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 A NineStar Press Publication
www.ninestarpress.com
The Magic Between
ISBN: 978-1-64890-434-9
© 2021 Stephanie Hoyt
Cover Design © 2021 Jaycee DeLorenzo
Cover and Interior Art © 2021Victoria Newberry
Published in February, 2022 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material
form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the
written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries,
contact NineStar Press at Contact@ninestarpress.com.

Also available in Print, ISBN: 978-1-64890-436-3

CONTENT WARNING:
This book contains sexual content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.
Depictions of homophobia/biphobia in sports and entertainment media.
The Magic Between
Stephanie Hoyt
 Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
 Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Epilogue
Index
Acknowledgements
About the Author
For all the bisexuals out there—this one’s for you.
 Prologue
@kim_martinez
Flight’s delayed :/ AMA
@marygrace
@kim_martinez over/under on Bonds being real?
@kim_martinez
@marygrace Under one for sure. IF THAT.

@docdulosis
@kim_martinez do you think traditionalists will ever stfu??? Like,
are we EVER going to get to a point where I can use the elements
to light a candle in public without someone clutching their pearls
like I’ve done something indecent???
@kim_martinez
@docdulosis Unforch, no. But I DO believe one day Displaying
won’t carry the same weight many people still give it, and that
seeing people use their magic freely will be as commonplace as
Healers using—and frankly being expected to use—theirs to help
regardless of who’s around.

