a couple of ter rible wars in our past—hundreds of years ago, but still. People remember . They tell the legends around the campfires at Spellhaven .” He gave me a slight, ironic smile. “ So our having wholesoul is going to make matters worse for you.” Until it makes it better.
An emotion flared in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in him before. It took me a moment to put a name to it, but then I realized it was tenderness. Lance felt protective of me. I ducked my head to hide the foolish little smile that was playing around my mouth. I hated to appear weak in front of him.
“Is it always a male/female thing? Wholesoul ?”
He shook his head. “ Once it was a pair of b rothers. That was a long, long time ago . There were a lot more spellspinners then, but they weren’t as powerful. Our power dilutes when there are too many of us.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Amber told me.”
“But wholesoul makes you strong. So these guys were trouble. They conquered and they ruled, and they weren’t nice about it. Finally the rest of the spellspinners rose up against them. By the time they were deposed—well, murdered— there were only forty-nine spellspinners left. That’s when the Council was formed and the rules were set up. And there have been forty-nine ever since.”
I cut my eyes sideways at him. “You realize,” I said drily, “that last summer you told me there had always been forty-nine spellspinners .”
He shrugged. “ Yeah , I hadn’t paid that much attention to the stories. Rune fixed that, on our way here. In the car .”
Wind suddenly roared and rustled all around us. Fallen leaves danced across the path. I s hivered. “So wholesoul won’t protect us,” I said softly. “ We’re strong, but not invincible .”
“Right. If the others band togeth er, they can outgun us. So to speak.”
I pulled my jacket tighter around me. We sat in silence for a minute or two, watching the restless night grow wilder. Autumn was coming. The world was about to change. It was growing colder.
And Lance couldn’ t put his arm around me to keep me warm.
Chapter 8
On Saturday I colored Meg’s hair. Nonny let us use the kitchen—on the condition that we (1) be careful (duh), and (2) read the instructions all the way through, twice, before beginning. We skipped the ones in Spanish, but apart from that we were true to our word.
We had some bad moments when we saw that the goo covering Meg’s head was turning greenish-black. But when she stepped out of my shower, having washed it all out, her mousy brown curls had miraculously turned to the glowing auburn depicted on the package. I assured her she was a vision of loveliness.
She looked doubtful. “Loveliness?”
“Cuteness,” I amended. “You’re a vision of extreme cuteness.”
It honestly su rprised me what a difference mere color made. I always thought she looked fine befor e—and she did, of course. So I thought we were just doing this to boost her confidence. But the color suited her, and I mean everything about her: Her skin tone, her eyes, her personality. Meg was born to be a redhead.
A lengthy discussion of colors ensued, wherein most of my clothes were pulled out, tried on Meg, and strewn around the room. Meg had brought a bag of Bridget’s cast-off makeup and clothes , and we experimented with redhead-suitable lipsticks and stuf f too. This was a heady experience for a girl who had never thought of herself as pretty. Meg’s exuberance was infectious. Sunshine streamed into my bedroom, Meg danced around, and I laughed more than I had in ages.
After much argument an d hilarity, we put her in a s e a green tank top (mine) and a pair of white shorts (Bridget’s) and sashayed over to the nursery to show the new Meg to Nonny and Tres . Nonny pretended not to recognize her, much to Meg’s delight. Tres’s appreciative grin was icing on the cake. This, Meg declared as she hopped on her bike for the ride home, was the best Satur day
An emotion flared in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in him before. It took me a moment to put a name to it, but then I realized it was tenderness. Lance felt protective of me. I ducked my head to hide the foolish little smile that was playing around my mouth. I hated to appear weak in front of him.
“Is it always a male/female thing? Wholesoul ?”
He shook his head. “ Once it was a pair of b rothers. That was a long, long time ago . There were a lot more spellspinners then, but they weren’t as powerful. Our power dilutes when there are too many of us.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Amber told me.”
“But wholesoul makes you strong. So these guys were trouble. They conquered and they ruled, and they weren’t nice about it. Finally the rest of the spellspinners rose up against them. By the time they were deposed—well, murdered— there were only forty-nine spellspinners left. That’s when the Council was formed and the rules were set up. And there have been forty-nine ever since.”
I cut my eyes sideways at him. “You realize,” I said drily, “that last summer you told me there had always been forty-nine spellspinners .”
He shrugged. “ Yeah , I hadn’t paid that much attention to the stories. Rune fixed that, on our way here. In the car .”
Wind suddenly roared and rustled all around us. Fallen leaves danced across the path. I s hivered. “So wholesoul won’t protect us,” I said softly. “ We’re strong, but not invincible .”
“Right. If the others band togeth er, they can outgun us. So to speak.”
I pulled my jacket tighter around me. We sat in silence for a minute or two, watching the restless night grow wilder. Autumn was coming. The world was about to change. It was growing colder.
And Lance couldn’ t put his arm around me to keep me warm.
Chapter 8
On Saturday I colored Meg’s hair. Nonny let us use the kitchen—on the condition that we (1) be careful (duh), and (2) read the instructions all the way through, twice, before beginning. We skipped the ones in Spanish, but apart from that we were true to our word.
We had some bad moments when we saw that the goo covering Meg’s head was turning greenish-black. But when she stepped out of my shower, having washed it all out, her mousy brown curls had miraculously turned to the glowing auburn depicted on the package. I assured her she was a vision of loveliness.
She looked doubtful. “Loveliness?”
“Cuteness,” I amended. “You’re a vision of extreme cuteness.”
It honestly su rprised me what a difference mere color made. I always thought she looked fine befor e—and she did, of course. So I thought we were just doing this to boost her confidence. But the color suited her, and I mean everything about her: Her skin tone, her eyes, her personality. Meg was born to be a redhead.
A lengthy discussion of colors ensued, wherein most of my clothes were pulled out, tried on Meg, and strewn around the room. Meg had brought a bag of Bridget’s cast-off makeup and clothes , and we experimented with redhead-suitable lipsticks and stuf f too. This was a heady experience for a girl who had never thought of herself as pretty. Meg’s exuberance was infectious. Sunshine streamed into my bedroom, Meg danced around, and I laughed more than I had in ages.
After much argument an d hilarity, we put her in a s e a green tank top (mine) and a pair of white shorts (Bridget’s) and sashayed over to the nursery to show the new Meg to Nonny and Tres . Nonny pretended not to recognize her, much to Meg’s delight. Tres’s appreciative grin was icing on the cake. This, Meg declared as she hopped on her bike for the ride home, was the best Satur day
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