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attack did… and the
energy hit an invisible shield. Henry waved his hand in an instinctual motion
of defense and a huge bolt of lightning shot from him into the attacking
wizard.
    Henry looked at his hand like he had never seen it
before.
    Henry, who was a shifter and could do no magic.
    I opened my eyes to see Hunt giving me a warm look
that was something like pride and amusement. “Henry is going to use magic.”
    “Then he either attains a magical device or he is
someone’s familiar.”
    I had been thinking that calling my familiar would
only lead to his death. Professor Houx was right; my familiar could use my
magic and probably my instincts. I decided then that I would learn how to call
my familiar, whether it was Henry or not.
     
    *          *          *
     
    Learning to be “respectful” to our familiars proved
to be tedious. Aside from the call, there was a ritualistic greeting, which
fell just short of shaming ourselves before the creature. I imagined Professor
Roswell begging his bat to bond with him.
    “What happens if we don’t say all that?” I asked. The
horror on my fellow classmates’ faces suggested they were equally unwilling to
verbally emasculate themselves.
    The professor sighed and muttered something in
French, of which I only heard “Américains.” “If you do not show your familiar
his due respects, depending on what he is, he could decide to eat you instead
of bonding.”
    “Okay, so if our familiar is a cat, we’re cool. If
it’s a dragon, we grovel,” Becky said. Everyone except the professor nodded
their agreement. By the end of class, I was pretty sure that Professor Houx was
teetering on ending the course altogether.
    Over the weekend, I studied up on familiars. I didn’t
actually learn much, and I realized on Sunday that Darwin could have told me
ten times what I spent all weekend reading about. Late on Sunday night, I was
looking through an old potions book I got from one of the libraries.
    Hunt and Dr. Martin both said there was no better
healing potion than the one they were giving me weekly. That didn’t mean I
wouldn’t try to find one. I stopped in my tracks as a sick thought occurred to
me. Maybe my life is what’s most important to me. Maybe that’s why I’m not
seeing Heather anymore; it’s a subconscious defense . I wasn’t exactly a
selfless man, but I wasn’t power-hungry either. If my own life was most
important to me, I wouldn’t want be trying to get the key. I would get the key
so I could save Astrid, defeat Krechea and possibly Langril, and destroy the
tower to keep more of Krechea’s kind from getting here.
    Astrid is from Dothra.
    I still pictured her as the unusual girl I met when I
had no one else I could trust. She was hesitant and secretive, but also brave
and wise. Every word out of her mouth was wisdom far beyond her years and even
then I knew she was the only one who understood me.
    And she was a monster.
    And I loved her.
    Did that mean I was a monster? Maybe the paternity
test was wrong and I actually was John’s son. Or maybe the sickness of John’s
mind ran deeper in the bloodline. I actually wished I still believed Joseph
Sanders, the abusive, cold-hearted bastard, was the one I was related to.
    “It doesn’t matter, you know.”
    Startled out of my inner turmoil, I turned to see
Professor Langril. “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. My outburst was
at least partly due to the shame of being caught doubting my own intentions.
    The professor smirked. “Trying to get into my room,”
he answered with mirth.
    I realized then that I was standing in front of his
bedroom. “Oh. Sorry.” It wasn’t even close to where my room was in the original
building, so I had no excuse. I just hadn’t been paying attention.
    “Kein problem. Why don’t you come in for some tea?”
    I wanted to argue, but couldn’t pass up the chance
that the man would help me get to Astrid.
    “I won’t,” he said easily.
    “Get