@meganlafleur
@kim_martinez omg this is so embarrassing I’m supposed to be
meeting my boyfriend’s family soon and if they approve of me,
they’re going to Divulge but I can NEVER remember all the
different magics. PLEASE tell me you have a trick for remembering
what’s in each category!!!
@kim_martinez
@meganlafleur ooof I wish I had some mnemonic device up my
sleeve but the best I can do is link you to this old listicle of mine!
Good luck!
 Chapter One
Two years ago
EXCLUSIVE: Source Confirms AB Cerise Is a Known
Charmer Despite Conflicting Reports He Vanished on
Stage Last Night
AB Cerise Joins Long List of Celebrities to Come Down
with the Frits This Summer
13 of the Wildest Tweets About What Happened at AB
Cerise’s Concert Last Night
How Often Do the Frits Cause Invisibility Blips? We
Asked a Magicologist About AB’s Stage Disappearance
to Find Out
Now
AB Cerise is a disaster. He’s an obsessive-compulsive ball of
barely checked anxiety surrounding his Invisibility being discovered
and used against him. He has no rational reason for it. None at all.
The fear is annoying, unreasonable, absolutely nonsensical,
considering the whole world is full of magic. Like, AB knows no one
would care about him being a Concealer beyond him cracking after
years of dodging the particularly bold interviewers’ questions of
where he falls on the list of categories.
But the real kicker, what makes this obsession of AB’s so much
worse, is the absolute lack of proof to support the possibility of
someone being able to manipulate him and his Invisibility just by
Knowing he is. In fact, his Invisibility has always been tied to his
emotions, so the obsessive way he fixates on being controlled and
the compulsive way he avoids ever turning Invisible only further
destabilizes his magic. Again, AB knows this. He does.
 When it comes to magic, AB is his own worst enemy, but he can’t
stop. He’s spent nearly five years in therapy, and he’s still plagued by
the same insidious hell his mind has created for optimal torture. His
intrusive thoughts are a terrible inconvenience that AB has spent an
inordinate amount of time wallowing over, but despite her best
efforts, AB can’t accept what Dr. Barnes says. Her end goal, since
the beginning, has always been for AB to publicly Divulge and rob
his intrusive thoughts of their power. Unfortunately, AB can’t even
think about Divulging without breaking out in a cold sweat.
But therapy hasn’t been a useless waste of time. He is trying and
he is making progress. Sort of. He hasn’t made as much progress as
he should, but he’s made enough. He can now stay present when
he’s anxious, no longer getting lost in his emotions to the point he
has to run off and hide before he Conceals in front of people he’s
never Divulged to. Hell, AB even survived a strange, and frankly
traumatic, case of the Frits from two years ago that resulted in him
Concealing the moment he stepped on stage at a sold-out Madison
Square Garden.
Sure, the whole ordeal led to a spike in anxiety, a tightening of
the grip the fear of being Known and controlled had over him, but
the very thought never got the best of him. He never turned
Invisible because of it. Which, in AB’s opinion, is a significant
achievement, considering how Displaying in front of tens of
thousands of strangers would’ve been a catastrophic, debilitating
event at the start of his therapy journey.
AB thinks about going Invisible often. Thinks about the only
indication he even had the Frits was the split second of spontaneous
Concealment. About the two full weeks he spent monitoring for
other symptoms that never appeared. About his Invisibility always
coming with a spark and how the sensation at the Garden was wild
and electrifying. How much more exhilarated he was on stage—as if
the dial had been turned all the way up, maxed out. But mostly, AB
thinks about the random times the same sensation has prickled
beneath his skin while he wanders New York City—fast and intense
but never as substantial as the one at the concert, never enough to
bring on the Frits, not even a tiny blip of Invisibility.
He’s at brunch, smiling awkwardly as people recognize him on his
mimosa-soaked trek to the bathroom, when the same electricity
makes another appearance. This time, the sensation is accompanied
by a sharp tug at his heart, and AB knows, deep in his bones,
Invisibility will be inevitable no matter how hard he tries. He speeds
to the bathroom; thankful the sensation doesn’t reach its peak until
after the door shuts; annoyed as he checks to find his hand the
same transparent purple he always is while Concealed.
Personally, AB thinks a lap full of mimosas is enough
inconvenience for the day, but the universe doesn’t seem to agree.
Not only can he not push the Invisibility down, but when he leans
against the door to stop anyone else from coming in, and lets out a
soft, frustrated groan, something clatters to the ground in front of
him.
Because of course someone was already in here. Of course, AB
couldn’t be spontaneously Invisible in peace. Of course, he already
ruined his chance of getting out of the way without making a noise.
Of course, this guy is staring at AB with wide bewildered eyes.
Wait.
Back up.
 No.
That’s not possible.
“What the fuck?”
Is AB shrieking? He’s definitely shrieking. But… “You can see me!
You can see me? Can you see me?”
Not only can this absolutely beautiful man—no, this bro—see
him, but he’s staring at AB with absolute wonder in his eyes. He
opens his mouth but then shuts it with a click of his teeth; instead,
he looks AB up and down with such a methodical intensity AB begins
to fidget. AB wouldn’t consider himself a blusher, but every sweep of
this guy’s eyes leaves AB burning. His gaze settles back on AB’s face
before speaking, and when he does, AB thinks he must be hearing
things—there’s no way.
No.
Possible.
Way.
“Uh, what?”
Mr. Omnivision over there—because what else could he be?—
purses his lips, then repeats, “I know this sounds ridiculous, but I
think you’re my future Bondmate.”
AB might be short-circuiting. What the actual fuck! This guy, this
gorgeous guy with his ridiculous sweatpants and his ridiculous
backwards snapback and his ridiculous smile, can’t possibly be
standing in front of him claiming they’re Bondmates. At brunch.
While AB is covered in mimosa. This has to be fake.
Did he make an enemy of an Illusionist who’s messing with him?
Is he seeing things? He must be seeing things. This guy has to be an
Illusion.
 “I can assure you I’m real,” Mr. Omnivision says, looking at his
pants with bemusement before stepping forward with his hand
outstretched. “Hi, I’m Matthew.”
Oh, great. He’s been thinking out loud.
AB knows he’s being rude—can faintly hear his mother’s voice
chastising him in the back of his mind—but he can’t stop staring.
Despite his awful outfit, which AB has apparently insulted to his face,
Matthew is stunning. He has dirty-blond hair and a ridiculously
strong jaw and a dusting of freckles. Which really isn’t fair—freckles
are his kryptonite. How could he not stare?
“This isn’t going the way I’ve always imagined.”
Matthew drops his hand and awkwardly rocks back on his heels.
The downward slope of his mouth knocks AB’s brain back online.
He thrusts his hand out. “Shit. Sorry for staring. And insulting
you. I’m AB.”
“You also called me gorgeous, so I’ve decided to think of it as
balancing out,” Matthew says, his mouth quirking as he takes AB’s
hand.
AB is making a fool of himself, and he’d absolutely die of
embarrassment if shit didn’t get downright weird when he takes
Matthew’s hand in his. Simultaneously, bright golden light bursts
from where their palms meet, and AB pops back into view.
“What the fuck?” AB squawks, snatching his hand away.
Even after breaking contact, the heat of Matthew’s hand burns
against AB’s skin, and while he’s no longer Concealed, none of the
electricity produced by their touch has dissipated. Instead, they’re
encased in an invisible crackling bubble of it, as if the light of their
handshake shocked the air surrounding them.
 “So, that was weird,” Matthew says, after AB fails to add anything
constructive to their conversation. He bites his lip, an indecipherable
emotion flickering across his face, and then adds, “Uh. I kind of have
to go? But I’m serious about what I said. And considering all of this
—” He motions between them, pointedly staring at AB’s hand. “—I’m
hoping you’ll give me a chance to explain?”
“Wait, what?”
“Uh, like, can I…maybe get your number or…shit.”
Matthew fidgets with his hat, the tips of his ears burning. “Look,
I don’t live under a rock. I know who you are and how this could…I
don’t know, come off as some sort of ploy to get your attention? You
mentioned this could be an Illusion, which I’m not, obviously, but I
absolutely understand if you’re not comfortable giving me your
number, but I’d really like to explain myself when we’re not in a
bathroom and my impatient friends aren’t ten seconds away from
storming in here to drag me out. Or maybe your email? Or—you
have Twitter, right? Who doesn’t have Twitter? Well, I don’t have
Twitter, but uh…Instagram? Or if you’re into face-to-face chats we
could agree on a time and public place to meet up again? I’m
running out of ideas here. What else is there?”
Matthew blushes, turning his sun-tanned skin an adorable shade
of ruddy pink, and all AB can focus on are the freckles, darker on his
nose than anywhere else. He’s staring again. Or maybe he never
stopped staring, and really, AB should be mortified, but this has
been such a strange encounter he doesn’t think Matthew can judge
him. He’s running through all the ways entertaining Matthew’s
declaration is a terrible idea, how he clearly caused the one thing AB
is so obsessed with happening, how he should be running far, far
away, when everything clicks into place.
“Were you, by any chance, at my concert when I played Madison
Square Garden a couple years ago?”
Matthew furrows his brow. “Yes, but what does—wait. It wasn’t
actually the Frits? You think I caused your Concealment? Or, well,
our magics Reacting made you Invisible?”
“Wait, sorry… How can you possibly tell what type of Concealer I
am?”
“A guy’s got to keep some secrets,” Matthew says with a slow,
crooked smile. “Maybe I’ll tell you one day.”
The smile tips him over, and AB makes a decision Carson might
actually murder him for.
“I’m not sure about Bondmates, but you’re certainly affecting my
magic. Which intrigues me almost as much as it pisses me off. So
yeah, give me your number.”
AB unlocks his phone and brings up a new contact page, then
hands it to Matthew. “I’ll text you once I’ve decided whether or not
meeting up with you is a dangerous idea or just recklessly
irresponsible.”
Matthew snorts when he reads the name AB put him in as.
AB shrugs. “Well, aren’t you?”
Matthew’s face is dazzling when he smiles. “Yeah, you got me
there.”
 Chapter Two
On their fifth birthday, Matthew’s grandmother sat him and
Maddie down and told them the legend surrounding different
magics. She started with the facts. Magic is energy. Magic has
different forms. Some magic is stronger, some is rare, but everyone
has some coursing through them. Magic is mysterious and
befuddling and can’t always be explained.
She told them about the way some people’s magic Reacts
strangely when encountering others. The most common is an
electric shock, so easily mistaken as static. Sometimes the spark is
big enough to create a visible burst. Rarely, electricity can be
produced when the proximity of two magics charges the surrounding
area. She told them there is no universally agreed-upon explanation
as to what causes the Reactions, but from what experts know, the
greater the difference between magics, the greater the Reaction.
As a result, a widely accepted belief emerged about only two
magics being different enough to be classified as True Opposites,
and how no Reaction will ever be greater than one between an
Omnivision and a Concealer. She told them how Divulging and
Displaying conventions have limited the study of Reactions, but from
what evidence they do have, no Reaction has ever occurred between
two identical forms of magic.
Matthew’s grandmother said the only prevailing theory—the one
found all throughout history, even before the Revelation, and in all
different cultures—is magic craves a mate. Legend says the
Reactions are due to the attraction between magics. Says the
stronger the Reaction, the more likely a Bond is to be formed. Says
once a Bond is formed it can never be broken. Legend says a Bond
creates a magic of its own. Says the new magic allows the pair a
greater understanding of each other, and once formed, there is no
connection more profound.
Legend says a great deal, but Matthew always thought the most
important one was about Bonds being formed by love.
Unlike Maddie, who lost the wonder surrounding Bondmates
somewhere around seventh grade, Matthew has never stopped
hoping for the possibility. At five, he was certain he’d be blessed with
a Bond because he was an Omnivision and Omnivisions have a True
Opposite. At thirteen, his confidence began to waver as he
discovered how rarely Bondmates have been recorded, how few
people truly believe them to be real. At seventeen, he started dating
his first serious girlfriend, and Bonding faded into something far less
pressing.
But throughout it all, Matthew never stopped dreaming. He
imagined an instant connection. He imagined a lot less swearing and
a lot more certainty. He never once considered his future Bondmate
could be a guy. Because no matter how much his grandmother said
love comes in all forms and Bonds can too, Matthew has spent the
last sixteen years dreaming about a girl he’d one day marry. But
now, as he looks at the satiny purple stain on his palm, Matthew
wonders what else he got wrong about Bonding.
“What’s up with you?” Zeke asks once they’ve made it back to
their apartment. The tone of his voice, and the way Oliver is biting
back a smile, suggests he’s been dying to ask the entire way home.
“You’ve been staring at your hand like it’s the eighth wonder of the
world since we left the restaurant.”
“I think I met my actual, very real, potential Bondmate?”
 Zeke groans but Oliver looks intrigued. “You don’t seem so sure?
This is the fifteenth time you’ve told me your magic Reacted to
someone else’s, and you haven’t sounded so unsure since the very
first. What gives?”
Zeke holds his hand up to Matthew. “Wait, before you get
started…” He directs his attention to Oliver, his eyes comically wide.
“You’re joking right? Because I thought the four I’ve been here for
were outrageous enough.”
Oliver shrugs. “Middle school was a confusing three years.
Matthew and his quest for a Bondmate was no exception.”
Zeke shakes his head as they move to the living room. “For your
sake, man, I hope this is the real deal. I don’t know how you’ve put
up with this hopeless romantic for so long.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m hopeless.”
Oliver ignores Matthew. “You’d be surprised by how boring things
were when he was in Michigan. At some points I found myself
missing Matthew mistaking static electricity for a Reaction.”
“Hey! You know all of those weren’t static!”
“But you admit some of them were?” Oliver counters.
Matthew shrugs. “Perhaps.”
Oliver smirks, as if Matthew did agree, and Zeke rolls his eyes as
he makes a show of getting comfortable. He flops down on the
couch and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. Oliver settles in on
the other end, leaving Matthew to take the chair, and Zeke rolls his
hand through the air, nodding at Matthew. “Okay, I’m ready. You can
proceed.”
“If I have your permission…” Matthew says, and Zeke’s grin
grows. “Do you two remember when we were all at AB Cerise’s
concert together?”
Zeke and Oliver glance at each other, confusion written all over
their faces.
“Of course,” Zeke says eventually.
“And do you remember how I said I felt weird?”
“Yeah,” Oliver hedges. “Because you were being inundated with
things—”
“Yeah, no,” Matthew cuts in, stopping Oliver before he starts his
well-meaning, but annoying, speech about how normal it is for
Matthew to be overwhelmed by all the added visual input created by
the sounds and magic of thousands of people in one place.
Matthew can admit the dull ache behind his eyes occasionally
kicks up to an actual headache when things are too loud. He’s
gotten used to the pain while playing hockey, and he knows he has
to focus on staying calm, centered because the headaches turn
debilitating when he’s wrung out and emotional, but he’s never felt
like he was going to buzz out of his skin the way he did two years
ago. He’ll never forget the current running through his veins, the
way it lit him up like a conduit, how it burned through him in a way
that should have been painful but wasn’t. Nor will he forget the few
times he’s felt the same prickle of electricity while roaming the city
and how identical it was to the heat sparking through him as AB
opened the door today.
His roommates’ doubt can’t sway him. Matthew is sure. “It wasn’t
the magic causing it—it was a Reaction to my potential Bondmate.”
Zeke looks skeptical. “You’re telling me in a venue of more than
twenty thousand people your magic was Reacting to the magic of
one specific person? How could you possibly know? I know they’re
not the most common, but there could’ve been any number of
