Connor’s expression, which had been relaxed and still a little drowsy, darkened. He sat up as well. “I don’t know. The thing is, he knows he can’t force you to do anything. And how much can you do, anyway?” I raised an eyebrow, and he hastened to add, “No insult, Ange, but besides talking to ghosts, I haven’t seen you actually do all that much.”
I didn’t bother to tell him that was how I’d been raised, that flashy shows of power were the quickest way to invite unwanted attention. “And what about you, mister? I’ve seen you light a fire or two, and I know you were able to change your eye color, but somehow I have a feeling there’s a little bit more to it than that.”
“You really want to know?”
“Yeah, I do.”
He drew in a deep breath. “Okay.” And suddenly it wasn’t Connor looking at me, but his cousin Lucas.
Even though I knew it had to be only magic, I couldn’t help giving out a little squeak and clutching the sheets to me even more closely, making sure my breasts were completely covered. It sure looked like Lucas, dark eyes and the Wilcox high cheekbones and long, strong nose. I noticed there were the beginnings of some iron gray at his temples.
“That’s, um…impressive,” I managed.
The illusion disappeared, and Connor was staring back at me. “Thanks.”
“So can you look like anybody?”
“No, they have to be my approximate height and weight. I couldn’t take on your appearance, for example. But Lucas, or my brother, or any man around my size, yeah.”
That seemed a lot more useful to me than talking to ghosts. “I’m surprised you don’t use it more.”
“I don’t like it. Feels like lying to me.” He shook his head, then pushed back the covers and got out of bed so he could retrieve his underwear.
I had to admit I’d rather be looking at his backside than Lucas’s…or Damon’s. Shudder.
“And it takes a lot of effort,” he added, pulling on some jeans over the boxer-briefs. “Holding a full-body illusion like that? I can do it for maybe an hour, max.”
“But just the eye color?” I asked, recalling how convincing those brown eyes had been when I first met him. “That’s easier?”
“Much easier. I can do that all day without breaking a sweat.” He reached for the sweatshirt he’d tossed over a chair the night before, then added, “Okay, I’ve shown you mine. You show me yours.”
“Very funny.”
“I mean it.”
To stall him, I bent over the side of the bed and grabbed my own discarded underwear, then slipped it on. Since we were probably just going to scrounge breakfast downstairs after this, I didn’t worry about my bra, but instead pulled on my long-sleeved T-shirt from the day before. “It’s not that simple.”
“How so?”
Ever since Connor and I had been together, I’d felt the prima’s energy surging through my veins, bright and strong, but I didn’t know exactly what I was supposed to do with it. Maybe nothing more than my little display earlier, when I’d lit the logs in the fireplace. Maybe the real power, the true power, was waiting until I needed it, whenever that might be.
“It’s nothing obvious,” I replied, trying to figure out the best way to describe it. “That’s not how it works with a prima. I mean, I’m not going to go around blasting doors and invading people’s dreams and all the fancy stuff your brother does. It’s more like” — I scrunched up my nose, searching for the words — “I guess it’s something like ground water, deep under the desert floor. It’s there, but until you drill down and hit it, it’s not obvious. That’s a prima’s power, Connor. It’s there against the time when it’s needed.”
He’d been listening to me, his head tilted slightly to one side as he considered my words. After a pause, he asked, “And talking to ghosts?”
“That’s different. That’s just my gift — me, Angela McAllister. It doesn’t really have anything to do with being prima. At least, none that I can tell, beyond the talent being strong enough that it made me good prima material.”
“It’s interesting,” he said. “I mean, it’s very different from how the power goes from primus to primus. That’s always been father to son, at least in our clan.”
“Are there any other clans with a primus? Margot Emory said — I mean, I was told that the Wilcoxes are the only ones.”
“Not that I know of. There must have been once, but it seems as if we Wilcoxes are the only ones clinging to the bad old days.”