I’ve heard that name before. Aelia mentioned it yesterday when she was gossiping about some girl named Astrid who Faelan supposedly used to date or something. The House of Cernunnos—not a band. “He’s one of the five gods,” I say.
“Yes, one of the Penta.”
“So you’re a demigod.” Why would he hide that? And if he’s a demigod, shouldn’t he have a more important job than babysitting? It seems like being the child of a deity is a fairly big deal, but he’s running around following all of Marius’s orders. I reach up and touch my own necklace. “And you wear a torque.” Now that I think about it, I don’t remember seeing one on Marius. Or on the dark raven guy, Kieran.
“It’s not something we advertise,” he says. “A demi wears a torque for one of two reasons: either someone placed it on them to control their powers, or they place it to control themselves. Whoever places the torque is the only one who can remove it.”
Well, I know why I’m wearing one. “Which is it for you?”
“I placed the torque. It helps me contain things.”
“What sort of things?”
He hesitates but then says, “My father’s blood.”
“Cernunnos.”
“Yes.”
“Because . . .” When he doesn’t finish for me, I add, “What kind of god is he?”
“He’s the god of the wood, of the hunt, and the horned god of fertility.”
Um. Horned god of fertility? That sounds a bit skanky. “And he’s your . . . dad?”
“Unfortunately.”
The idea that he’s not a fan of his godparent sends a wave of relief through me for some reason. “So you’re like me.”
He releases a tense laugh. “No, I’m not like you,” he says. “Not even a little bit. I’m a stray.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I first gave my allegiance to my father’s House at my Emergence, but a hundred years later I abandoned my vow, breaking my covenant and casting off my name. The House of Brighid took me in, and I chose to give my allegiance to her instead—what there is left to give, anyway.”
I want to ask him why he left the other House, but the conversation seems to be distressing him. It’s very clear he doesn’t usually talk about all of this. “Whatever you say, it sounds like you are like me,” I say, quietly. When his brow pinches in question, I add, “I was a stray too—in the human world. No one wanted me.”
Without hesitation, he says, “We do.”
His response hits me in an odd way, the layers underneath the words making us lock eyes for an extra second. Breathing is suddenly tougher, and the skin along the back of my neck tingles again, like when I caught him watching me a few minutes ago.
“So,” I say, trying to break the growing tension. I turn back to the table, tapping on the open book. A small puff of dust rises from the page. “This looks cool. Who wrote it? What’s all that say?”
He clears his throat and focuses on the book again. “A monk wrote it in the twelfth century, I believe. It’s a study of the bloodlines and how the energies, or powers, work on a cellular level.”
I move my hand away from the yellowed paper. “Oh, that’s . . . complex. And super old.”
“It’s been protected by magic and re-bound a few times over the centuries, but yes, it’s old. And the theories are definitely complicated, especially for the time.” There’s a small smile in his voice. “The Otherborn have always been ahead in the sciences. But I think you and I can handle it. Even with your American education.”
“Very funny.” I smirk.
He almost gives me a real smile.
Warmth fills my skin at the flash of his dimple. “So, what’s first on the list?”
Discomfort surfaces in his features again, the light in his eyes fading as quickly as it came. He moves away from the desk to the center of the room. “I think we should begin with the most basic theory,” he says. “Showing you where your power—or your energy—comes from.” He motions to the spot in front of him. “Can you stand here?”
I hesitate, but then move toward the spot. For some reason, I’m nervous again, feeling the same caution I did when I woke up this morning beside his sleeping, half-naked body.
I position myself to face him, keeping a good space between us. “Like this?”
“Good.” The muscle in his temple shifts. He moves around and comes up behind me. “I’m going to take off your torque.”
“Okay.” My body tenses involuntarily.
His fingers brush the back of my neck, and a surge of heat fills my cheeks, my chest. As soon as he moves away, it passes.
He sets the necklace aside on the desk and walks over to stand in front of me again, looking lost. “So, uh, like I said, this would normally start slower, but I’m going to push you.” When I don’t argue, he continues. “I need you to focus. Close your eyes and picture yourself from the outside, standing there. Feel the green life, sense the cool of the air around you. Can you do that?”
I close my eyes, trying to focus and do what he said. It’s a little weird, but I need to make this work. One of my foster brothers was into meditating. I try to remember what he used to do. After a second of trying to quiet my mind, I feel the air brushing at my skin and smell the plants filling the greenhouse. “Okay, I got it.” I think.
“Your world is no longer what you know with your five human senses,” he says. “There’s going to be an added layer now. And, eventually, several more—but we’ll worry about that later.” I hear his shoes scrape the dirt floor like he’s shifting position. “Uh, let’s see . . . it’s been a while since I’ve seen someone else go through this . . . but it’s about sensing your body differently. Deeper, inside. There are parts of you, as a demi, that you haven’t tapped into in your human life.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Like when you’re sick and your bones ache with fever. Instead of just knowing you’ve got an infection, like you would with your human awareness, now you should be able to feel the part of your body causing the illness, the flaw, and draw your energy into that spot to repair it on a cellular level.”
“Whoa. Really?”
“It’ll take practice, though.”
“How did I start a fire when I was sleeping? That’s the part I’m worried about.”
“We’ll get to that.” His feet shift again and he begins to pace. “First you have to feel deeper, understand where the energy is coming from in a more practical way. So what you have to do is look inward. Peel your skin back and consider your muscles, your tendons, your bones.”
I scrunch up my face.
He ignores my reaction and continues. “But most importantly, you should think about the blood that feeds all of it. The life that weaves the energy through you, with your heartbeat.” After a pause, he asks impatiently, “Are you focusing?”
“Yeah, yeah, totally.” But I’m not sure I know how. What do my insides really look like? “So, the muscles and stuff, that’s what I’m thinking of? Or the blood?”
He grunts, and I squint to peek at him. He’s frowning at the floor and shaking his head. “Let’s simplify it. Just listen to your heartbeat, okay?”
That I can do. I close my eyes again and go as still as possible.