Cold Burn of Magic

by Jennifer Estep

  “Are you asking me to trust you?” Claudia asked. “A self-confessed liar and thief?”

  I shrugged. “It doesn’t seem to me like you have much choice. Kind of sucks, doesn’t it? When someone has you by the throat like that? When they can take away someone you love just by saying a few words to the wrong person?”

  Claudia blinked, as if she’d never considered it that way.

  Not bothering to wait for her to respond, I stood and stormed out of the library.

  I should have headed up to my bedroom to take a shower and wash away the rest of the blood from the fight. Instead, I slipped out onto one of the balconies, took hold of the nearest drainpipe, and started climbing.

  Thud.

  Thud. Thud.

  Thud.

  I’d only gone about halfway up when I heard the sounds of something getting thoroughly whacked. Devon was up there, just like I’d thought he would be.

  I climbed all the way to the top and swung myself from the drainpipe onto the roof. Devon stood in the middle of the scaffolding, beating the heavy bag. Déjà vu. He pointedly ignored me, continuing to wale away on the bag. Please. As if that would make me go away.

  This time, I didn’t wait for him to ask me to sit. I headed over to the far side of the roof, plopped down in one of the lawn chairs, and snagged an apple juice from the drink cooler. I cracked the bottle open and started sipping the juice while I propped my legs up on the iron railing that ringed the roof.

  Then I waited.

  It took him ten more minutes of intense, relentless pounding, but Devon finally worked off enough of his anger, guilt, and grief to leave the heavy bag behind. He slouched down in the chair next to me and grabbed a bottle of water.

  We sat there for several minutes, with only his harsh, raspy breaths breaking the silence.

  “I’m sorry about your dad,” I finally said. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

  Devon nodded, accepting my sympathy, but if anything, his face was even sadder than before. He gestured at the heavy bag, which was still swinging from his blows.

  “My dad built all of this,” he said. “The scaffolding. The lights. He hung up the bags, the hammock, everything. He loved to box, and this was his own private hideout from everyone else in the Family, even my mom. I spent hours up here as a kid, watching him work on the bags and listening to him talk about how to throw the perfect punch.”

  “Is that why you hardly ever carry a sword?”

  Devon nodded, a brief smile flickering on his face. “My dad liked solving certain problems with his fists. I guess I do, too. Sometimes, it just feels good to punch something, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  He blew out a tense breath. “If it was just my dad who was gone, that would be one thing. But it’s not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He pressed the water bottle to his forehead, as if the condensation on the plastic would cool his own turbulent thoughts.

  “I mean it’s everyone in the Family. My mom, Felix, Angelo, Grant, Reginald, the guards, the pixies. Everyone around me whenever I go down to the Midway or anywhere else outside the mansion. It’s everyone I’m close to. Everyone I . . . care about.”

  He didn’t look at me as he said the last few words, but my heart fluttered all the same.

  “They’re all at risk because of me,” he continued. “Because I have this compulsion Talent, and some people out there would kill whoever got in their way just so they could take my magic for themselves.”

  “Is that what happened with your dad?”

  He nodded and started picking at the label on the bottle. “It was just like the attacks at the pawnshop and the library. The two of us had gone to a party that the Itos were throwing for the other Families. When it was over, we decided to walk through the Midway. But once we got to the car in the Family parking lot, these guys surrounded us.”

  “Was it the mystery man? Did you see him?”

  Devon shook his head. “Nah. It happened so fast, and it was too dark for me to see anyone’s face. My dad and I fought them off the best we could, but my dad stepped up, protecting me.” He paused. “A guy ran him through with a sword right in front of me.”

  I hesitated, then reached over and squeezed his hand. His fingers felt warm, swollen, bruised, and sweaty from where he’d been pounding on the bag, but Devon squeezed back, gently curling his fingers around mine, almost as if they were something precious that he was handling with great care. His thumb idly stroked over my skin, as soft as a raindrop sliding across it over and over again. My stomach clenched, and heat surged through my body.

  “Sometimes, I wish I could get rid of my stupid magic,” Devon muttered. “I don’t want it. I never wanted it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I drawled, trying to focus on his words instead of the feel of his skin against mine. “I think it would be a pretty cool Talent to have. Getting folks to do anything you want with just a few words. I’d love to be able to use it on Oscar, if only to get him to like me, just a little.”

  “You’d think so, until you realize that it’s not real,” he said. “What I can make people do . . . it’s not what they want to do. It may sound corny, but I want people to like me for me, not because I can force them to or because of who my mom is or who I am in the Family. You know?”

  He raised his green gaze to my blue one. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Lila. You don’t care about any of that.”

  “Just one of the things?” I teased, trying to make him laugh a little, just so he’d forget his guilt and grief, if only for a few moments.

  “Just one.” His voice took on a low, husky note. “I could list all the others, if you want.”

  My gaze locked with his and my soulsight kicked in, showing me all of his emotions. And I felt them, too—more intensely than I ever had before. His heart still ached with that soul-crushing guilt, and it always would. But that hot spark I’d seen inside him that first day at the Razzle Dazzle had finally ignited into a roaring fire, burning as hot and bright as my own emotions were right now.

