I nodded.
“And you know that—” He squeezed my hand. “I always have your best interests at heart?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded again.
“Then, can you wait? Please. Ask me to tell you another time, maybe when David’s gone.”
“Why? Is it because of what happened with Arthur?”
He tensed, wincing. “Kind of. But not really.”
“Jase.” I laid my other hand over his. “You know I can’t just let this go. You’d be better off telling me the truth now—save me all the investigation and worry.”
He laughed, his lovely white teeth making me a little hungry for the bite. “I want what’s best for you, Ara. We all do. But if I tell you what happened that night, it’ll make you hate yourself.”
“Well, if I want to berate myself for something I did, that’s my prerogative, Jase. Not yours.”
“You’re right.” He nodded, his distracted gaze moving toward his window. “And I will tell you. But not today.”
“Hmpf!” I mashed my features together in a scowl. “You’re starting to sound like David.”
“I’m sorry. That’s the last thing I want to say to you, Ara, but I have to protect you. And you know I always tell you the truth, but this time, I—”
“You’re between a rock and hard place.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled through a smile. “I just need your understanding on this one, just for now.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Fine. But you’ve got two weeks, and that’s it. Then, you better tell me what the hell happened that night. Fair?”
“Very fair.”
“Pinkie promise.”
He laid his pinkie over mine and shook once. “I promise.”
“Good. Now, what was this conclusion you drew about my melting stone problem?”
“Ah.” He stood up quickly. “So, I was right about the lightning theory—the fulgurite.”
“You were.” I stood beside him at the table.
“Yes. You really didn’t wanna kiss me, did you?” He turned to me, smiling.
“Um. Kinda not really.”
“It’s okay.” He lifted my chin, green eyes meeting blue in a world of acceptance. “But, that fear—for whatever reason you didn’t want to kiss me, ignited your fight instinct in the method of which you've been practicing most, but when your hand heated up, the temperature acted to reverse the process of making rock, you might say, by turning it back to its original state.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow. And . . . did you get a headache when you used your light?” he asked, wearing a huge I-know-what-I’m-talking-about grin.
“Um. Now I think of it.” I touched my head. “No.”
“Right.” He grabbed a stack of papers and started writing. “That just confirms my theory.”
“What does?”
“You got scared, focused your concerns too much on the rock. You made it the problem, so, your electric energy rose up to protect you. Your skin melted, you felt the pain, thought I was causing it, and broke my arm to stop me.”
“Well, I gathered that much.”
“Right, but. . .” He tapped the page once with his pen. “I don’t believe your blue light thing is actually meant to be used as a weapon.”
“What else would it be for?”
“Not sure.” He rubbed his brow. “I need to think.”
“Okay.” I took a step back. “Shall I come back later?”
“No. I’ll come see you at training. Tell Blade I’ll be there: he can get the others to back off.”
“Okay.” I looked at the door then back at Jase. “So this is what the crazy scientist part of you looks like?”
He stopped writing and slowly looked up, turning his gaze on me a second later. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I held both hands up. “Go ahead and theorise. If you can figure out how to make me melt stone again, that’d—”
“I’m more worried about your headaches, right now, sweet girl,” he said, and turned away to scribble things down. “If you wanna melt stone again, just go sit on the beach with one in your hand, Ara, and think back to how you felt the other day. Reliving the same emotions should give you the ability to recreate the scenario. Just—” He stopped and held up his arm, sporting a smart grin. “Do it alone.”
I laughed. “Okay. Maybe I’ll go out there after training today, if I have time.”
“Okay.” He went back to his pages. “And, Ara?”
“Mm?” I stopped by the open door.
“Don’t forget this.”
“Oh.” I skipped over and took the translated spell from him. “Thanks.”
“Any time,” he said, without even looking up.
The training hall was empty, except for the lone knight in the corner, taking out what looked like a year’s worth of fury on the punching bag. His arms were tight, the muscles lean and long, covered in a thin layer of perspiration, which I gathered wasn’t so much from the punching but from the restraint he was using not to break that bag.
“Mike?”
He looked up and wiped his wrist over his chin, then hit the bag again. “You’re early.”
“I know. I uh—” I looked out the windows to see if anyone else was coming. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“What about?”
I stopped with both hands on the weighted bag to steady it. “You okay, Mike?”
“Yeah.” He gave it another hit, the sheer force absorbed by my buckling knees. “Just girl troubles.”
“Girl troubles?”
There was something odd about the way he looked at me then, as if maybe he thought I already knew—or should know. “What’d you want, Ara?”
“Um.” I wiped my hands on my jeans. “Do you remember the night I fell off the lighthouse?”
He frowned at me, then turned to the bench behind him and grabbed a towel, disappearing under it for a second. “Why?”
“If I tell you something, will you promise not to investigate further until I say so?”
His scruffy hair stuck up from out of the towel first, followed by his wide caramel eyes. “I make no guarantees.”
“I thought you’d say that.” I spun on my heel and headed for the door.
“Wait,” he called, grabbing my arm. “Just . . . what do you know, Ara? If it’s something that puts you in danger, I can’t—”