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Novem heads talking about me in Michel’s library like I was some sort of weapon to be used or gotten rid of— not a pleasant memory—and I’d fled to the GD.
    I waited as the butler opened the tall French doors leading outside. Ferns hung between the wrought-iron framework that supported the courtyard balcony, and at each end, steps curved down to the ground below.
    I took vague note of the large patio and a rectangular yard of green grass, which led into a pretty English-style garden complete with a pool and a small cottage/pool house. But the grandeur of Michel’s courtyard took second stage.
    Sebastian was standing in the center of the yard.
    My hands curled slowly around the iron railing as I stared at his profile. I wished like hell the chaos I felt inside would go away. It was there every time I saw him—excitement, anxiety, warmth, happiness, worry. . . .
    The butler left me there, returning inside and closing the doors.
    Michel stood in front of Sebastian, about ten feet away, and spoke in low, muted tones. I watched, stunned, as a ball of sheer blue light formed over Sebastian’s outstretched hand. It was the size of a soccer ball. He played with it, moving his hand up, over, and away from it as it hovered in front of him.
    Michel’s calm, instructional voice continued. I strained to hear his words.
    Sebastian lifted the orb over his head and passed it from one hand to the other, then brought it back down and placed it in front of himself at chest level. His movements looked graceful, like tai chi, controlled as though he was pulling . . . something . . . from the air, the earth, shaping the light. Only the ball didn’t grow bigger, but rather condensed, growing smaller and brighter.
    Michel’s voice came again, this time more stern.
    Sebastian stilled. The blue light was now the size of a tennis ball. He cradled it, cupping his hands around it as the light grew brighter, and then he drew it back and pitched it at his father.
    I held my breath.
    Michel’s hands went up, palms flat to meet the ball of blue light. Upon contact, the light exploded, curving around him before dissipating away into nothing. He’d been pushed back a few feet, and that seemed to impress him. He came forward and clapped Sebastian on the shoulder.
    Then Michel’s gaze lifted to mine.
    Instant heat shot to my cheeks. I managed a small, pathetic wave. Sebastian turned. His black eyebrows drew together, but I couldn’t tell if he was frowning or the sun was making him squint.
    “Ari. Come down,” Michel called.
    I hadn’t changed or cleaned up since my workout with Bran. Figures , I thought. Michel said something to Sebastian and chuckled as the butler walked from beneath the second-story porch where I stood and began to set the patio table for dinner.
    Whatever Michel said had Sebastian turning back toward me. His head lifted; his eyes were definitely on me, but I couldn’t read them from that distance. Somehow, though, I didn’t feel good about it. In fact, goose bumps traveled up my arms and thighs.
    And then he was gone.
    Sebastian. Gone. Leaving behind a violent whoosh of air that I saw for the barest of seconds, like an eighteen-wheeler hitting mist at seventy miles an hour.
    That same air hit me from behind.
    I spun around, grabbing the railing for support. “Jesus!”
    Sebastian stood there with a crooked grin denting his cheek, his gray eyes lit with amusement. “My dad wants you to stay for dinner.”
    I released the breath I’d been holding as the shock slowly ebbed from my body. Kind of.
    Michel wanted me to stay, but I couldn’t help wondering if his son did too. It was hard to tell with Sebastian. “Ever hear of asking like a normal person?” I asked. “That was crazy.”
    He gave an innocent shrug and smiled. “Not normal, so . . .”
    “Right.”
    I followed him down the stairs to the patio below.
    “You’re white as a ghost, Ari,” Michel said, pulling out a chair and gesturing for me to sit. “I