  Devon hesitated, then leaned in, just a little. My breath caught in my throat.

  He inched forward a little more. I wet my lips.

  He came even closer, so close that his warm breath brushed my cheek and his scent flooded my nose, that sharp, fresh tang of pine. Clean and crisp, just like he was, inside and out. I sighed. Suddenly, my hands itched to touch him, to trace my fingers over the sharp planes of his face, and then slide them lower, over all of his warm, delicious muscles . . .

  “Lila,” he whispered.

  I shivered, loving the sound of my name on his lips—lips that were heartbreakingly close to mine—

  “There you are!” a voice called out.

  I jerked back, the spell shattered, reality slapping me in the face again. I’d almost kissed Devon Sinclair. The guy I had blamed for my mom’s murder for so many years. The guy who had turned my life upside-down by walking into the Razzle Dazzle. The guy who was the reason I’d almost been killed tonight.

  But Devon had looked at me with those forest-green eyes, and I’d forgotten about everything except wrapping my arms around his neck, touching my lips to his, and pressing my body against his until we blazed, burned, and melted together into the heat, darkness, and dangerous swirl of emotions. Part of me still wanted that—part of me ached for it.

  Footsteps slapped across the roof, and Felix appeared.

  “You know that you’re in my chair, right, Lila?” he asked in a teasing voice.

  “I wasn’t aware it had your name stitched on it,” I sniped back, trying to play it cool and pretend everything was fine and that my heart wasn’t alternately pounding and breaking for too many reasons to count.

  “I’m sure I can ask one of the pixies to help me with that,” he said.

  I got to my feet. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make any extra work for them. Seeing as how they’re probably busy with my breakfast bacon righ
t now.”

  Felix waved at me. “Sit back down. I was kidding. I can bring an extra chair up here some other time—”

  “That’s okay. I was leaving.”

  I didn’t look at Devon, although I could feel him staring at me, his gaze scorching across my face.

  “Are you tired of Mr. Dark and Brooding already?” Felix teased again.

  “Yeah.” I let out a weak laugh. “That’s it.”

  Felix looked at me and Devon, then frowned. “If I’m interrupting something . . .”

  “Nope,” I said, cutting him off. “I’m going. I need a snack, anyway. Fighting for my life against bad guys always makes me hungry. I’ll see you guys at breakfast.”

  “Well, okay,” Felix said. “If you’re sure . . .”

  I started backing across the roof. “I’m sure. Later.”

  I turned away, hurried through the open door, and ran down the stairs into the mansion before Felix, or especially Devon, could call out and ask me to stay.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Felix and Devon didn’t follow me, and I made it back to my room without running into anyone else. Good thing, too, since I was about to drop from exhaustion. Seeing Mo, packing up my stuff, the attack, talking with Devon, almost doing . . . whatever we’d been about to do.

  My emotions were the things I guarded most closely, covering them up with sticky fingers and smart-ass comments, but tonight, I felt like my feelings were out in the open for everyone to see, shining as big and bright as one of the pawned diamonds on display at the Razzle Dazzle.

  Bracing myself, I opened the door to my bedroom. I expected to find a scowl-faced Oscar slouched on his porch, drinking his umpteenth honeybeer of the day and ready to tear into me again for daring to be nice to him and Tiny.

  Oscar was actually outside his trailer, but he was pacing back and forth on the lawn, something that he had to be sober to do, given the straight line he was walking. And he was muttering to himself.

  “Idiot,” he grumbled. “That’s what you are, Oscar. A complete and total idiot. She called you a redneck cowboy, as if there’s something wrong with that. I am a redneck cowboy and proud of it. And yet here I am, all worried about her like the soft, stupid, bleeding-heart fool that I am—”

  The pixie stopped at the sounds of me opening, then closing the door. He twitched his wings, took flight, and zipped over to me. He hovered in the air in front of me, his violet eyes scanning me from head to toe.

  “What?” I asked. “Do I still have blood all over my face or something?”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but his eyes bulged at my words. He zoomed back over to his trailer, flew inside, and slammed the door shut behind him.

  I stared at the trailer but the shades were drawn, and Oscar didn’t make so much as a peep inside. No music blared, either.

  “What was that all about?” I asked Tiny.

  The tortoise kept on chewing on a lettuce leaf. No answers there. Not that I had expected any.

  “Well, good night to you, too, Oscar,” I muttered.

  Still shaking my head at the pixie’s weirdness, I headed toward the bathroom.

  By the time I finished in the shower and threw on some pajamas, I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. I’d stayed under the spray of warm water for close to half an hour, but I’d still be stiff and sore in the morning. Angelo and Felix had only used the stitch-sting to heal the gash in my leg. It wouldn’t take care of my more mundane bumps and bruises. But Devon, Felix, and I had all lived through the fight, and that was more than enough for me.

  I staggered into the bedroom and was about to fall face-first onto the mattress, when a distinctive aroma tickled my nose. I stopped and sniffed. Was that . . . bacon?

  My stomach rumbled. Definitely bacon.

