“You’ve established a firm hold over life, the side of spirit that comes naturally. However, there is another side to your power you’ve yet to explore, and I think it’s time to teach you what it really means to be a Spirit Fae.” Elana locked a cold grip on my wrist, making me suck in a breath.
There was only one other side of life that I could think of.
Death.
Power flooded into me, fluxing back and forth as my mentor tugged at my spirit essence that wasn’t ready for this invasion. “What are you doing?” I asked, my voice going up a pitch.
Elana gave me one of her kind smiles in an effort to soothe me, but every hair stood on end as the temperature in the room plummeted. “Relax, Claire. This is a normal progression to your training that I promise you are ready for.”
I didn’t feel ready.
And this certainly didn’t seem all that normal.
The bowl of misty liquid rippled as Elana concentrated. “Think of your power and what it is capable of. Spirit transcends this world, and that is a beautiful thing.” Her element tugged at mine again, just enough to extract a sliver of my connection to Exos—to the source.
A translucent face formed, one with dead, silver eyes that looked right through me.
Elana smiled. “My, this is one of the older Spirit Fae I haven’t had the pleasure of talking with yet. Well done, Claire.”
I didn’t feel like I’d done anything at all.
Trying to extract my grip from Elana’s, I found myself bound to her and an icy power linking us as the spirit finally focused his gaze on me. It tried to smile, but the motion seemed forced.
“Why don’t you try speaking to him?” Elana asked. “Introduce yourself.”
The last thing I wanted to do was talk to the spirit of a dead fae. It seemed inappropriate. Intrusive. Wrong.
“Um,” I managed to say around my tongue, which had gone dry. “Hi. I’m, uh, Claire. Who are you?”
The spirit tilted its head, the motion slightly unnatural with his unblinking stare. “You?” he asked, not seeming to be able to comprehend my question.
“Use your power,” Elana encouraged. “Ancient spirits are accustomed to rest, not conversation. He’ll need some help.”
Help. Right.
My lips twisted to the side. I didn’t see the point in disturbing an ancient fae’s rest like this, but clearly, Elana wanted me to learn something.
Use your power, she’d suggested.
Okay.
I concentrated on the writhing form, on the agony teasing the edges of his lopsided mouth. My brow furrowed. What happened to you? I wondered, noting the way he flinched every few seconds as if reliving his death over and over again.
Was that why this felt so wrong to disturb him? Because it tortured him to call upon his spirit?
“Pain?” I asked, using a single word with a coaxing strand of my power underlining the question. This all felt so strange and foreign. I needed to know if the spirit was suffering as a result of our intrusion.
Elana frowned. But I ignored her and focused on the visage before us.
His eyebrows—what was left of them—pulled down. He opened his mouth to say something, but then Elana ripped her hand from mine, dissolving the spell instantly and sending out a shock wave of mist and energy.
“Spirits need to be comforted and coaxed,” Elana chided, clearly irritated with me. She brushed her hands together and sighed, transforming back into the patient and kind mentor in a second, the change a startling one. “You’re a sweet creature, Claire. But your human side has too much empathy. Spirits can’t feel pain, I assure you. It may seem like they can, but that’s just because they mimic the life that came before. When conjured, they are tools just like any other power offered by the elements.”
My spine went rigid. Tools? Elements weren’t tools. At least not to me, or to my mates. Our gifts were to be respected and embraced—not used as mindless tools.
“I see,” I murmured, not sure what else to say.
Elana seemed to sense my discomfort, and she summoned a few familiar pixies to clean the table of the sparkling spirit dust. Warmth and life seeped back into the air, bringing with it a sense of rightness. I almost sighed in my relief, excep