Concealers at the concert. Hell, if the legends are true, you could’ve
been Reacting to a shitload of magics—all varying degrees of
different than yours—at the same time. How would you know in
such a huge crowd? No offense, man, I truly adore you, and I hope
one day you find the love you’re looking for, but I don’t think Bonds
can really happen. And I’m positive you can’t know whose magic
was making you feel off two years ago.”
“Obviously all the rest never went anywhere, and I’ll gladly admit
I was mistaken, but I’m telling you—this is it. I felt the same exact
wave of electricity running through me today as I did at the concert
and brunch was nowhere near the level of MSG. Not even close.”
Oliver’s tone is flippant, but the dulled blue of his voice betrays
his true concern. “If you’ve got the Frits again, you have to go stay
with Maddie. Last time was awful and I’m not taking care of you
again.”
“I don’t have the Frits! You guys are the worst listeners—
constantly interrupting me.”
Oliver has the decency to look apologetic, but Zeke shrugs. “If
you’d get to the point faster…”
“I’m going to remember this the next time you ask me to run
through flashcards with you. Anyway! What I’ve been trying to say is
when I went to the bathroom before we left, I felt the same way as
before, but this time it was accompanied by a very visceral tug at my
heart. And next thing I know, the door’s opening and I’m dropping
my phone because there’s one very Invisible man standing against
it. One who may or may not have been going into shock over me
being able to see him.”
 “Same,” Oliver mumbles.
“Wait,” Zeke cuts in. “You think this guy is your Bondmate?”
“Yeah,” Matthew says. “I mean, if I wasn’t sure with the whole
magnetic pull thing, I’d definitely be convinced by what happened
when I introduced myself. We shook hands and there was an
honest-to-god golden burst of electricity and then bam! He’s Visible
again. And now, I’ve got his handprint on my palm, and it doesn’t
seem to be fading. So yeah, your doubts don’t hold much weight
with me anymore.”
“As if they ever did,” Oliver laughs.
“Fair,” Matthew says. “But he has to be my future Bondmate.
There’s no other explanation. This is the real deal, guys.”
Out of all the Reactions Matthew has had, a handprint has never
been left on his skin. The mark not fading has to mean this is his
chance. It has to. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if the smear of
color isn’t a sign a Bond is imminent, if it turns out to be another
dead-end Reaction.
Neither Oliver nor Zeke can see the mark, and Matthew is sure
Zeke will challenge him because of it, but after all their interrupting,
Zeke and Oliver are silent.
Oliver gathers his thoughts first. “So, to clarify, you think your
Bondmate is going to be a man?”
“Yeah. A complete shock. I know.”
Oliver’s brows knit with confusion, but Zeke’s smile couldn’t be
any broader. He looks absolutely delighted as he says, “I take back
everything I’ve ever said. This is going to be good.”
Matthew narrows his eyes. “Oh, you’re on board with Bonding
now? Just like that?”
 “Of course not,” Zeke answers. “Not really. It’s going to take a lot
more than an Omnivision seeing a spark to convince me Bonds are
real.”
“Really? Not even the handprint?”
Zeke shrugs. “Maybe if I could see it.”
Matthew rolls his eyes and Zeke lets out a small, amused huff of
air. “Come on, Matthew, people’s magic Reacting to each other is
verifiable enough, but Bonding? It’s been hundreds of years since
anyone even said they Bonded. What I really want to talk about here
is how you’re completely unfazed by meeting a guy while he was
fully Displayed.”
“Why wouldn’t I be chill?”
“Maybe because you’ve been imagining this grand love affair
basically your entire life, and within a moment, you’ve given it all
up,” Oliver suggests.
Zeke turns to Oliver with an amused, almost smug grin. “Unless
our baby’s finally having his very own bi revelation.”
When he turns back to Matthew, his expression is far more
serious than Matthew expected. “Is this your moment? Has this guy
sparked an awakening for you? Are we about to lose our token
straight friend?”
“Uh. No. I think I’d know if I was into dudes.” Oliver opens his
mouth and Matthew cuts him off. “Yes, I know people can realize in
all phases of life. But I don’t—I’m not into him. Well, no, I’m very
into finding someone my magic Reacts to this strongly, but I’m not
attracted to him.”
Matthew is comfortable enough with himself to admit AB is
attractive. Maddie has been a fan of AB since he was nothing but a
kid their age posting covers on YouTube. Matthew can still remember
all the lyrics to “Dangerous” from hearing it a million and one times
the summer before he started in the NTDP. He’s seen enough photos
and been cajoled into watching enough videos to know what AB
looks like. Matthew doesn’t need to deny AB’s good looks—he knows
what they are. But the same can be said for knowing Oliver and
Zeke are handsome. Matthew recognizing the physical attributes of
other men doesn’t change Matthew’s sexuality—he’s still straight.
“And you’re not disappointed by this?” Oliver asks. “Not even in
the slightest?”
“I don’t think so?” Which is a bigger surprise than his future
Bondmate being a guy, actually. “Maybe briefly on the way home but
not really. Not anymore. I think I’m more shocked about how far off
I was in my imagination.”
Oliver purses his lips. “Are you sure this isn’t a queer thing?”
“Yes,” Matthew says.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says. “But I’m having a little trouble wrapping
my head around this when you’ve been a one-and-done kind of guy
since you and Tori decided going to college on opposite sides of the
country was too hard. You’ve been on maybe three second dates in
the last two years.”
“And?”
“And!” Zeke scoffs. “You’re suddenly changing your entire MO
because some guy put a mark on you! You do see how this is all a
little gay, right?”
Matthew crosses his arms. “Okay, first, I’m pretty sure you’ve
both told me before platonic Bonds could be possible.”
 “Yeah,” Oliver says. “When we were trying to get you to go on
second dates with girls you were obviously into but didn’t React to!
And you literally never listened!”
“And now I am!”
Oliver gapes at him, no words coming out.
“You’re a real piece of work, Matthew.” Zeke shakes his head.
“But if this is the real damn deal, and I’m definitely not saying it is,
I’m reserving judgment until you two make it past the one-month
mark, but if it is real then, hey! You’ll never have to worry about
self-sabotaging your love life again. Can’t really use the ‘I’m waiting
for my Bondmate’ excuse as a reason the relationship won’t work
out when you’ve already got one.”
“Eh,” Oliver says. “I’m not so sure ‘hey, this is my platonic
Bondmate who I share a deep and magical connection with’ is going
to be any better for his love life than refusing to date someone he
doesn’t React with.”
“Maybe if Matthew was into guys, but I think it’s a nonissue since
he’s straight. He and Maddie have the spooky Twintuition, and come
on, can a Bond really be any different?”
“I’d think they have to be a little more intense if no one believes
in them but Matthew,” Oliver says.
“Don’t forget his grandmother,” Zeke says.
“You two are the worst,” Matthew huffs.
“And yet you love us,” Zeke says.
“Much to my dismay,” Matthew says.
Zeke rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell us about this guy?
Because I’ve got some questions.”
Matthew nods, motioning with his hand for Zeke to continue.
 “First: Where does he stand on Bondmates? Second: Did you
even mention Bondmates? Usually, you’re a babbling mess by now,
but you’ve been pretty tight-lipped. Come to think of it, does this
guy even have a name?” Zeke looks utterly horrified. “Oh god,
Matthew. Please tell me you got his name.”
“Of course, I got his name,” Matthew says, affronted.
“Which is what?” Oliver prompts.
“Uh, A—” Matthew starts to tell them but then reconsiders. “Abe.
His name is Abe.”
He’s not sure why, but telling them AB is the guy he met makes
him a little queasy. He wants to say he keeps AB’s name to himself
because he doesn’t know what an incredibly famous celebrity would
think about Matthew telling people about their encounter. He wants
to think he was being considerate. But later, when he’s back in his
room, desk and hands covered in pastel smears of pinks and blues
and purples, trying desperately to capture the ethereal beauty of
AB’s complex purple—Concealed, yet visible to Matthew—he realizes
he doesn’t want to share either.
 Chapter Three
Meeting someone who has now led to AB Displaying twice
should, logically, send AB into an obsessive spiral. AB wants to
believe his disastrous encounter with Matthew not triggering a
tailspin is a real testament to his own progress. He wants to say this
proves Dr. Barnes right when she insists nothing about his intrusive
thoughts is rational, and thus, he shouldn’t try to reason with them
as if they are. He wants to say he hasn’t been thinking about texting
Matthew since he got back from brunch. He wants to say he’s a
reasonable, self-preserving kind of man. He wants to say he
wouldn’t willingly put himself in a situation where he might
exacerbate his own anxieties.
But see, AB is not that man. AB is a reckless fool when met with
a pretty face, and well…Matthew has one hell of a pretty face.
Honestly, it’s a certified miracle AB makes it two weeks before he
cracks. He knows texting Matthew isn’t a good idea. He knows
nothing good will come from opening this door, but AB is so grossly
intrigued by Matthew’s ability to see him. Not even Derek, an
Immune, can tell the difference between AB as he is and AB
Concealed. And the way Matthew looked at him in the bathroom, as
if AB was magnificent—no, AB was doomed from the start. He might
as well give himself credit for holding out this long.
They’ve just finished soundcheck for the sixth show on this leg of
the tour, and AB is once again staring at Matthew’s contact page. His
fingers itch with the need to act. He either needs to delete the
number and eliminate the temptation (impossible—he has it
memorized), or take the plunge already.
AB does neither.
 He calls Gabby instead. If anyone in the world can talk some
sense into him, it’s the girl he’s known since birth.
The phone rings once. “What do you want?”
“Hello to you, too, Gabs.”
“Of course, it’s always good to hear from you,” she says. “But
let’s not kid ourselves here; you hate talking on the phone and
would rather send me novel-length texts to avoid it, so I know this
isn’t a casual call. You either want something or something has gone
terribly wrong. Spill.”
“I maybe need a little advice.”
“Advice?”
“Yes, I do believe that’s what I said.”
“Oh god, what did you do? If you’re calling me for advice, it
means you want permission to do reckless shit.”
“First, I don’t have a reckless bone in my body.”
Gabby makes a derisive noise.
“And second,” AB stresses, “I didn’t do anything.”
“I don’t believe you for a second,” Gabby says. “But go on; you
have my undivided attention for however long you need.”
“Okay, so, on a scale of one to ten, how possible do you think
Bonding is?”
“Oh god,” Gabby says again, her laughter barely concealed.
“Just answer the question, Gabrielle!”
“If you’re Gabrielle-ing me, maybe I should’ve grabbed snacks for
this. What the hell have you gotten yourself into here? This is
shaping up to be the most interesting thing to ever happen to you,
isn’t it? But to answer your question: I’d say a three. Most info we
have is so fantastical and romanticized it doesn’t seem real at all.
Like an Atlantis situation, you know? Clearly a work of fiction but
taken as fact by some people. But I’d also be lying if I said a couple
don’t deviate enough from the general formula to make me wonder
sometimes. Kind of like Bigfoot, I guess.”
“Hold on; you still think Bigfoot is real?”
“Oh, fuck off! You still think Santa Claus is real!”
“Because he is!”
“How can you believe in Santa but not Bigfoot?”
“Because our moms haven’t left out a present from Santa since
you came home crying in fifth grade when Darren Blake told us we
were too old to still believe in silly baby stuff. And yet, every year
until we turned eighteen, we woke up to stockings full of candy our
moms didn’t leave us.”
“I don’t know, AB; I still think those were from them.”
“Why would they admit they left all the other gifts and then
continue to pretend Santa was real? That makes no sense.”
“So, what, Santa skipped over us until our parents stopped? That
doesn’t make any sense either!”
“I don’t know, Gabby! It’s magic! Maybe there’s a reimbursement
process.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. Wait a goddamn minute. You’re pulling the ‘it’s
magic’ card on Santa, but you don’t believe in Bigfoot?”
“Wouldn’t it have been found by now?”
“The exact same could be said for Santa! If magic’s involved,
why couldn’t it keep itself from being seen?”
“Are we deciding Bonding could be real, then? Is that what you’re
getting at?”
 Gabby sighs. “Fuck if I know! The only time I’ve ever thought
Bonding didn’t sound like a straight-up fairy tale was the one about
those two women in the French Revolution or whatever. So, I really
don’t know. If it is possible, it’s rare as hell. Like, rarer than
Immunes rare. So yeah, a three. A three is all I can give it.”
“Okay. What about how they claim magic can React to someone
else’s?”
“Claim!” Gabby scoffs. “AB, I know you’re busy in your own little
world, but you can’t be that out of touch!”
“Has it happened to you?”
“Nope,” Gabby answers, with an exaggerated pop of the p.
“Doesn’t mean it hasn’t to other people, though. Besides, I’m a
Convenient. As a Big Four, you’d have a better chance anyway. Is
that why you’re calling? Did baby get his very first Reaction?”
“Yeah, partially.”
“Go on.”
“Well, do you remember two-ish years ago when we thought I
had the Frits?”
“Yes,” Gabby says, a sudden hardness to her voice. “As if I could
ever forget the audacity of Steven reaching out to me! Like he had
any right to be upset you wanted him to sign an NDA. How could
you ever trust him not to blab about your Invisibility being the real
cause after the shit he pulled?”
“Moving on,” AB says, heart still aching at the mere mention of
Steven. “Turns out I was right to worry about it not being the Frits.”
“What do you mean? Are you saying a Reaction made you
Invisible?”
“Seems so. The guy I met today said he was at that concert.”
 “Since you’re not in a complete panic, I take it he didn’t make
you Invisible this time?”
“Oh, no, he totally did. But I was in the bathroom when it
happened, so no one else saw it go down.”
“Okay, wait, wait a second,” Gabby says after a long beat of
silence. “How hot is this guy?”
“Why must he be hot?”
Gabby snorts. “Because there’s not a chance in hell you’d
entertain the idea of being near someone who could make you
Invisible if they weren’t.”
She’s not wrong. “He’s a solid eleven, Gabby.”
Gabby laughs, light and airy, and god, does AB miss her.
“You are so predictable. You see a pretty face and suddenly
everything you’ve ever known goes straight out your ears.”
“You think it’s a terrible idea for me to text him?”
“Depends, really.”
“On?”
“What exactly happened. Because look, as much of an
accomplishment it is for you not to have run scared from this guy,
I’m unsure putting yourself in a situation where you could get
attached to him before you know if he’ll make you Conceal again is a
good idea. When would you even be able to test it?”
“Not until the end of August.”
“That’s more than a month, AB.”
“So then, don’t text him.”
“I’m not saying you can’t text him,” Gabby says. “But I am
surprised you’re considering any of this.”
 She’s right. Of course, she’s right. Entertaining the idea of seeing
Matthew again is reckless even by AB’s standards. But he can’t stop
thinking about the way Matthew’s hand felt in his, electrifying and
far too hot, but neither painful nor unpleasant. Even now, weeks
later, AB can feel the faintest impression of it. He doubts Matthew’s
right about Bondmates, but he can’t deny what happened. He can’t
deny there’s something about Matthew’s magic affecting AB’s own.
And the more he thinks about it, the more he needs to see if it will
happen again, needs to see if Matthew is going to be a problem for
him in the future.
“Listen, Gabby, not only could he see me, but from how he was
looking at me it was more than Concealment not working on him,
like he could see me—”
“Wait, you met an Omnivision?”
“What did you think we were talking about here?”
“I don’t know! I thought—I mean, this makes more sense. Okay,
well, now I see why you’re being more rash than usual. True
Opposites. Wow.”
“Bonds still aren’t real, Gabs.”
“I mean, maybe not. But this guy pulled you into Invisibility. I’ve
never heard of such a huge Reaction. And you were saying
something else happened, right?”
“Yeah,” AB says. “But listen. You have to promise not to laugh
because I know how unbelievable it sounds.”
“Babe, come on,” Gabby says. “Even combined, Immunes and
Omnivisions don’t make up 1 percent of the population. And yet
Derek’s in your band, and you met this guy in a bathroom. Your
track record with the unbelievable is remarkable. Just tell me.”
 “When we shook hands, there were honest-to-god sparks, and
then I was Visible again.”
“Oh, wow. That’s…yeah.”
