We may have gone to sleep in separate beds, but we didn't wake up that way. Before I was even fully conscious, I knew that Ro lay wrapped around me, legs tangled with mine, and one arm looped around my waist. I turned over and discovered he was still asleep, his silky black hair obscuring half his face.

Taking the opportunity to study him without being studied in return, I cataloged his inhumanly perfect features: the straight, narrow bridge of his nose, his arched brows and expressive mouth, the dark fans of his lashes, and the strange blue-brown of his smooth skin, which had an almost iridescent quality.

Without thinking, I reached over to stroke his cheek with my fingertips...

And of course, he chose that moment to wake up and catch me watching him sleep.

The slit pupils of his yellow eyes contracted as he focused on me, and his lips curved in a smile. "What a lovely sight to wake up to," he murmured.

Reflexively, I frowned. "What are you doing in my bed?"

He yawned. "There was something wrong with mine."

"There was?"

"Mm-hm. You weren't in it."

He grinned with satisfaction as I blushed and sat up, pretending displeasure.

He sat up as well and stretched lazily. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and my eyes took off on a little accidental road trip across an expanse of taut muscle and smooth skin, and got stuck on the brown disks of his nipples just in time for him to catch me staring.

He smirked, but—to my surprise—he let the opportunity to tease me pass.

"Stop scowling," he said. "The truth is, you were talking in your sleep. You kept saying things like, Please, Daddy. Please, I'll be good, Daddy, I promise. Now, if I thought you were dreaming of me, it would be an entirely different matter, but you were also crying, and not the way I'd like to make you cry."

"Oh."

I blushed with a different sort of embarrassment and turned away. Unconsciously reliving childhood trauma in my sleep is not something I would have wanted anyone to witness.

Surprising me again, Ro rested a gentle hand on my back.

"Do you remember what you dreamed?" he asked. "Perhaps it would help to talk about it."

I shook my head. "It's not like my dad only tortured me one time. It could have been anything."

"You kept saying you were cold. You felt cold, too. That was all the excuse I needed to warm you up."

At his words, a memory lit my mind like a flash of lightning, and I rubbed my hands over my face.

"Oh. Yeah, I remember now."

I started to get up, but Ro reached out and grasped my hand, gently pulling me back down. "Tell me."

I sighed. "It was just another of his dumb tests, trying to force magic out of me, but of course I didn't know that at the time. I thought he was just punishing me for something or other."

"What did he do?"

"Took me up to a cabin in the mountains, in the wintertime. I used to love the snow, but I knew by then not to expect a fun day of sledding. He locked me outside with an unlit fire and no matches. I don't know how long I was out there. I just remember it got dark, and I was scared and... really fucking cold. All the crying and begging didn't help. I even tried to do what he said and sat down by the unlit fire, imagining it could warm me. I either fell asleep or passed out, and he must have relented, eventually, since I didn't freeze to death. Anyway, I hate snow now."

Shrugging Ro off, I rose and gathered what I needed for my morning ritual and headed for the door. Ro spoke again as I reached it.

"Perhaps you ought to explore necromancy," he said. "Bring your father back to life."

I turned to look at him. "Why on earth would I do that?"

"So I can kill him again, of course."

I snorted a laugh and turned back to the door. "Kinda dark, but thanks, Ro."

"I would, you know," he said, sounding entirely serious. "For you."

With that mildly disturbing and yet oddly sweet thought, I let myself out into the hall and went to take a shower.

❧

From Luke, we learned that Tobin had failed to return at all the night before. He followed us down to Janelle's apartment, wringing his hands with anxiety, his dark eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Kyrie ushered us inside, and the five of us gathered in the living area. Janelle sat on the couch, swathed in a purple silk dressing gown that hugged the curves of her generous figure, fuzzy slippers on her feet, and her braids wrapped in a towel. Kyrie wore a simple black robe.

"Do you think he found a new witch?" Luke asked hopefully, having related his tale.

Janelle shook her head. "And leave without telling anyone? That doesn't sound like our Tobi. He might be a bit light in the brains department, but he's a good, loyal friend."

"Then... do you think he's... been summoned? Or... trapped?" Luke whispered.

"It's always a possibility," Janelle said, turning her teacup in her hands. "If he was outside the protections of this place, and if some witch somewhere learned his name."

"Can you summon him back?" Luke asked tearfully. "You know his name, too, right?"

Janelle nodded. "Possibly I can; but you know it's not as simple as that. Summoning takes a lot of energy and power, and it isn't the most pleasant of experiences for either party. I don't like to inflict it for anything but the direst need. I'd rather exhaust the less drastic options first."

"But what if he's in danger?" Luke sniffed. "What if he's been caught by the Vestigers, and they banish him, or—"

"Luke, honey, calm down," Janelle said with a motherly firmness that left no room for argument. "Take a breath. Let me make you some tea, and in the meantime, we'll start with Carmella. Maybe she can clear this up, or at least give us a lead. Ky?"

She looked at her familiar, and the tall, dark-skinned woman blinked. "Lover, are you asking me to go and disturb a vampire at..." She checked the time. "... a quarter to six in the morning?"

