Page 63 of The Rut in the Road

“And if you did, you could end up not only resurrecting something a whole lot bigger and meaner than a rat,” Mason replied, his tone clipped. “But you could accidentally lose control of it, and then whatever it is might come after Grace or Zane.”

Jackson dropped his gaze, the brown skin of his cheeks darkening. “Oh,” he murmured. “I guess that makes sense.” He pulled his headphones back on, and proceeded to start typing on his laptop, seeming to focus intently.

Mason gave a soft grunt in acknowledgment, then turned back to me. “The point I was getting at,” he said, his tone evening out. “Is that Victor doesn’t behave the way undead typically behave—which means that there’s something different about him, which suggests, by extension, that there’s something different aboutyou.”

This logic made sense. If there was something unusual about a spell, generally that meant that there was something unusual about the witch or warlock who performed it. Whether that meant I was a life caster or a death witch, however, I had no idea. “Buthowam I different?” I asked him. “I can see ghosts and feel death, so wouldn’t that suggest death magic?”

Mason shrugged. “Death witches are pretty rare,” he said. “But life casters are actually rarer. Which means that there just isn’t that much known about them.”

“So why do you think I am one?” I asked him.

Mason smiled. “Your magic mingles life and death—Ward saw as much.” I frowned, remembering his description of the magic surrounding Victor. “Which only makes sense if you can use both.”

“But wouldn’t a death witch be able to access life magic?” I asked, remembering what he’d said about how the balance of witch magic worked.

“Yes, and no,” he replied. “We have sympathetic magics, but we aren’t usually very good at manipulating our oppositional magics—of course, that doesn’t seem to apply to you either way, whether you’re a death witch like we originally thought or a life caster.”

I frowned again. “Vi said my magic was red, when she was looking at me. Wouldn’t it have been gold if I were a life caster?”

Mason thought about this. “Gold is life-magic, but not life-castingmagic,” he replied. “Hart’s magic is gold—his life magic is intrinsic, part of him. He doesn’t cast with it. Whatever you did to Victor gave himintrinsiclife magic—because rats do not have that naturally. Or, at least, not enough to reanimate themselves.”

I thought about this. “So then what color is life magic?” I asked him.

“No idea,” came the response. “I can’t see magic.”

“Vi?” I asked.

She turned, then danced over, still carrying Zane. “Yeah?”

“Does my magic look the same as Jackson’s?” I asked her.

Mason let out a small noise that I had come to recognize as his way of berating himself for not thinking of something.

“Kinda?” she replied after a pause, during which she alternately squinted at both me and Jackson. “His is a darker red than yours.”

I looked over at Mason. “Is that because they’re two sides of the same spectrum?” I asked him. “Or because mine is weaker?”

Mason’s gold-flecked eyes were wide. “I have no idea,” he replied. “And I don’t know how we’d find out, either,” he continued. “Warlock magic is different, innate magic is different, and I don’t know anyone else who is a life caster or any one elsewhose primary is harm to tell.” He paused, then spoke again. “But it seems plausible that the same pairing would be the same color.”

“Cuz you’re not weaker,” Jackson put in, looking up again. “My magic’s not weak, but it’s not like yours or Mason’s. And definitely not like Ward’s.”

I swallowed. I didn’t particularly like thinking about the fact that I might be considered a powerful witch—of whatever type of witch I actually was. “I’m not—” I started to say, but Violette let out a laugh.

“Oh, you’re much stronger than either of us,” she said. “I mean. Jackson’s stronger than I am, but you and Mason are even stronger.” She paused, rocking Zane. “Ward is… something else entirely.”

Mason grunted. “He is that,” he agreed.

“He’s a warlock?” Vi asked.

Mason nodded.

Vi shook her head. “Jesus,” she whispered. “I mean. Usually we’re not as strong as witches. Like, I can tell that most warlocks are augmenting with amulets and sh—stuff, but it’s almost like we have to, because witch magic just tends to be stronger. But Ward…” She trailed off.

“Indeed,” Mason replied. “He is definitely something else.” The way he said it was clearly affectionate.

“So what does this mean?” I asked, feeling unsettled both by the idea that we’d been wrong about my magic for years and about the fact that I was apparently stronger than I’d thought—and definitely stronger than I was comfortable with.

Mason shrugged. “I still think you’re a life caster,” he said. “One who had to learn death magic for survival—meaning that your natural magic isn’t that, even if you have an affinity for the dichotomy.”