Illusory

"You still haven't told me what you want to do about this whole 'us' thing," I pointed out, arching my back and reaching my arms toward the ceiling in a languid stretch. It felt so good after sitting on the living room floor for an hour, across from Van, my legs crossed and my body completely unmoving. We were working the mind, not the body. Intense concentration was required, he told me; and with another set of kitchen knives hanging in the air in the two feet between us, tips pointed right at my face, I had no choice but to believe him.

"I didn't know we needed to do anything," he said, and I frowned at the sudden lack of joy to his voice. He'd seemed so excited during our exercise, when either one of us was succeeding in our mental tug-of-war over the knives. I didn't like that the barest mention of this topic made all of that disappear.

I watched him for a moment, standing beside the table with a half-empty bottle of water in his hand, not drinking any of it as he watched me watch him. We locked eyes; we stared. Finally, I said, "Do you not want this anymore, then?" It wasn't a pleasing thought, this notion that he'd stopped being even remotely interested in pursuing a relationship with me, but I did my best to sound nonchalant. If he didn't want it, he didn't want it. "Are you proving me right? Were you really just confused about your feelings?" I walked over to him, smiling confidently even beneath his scowl of disdain. I snatched the water bottle from his hand and began to drink, my eyes flashing in challenge as I tipped my head back to gulp down every remaining ounce.

"Not at all," he said, that disdain dripping into his voice now. "I'm confused about your feelings."

"Good," I said, then loudly crushed the plastic bottle in my hand and tossed it onto the couch. His glare now was absolutely delightful. "I don't want you to know how I feel anymore."

"And why is that?" he asked, retrieving the bottle and scowling down at it as if this were all its doing.

"Because I don't want to have to play this game of yours anymore," I said, shrugging, with the smuggest smirk imaginable on my lips. "If I'm not sure how you feel, I don't want you to be sure how I feel. Doesn't that sound fair?"

He sighed, aggravated, and tossed the smashed bottle at my face. "If you want this to remain at a standstill, sure," he said, his glare somehow managing to darken even further when I caught the bottle instead of letting it hit me in the nose, which seemed to be his intention. "But personally, I thought that we were starting to make it somewhere."

"When?" I asked, tossing the bottle into the air. A murmur of "Subrigo" and a mental video of the knives flying through the air to pierce the bottle had just that occurring: the knives leaped to life and stabbed straight through the bottle, then turned their path toward Van when I willed it so on a whim. "When you were kissing me in your study? Or the other time you were kissing me in your study? Or the time you had your mouth on my boob?"

"Aboleo," he hissed in a rage, moving toward me with strong, angry strides even as the bottle and the entire set of knives fell to dust upon the carpet. Before I knew it, he was in my face, so close that I could feel his heartbeat thundering through my breast. "I don't like this new attitude of yours," he growled, low and dangerous. A thrill ran through me, a pleasant tingling that reminded me of all the bad boys I'd dated throughout high school, the very reason I was so careful with men now. But damn, was that feeling delicious. "I don't like that you're talking down to me, acting like I'm stupid when I'm so obviously not."

"Does it get you all hot and bothered?" I nearly moaned, a smug smirk still playing across my lips as I taunted him. "'Cause that's what this is doing to me." I quickly undid the top button of my nearly see-through black blouse, then the second from the top, and the third, until he had a view straight down the white, too-tight tank top underneath that I hoped made him feel the very same thrill that I'd just felt. "So hot," I groaned, throwing my head back.

"Stop it, Ember," he snarled, trying to regain the control he'd always loved so fucking much, the control he'd had over me and over himself. "You're acting stupid."

"What?" I asked, laughter dancing through the word. "Do you not like what you see?"

"You know it has nothing to do with that," he said, a growl to counter my laughter.

"It's because I'm not easy, isn't it?" I asked, and my voice grew dark to match his. "Because I actually have standards, and you no longer meet them?" I continued to unbutton my top, slowly now, just one button at a time.

"That's not what you said before," he rumbled, stepping forward forcibly and pushing me along with him until I had my back to the wall with his body almost pressed against mine. Another trill of feeling dashed through me, the pulse of adrenaline taking over as things got dangerously good. And still, my fingers worked at the buttons, slow and precise — the only thing between us, stopping us from touching. "You said you wanted me, just not now."

