“Darya,” Peter replied. “We go to school together.” Clay took my hand, raising it to his mouth for a kiss. Normally, I would’ve recoiled at such behaviour, but Clay managed to make it feel classy.
“A pleasure to meet you, Darya,” he purred. “Care to grace me with a surname?”
My eyes shot to Peter. I didn’t know if it was safe to tell this guy my full name. I was, after all, the daughter of one of the most powerful vampires in the city. I hadn’t heard about anyone being kidnapped for ransom in a long time, but it was always a good idea to play it safe.
Can I trust him? I asked Peter.
He nodded. Yes, he’s one of the good ones.
Clay shot a look from me to Peter, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “My name is Darya Cristescu. I’m sure you’ve heard of my father,” I said, and Clay’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to Peter.
“Darya Cristescu. I never knew you liked to play with fire.”
Peter frowned. “I don’t. It’s not like that.”
“Oh? What is it like, then?”
“We’ve found ourselves in a bit of a quandary,” I interrupted, sensing Peter’s growing discomfort with Clay’s assumption that we were somehow involved. Clay turned back to me as I continued. “I asked Peter to assist me in casting a spell, but I messed it up. We’re not entirely sure what went wrong, but the result of the spell was something completely different from what we intended.”
“What was the intention?”
“To see into the past.”
“Not an easy feat.”
“No, but it just doesn’t make sense what happened. Instead of seeing into the past, we woke up being able to communicate telepathically.”
“That is rather strange,” Clay agreed, tapping his chin as he went to sit on the armchair he’d been lounging in when we entered.
“We’ve searched through countless spell books to find where we went wrong but to no avail,” Peter supplied.
“Sometimes magic works in unusual ways,” Clay said. “It doesn’t always have to do with the spell that was cast, but more with those casting it. Magic can see a void and create a connection between two people who need one another for whatever reason. Perhaps you need Darya’s help and she needs yours.”
Peter and I shared a look. “We do have very complementary talents,” I said.
“Is that so?” Clay asked, his tone curious.
“Darya is an excellent fighter, while my strengths lie with magic.”
Clay clapped his hands together. “So, there you have it.”
“But isn’t there a way of severing the connection?” Peter asked.
“Why would you want to do that? You’ve both just gained the power of telepathy. There are people who would kill for such an ability.”
“True, but I’m not sure Peter wants me having twenty-four-hour access to his brain,” I interjected.
Clay brought his dark eyes to Peter. “You don’t want a beautiful young woman’s voice in your head?”
Peter scratched the back of his neck while I flushed at the compliment. “That’s not … We just want to figure out what went wrong and how to fix it. Can’t you help us with that?”
“I’m afraid not,” Clay replied evenly. “If my theory is correct, this sort of connection will only last for as long as you need each other. When that no longer applies, the connection will sever on its own.”
“So, you’re saying we just need to wait it out?” I asked.
He clasped his hands. “Pretty much.”
Peter sighed. “A great help you are.”
“Hey, sometimes there isn’t an easy fix,” Clay defended. “Now, is there anything else I can assist you with?”
“No, there’s nothing else,” Peter said before I interrupted, “Actually, there is something.”
Clay’s eyes lit with interest as he leaned forward. “Do tell.”
“I was just wondering if there’s any way to know if there’s a prophecy about me?”
“A prophecy?” Peter said in surprise.
I swallowed and focused my attention on Clay as I explained, “I had this odd dream, and I want to make sure it’s not real.”
“In general, dreams aren’t real, Darya. They’re a manifestation of—” Peter started to say.
“As a warlock, you should know that dreams can be very real and very important,” Clay interjected, his eyes on Peter before he returned his attention to me. “I can certainly help enlighten you as to what it meant. It’s a very straightforward spell, but it’ll cost you.”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind paying,” I said, eager to know what my visit to that land of fire and brimstone was about. Was my unconscious mind merely conjuring images of Oreylia based on Granddad Martin’s description? Or was it something more sinister than that?
“Very well. Take a seat, and I’ll set everything up,” Clay said, gesturing to two low stools in front of his armchair. He quickly set up the spell, and after a short incantation, he reached out to take my hand. I immediately felt a jolt of magic go through me when our palms touched. Clay’s eyes rolled back in his head. I startled, glancing at Peter, who reached out and placed a comforting hand on my knee.