“This making you speechless might be enough reason to text him
on its own.”
“Unfortunately, if you were expecting me to be the voice of
reason here, I’m now fully on board and want to see how this pans
out. If Bonds aren’t real, maybe he’ll at least tempt you to renege on
your self-imposed dating ban.”
“I don’t want to date him!”
“Are you sure?” Gabby says, laughing. “Because this is the first
person you’ve actually shown an interest in since you went all
‘Dating in the public eye is too hard, breakups are inevitable, I am
doomed to be loveless.’”
“All those things are still true,” AB says.
“Not sure you can blame being loveless on fame when you’re not
even trying. But regardless, he’s also the first guy you’ve wanted to
see again since Steven’s little stunt.”
“Unsure I’d call it a stunt,” AB mutters.
“Don’t see why you insist on giving him the benefit of the doubt.
He broke your heart once, which was bad enough, and then he
came back for seconds. He’s an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah,” AB says. “Add it to the list of reasons not to date.”
“What you and Steven did was not dating. So, you can’t compare
anything to it. But I’m not trying to fight your stubborn ass on this
dating thing—if you say you’re not going to date the guy, I believe
you’ll self-sabotage enough to not date the guy.”
“Wow.”
 “But if you’re serious,” Gabby says, “you’re going to need to be
upfront with him. Because you might not be into Bonding and you
might be well accustomed to making yourself miserable in terms of
love—”
“Wow!”
“Are you or are you not setting yourself up to get attached to
someone you refuse to date all because the press couldn’t shut up
about you and Chloe’s breakup?”
“You know that’s not the only reason I don’t want to date
anymore,” AB says.
“Minus Steven, all your reasons are basically in the same vein.
But whatever. I’m not having this argument again. You don’t listen,
and you refuse to talk to Dr. Barnes about your issues with being
perceived wrong by strangers, which I understand, really. I’d hate to
have people talk about me the way they talk about you, but until
you can ignore your press, I know this argument is futile.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally accepted my decision,” AB says.
“Don’t sound so smug. Once school starts and I’m back to
procrastinating, there’s nothing stopping me from making you a
detailed PowerPoint on why your reasons are shit.”
AB snorts in laughter. “Well, if there will be a PowerPoint…”
“But as I was saying, before you distracted me—”
“How did I—”
She raises her voice to speak over AB. “As I was saying! If you’re
hell-bent on not dating him, you need to be upfront about it when
you contact him. He believes in Bonding, babe. I can’t imagine he’s
expecting a friendship from this.”
“He’d be lucky to have me as a friend. I’m great.”
 “You’re all right,” Gabby says. “But seriously. You called for my
advice. And if you’ve made up your mind, which you so clearly have,
then yeah, that’s my advice. Tell him you’re not looking for anything
romantic. Oh, and please don’t give Carson and the rest of your
team a heart attack by meeting up with this guy in a place where
everyone can see before you know if you’ll Conceal again. Because
you might not be obsessing right now, but I know you, AB, and
you’re not going to stay this way forever. And there’s only so many
times you can rely on the Frits to cover a Concealment.”
“Yeah, good point,” AB says. “Guess I’ll have to invite him over
when there’s a break from tour.”
“I think inviting a stranger over definitely falls into the ‘giving
Carson a heart attack’ category.”
“Won’t really be a stranger in six weeks, will he?”
“Oh my god, look at you! Trying to make a new friend,” she coos.
“I’m so proud of you.”
“Did I miss the part where I don’t have friends?”
“I love them all dearly, but your personal assistant and
bandmates are not what I mean.”
“What about—”
“Neither are Heath and Mary Ann. And especially not Chloe. You
need people outside the industry. People who aren’t your ex. People
you can come home to.”
He has to admit, it would be nice for AB to know more people
who are in New York more often than he is—who might be able to
see him off when he leaves instead of coming along with him. But…
that sounds a lot like wanting… No. He can’t even entertain the
thought. There’s too much in his life working against a relationship.
“I’m not going to date him, Gabby.”
“Mm.”
“I’m not!”
“And I totally believe you!”
 Chapter Four
Matthew isn’t naive enough to think he’ll hear back from AB right
away, but with each passing day he grows more and more
discouraged. He hides his disappointment as best as he can, but as
two weeks approaches, Matthew can’t shake the despondency. He’s
lost his best chance at Bonding, lost it before he even really had it,
and Matthew has to move on, figure another way out, find someone
else no matter how much he wants it to be AB.
“Okay,” Maddie says, perching herself on the armrest of his chair.
“‘It’s your birthday and you can cry if you want to’ only works when
you’re not a twin and you can be emo without ruining your sister’s
vibe.”
“I’m not crying.”
“Might as well be with all this negativity you’re infecting me
with.”
“Good thing it’s not actually our birthday yet,” Matthew says.
Maddie rolls her eyes. “Close enough, asshole.”
But as she complains, she sends a concentrated burst of her own
happiness through him—something she’s so much better at than him
—and Matthew laughs as the giddy bubbles cut through his
melancholy. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she says, pressing a shot into his hand. “Birthday
cake vodka for the big day.”
“How gross is it?”
“Disgusting.” Maddie wrinkles her nose. “But it’s going to be
nothing compared to what Finn and Nolan are concocting in the
kitchen. Your friends do not respect taste buds. At all!”
“Oh god,” Matthew says, gagging at the cloying taste of the shot
and the thought of what those two could be making.
 “Okay, now come on, it’s almost our birthday. I’m outlawing
sulking over your boy for the rest of the night.”
“He’s not my boy,” Matthew grumbles.
“Right, my bad. But your ‘potential boy you’ve been pining over
since we were five’ is such a mouthful.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass. Oliver and Zeke were a lot less
argumentative about it not being like that.”
“Oliver and Zeke are cowards,” Maddie says with a satisfied
smile. She waves her hand in the air when Matthew starts to argue
the point, cutting him off. “Besides, as your twin, I get to push you
to self-examine harder than they do and here’s the thing, little bro
—”
“You were born three minutes before me!”
“Here’s the thing, little bro!” she says again, loud enough to draw
Oliver’s attention away from Sara. He raises his eyebrow and Maddie
waves him off. Her gaze dips back down to Matthew, and she drops
her voice. “Much to my dismay, I’ve always been worried about your
love life, and this apparently isn’t the point I stop. I was so happy
when the years you spent pining for a stranger didn’t get in the way
of you loving Tori. And I know how angry you were when you
realized there was never going to be a Bond for the two of you and
how much worse it was for you when you accepted loving someone
who wasn’t a Bondmate only for it to still not work out. I felt all of it
with you, Matty. But you’ve been letting this potential Bondmate get
in the way of your happiness for the last two years. You’ve used it
and the failure of your relationship with Tori as reason to hold out
until the perfect, strongest, best-case Reaction came along, and now
it has! And instead of going for it, instead of seeing if this is what
you’ve been waiting for, you’re refusing to accept you might be into
dudes after literally telling me he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve
ever seen.”
“As in his colors!”
“Yeah, okay,” Maddie snorts.
“I think I would know if I had the hots for men. I’ve sure seen
enough of them growing up! Don’t you think I would’ve found at
least one of them attractive by now?”
“Maybe you’re late to realizing you did. Or maybe,” Maddie says,
“athletes aren’t your type.”
“Whatever. I’d tell you I’d keep an open mind, but he’s not going
to text me anyway, so it doesn’t even matter.”
Maddie pats his shoulder, a small smile pulling at the corners of
her mouth. “Let’s see if we can find you a candle to put on this little
liquid birthday cake your friends are working on.”
“You want me to wish for him to text me back?”
“Couldn’t hurt, could it?”
And apparently, she’s right, because maybe half an hour after
they ring in their birthday, Matthew’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
Before he’s even swiped the message open, Maddie slings her
arm around him, smug as can be, “I’m always right.”
But Matthew can’t even muster up his usual irritation over her
gloating. Not when a pleasant warmth unfurls in his chest, drowning
out all other emotions as he reads AB’s text.
He still has a chance after all.
 Chapter Five
AB doesn’t text Matthew until he’s back in his bus bunk for the
night. Not because he doesn’t know what to say, or because he
thinks Gabby’s right about him wanting to date, but because his
band is made up of four busybodies with far too much interest in his
love life. If they found out about Matthew, they’d be even worse
about trying to get him to date the guy than Gabby.
Mr. Omnivision
Sat, Jul 18, 11:31 PM
Okay Matthew convince me Bonds are real
Uhh it’s my birthday and everything I say is right
Well HAPPY BIRTHDAY but unfortunately that’s
not going to cut it
What about: my grandma says they are?
While the grandma card is cute it’s still
unconvincing
But I WILL give you one whole point for trying
I think the grandma card should get me at least two
points! She makes a very compelling argument
An argument I have no knowledge of!!!
And one you’re not SHARING WITH ME
But I’ll give you half a point extra because I do
love grandmas
And it IS your birthday
How gracious of you
But to answer your question: it just makes sense to me.
Magic is all over the place and we know it can react to
other kinds in close proximity, so why wouldn’t it be
true? If the legend says Reactions happen and they do,
then why wouldn’t it be possible for Bonds to happen
too?
Aren’t legends usually based in some fact
You believe in Reactions but not in the possibility of
Bonding?
Tbh I thought Reactions were fake until I met you
too
Wait really? You’ve never Reacted with anyone?
Nope! You were a pretty impressive first if I do say
so myself Mattycakes!
Mattycakes??? I felt a little guilty I told my people your
name was Abe but I think mattycakes absolves me
ABE???? Do I look like an ABE TO YOU??
In my defense, it’s not exactly easy to come up with an
alias on the fly for someone with initials for a name!
AND I didn’t know what either of the letters stood for!
AND!! I figured you might not want me to broadcast
who you were before you made up your mind about
me and unfortunately Abe was the only logical
conclusion. Especially after the A was out of my mouth
Warmth flutters in AB’s chest, pulse stuttering. Gross. This was
definitely a mistake. He thought he could do this. He thought he
could talk to Matthew, tell him they couldn’t date, make a friend, but
no. Matthew is cute and considerate. Totally unacceptable. He didn’t
want to acknowledge her before, but Gabby was right—he does
have an awful tendency of getting attached. And can he really afford
to get attached to someone who’s going to bail on him the second
he realizes Bonds aren’t real? What a disaster he’s gotten himself
into here.
AB shoves his phone under his pillow and tries to forget all about
Matthew and his silly little fairy-tale beliefs. But a night of sleep does
nothing to quell his unease. If only Matthew weren’t into Bonding, if
only AB weren’t so fucked up when it came to relationships, if only
this could be a casual fling he could wash his hands of once he had
a taste. If only Matthew hadn’t texted him back nearly an hour after
AB stopped responding; if only he weren’t still feeling the heat of
Matthew’s hand against his own; if only Matthew weren’t so
goddamn beautiful.
If only AB weren’t so curious.
If only.
Mr. Omnivision
Sun, Jul 19, 1:16 AM
I’m sure I haven’t convinced you Bonds are real but I do
have a question of my own if you don’t mind. Are you
against the idea of Bonding or do you just not believe
it’s real?
9:55 AM
Mostly the latter. Idk if I’m against it really but
doesn’t it sound a little boring to you?
How is magic doing cool magical shit boring?
Well when you put it like that!
There’s no other WAY to put it!
Fine maybe bore is the wrong word but don’t you
think it takes the wonder out of love for magic to
 be pushing us together? You don’t think it sounds
like FATE???
I think you’re looking at it the wrong way here. Nothing
I’ve seen says magic can affect how people feel about
each other. It’s more like it gives us more to connect
with. To me, it’s another thing to build a relationship on,
like having something in common or being attracted to
each other. You wouldn’t say two people being
attracted to each other means they’ll fall in love one
day, would you?
No I guess I wouldn’t
See!
Look I get it. No one around me other than my
grandma really believes in this stuff, so I’m totally used
to the skepticism. But nothing I’ve read, and I’ve done a
lot of reading on this lol, says the way we feel for each
other comes from the Bond. It only ever says the Bond
comes from our feelings, like we’re def still the masters
of our own fate
Hmm. What about it not being broken? Doesn’t it
seem a little weird we could end up hating each
other but still be connected FOREVER?
Just because the effects of the Bond can’t be broken
doesn’t mean we couldn’t tell each other to fuck off
Which I’d definitely do
Good to know
But yeah, assuming the Bond really can’t be broken I
don’t think that’d be too bad. It’s not much different than
how you always carry around the memories of
someone you loved before. This way just has magic
AB doesn't know if it’s better or worse for him that Matthew says
he’s okay with their feelings disappearing but the Bond remaining.
On the one hand, it gives AB hope Matthew won’t ditch him when
his dream goes belly-up. But on the other hand, if Matthew isn’t
going to inevitably leave him, if he might stick around regardless, AB
will have to work even harder to not get attached—a responsibility
AB doesn’t want.
Ok you’ve convinced me
I really thought it’d take longer
Oh don’t get ahead of yourself here! It’s gonna
take waaaay more than our little magic act to
change my mind on Bonding
But you asked me to let you explain yourself and
I’m still curious so I figure we can meet up the
next time I’m home if you’re REALLY up for the
challenge of hanging out with someone who’s
only around half the year
And who knows! This could be the start of a
grand adventure even if Bonds aren’t real
I think I’m up for the challenge. Though if I’m right and
we DO Bond, you owe me fifty bucks for the skepticism
Ok I’ll take that bet
But if I’m right I want an extra large iced coffee
and one of those fancy little opera tortes as
payment
Think you can do that?
I actually think I’ve seen a recipe for one in my nana’s
cookbook. If it turns out you’re right, I might even get
her to help me make it
Ooooh
What do I have to do to get nana’s homemade
dessert BEFORE we figure out this Bonding
thing?
I’ll get back to you
Boooo
Also I have an addendum! If we end up hating
each other one day I get New York
ALL of New York? I think we’ll have to negotiate if it gets
to that point
Fine I guess that’s fair
But all jokes aside I do have a couple conditions
you should know before we commit to this little
quest of yours
And what would those be?
If it turns out I keep Concealing when we React
we won’t be able to hang out in public because I
really can’t afford that happening again and we
won’t always be lucky enough to be in a
bathroom by ourselves
Fair enough. What’s the second?
This is a friendship
We can’t fall in love
 Chapter Six
Matthew can’t stop reading “We can’t fall in love.” He’s so fixated
it takes Maddie shaking his shoulder to drag his attention away from
his phone.
“Abe?” Maddie asks, arching a brow.
“Yeah.”
“Did he tell you to fuck off?” Maddie asks.
“No, he wants to be friends.”
“I’m confused,” Maddie says. “Friends is what you wanted. Why
do you feel like you’ve been sucker-punched in the ribs? I’m not
digging this at all, to be honest.”
“It’s nothing,” Matthew says.
Maddie purses her lips. “Doesn’t seem like nothing. But I’ll allow
it.”
Matthew huffs a laugh. “How kind of you.”
“It is! You know I’m a nosy bitch. If we weren’t waiting for Mom
and Dad at this very fancy restaurant, I’d totally be wrestling your
phone out of your hand.”
Matthew’s fingers flex instinctively against his phone and he’s
suddenly thankful for his mother’s choice of locale.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Yes, Maddie,” he says. “I’m fine.”
“Sure.”
“I never told him I was straight, okay! And now he’s said we
can’t fall in love, which, okay, but I don’t know how to tell him, and I
feel like I should apologize for coming on the wrong way,” he says in
a rush, the tightening in his chest caused by the words can’t fall in
love loosening a little.
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 IN WINTER COSTUME

