end of the spectrum. And that’s your problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just as we all have strengths, we also have weaknesses,” he explained. “Your kind of magic—your ancestry magic—might be canceling out the telekinetic power you are trying to gain.”
“So what can I do?”
“There’s a potion that blocks magic.”
I nodded. I’d taken such a potion during Nero’s trials. It had stripped the magic from both of us, making us human for a time.