“Let me know if you catch a whiff of black magic.” I fiddled with my seat belt where it cut into my throat, uncomfortable with any comparison made between the director and me. “I still have trouble noticing it.”
To put it mildly, my own stink from practicing black magic for years clogged up my nose.
“The more practice you get in the field, the easier it will be to identify. You need exposure to other…”
“Pungent practitioners?” I chuckled at his discomfort for any perceived slight. “I’m okay with being ripe.” It wasn’t like humans could sniff me out that way. “Actually, I’m developing a charm to keep me funky.”
“You don’t want the other agents to know you’ve switched disciplines,” he realized. “That’s smart.”
“I stepped on a lot of toes, crushed a lot of hands, kicked a lot of people in the face, to climb the ladder.”
And the director patted me on the head like a good girl each time I stabbed a potential ally in the back.
“I debated telling you this earlier.” His lips thinned. “I see now I should have as soon as I noticed it.”
The muscles in my lower stomach clenched in preparation for bad news. “Oh?”
“Your scent is changing. That night, when you tapped into Colby’s magic, you began to smell…”
“You won’t hurt my feelings.” I had already granted him permission to speak the hard truths. “Tell me.”
“You smell like hydrangeas, under the black magic.”
Hydrangeas.
A faint memory whispered through the back of my mind, and I swear floral perfume tickled my nose.
Shaking off the peculiar sensation, I asked, “Is that how Colby smells to you?”
“Colby…” He angled his head. “It’s hard to put into words. I sense her brightness, her purity.”
“You read the goodness in her the way I’m beginning to pick up the stain of darker magics in others.”
“Yes,” he agreed with relief I understood what he struggled to articulate. “This new scent is you. It’s how you would have smelled, had you been a white witch from the start.” He adjusted the wipers. “The more you work with Colby, the more taint will burn out of your soul. I can tell you’ve practiced while Clay and I were away. The impression is stronger now than when I left.” He colored slightly beneath my stare. “As a child, I helped Mother in her flower garden. That’s why I recognize the scent.”
His quick defense of how he came by the knowledge made me wonder who had poked fun at him for being a momma’s boy. Had that taunting forced him into the role? Or did his dutiful nature stem from guilt over his conception? And who burdened a kid with that information?
Probably his father, who would have tried driving a wedge between mother and son at a malleable age.
“I can almost remember my mother smelling like flowers,” I murmured, poking at my sore spots to avoid his. “I thought it was her perfume.”
“Magical scent tones tend to be hereditary. There’s every chance she had a floral power signature.”
Leaning back, I rubbed the tender skin over my heart. “Thank you.”
Eyes on the road, but his focus on me, he spoke softer than the rain. “You’re welcome.”
To go so long with nothing to remind me of my mother, I had given up hope of being more than my father’s daughter. But to learn that beneath the blight on my soul, I had scraps of her down deep? It reaffirmed my dedication to the path I had chosen to walk, not the one I had been led down as a child.
Closing my eyes against the sting, I breathed in deep, smelling hydrangeas.
* * *
I must have fallen asleep,because a ten-pound moth to the gut rocketed me straight out of my dreams.
“What?” I clutched Colby to my chest in a death grip. “Where?”
“Who?” Her muffled response huffed against my shirt. “When?”