As the law provides that the daughter of a slave must take the
place of her parent, should she die, it is plainly in the interests of the
owner to promote the marriage of his slaves. Slaves who receive
compensation for their services are entitled to marry whom they
please; quarters are provided for the couple. The master of the
house, however, has no claim upon the services of the husband. The
slave who voluntarily assigns herself to slavery and receives no price
for her services may not marry without consent. In these cases it is
not an unusual custom for her master, in the course of a few years,
to restore her liberty.
Hitherto, the position of the Korean woman has been so humble
that her education has been unnecessary. Save among those who
belong to the less reputable classes, the literary and artistic faculties
are left uncultivated. Among the courtesans, however, the mental
abilities are trained and developed with a view to making them
brilliant and entertaining companions. The one sign of their
profession is the culture, the charm, and the scope of their
attainments. These “leaves of sunlight,” a feature of public life in
Korea, stand apart in a class of their own. They are called gisaing,
and correspond to the geisha of Japan; the duties, environment, and
mode of existence of the two are almost identical. Officially, they are
attached to a department of Government, and are controlled by a
bureau of their own, in common with the Court musicians. They are
supported from the national treasury, and they are in evidence at
official dinners and all palace entertainments. They read and recite;
they dance and sing; they become accomplished artists and
musicians. They dress with exceptional taste; they move with
exceeding grace; they are delicate in appearance, very frail and very
human, very tender, sympathetic, and imaginative. By their artistic
and intellectual endowment, the dancing girls, ironically enough, are
debarred from the positions for which their talents so peculiarly fit
them. They may move through, and as a fact do live in, the highest
society. They are met at the houses of the most distinguished; they
may be selected as the concubines of the Emperor, become the
femmes d’amour of a prince, the puppets of the noble. A man of
breeding may not marry them, however, although they typify
everything that is brightest, liveliest, and most beautiful. Amongst
their own sex, their reputation is in accordance with their standard of
morality, a distinction being made between those whose careers are
embellished with the quasi chastity of a concubine, and those who
are identified with the more pretentious display of the mere
prostitute.

