Grace, who must have noticed, put down her headphones and looked at me in an examining way before raising a single eyebrow. Always these people who could do this...
She must have seen my gray-white glowing irises, even though that feature was very weak on me, as was my air magic.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked. But when I was about to answer, she immediately continued talking. “We’re not allowed to work magic here. You know that!”
And there she was again – the Grace who couldn’t take a joke when it came to our powers and their use, the Grace who reminded me daily of where I was born into and what my duties were.
On one hand, she was right. The Senseque reacted negatively to our magic because they could sense any spell instantly. And the Ruisangors, who had made it to Vanderwood for whatever reason, could have sensed it as well. On the other hand, it was only a small basic trick that Air Quatura learned right from the beginning. So, I doubted a wolf would show up at the door and tear us apart.
I simply ignored Grace and reached for the white smartphone again. My heart began to beat faster with every second. Hoping he had texted me again, I ran my finger across the bottom of the screen.
The screen immediately lit up, and a selfie of Grace and I could be seen, which she had taken. She stuck her tongue out while rolling her eyes. If there was one thing my cousin was, it was lively. And yet she remained the dutiful one of the two of us.
A smile spread across my lips as I read that I had a notification. I quickly opened our chat.
To my surprise, he was online.
I typed quickly and pressed send, starting a new chat.
I had to grin at the god comparison. Erik and his obsession with Greek legends. Then I remembered that I still wanted to send him the book to Vancouver.
I replied, still grinning, because I also knew about Greek gods by now. Erik had triggered this obsession in me, and I also owned books that he had sent me.
I had to grin and sent him a laugh emoji. With him, I somehow managed not to feel weird or insecure. We just texted, debated philosophical approaches from the antique, and exchanged books.
A year ago, I had landed on his blog purely by accident. I had been supposed to be doing philosophy homework, but his posts had kept me busy for an incredible 27 hours, during which I had browsed his entire blog.
If there was one thing he was good at, it was writing, inspiring others with his fascination through his written word. Not for nothing, he had driven me to become a specialist in the field of Greek mythology.
At that time, I had overcome myself to anonymously contact him under the pseudonym J and so our friendship had begun.
He had hit the right nerve, because automatically I had to smile again.
I had to be careful that Grace didn’t see what his words were doing to me because what I had been doing here for a good five months was nobody’s business—not even hers. These conversations Erik and I were having were too intimate, and the fact that I had a best friend besides her was something Grace didn’t need to know.
My smile weakened slightly and pity spread through me.
And immediately the smirk returned.
In Greek mythology, the Charites embodied harmony and were positive and friendly god beings who enriched the lives of others with their presence and filled the world around them with their joy.
Inwardly, I knew that if he really knew me, he would take that compliment back.
I had to swallow because that was the only catch to the whole thing. We knew each other because we texted almost every day, but Erik didn’t know who or what was behind the pseudonym J.
I knew his texts and messages. I knew he lived in Canada, and even his soft male voice I had heard from voice memos. But we had never really been interested in each other’s looks. I had decided without further ado to leave it at that and keep my appearance a secret. He did the same. It was better because we could not judge each other and stayed with the important things – the conversations.
I was sure he wasn’t some kind of perverted weirdo who went after young girls. He was probably only eighteen or nineteen years old himself.
He typed again.
We didn’t talk much about our personal lives, so I didn’t know much about him. On the other hand, he didn’t know about me either, about what I was, about what I was able to block out when we texted.
“What are you grinning at?” Grace asked with an amused expression.
