Becoming Magical [2]

C H A P T E R - 1 0

Don't stare at his scars.

Sophie repeated the command over and over, ordering herself to obey. She tried to focus on the gray walls with the glowing blue crystals set among the stones, or the four metal chairs—the only furniture in the room—that were bolted to the ground by large silver springs. But her eyes always returned to the warped, puckered dents on Brant's chin, or the red splotches and thin white lines that twisted and tangled their way up half of his cheek.

He hacked a wheezing cough, covering his ruined mouth with a hand that was red and raw. "You brought a new person," he rasped when his throat had cleared.

Grady wrapped an arm across her shoulders and Sophie was surprised to feel that he was trembling. "Yes, this is Sophie. She lives with us at Havenfield, now."

Brant smiled, making his lip fold into the mottled lumps of flesh around it. Sophie dropped her eyes to the yellow-orange shirt he wore, with long floppy sleeves and a tie around the middle. It looked a bit like a bathrobe.

Brant coughed again. "How very . . . unexpected." Before anyone could reply, he pointed to the satchel Edaline clutched against her stomach. "Is that for me?"

Edaline crossed the room to where Brant sat and placed the satchel in his lap. "You know I never forget."

The fabric shredded as he tore into the sack the way a small child might rip open a present, revealing a round silver box. "Custard bursts!"

Edaline smiled. "Chocolate, butterscotch, and lushberry. I made them this morning."

Brant pried open the lid, pulled out a square purple puff that looked a bit like a colored marshmallow and took a bite. Pink juice dribbled down the scar on his chin as he smacked his lips and stuffed the rest in his mouth. "Aren't custard bursts the best thing you've ever tasted?" he asked Sophie, spitting bits of crumbs.

Sophie had never heard of them, but she didn't want to admit it so she just said, "Yeah."

His smile faded to a frown. "You've never tried one, have you?"

"No—I—" Sophie started, but Edaline cut her off.

"I only make them once a year."

Brant didn't say anything—and he definitely didn't offer her one—as he closed the tin and tucked it back in the shreds of the bag. Sophie stared at her feet, counting the blisters peeking around the edges of her shoes. Seven separate welts had already formed—and she was sure there were more to come. But they stung less than knowing Edaline had a special treat she'd never shared with her.

Brant hacked another wheezing cough, shattering the silence.

"Are you sick?" Edaline asked.

"Don't!" He shouted as she reached out like she wanted to check his forehead for fever. He curled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, forming an impenetrable ball. "I'm fine."

His voice sounded hoarse, though.

"Sit," he ordered, motioning to the three empty chairs. "Tell me what's happened over the last year. Clearly, there have been some changes."

Sophie sank into a springy chair, surprised to discover it was actually comfortable. The metal was soft somehow, molding to her body like a cushion would—but it was cold. Or maybe the chill had more to do with the way Brant's pale eyes had focused on her again. They were more of a gray than a blue, and they were framed with thick lashes the same jet black as his hair. She realized then that Brant should have been good-looking. But the fire had ruined him.

Don't stare at his scars.

"I've seen you before," he murmured, still studying Sophie.

"You have?"