A PALACE CONCUBINE

In the hope that their children may achieve that success which will
ensure their support in their old age, parents, when stricken with
poverty, dedicate their daughters to the career of a gisaing, much as
they apprentice their sons to that of a eunuch. The girls are chosen
for the perfect regularity of their features. Their freedom from
blemish, when first selected, is essential. They are usually pretty,
elegant, and dainty. It is almost certain that they are the prettiest
women in Korea, and, although the order is extensive and the class
is gathered from all over the kingdom, the most beautiful and
accomplished gisaing come from Pyöng-an. The arts and graces in
which they are so carefully educated, procure their elevation to
positions in the households of their protectors, superior to that which
is held by the legal wife. As a consequence, Korean folk-lore
abounds with stories of the strife and wifely lamentation arising from
the ardent and prolonged devotion of husbands to girls, whom fate
prevents their taking to a closer union. The women are slight of
stature, with diminutive, pretty feet, and graceful, shapely hands.
They are quiet and unassuming in their manner. Their smile is bright;
their deportment modest, their appearance winsome. They wear
upon state occasions voluminous, silk-gauze skirts of variegated
hues; a diaphanous silken jacket, with long loose sleeves, extending
beyond the hands, protects the shoulders; jewelled girdles, pressing
their naked breasts, sustain their draperies. An elaborate, heavy and
artificial head-dress of black hair, twisted in plaits and decorated with
many silver ornaments, is worn. The music of the dance is plaintive
and the song of the dancer somewhat melancholy. Many movements
are executed in stockinged feet; the dances are quite free from
indelicacy and suggestiveness. Indeed, several are curiously
pleasing.