Janelle winced. "Yes?"

Kyrie blinked her obsidian eyes. "Fine. But only because I love you."

"I'll go as well," Ro said, rising gracefully from where he'd been leaning against my side. "I have some ideas for other avenues of inquiry, as well."

Janelle nodded. "Alright. But stay together, and be back by four, or be in touch. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Ro said.

They left, and Janelle rolled her eyes at their backs. "Honestly, Carmella's more bark than..." She stopped herself and shrugged. "Well, you know what I mean."

❧

Luke stayed with us while Janelle gave me my daily lesson. It started simply enough, with the usual meditation, and then she set an unlit candle on the table before me, and I blanched.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking up at me. She'd changed out of her dressing gown and now wore a flowing dress in a bright pattern of red, yellow, and green. "You look like you just swallowed a slug."

"Just... bad memories," I said.

"Your father?"

I nodded.

"Well, I'm not him," she said, settling back in her seat and picking up a book of crossword puzzles. "You know what I taught you so far, and I know what you can do. So... just do your best. We already know you got an affinity for air and fire. Use 'em."

She picked up her pencil and proceeded to ignore me.

Luke had fallen asleep in his chair, his large, fuzzy ears drooping from his mop of black curls, and I felt a strange surge of protectiveness towards him. The cynical part of my mind said I was just glad to have found someone who seemed even more pathetic than me; the smaller, more optimistic part said that, now that I finally had a smidge of power, I wanted to use it for good.

I turned my attention to the candle and got to work.

❧

"Useless little shit," my father mumbled as he stalked around the chalk circle in which I sat. From the style of jeans I wore, I guessed I was about eleven. "Obviously, a failure—despite your very existence as evidence to the contrary. Can't even light a damned candle."

I pinched my lips together, but tears escaped my eyes and fell to the dusty, dark boards on which I knelt. There were cracks between them, and old nails poked their heads up here and there. I focused on the pattern of the grain and let my imagination wander with what I saw there: a cat; a deer; my father; a monster; a fire.

He clapped his hands in front of my face, and I gasped and startled.

"Focus!" he snapped. "I know it's in you; it must be. One little spark is all it will take to wake it up, and then... Then I'll buy you ice cream, or cake, or whatever it is that children want. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Elwood?"

I stared at the candle and sniffed back snot and more tears. I was very hungry, but I didn't want my dad to buy me treats. I just wanted him to...

❧

"Woah!"

The candle in front of me exploded, hot wax splattering across the entire living room. Luke woke with a yelp, and Janelle held her puzzle book in front of her like a shield.

I blinked in confusion and surprise. The only evidence of the candle's former existence was a ring of wax, like the ejecta of an impact crater, spreading outward in a ring on the coffee table.

"What the—" Janelle glanced around, and then her eyes settled on me. "What the hell were you thinking of, Ellie?"

I fell back, hands raised, my father's specter still looming large in my mind.

Janelle's expression softened. "I mean literally, Ellie—what were you thinking of, just now?"

"My... My dad," I gasped. "I was... just remembering some shit."

"Some shit, huh?" She glanced around at the speckles of wax dotting her living room.

"I'll clean it up," I whispered. "I'm sorry."

"Honey..." She sighed. "This is gonna take more than a little Dawn and a dishrag. But don't worry 'bout it. Believe me, I've seen worse. Meanwhile, it's on to the next phase. You got a lot of power, and not enough control. It's study time."

❧

She gave me a stack of books on runes, sigils, and seals, and sent me up to my room while she and Luke set about picking dots of hardened wax off... well, just about everything.

I sat on my bed, flipping through pages of charts, diagrams, and essays on the art of magick, and struggled to focus for more than ten seconds at a time.

"Magick is nothing but will made manifest," one author claimed.

Weak-willed waste of time, my father's echo interjected.

I refocused and continued reading.

"Those born with a talent for magick may harbor a soul forged in a higher plane," another essayist claimed.

Failed experiment, my father said, his voice as clear as if he leaned over my shoulder. I rubbed my brow and took a few breaths.

Further on, I read that "The conjunction of Venus and a crescent moon is conducive to the conception of the Priestess-born, who bear the highest of magical potential."

Obviously not, my father snorted, so close to my ear that I turned instinctively as if I'd really heard him.

And there he was, a shadowy figure in the corner of the room, standing with his arms crossed, looking as displeased and disappointed as always.

"You..." I breathed, my eyes going wide and round with a mix of horror and shock.

He shrugged. I didn't ask to be here, he said. You summoned me. Good work, by the way; pity I'm too dead to help you now.

I stared at him as my mind went through a kaleidoscopic swirl that left me dizzy and sick, but then I shut my eyes and took a breath, remembering everything Janelle had taught me.

I wasn't that kid anymore, and if anyone knew what the fuck was going on, it was my dad.

I opened my eyes and found my father's... shade, or whatever it was, still watching me. I didn't know if he was real, or if I'd lost my mind, but I decided to roll with it.

"Actually," I said, "I think you might be able to help me for the first time in my life."