As I showered, I wrestled with what Dad had said. He wasn't going to stop me from doing magic. Mom would if she knew what I was up to, but neither of them thought magic was worth the risk. What if they were right? What if magic wasn't worth attracting the witch hunters' hostility?

Until now, I'd only been thinking about how to get my parents to agree with me, not whether they might be right. Though, I still didn't think they were right. If I gave up magic, what then?

It wouldn't change the fact that we couldn't move back to Chicago. Too many people there knew we were witches. And anywhere else we went, people were bound to discover our witchy heritage eventually. I would have to rely on the so-called "Witch Protection Laws," which did absolutely nothing if a well-connected hunter wanted to burn your house down or kill you in a back alley.

It was different in Sorciereville. We were safe here. The downside was limited career options--severely limited if you weren't involved in the magic trade.

Wrapping a towel around myself, I stepped out of the shower. It was ridiculous to think about giving up magic. Some people drew, some people wrote, and I'd played around with singing for a few years, but magic was my thing. It was the only thing I could imagine doing for the rest of my life.

I couldn't give it up. I just had to convince my parents to be okay with it. Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. It would probably be even harder now that Leo had caught me sneaking off the estate. Dad might not have told Mom yet, but he would soon enough, and an angry Mom was impossible to convince of anything. Maybe I was just doomed to do magic in secret.

As I stepped toward the bathroom door, the mirror over the sink caught my eye. I quickly looked away. It didn't make sense, but I couldn't bear to look at my own reflection. No one could almost die without changing somehow. After everything that had happened this afternoon, I didn't want to see what those changes might be.

I went from the bathroom to my adjoining bedroom and changed into a tank-top and shorts. My thoughts buzzed with memories of this afternoon, and as hard as I tried to ignore them, they persisted like angry bees.

In the span of a few minutes, I'd met a fairy, nearly died, and tricked a dragon. All those things were unnerving enough, but it was how I'd saved us both that really freaked me out. The sweet taste of fairy blood still lingered on my tongue. Shuddering, I ducked back into the bathroom to wash out my mouth for the umpteenth time.

Drinking Kyton's blood had been necessary. If I hadn't done it, we both would've died. I knew that, and the action itself wasn't what I regretted. It wasn't what made me sick to my stomach.

I'd liked it. I'd liked the taste of his blood, the feeling of his magic rushing through my veins.

My skin crawled with the realization. That was what had changed me, not almost dying. What was wrong with me? I bit a person and drank their blood. I should be throwing up. Or nauseous, at least. It wasn't like other witches liked Otherworlder blood. Grandma said it was nasty. Just when I thought I was almost normal--I was a freak, even for a witch.

No, there had to be some other explanation. Maybe the blood's toxicity had affected my brain. If I drank the antitoxin, I would go back to normal. Otherworlder blood would be just as disgusting to me as it was supposed to be. Of course it would. I just had to find Grandma and ask for the antitoxin.

Someone knocked on my bedroom door. Hopefully, it was Grandma. I crossed the large room, and the mirror over my dresser taunted me with my own reflection. Ignoring it, I opened the door.

It was Kyton, dressed in clean clothes that looked several sizes too big. The sight of him startled me so much that I yelped and took a step back. Trying to calm my racing heartbeat, I took a deep breath and crossed my arms.

"What do you want?"

He let out a breath of cool magic, and I dug my nails into my arms to keep from leaning toward him. I wasn't a freak. I didn't really want to drink blood. It was just a side effect of alien toxins.

Kyton held up a cloth pouch like a peace offering. "Silvestre wanted me to give this to you."

The purple pouch looked big enough to hold a short rolling pin. I leaned forward to grab it before jumping back again. Inside the pouch was a roll of bandages, a scroll of paper, and a potion vial. That had to be the antitoxin. Thank goodness.

I took it out and downed the potion in one gulp. It was sour but worth it. Now I wouldn't have to worry about acting like a freak.

Kyton's scent still made my mouth water. Why wasn't the potion working? Maybe it took a little time to kick in, but potions were usually pretty instantaneous. I waited for a full minute, uncomfortably conscious of the fact that Kyton was eyeing me like a science experiment. He fiddled with his newly-repaired glasses.

"How do you feel?"

What kind of question was that? I was some type of blood-loving freak, and there was a walking blood dispenser standing right in front of me. I couldn't really like blood. That was crazy; I just liked magic. That wasn't too weird, right? Wanting to drink someone's blood to get their magic?

I shrugged. "How should I feel?"

"Silvestre said you should be feeling... less than one hundred percent." The timidness in his voice made me think that was an understatement.

"Uh huh, and what exactly does that mean?"

He picked at a bandage poking out from under the collar of his shirt. "Silvestre thought you had a vial of antitoxin with you in the woods. When I said you didn't, her exact words were 'she should be puking and writhing in agony.'" Cocking his head, he gave me a curious look. "You seem fine."

"I feel fine." Why did I feel fine? Maybe I had some kind of magic addiction that made me not feel the pain or something. How was I supposed to know? His magic dulled my thoughts. I had to get him out of here so I could think. Grabbing the door, I started to close it. "I have a strong constitution. Thanks for the bag. Goodbye."

He caught the door. "Do you need help with your hands?"

My heart leapt at the thought that something was wrong with my hands. What was wrong with me now? Nothing, apparently. My hands looked perfectly fine. "Why would I need help?"

"It's kind of hard to bandage your own-" Frowning, he gingerly took hold of my right hand. "Didn't you cut yourself with the tripwires?"

I had, but my fingers and wrists were completely unmarked--no cuts, not even any scars. "Huh."

Kyton echoed my sentiment. Cheeks reddening slightly, he let go of my hand. "I must've been seeing things."

"Maybe." Somehow, I didn't think telling him the truth was the best idea. His blood had obviously done more than I'd thought. It must've healed me, too, but there was no good way to tell someone that their blood had great healing properties. Kyton seemed like he was about to say something else on the topic, so I tried to change the subject.

"When we met, you looked like a pile of dirt. How'd you control your glamour like that if your wings were torn?"

He took off his glasses to reveal pupils as violet as the glasses themselves. Cleaning his glasses on his shirt, he said, "Before my wing was shredded, I changed my glamour to blend in. Afterwards, I stayed still, so my glamour didn't need to change to keep me hidden." He put his glasses back on. "Once I started moving, it went back to the- you could say it's the default setting, the one that makes me look human."

Another question occurred to me. "What's up with your eyes?"

Pushing his glasses up, he looked a little defensive. "What's up with yours?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what I meant. They're really pretty." Ugh, that was such a stupid thing to say to a guy. "I mean, they're plenty masculine, just-" Why was I getting so flustered? It was like when I tried to ask James Peters out in the ninth grade and I called him a "hunk." Not that anyone was asking anyone out here. Admittedly, Kyton was cute, and I wouldn't mind if he asked me out under different circumstances, but I wasn't keen to go out with someone whose blood made my mouth water. Sucking someone's blood on a date would probably end badly.

Kyton looked just as flustered as I felt. Rubbing his shoulder, he fixed his gaze on the carpet. "Violet eyes are common for water sprites."

"I'm sure they are, I just mean how come your eyes look all Otherworld-y when the rest of you looks human?"

"Oh." He looked up at me again, smiling slightly. "You know how they say eyes are the windows to the soul? It's true when it comes to glamour; the eyes are the hardest to change."

"Right."

He stood quietly for a minute, like he was waiting for me to say something, then he turned to leave. Before I could close the door, he spun around again.

"My contract-" He palmed his forehead. "I forgot to mention my contract's in that bag. Silvestre rewrote it, so I'm your new bodyguard now."