DANCING WOMEN OF THE COURT

 Upon one occasion, Yi-cha-sun, the brother of the Emperor, invited
me to watch the dress rehearsal of an approaching Palace festival.
Although this exceptional consideration was shown me unsolicited, I
found it quite impossible to secure permission to photograph the
gliding, graceful figures of the dancers. When my chair deposited me
at the yamen the dance was already in progress. The chairs of the
officials and chattering groups of the servants of the dancers filled
the compound; soldiers of the Imperial Guard kept watch before the
gates. The air was filled with the tremulous notes of the pipes and
viols, whose plaintive screaming was punctuated with the booming of
drums. Within a building, the walls of which were open to the air, the
rows of dancers were visible as they swayed slowly and almost
imperceptibly with the music.
From the dais where my host was sitting the dance was radiant
with colour. There were eighteen performers, grouped in three equal
divisions, and, as the streaming sunshine played upon the
shimmering surface of their dresses, the lithe and graceful figures of
the dancers floated in the brilliant reflection of a sea of sparkling
light. The dance was almost without motion, so slowly were its
fantastic figures developed. Never once were their arms dropped
from their horizontal position, nor did the size and weight of their
head-dresses appear to fatigue the little women. Very slowly, the
seated band gave forth the air. Very slowly, the dancers moved in the
open space before us, their arms upraised, their gauze and silken
draperies clustering round them, their hair piled high, and held in its
curious shape by many jewelled and enamelled pins, which sparkled
in the sunshine. The air was solemn; and, as if the movement were
ceremonial, their voices rose and fell in a lingering harmony of
passionate expression. At times, the three sets came together, the
hues of the silken skirts blending in one vivid blaze of barbaric
splendour. Then, as another movement succeeded, the eighteen
figures broke apart and, poised upon their toes, in stately and
measured unison circled round the floor, their arms rising and falling,
their bodies bending and swaying, in dreamy undulation.
The dance epitomised the poetry and grace of human motion. The
dainty attitudes of the performers had a gentle delicacy which was
delightful. The long silken robes revealed a singular grace of
deportment, and one looked upon dancers who were clothed from
head to foot, not naked, brazen and unashamed, like those of our
own burlesque, with infinite relief and infinite satisfaction. There was
power and purpose in their movements; artistic subtlety in their
poses. Their flowing robes emphasised the simplicity of their
gestures; the pallor of their faces was unconcealed; their glances
were timid; their manner modest. The strange eerie notes of the
curious instruments, the fluctuating cadence of the song, the gliding
motion of the dancers, the dazzling sheen of the silks, the vivid
colours of the skirts, the flush of flesh beneath the silken shoulder-
coats, appealed to one silently and signally, stirring the emotions
with an enthusiasm which was irrepressible.
The fascinating figures approached softly, smoothly sliding; and,
as they glided slowly forward, the song of the music welled into
passionate lamentation. The character of the dance changed. No
longer advancing, the dancers moved in time to the beating of the
drums; rotating circles of colour, their arms swaying, their bodies
swinging backwards and forwards, as their retreating footsteps took
them from us. The little figures seemed unconscious of their art; the
musicians ignorant of the qualities of their wailing. Nevertheless, the
masterly restraint of the band, the conception, skill and execution of
the dancers, made up a triumph of technique.
As the dance swept to its climax, nothing so accentuated the
admiration of the audience as their perfect stillness. From the outer
courts came for a brief instant the clatter of servants and the
screams of angry stallions. Threatening glances quickly hushed the
slaves, nothing breaking the magnetism of the dance for long. The
dance ended, it became the turn of others to rehearse their individual
contributions, while those who were now free sat chatting with my
host, eating sweets, smoking cigarettes, cigars, or affecting the long
native pipe. Many, discarding their head-dresses, lay upon their
sitting mats, their eyes closed in momentary rest as their servants
fanned them. His Highness apparently appreciated the familiarity
with which they treated him. In the enjoyment and encouragement of
their little jokes he squeezed their cheeks and pinched their arms, as
he sat among them.

BOYS
 CHAPTER V
The Court of Korea—The Emperor and his Chancellor—The Empress and some
Palace factions

HIS IMPERIAL HIGHNESS, PRINCE YI-

CHA-SUN

A study of the morals and personalities of the Court of Korea

throws no little light upon the interesting phases of its contemporary
condition, even affording some explanation of the political
differences and difficulties which, if now in the past, may be
expected none the less to crop up again. Since the dastardly murder
by the Japanese of the Queen, who held the reins of Government
with strong hands, the power of the Emperor has been controlled by
one or other of the Palace factions. His Majesty is now almost a
cypher in the management of his Empire. Nominally, the Emperor of
Korea enjoys the prerogative and independence of an autocrat; in
reality he is in the hands of that party whose intrigues for the time
being may have given them the upper hand. He is the slave of the
superb immoralities of his women. When he breaks away from their
gentle thraldom, in the endeavour to free himself from their political
associations, his exceedingly able and unscrupulous Minister, Yi
Yong-ik, the chief of the Household Bureau, rules him with a rod of
iron. It matters not in what direction the will of his Majesty should lie,
it is certain to be thwarted with the connivance of Palace concubines
or by the direct bribery of Ministers. If the King dared, Yi Yong-ik
would be degraded at once. No previous Minister has proved so
successful, however, in supplying the Court with money; and, as the
Emperor dreads an empty treasury, he maintains him in his
confidence.
 HIS IMPERIAL MAJESTY THE EMPEROR

In the position of Minister of Finance and Treasurer of the Imperial

Palace, which he once filled, Yi Yong-ik opposed foreign supervision
of the revenues of the Maritime Customs. Acting in concert with the
Russian and French Ministers, he was primarily responsible for the
most recent crisis in the affairs of Mr. McLeavy Brown, the Chief
Comptroller and Executive Administrator of the Korean Maritime
Customs. At a time when the Imperial household was in need of
money, Yi Yong-ik created the desire for a loan by withholding the
revenue of the Privy Purse from his master. It was explained to his
Majesty that his financial embarrassments were due to the action of
his Chief Commissioner of Customs in locking up the proceeds of
the Customs. Supported by the influence of the Russian and French
Ministers, Yi Yong-ik suggested that the Customs revenue should
become the security for the loan which was being pressed upon him
by a French syndicate. When Mr. McLeavy Brown heard of the
transaction between the agent of the syndicate and the Minister of
Finance, he at once repudiated any hypothecation of the revenues of
the Customs for such a purpose. In co-operation with the French and
Russian Ministers, Yi Yong-ik, upon a variety of pretexts, attempted
to bring about the peremptory dismissal of the Chief Commissioner
of the Customs. He was foiled in this by the unexpected
demonstration of a British Squadron in Chemulpo Harbour, and the
attendant preparation and embarkation of a field force at Wei-hai-
wei. Upon the withdrawal of the guarantee of the Customs revenue
the Franco-Russian scheme collapsed, the agent of the interested
syndicate returning to Europe to complain of the action of the British
Minister and the Chief Commissioner of Customs.
Yi Yong-ik is an instance, together with that afforded by Lady Om,
of a Korean of most humble birth rising to a position of great
importance in the administration of the country. A man of low
parentage, he attached himself to the fortunes of Min Yeung-ik,
gradually forcing himself upon the notice of his patron, as also of his
sovereign. The services which Yi Yong-ik rendered to the throne
during the émeute of 1884, when he was a chair coolie in the service
of the late Queen, found responsive echo in the memories of their
Majesties, who procured his preferment. He was advanced to a
position in which his admitted sagacity, strength of mind, and
shrewdness were of material assistance, continuing to rise until he
became Minister of Finance. He has thus made his own position
from very insignificant beginnings, and, in justice to him, it may be
said that he serves the interests of his Majesty to the best of his
ability. Nevertheless he is in turn feared and detested. Numerous
attempts have been made against him, while, within the last few
months, failing to take his life by poisoned food, some unknown
enemies discharged an infernal machine in the room at the Seoul
Hospital where he was confined during an attack of sickness.
Alternately upon the crest of the wave or in the backwash of the tide,
Yi Yong-ik remains the most enduring personality in the Court. The
Russian influence is behind him, while the Emperor also is secretly
upon the side of his energetic Minister. At a moment, recently, when
the opposition against him became too strong, Yi Yong-ik took refuge
upon a Russian warship, which at once carried him to Port Arthur.
From this retreat he negotiated for a safe return with his Majesty,
who at once granted him a strong escort. Yi Yong-ik then returned
and, proceeding at once to the Palace, quickly reinstated himself in
the good graces of his master, thus again thwarting the plans and
secret machinations of his opponents.
His Majesty the Emperor of Korea was fifty years old in September
1900, being called to the throne in 1864, when he was thirteen. He
was married at the age of fifteen to the Princess Min, a lady of birth,
of the same age as her husband. It was she who was wantonly
assassinated by the Japanese in 1895. The son of this union is the
Crown Prince. His Majesty is somewhat short of stature, as
compared with the average height of the Korean. He is only five feet
four inches. His face is pleasant; impassive in repose, brightening
with an engaging smile when in conversation. His voice is soft and
pleasing to the ear; he talks with easy assurance, some vivacity and
nervous energy.
During an audience with a foreigner, the manner of the Emperor
has an air of frankness and singular bonhomie. He talks with every
one, pointing his remarks with graceful gestures, and interrupting his
sentences with melodious and infectious laughter. The mark of the
Emperor’s favour is the receipt of a fan. When a foreigner is
presented to him, it is customary to find upon the conclusion of the
audience a small parcel awaiting his acceptance, containing a few
paper fans and sometimes a roll of silk. The Emperor rarely exceeds
this limit to his Imperial patronage, for, like the rest of his people, he
cannot afford to be unduly generous.
The dress of his Majesty upon these occasions is remarkable for
its impressive and Imperial grandeur. A long golden silk robe of
state, embroidered with gold braid, with a girdle of golden cord,
edged with a heavy gold fringe, covers him. While the magnificence
of this attire excites envy in the heart of any one who sees it, the
ease and dignity of his carriage suggest his complete
unconsciousness of the impression which he is creating in the minds
of his guests.
 The Emperor is ignorant of Western languages, but he is an
earnest student of those educational works which have been
translated for the purposes of the schools he has established in his
capital. In this way he has become singularly well informed upon
many subjects. He speaks and writes Chinese with fluency, and he is
a most profound student of the history of his own people. The
method and system of his rule is based on the thesis of his own
personal supervision of all public business. If there be some little
difference between the Utopia of his intentions and the actual
achievement of his government, it is impossible to deny his assiduity
and perseverance. He is a kind, amiable, and merciful potentate,
desirous of the advancement of his country. He works at night,
continuing the sessions and conferences with his Ministers until after
dawn. He has faults, many, according to the Western standards by
which I have no intention of judging him. He has also many virtues;
and, he receives, and deserves, the sympathy of all foreigners in the
vast works of reform which he has encouraged in his dominions.

