He looked away. “Just talk to Nicu.”

That made me sit up a little straighter. “Nicu knows about the monsters?”

“That’s all I can tell you. I have my own allegiances to protect.”

“Well, at least you’re done pretending to be a good guy.”

Sebastian looked back again and leaned forward, hunching a little more over the table. “This isn’t a game, Lily. This is our world, and we are different from the rest of them. From the rest of the humans.”

“No,” I said. “We aren’t different. We have a gift—a temporary gift. It doesn’t make us different. It only makes us lucky.”

Shaking his head, he sat up straight again. “We have a temporary gift now. Did you know that? That the magic hasn’t always been temporary? We’ve been losing it, Lily. Over time. Slowly but surely, each generation has their magic for a little less time than the generation that came before it. And maybe that’s because we’re blending with humans. Maybe it’s some kind of magical evolution.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I do know we want a different future. We don’t want to just give up something that has the potential to help so many people.”

“You mean something that has the potential to hurt so many people.”

He shook his head. “All of this magic—have you thought about what it could do for humanity? Do you know the things we’ve already done for humanity? All those moments in human history where someone gets some amazing insight—the polio vaccine, the understanding of relativity—you think those moments are an accident?” He shook his head. “No way.”

“That doesn’t justify what you have to do to keep the magic. If we’re losing it, we’re losing it. We need to accept that and be done with it. It’s not an excuse to use people to keep the magic longer than nature wants you to have it.”

“You think no cost is worth the price,” he said. “I disagree.”

“Your cost is the lives of other humans.”

“The cost for our good deeds—for saving millions by our contributions—is a bit of one person. The many are more valuable than the one. We believe that.”

I just shook my head. There wasn’t much chance I was going to agree with him however well he justified it. I looked up at him again. “Lauren and some gatekeeper girl paid us a visit last night.”

His eyes went hugely wide. “Last night?”

I nodded. “You want to tell me why?”

“I don’t know,” he began, but before I could object, he held up his hands. “I don’t. It could be Scout. Jeremiah was interested in her.”

“Because she’s a spellbinder?”

“Maybe.”

“She’s off limits. Permanently,” I added, when he looked like he was going to object. “I’ve got firespell, and I know how to use it. Any more Adepts come sniffing around St. Sophia’s looking for her or her Grimoire or whatever else, and we won’t just leave them hexbound in the tunnels.”

“You’ve turned vicious.”

“Like you said, this isn’t a game.”

“At least you’re listening to part of it,” he muttered. Then he lifted the countermeasure and pulled it over his head, relief clear in his face when he placed it on the table. “I want to show you something. Hold out your palms.”

I gave him a dubious expression, which lifted a corner of his mouth.

“You’re being guarded by a plastic cowboy, and we’re in a restaurant full of people.” He put his hands on the table, opening and closing them again until finally, eyes rolling, I relented.

And felt a little bit guilty about it.

I put my hands on the table, palms up. Slowly, he cupped my hands in his long fingers, then curled my fingers into fists. My skin went pebbly, the hair at the back of my neck lifting at his touch.

“You have to learn to control firespell,” he said, voice low. “But when you can, you’ll harness elemental powers.” His hands still wrapped around my fists, my palm began to warm from the inside.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m teaching you.” His voice was low, lush, intimate again. Slowly, he began to lift his hands from mine, like he was making a shield over my hands.

“Open your palms.”

A centimeter at a time, I uncurled my fingers. There, in each of my hands, was a tiny jumping spark of green. Aware of our surroundings, I stifled a gasp, but raised my confused gaze to his as he continued to shield the sparks from public view.

“You’ve seen the broad shot firespell can give you,” he said. “You’ve learned how to fan the power out. But you can pinpoint the power, as well.”

He tilted my hands so that my palms were facing, and the edges of my hands were against the table. And then, ever so slightly, he began to move my hands from side to side. The sparks followed suit, the momentum pushing them back and forth between my hands like the birdie in a game of badminton.

And just as quickly, it was over. He pressed my hands together again, the two sparks—like they were just a quirk of static electricity—somehow dissipating. He pulled his hands away again. I opened my palms, rustling my fingers as I searched for some hint of the spark.

“The power is yours to control,” he said, sliding the countermeasure into his pocket again. “Yours to manipulate. But you must be open to the power and your authority over it. It’s not always an easy burden to bear, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t wield it.”