"Don't twist my words," I laughed, my mischievous smirk back in place. I reached the last button, and my blouse spread wide open. The white tank top barely covered my stomach, an inch of pale skin peeking out above the waist of my low-rise gray jeans, and my breasts were barely covered, my nipples only one jiggle away from slipping out. I hadn't worn a bra for comfort reasons, but it was working to my advantage now. "I said no such thing."

His hands slammed into the wall to either side of my head, the blow sending picture frames and artwork tumbling from their nails. Again, that thrill, and my pulse quickened, drumming loudly in my ears. "What did you say, then?" His lips were against my ear, his voice a low hiss that sent chills down my spine. My palms were flat against the wall to either side of my thighs, my nails digging into the paint.

"What game are you playing now?" I asked in return, my voice low, throaty. If I would've spoken in a higher pitch, it likely would've cracked.

"The same one you're playing," he breathed, his hostility replaced by a seductiveness that rivaled mine. My eyes flicked down to the bulge in his jeans, and I wondered if it was what I thought it was. He began to place gentle kisses down the side of my neck that wasn't covered by a loose, frizzing braid, and I shuddered.

Had he really just turned the tables on me? Really?

His hand left the wall beside my head and slid between my legs, touching me teasingly through my pants. Panicking, I shoved him back and swung, catching him in the face full force. He fell to the floor with a loud "Oof!" and I covered my mouth to suppress a gasp, my eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh, God, Van! I'm so sorry!" I cried, rushing to his side and leaning over him. The quick movements created the jiggle my nipples needed to escape their wretched confinement, and I felt an all-too-familiar heat in my cheeks when I noticed Van's eyes on them. He was holding his cheek, but his cringe of pain had given way to an arched eyebrow of surprise. I quickly pulled my top up, muttering, "Sorry. My bad."

His eyes returned to my face, much more calm than I'd expected. "You punch really hard, did you know that?" He pushed himself into a sitting position with both hands, and I took the opportunity to examine his cheek. It was a little bit red, but it didn't have any real signs of damage. Not yet, anyway.

"Yeah, I know," I grumbled, ashamed of it for the first time in my life. "My brother made me this way."

"You have a brother?" he asked, brow furrowing as he likely wracked his mind to see if he'd already known of this or not.

"Yeah," I answered with a quick nod. "He's a couple of years older than me. I don't talk about him much."

"You don't talk about any of your family members much," he pointed out as he got to his feet. I followed. We were talking as if nothing happened, and though it surprised me, I wanted to keep it that way.

"There isn't much to talk about, really," I said, shrugging. "We're just normal, boring people from normal, boring Florida."

"My family isn't that exciting, either, and I still told you about them," he said, gingerly poking his cheek. Judging by his slight cringe, it hurt enough that it was probably going to bruise.

"They're relevant to what we're doing here, though," I said as I started to button up my blouse. "They're the ones who taught you magic, the reason you got into performing magic shows in the first place. My parents didn't teach me anything that would really matter in our current situation."

"Parents always matter," he told me, "whether they're relevant or not."

I smiled softly up at him. "Well, maybe I'll tell you about them one day. But now, I need to go call my mom back. I missed a call from her yesterday and forgot all about it after listening to Rick's message about those books."

"All right," he said, still lightly rubbing his sore spot. "I'll go get some ice for this or look for a spell to heal it or...something. Take your time. We'll try another spell when you get back. I think you're ready for some real offensive spells."

"I hope so," I said as I started up the stairs. "We leave for Washington tomorrow night."

"Don't remind me," he grumbled, and I turned down the hall toward my bedroom.

My phone lay where it always did, right in front of the clock upon the nightstand, just waiting for me to come pick it up. I didn't have any new messages, giving me nothing to procrastinate with, so I went right to calling my mom.

I dialed her number, too lazy to find it in my contacts, and listened as it rang — once, twice, three times, four times, five…Finally, on the sixth ring, she picked up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Mom," I greeted her cheerfully, and I heard dogs barking in the background.

"Shut up!" she yelled at them, directly into the receiver, and I cringed as I pulled the phone away from my ear for just a moment. "Sorry about that," she said once the dogs had fallen silent.

"Did you get a new dog?" I asked, recalling that she'd only had a big one last time I'd talked to her, a giant Rottweiler with the deepest bark I'd ever heard, but I'd heard the yipping of smaller dogs this time, too.