THE HALL OF AUDIENCE, SEOUL

 His Majesty is progressive. In view of the number and magnitude
of the developments which have taken place under his rule, it is
impossible to credit him with any of those prejudices against
Western innovations which have distinguished the East from time
immemorial. There are special schools in Seoul for teaching English,
French, German, Russian, Chinese and Japanese; there is a School
of Law, a School of Engineering and Science, a School of Medicine,
and a Military Academy. These are but a few minor indications of the
freedom of his rule, the sure sign of a later prosperity. He is tolerant
of missionaries, and he is said to favour their activities. It is certain
that his rule permits great liberty of action, while it is distinguished by
extraordinary immunity from persecution. His reign is in happy
contrast with the inter-regnum of the Regent, Tai Won Kun, who
regarded priests and converts as a pest, and who eradicated them to
the best of his ability.
As the autocratic monarch of a country, whose oldest associations
are opposed to all external interference, the attitude of his Majesty
has been instinct with the most humane principles, with great
integrity of purpose and much enlightenment. It cannot be said that
his reign has been a failure, or that it has not tended to the benefit of
his people and his realms. Certain evil practices still exist, but his
faults as an Emperor are, to a great extent, due to the worthlessness
of his officials. Indeed, he frequently receives the condemnation
which should be passed upon the minds and morals of his Ministers.
Saving Yi Yong-ik, the most important figure in the Court is the
mature and elderly Lady Om, the wife of his Majesty. In a Court
which is abandoned to every phase of Eastern immorality, it is a little
disappointing to find that the first lady in the land no longer
possesses those charms of face and figure, which should explain her
position. There is no doubt that the Lady Om is a clever woman. She
is most remarkably astute in her management of the Emperor,
whose profound attachment to her is a curious paradox. Lady Om is
mature, fat, and feebly, if freely, frolicsome. Her face is pitted with
small-pox; her teeth are uneven; her skin is of a saffron tint. There is
some suggestion of a squint in her dark eyes, a possible reminder of
the pest which afflicts all Koreans. She paints very little and she
eschews garlic. Her domination of the Emperor is wonderful. Except
at rare intervals, and then only when the assent of Lady Om to the
visit of a new beauty has been given, he has no eye for any other
woman. Nevertheless, the Lady Om has not always been a Palace
beauty; she was not always the shining light of the Imperial harem.
Her amours have made Korean history; only two of her five children
belong to the Emperor; yet one of these may become the future
occupant of his father’s throne.

THEIR IMPERIAL HIGHNESSES THE CROWN PRINCE

AND PRINCESS

In her maiden days, she became the mistress of a Chinaman;

tiring of him she passed into the grace and favour of a Cabinet
Minister. He introduced her to the service of the late Queen, whose
acquaintance she made at the house of her father, a Palace
attendant of low degree, with quarters within the walls. By the time
that she became a woman in the service of her Majesty, the Lady
Om had presented a child to each of her respective partners. As the
virtue of the women in attendance upon the Queen had of necessity
to be assured, her previous admirers kept their counsel for the safety
of their own heads. The Lady Om boasted abilities which
distinguished her among the other maids in attendance. She sang to
perfection, danced with consummate grace; painted with no little
delicacy and originality, and could read, write, and speak Chinese
and Korean with agreeable fluency. The Queen took a fancy to her
apparently innocent, guileless, and very lovable attendant. Imitating
the excellent example of his illustrious spouse, his Majesty sealed
the rape of virtue with a kingly smile. The Queen grew restless.
Suspicion, confirmed by appearances, developed into certainty, and
the Lady Om fled from the Palace to escape the anger and jealousy
of her late mistress. The third child, of whom Lady Om became the
mother, was born beyond the capital, in the place of refuge where
the errant Griselle had taken up her abode. Meanwhile, Lady Om
avoided the parental establishment within the purlieus of the Palace.
Upon the death of her third child she sought the protection of another
high official. With him she dwelt in safety, peace, and happiness,
becoming, through her strange faculty of presenting each admirer
with evidences of her innocence, the subject of some ribald songs.
Since her return to Imperial favour, these verses have been
suppressed, and may not be uttered upon pain of emasculation.
It now seemed as if the Lady Om had settled down, but the events
of 1895, culminating in the foul murder of the late Queen, prompted
her to renew her acquaintance with the unhappy Emperor. She
became a Palace attendant again, and at once cleverly succeeded in
bringing herself before the Imperial notice. She was sweetly
sympathetic towards his Majesty; her commiseration, her
tenderness, her suppliant air of injured innocence, almost
immediately captivated him. She was raised to the rank of an
Imperial concubine; money was showered upon her, and she
proceeded immediately to exercise an influence over the Emperor
which has never relaxed. She became a power at Court and once
again a mother. Her influence is now directed towards the definite
maintenance of her own interests. She wishes her son to be the
future Emperor; she is now living in a palace, and, since she is the
apple of his Majesty’s eye, she permits nothing to endanger the
stakes for which she is playing. Recently Kim Yueng-chun, an official
of importance but of precarious position, wishing to secure himself in
the consideration of his sovereign, introduced a new beauty, whose
purity and loveliness were unquestioned. Lady Om heard of Lady
Kang and said nothing. Within two weeks, however, the Minister was
removed upon some small pretext, and subsequently tortured,
mutilated, and strangled. The Lady Kang found that if the mills of
Lady Om grind slowly, they grind exceedingly small.
Lady Om is a lover of ancient customs; by ancient customs she
made her way; by ancient customs she proposes to keep it. Her
power increases daily, and a stately edifice has been erected in the
centre of the capital to commemorate her virtues. A few months
before her marriage to the Emperor, when there was ample
indication of the trend of events, the Emperor published a decree
which declared that Lady Om had become an Imperial concubine of
the First Class. This did not give her Imperial status; but it conferred
upon her son Imperial rank. By reason of this decree, however, he
will, at some future date, ascend the throne, while it opened a way
for Lady Om to secure recognition in Korea as the lawful spouse of
her royal admirer.
A MINOR ROYALTY
 CHAPTER VI
The passing of the Emperor—An Imperial pageant

The Emperor passed one morning in procession from the Imperial

Palace, which adjoins the British Legation upon its south wall, to the
newly erected Temple of Ancestors, the eastern wall of which marks
the limits of the Legation grounds. The festival was in no way public;
yet, such was the splendour of the pageant, that this progress of
eight hundred yards, leaving the Palace by its south gate and
entering again by the eastern gate, cost over two thousand pounds.
No warning of the Imperial plans was given to his Majesty’s subjects.
Just before the hour of his departure, however, the Emperor
expressed the hope that the British Minister and myself would be
interested in the procession, inviting us to watch the spectacle from
the Legation domain. Information of the movements of the Court
was, of course, bruited abroad. Large crowds gathered around the
precincts of the Palace and the Temple, attracted by the efforts
which the soldiers were making to form a cordon round the scene.
Hundreds of soldiers were told off to guard the approaches to the
Temple. One battalion of infantry was installed in the grounds of the
Imperial Korean Customs, another occupied the gates and garden of
the British Legation.
Despite the fact that the route of the procession lay between the
high walls of a private passage, some twenty-five feet wide, leading
from the offices of the Customs to the grounds of the Legation, into
which a postern gate gives access from the Palace, and through
which no Korean is ever permitted to pass, soldiers, one pace apart,
faced one another upon opposite sides of the road. The public,
seeing nothing of the ceremony, gathered such consolation as was
possible from the spectacle of the masses of infantry occupying the
Palace Square. Occasional glimpses of Palace officials were also
secured, and the blatant discord of triumphant song, with which the
private musicians of the Emperor greeted his arrival and the passing
of the Court, fell faintly upon expectant ears. It is, however, the proud
privilege of the Koreans to pay for these promenades of the Court. If
they did not see the august countenance of his Majesty upon this
occasion, it is to be hoped that they derived some consolation for the
heavy taxation, with which they are burdened, from the brave show
made by the brand new uniforms of the troops. The plumes, gold
lace and swords of the officers, and the rifles and bayonets of the
men would have fascinated any crowd. Until the moment of
departure, the army lay around upon the road, sleeping in the dust,
or squatted in the shade upon the steps of buildings, partaking of
breakfast—a decomposed mass of sun-dried, raw fish and rice
which stunk horribly, but which they devoured greedily, tearing it into
shreds with their fingers. Occasionally a loyal citizen brought them
water or passed round a pipe, taking the opportunity to run his finger
along the edge of a bayonet, or over the surface of a coat.
The Emperor was passing in this festive state to pay homage to
the tablets of his ancestors upon their transference to a fresh abode.
The gorgeousness of the pageant burst upon the colourless
monotony of the capital with all the violent splendour and vivid
beauty of an Arabian sunset. It was right and proper that the
magnificence of the celebration should be unrestricted. The
importance of the occasion was without parallel in the festivals of the
year. The momentary brilliancy of the picture, which centres round
the usually secluded sovereign at such a moment, implied the
glorification of a dynasty, which has already occupied the throne of
Korea for more than five centuries. Quaint and stately as the
pageant was, the splendour of a barbaric mediævalism is best seen
in processions of a more public character.