  I looked around and realized that a large tray of food was sitting on the coffee table in front of the TV, so I headed in that direction. Two large, scrumptious-looking BLTs were arranged on a platter, along with heaping scoops of pasta and potato salads. Another platter held fresh fruit, cheeses, breads, and cold cuts. And still a third platter boasted an assortment of cookies, brownies, and truffles, along with bite-size pieces of fudge. A glass filled with ice stood off to one side of the table, along with a stack of napkins, silverware, and several cold sodas.

  “I thought you might want something to eat,” a low voice called out.

  I turned to find Oscar sitting on his front porch, swilling down a root beer, for a change.

  “Since you weren’t here for dinner,” he added.

  My stomach rumbled again. I was never one to turn down food. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  He shrugged and went back to his root beer.

  The sight of all that food energized me, and I sat down on the sofa, grabbed the napkins and silverware, and dug in. Oscar had been nice enough to bring the food here, so I figured I could be nice enough to eat it. Okay, okay, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice on my part. But I really didn’t want to find itching powder in my bed or garbage stuffed into my sneakers like he’d threatened. Pixies might not be the largest or strongest creatures around, but they were some of the most devious. In their own way, the little monsters could be even more dangerous than the big ones. Like he’d said, Oscar could make my life miserable if he wanted to.

  I sank my teeth into the BLT and sighed at how good it was. A perfect combination of smoky bacon, crispy lettuce, ripe tomatoes, and creamy mayonnaise, all on warm, toasted, sourdough bread. I polished off the first sandwich and started on the second.

  Oscar watched me stuff my face for ten minutes before he broke the silence. “So is it true? Did you save Devon and Felix from an ambush? And take out a couple of Volkov guards?”

  I stopped chewing long enough to answer him. “Yep.”

  He almost seemed impressed, before his face scrunched back into its usual scowl. “Well, I wouldn’t make a habit of taking on guards from other Families,” he snapped. “Next time, you may not be so lucky.”

  “No,” I agreed. “I may not be so lucky next time. Maybe next time, there won’t be anyone there to help me. Maybe next time, I’ll get in the middle of a fight I can’t win.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you mocking me?”

  “No,” I replied. “That’s what happened to my mom. Sort of. She got involved in something that wasn’t her problem, and she got killed as a result.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  Suddenly, I didn’t feel like eating anything else, so I put the rest of the BLT down and pushed away my plate. Oscar drained his root beer. Then he twitched his wings, flew across the room, and landed on the table next to the food platters.

  “Why did you agree to stay and work for the Sinclairs ?” he asked. “If you’re as good a thief as you claim, you could have left any time you wanted to. Claudia wouldn’t have come after you, no matter what she said. Not after you saved Devon’s life in the pawnshop.”

  I shrugged. “It seemed like it would be better than living day-to-day and job-to-job like I had been. Cloudburst Falls is a dangerous place. I might as well get paid for facing down those dangers every day.”

  Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Like the silverware you stole from downstairs? I found it in the vanity table when I was putting away some of your clothes.”

  I picked up one of the forks off my plate. “I thought this looked familiar.”

  Oscar snorted, as though he were trying to hold back a laugh.

  The pixie cocked his head to the side and stared at me. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, I grabbed a couple of strawberries, then stood, walked over, and dropped them into Tiny’s corral. The tortoise cracked an eye open. Once he saw the berries, he heaved himself to his feet and slowly plodded in that direction.

  Oscar fluttered over and landed on one of the fence posts that ringed the corral. We watched Tiny start munching on his berries.

  “Why do you stay?” I asked. “Being part of a Family is dangerou
s, even for a pixie. So why not find another job down in the city with some rich mortal businessman and his wife and kids? With some folks that you know will most likely live to ripe old ages? Because people around here are still in danger. At least until someone figures out who’s behind the attacks.”

  I didn’t say anything about Devon, with his compulsion magic, being the target of the attacks, even though Oscar already knew about his Talent. I bet most of the other pixies did, too. They’d watched Devon grow up. Some of them would have seen him use his Talent at some point, especially when he was first figuring out how his magic worked. And other people in the Family had to know as well, even beyond the ones Claudia mentioned. I hadn’t said any more words than necessary to the kids at the rube public high school, but they’d still known not to mess with me. A Talent, something that was so much a part of you, would be even more difficult to hide, especially from the folks who lived under the same roof as you.

  “I’ve thought about that,” Oscar said, answering my question. “I’ve worked for the Sinclair Family for more than a hundred years. You wouldn’t believe how many people have come and gone during that time.”

  What he really meant was died, but I didn’t interrupt him. Now was not the time for a snarky comment.

  “It’s always hard when a Family member dies,” he continued. “Even if it’s from old age. But things have been tense ever since Lawrence was murdered on New Year’s Eve. Everyone thinks that the Itos were behind the attack, but I’d put my money on the Draconis. We’ve always had more problems with them than any other Family.”

  He spat out the name as if it were some sort of vile thing. I thought about telling him that I felt the exact same way about the Draconis, but I kept quiet. If I interrupted Oscar, he might storm back into his trailer. I had enough problems already. I wanted to solve at least one of them. Or, at the very least, make peace between myself and the pixie.