I gaped at him.
He smiled at me, his liver lips stretched thin.
“Sweet molasses,” I said faintly. “I don’t know what to do with any of that.”
“Nor would I expect you to.”
“Why didn’t you just get sucked through your magic hole?”
He shrugged. “Now, where would the fun in that be? Just because I can do certain types of magic doesn’t always mean I will. Magic can’t be the answer to everything, Sam.”
“You’re telling me that you’ve been gone all this time because you were undercover? With nuns?”
“Not the whole time,” he said. “Just most of the time.”
“You can never call me out for my shit again. Ever. What the hell, Randall.”
“I highly doubt that’s going to happen. You do stupid things that need to be pointed out.”
“Pot. Kettle.”
“Well, I suppose that makes sense. You are named after me now, after all.”
“Nope. Nope, nope, nope. That’s it. From this day forward, I am now Sam the Awesomely Amazing, and no one can say otherwise. You are appalling, and I absolutely refuse to be named after you, oh my gods. And if you ever call me your child again, I’m going to turn your fucking tongue into a dick, and you will choke on it.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve choked—”
“No. You stop. Why are you like this? Who hurt you? Oh. Right. Myrin. Oops. Okay, I’ll allow it. For the next five minutes. After that, it’s over, and you are not allowed to be gross for the rest of your life. And if you are, we are in agreement that I can punch you in the throat to make you stop. It’s only fair.”
“Yes,” he said. “Myrin. Thank you for the segue.”
“That wasn’t a segue—”
And then he said, “Morgan knew something was off that day. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was agitated. Antsy in way I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Somehow, he knew.”
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to know any of this.
“When he was younger, he was like you in that regard. Always moving. His mind. His body. Everything was at a pace that was hard for others to fathom. He had ideas that he’d focus on one minute, and then throw them out the next for something entirely different. Spells. Constructs. Incantations. Outlines for magic far beyond his abilities. His parents didn’t know what to do with him. He didn’t fit the mold for what a wizard should be. Not like I did. I took my studies seriously, to the point where I could go for decades on a singular idea that I would allow to consume me.”
“And Myrin?” I asked quietly.
Randall laughed quietly. “Myrin didn’t care much for magic.”
“What?”
“He was the bane of his parents’ existence. Really, the both of them were, but at least when Morgan came along, he was making the required attempts, even if he was all over the place. Myrin didn’t—he thought that magic was too easy. That for those it came naturally to, it made them superior. He didn’t like the thought of being better than anyone else. Their parents were… well. They had disdain for non-magic-users. And even though they publicly spoke out against the Darks, they had a certain amount of respect for them. Because they still had magic when most others didn’t. Myrin was their great disappointment. And he knew it.”
“What changed?”
Randall looked down at his hands. “He met me.”
The fire snapped and popped.
And even though we were talking about the darkest wizard of all, my inner romantic couldn’t help but ask, “Was it love at first sight?”
Randall laughed. “Oh gods, no. I despised the very sight of him. He thought the same of me.”
“I don’t understand.”