Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115860 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
That’s a bloody awful accusation.
But what else would Sydney think? And how can I answer when, not only does she not know I’m a wizard now, she doesn’t even know for certain that magic exists? I shake my head, straining for a plausible explanation, but my fuzzy thoughts refuse to cooperate.
Well, it’s like this: I transitioned into my magic, and duplication is my unique power. Neat parlor trick, innit?
I smother a snort. Not only would that make her go mental, but all the associated explanations she would demand… I wince. Still, I have to say something. She looks petrified, clutching that white sheet as if it will save her.
“Take a deep breath,” I say calmly. “Sit beside me.”
“Sit? Bloody sit?” she huffs. “Have you lost the plot? I want an explanation!”
I look over my shoulder again.
The other me merely shrugs. “She deserves that much.”
Not only does my double look real, but he’s apparently capable of his own thoughts and speech. Brilliant. “What are you, my bloody conscience? I know she deserves an explanation. Got one that makes sense?”
“Sydney gave you one…brother.”
Conscience? He’s the bloody devil on my shoulder, more like.
I grit my teeth. In my nearly thirty years, I’ve learned to censor most of my stupid thoughts. Clearly, the other me has yet to master that skill.
“This is a bloody circus.” I rake my fingers through my hair.
My doppelgänger jumps in. “Piss about if you like, but—”
“So you are twins?” Sydney demands. “Is that the truth?”
Unfortunately, the truth is dangerous for me, for her, and for magickind.
I scowl at my clone. “How do I make you go away?”
The other me ignores me and regards Sydney. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know this is a shock.” He wraps the bed’s little throw around his waist, approaching her with the caution one uses to approach a wounded lioness. “No one meant to hurt you.”
“You probably laughed as you shared me, like it’s some bloody joke.” She swipes at the tears on her cheeks with a furious hand.
The vulnerable crack in her voice stabs me straight in the heart. “That isn’t what happened. I promise.”
The other me cups Sydney’s shoulder. The sight of any male hand on her, even a duplicate of my own, enrages me.
“Don’t touch her,” I warn with a growl.
“He’s already had it all. Why be squeamish now?” she shoots back tartly, then turns to my twin. “Get your bloody hand off me.”
Sydney tries to shove him away, but the other me holds on. For his troubles, she rakes her nails down his arm, drawing blood. My clone hisses.
“What the bloody… Ouch!” Pain has me glancing down at my own wrist. I don’t see the scratch that appears on my clone’s skin, but I feel the sting.
What the fucking hell is that?
She zips her gaze back to me. “I don’t know what’s going on, you wanker. Wankers,” she corrects. “What a flipping farce. Explain now or get the hell out.”
Since I’m still minus a plausible explanation I’m at liberty to divulge, I lean closer and cup her shoulder. “I know I gave you a fright, but I swear it’s more…complicated than—”
“It’s not. You shared me with your twin behind my back, you fucking bastard!” Sydney slaps me.
I rear back. Beside me, I’m shocked to see an angry palm print on my clone’s cheek that likely mirrors my own.
So…I feel my clone’s pain, but I don’t sustain his injury. The clone, however, suffers both. Confounding, but then, magic always is. Little Westin’s death alone proves that.
“Say something.” Her tears begin falling harder.
“I can’t.” Nothing I spill will make sense. I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
Bloody lame answer, my clone sneers inside my head.
Splendid. Now I can converse mentally with the unwanted prat.
Fuck off.
Sydney stomps her foot and grabs the dressing gown littered on the floor near the bed. She shoves it on in angry, jerky movements. “Piss off—both of you!”
As she marches from the bedroom, my mind reels. Sydney will find Duke, who’s likely still loitering on her sofa. When she says she’s seen two Cadens, news of my ability to clone will go straight to Bram, who will find a use for me in this bloody flipping war.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to remember everything I learned about magic as a boy. I’ve blocked out most, but bits, especially when Lucan visited me, return.
Power and passion. Both are important. A wizard must have the magical ability to cast the spell they seek. But the desire for the outcome is equally critical. I bloody hope that magic wouldn’t be so cruel as to saddle me with a power I can’t control. As much as I hate all this hocus-pocus rubbish, I need my clone gone.
Straining, I clench my fists and focus on merging myself back into one essence, visualizing the other being assimilating into my form. I hear a sucking noise and feel a slam against my back, followed by a pounding in my head. Bloody hell, every muscle hurts worse than before, and I feel a bit nauseous. But when I look around, the blanket about my clone’s waist is in a heap on the floor and he’s blessedly gone.