"Two, actually," she said, and she already sounded bored with the conversation. A cupboard slammed, there was the scraping of ceramic dishes, and she went on. "A terrier and a Maltese."

"Oh," I said, frowning at her flat tone. "They sound cute."

"They are," she said, laughter now coloring her once-empty tone. "Your dad hates them."

I chuckled. "Is that why you got them?"

"Damn straight," she said proudly.

"Should've known," I said with a grin and a shake of my head. "So why did you call me yesterday?" I asked, eager to get back to the matter at hand.

"To make sure you were alive," she answered, her words accompanied by the thud of a door closing. "You never called me after your flight home, and I was worried."

"Oh, sorry," I said sincerely, wanting to smack myself for having forgotten. "Van and I started arguing during the flight, and it continued all the way home and well into the evening." It wasn't really what had happened, but it was much easier to say that than "Van got all serious on me, and when we got home, I thought he was mad, so I followed him, and while I was looking for him, he attacked me with knives, so I had to run away until I found out that it was him, then I cast a spell to save myself, then I jumped across the desk to choke him to death for, you know, attacking me with knives, but we just ended up making out, then he got mad!" It was an exciting little story, though. I'd have to tell somebody about it sometime, someone who knew about magicians and wouldn't mind that Van had been sending knives at me.

"It's all right," she said, another door opening to restart the barking of the dogs. "Shut up!" she screamed again, and the animals fell silent as a ringing started in my ear. "I take it everything went well, though, since you're on the phone with me?"

I laughed lightly. "Yeah, it went all right. I lived, Van lived, everybody else lived, and no broken bones for anyone this time."

"Good," she said, and I could almost hear her motherly nod through the phone. "Let's keep it that way. I'm gonna let you go now, though. The dogs look like they want to play."

"All right, Mom. Have fun." She hung up, and I flipped my phone shut, sighing. I stared at it for a moment, wondering if I had anyone else to talk to. I'd rather yammer on the phone for an hour to somebody else than go back downstairs to face Van. I still couldn't believe that I'd punched him in the face. But alas, I'd already called Rick back to tell him that we'd be up in a couple of days, and most of my other friends were either at work, in class, or passed out at this hour. 10 AM was not my friend.

"You don't want a dog, do you?" Van asked dryly from behind me, and I whipped around to find him standing in the doorway with his arms folded. "That's not why you look so sad, is it?"

"Were you listening to my conversation?" I asked, mildly offended, and he nodded unabashedly. "Well, no, it has nothing to do with dogs. I'm not sad at all, really."

"Then why are you wearing that face?" he asked with a nod toward me. I hadn't realized how deeply I was frowning until he pointed it out.

"I feel bad for punching you in the face," I answered, forcing my frown into a stoic expression. "Duh."

"You should," he said, but I could tell from his playful smile that he wasn't serious. "You hit me for doing exactly what you had been doing."

"It was just a reflex," I muttered, crossing my arms and dropping my gaze to the floor.

"Which part?" he asked, the lightheartedness of his smile seeping into his deep voice. "The part where you went insane and tried to seduce me or the part where you hit me in the face?"

"I did not go insane," I grumbled, my eyes still on the floor at his feet.

"You sort of did," he said a little bit more seriously, nodding. "I felt like I was being attacked by a schizophrenic lady in an institution, one who likes to take her clothes off."

"I did not go insane," I repeated with a huff.

"Sure you didn't," he laughed. "But we're going to have to postpone our training for a short while. I need to run to the store to get some things for our next session."

"Because you killed the knife set?" I asked, my eyes rising to meet his as a teasing smirk found my down-turned lips.

His face emptied of emotion. "It's your fault the knives are dead," he said, turning to head out of the room. "Therefore, it's your job to clean up their remains while I'm gone."

"But Van!" I whined after him as he started down the hall.

"Just do it," he called back, and I heard his quick footsteps on the stairs. "It won't take long."

I sighed, but let him go. "Why do I have to do it?" I mumbled like a child. "I'm not the one who turned them to dust in the first place. I'm not the one who lost my temper and took it out on a set of knives." But then, something dawned on me, and my eyes flicked to the clock. 10:43. It would take Van at least an hour to get to the store, do whatever shopping it was he needed to do, and make it back home.

I had until 11:43 to get my taste of dark magic.