“No one cares about sociology,” Krista said. “I’m in veterinary school.”
Jaesung rested his jaw on his hand, hair falling into his glasses. “Because being shoulder-deep in cow vagina is so interesting compared to the effects of cross-cultural media in Asia.”
“I’m hands-on.”
I snorted, lowering my coffee. The banter had the easy confidence that came after years of friendship, and regret rang in the emptiness of my chest. I dropped my hand to my sternum as if to stop the echo. I would be with my pack soon. New friends were not in the plans—I needed to stay safe, and to do that, I needed to keep anonymous.
Jaesung’s eyes were on me. He’d caught the movement, and his full eyebrows were making an upward migration. Between his fingers, the tattoo looked like a series of small stars. A constellation? I couldn’t see enough to figure out which.
“What’s it like?” I asked.
“Being shoulder-deep in cow vagina?” Krista said. “In two words, uncomfortably warm. In more words, worth it when-”
“I think she means in general,” Jaesung interrupted.
Krista poked her tongue out at him, but we had achieved segue.
“I like it,” she said. “I’m only in class two days a week, and the rest of the time I’m doing clinical work at his cousin’s dog rescue.” She nodded at Jaesung.
“A dog rescue?” I hadn’t meant to sound so incredulous. Krista’s smile faltered.
“You no like puppies?” she said, and I could already see her bottom lip threatening to poke out. She was a strange one—punked out head-to-toe, tall and strapping, and apparently as soft-hearted as they came. I set down my coffee to keep from clenching my hands around it too hard.
“I like dogs,” I said, leaning into my backpack as Jaesung smirked at me from across the table. “It’s just a coincidence.”
“You…work at a dog rescue too?” Krista ventured.
I hadn’t meant to turn the conversation back to me. I fumbled for something that wouldn’t sound like a lie. “No. I—we—my family, I mean. It’s not a dog rescue; we’ve just rescued a lot of dogs.”
It wasn’t a lie if most people in Gwydian’s gang could become hounds.
Krista reached across the table and swatted Jaesung’s hand. “See!” she said. “I told you she was a dog person!”
If she only knew.
After that, I kept the conversation steered toward them. Interrupted by an increasing frequency of yawns, I listened to the exploits of their long weekend in Chicago, where Jaesung’s mother lived with his aunt and uncle. At Krista’s prompting, he talked about scaling cell towers, swinging high above the ground with the smell of lightning on the wind, and the particular challenges of bodily functions while suspended 300 feet in the air.
Krista regaled us with enthusiastic stories from the farm where she’d done her first year of veterinary clinicals, and we both sniggered at Jaesung’s grimaces. Judging by the amount of product in his hair and the crisp cuff of his shirt under the bomber jacket’s sleeve, he was either a clean-freak or very metro. Or both. I’d have guessed gay if I hadn’t noticed his eyes straying when it got warm enough to take off my wool coat.
All the while, I traced mandalas on my leg, reviewing steps and sequences, trying to commit them to muscle memory. After three cups of coffee, my fingers shook on the finer glyphs, but I thought I was remembering them correctly.
We rolled into Henard at 1:17 am, all three sleepy and caffeine-buzzed. Jaesung and Krista had carry-ons, but seemed content to trail behind me, chattering as I collected my duffel bag from the luggage car.
There was a cold snarl on the wind, carrying the smell of wood-fires and water, and by the time my duffel had been unloaded, I was shivering all over again. Leggings, even thermal ones, weren’t enough to block the cold. Who knew? As if to make things worse, my body finally demanded attention to its injuries. I shouldered the gray bag with a wince.
“You got that?” Krista asked. She either didn’t hear or didn’t believe my yes, because she grabbed one handle and helped me haul it to a bench nearby. “Your family’s meeting you here?” Worry tinted her friendly tone.
“Yeah.” I scanned the platform and parking lot, my breath making chilled puffs. The only vehicles in the lot were an old Volkswagen, a red Prius, and a battered pickup. I dug into my coat for the burner phone and made a show of tapping out a message to Eamon.
At RDVZ. ETA?
“They’re coming from out of town,” I said. “They should be here soon.” I stowed my phone, but when I looked up again, I caught Krista and Jaesung exchanging a look. I gave them my best reassuring smile. It didn’t feel like a good fit on my face.
“Is there somewhere I can drive you?” Jaesung asked. He was tapping the toe of one clean white sneaker behind him, nervous maybe, or impatient. It was hard to tell. “Henard isn’t the most dangerous place in the world, but it has a thriving population of—”
Krista elbowed him.
“Snow sharks?” I guessed.
Jaesung rolled his eyes. “It’s not cold enough for snow.”
I gaped. If this wasn’t cold enough for snow, what was I going to do in Canada?
Jaesung persisted. “Whatever. There are weirdos. Are you guys staying in a hotel? We can give you a lift.”
Something inside me twisted. I’d known normal people were like this—concerned for practical strangers—but I’d never believed it. That casual concern had never extended to me. I was glad to push it away.
“I’m fine. They’ll be here soon.”
Jaesung looked at Krista, brows drawn. “We can wait with you,” she offered.
The sharp feeling was back in my chest now. I looked down at my backpack, at my fingers curling into a seam, and forced back the desire to just tell them to get out of my face, or something equally rude. I wanted to drive them away, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want them to dislike me.
Ridiculous. I shouldn’t care. But I did.
“I’m fine,” I repeated, stronger than before. “Don’t worry. I know Kung Fu.”
Krista grinned, but Jaesung didn’t react. He stood at the end of the bench, foot meeting the concrete in a steady rhythm. Despite his slenderness, he was at least as tall as Morgan. Six-two, maybe six-three. I hadn’t realized Asians came in that size. I hadn’t realized I’d internalized that stereotype in the first place until being surprised by a living, breathing counter-example. He was unlike Morgan in every other way, but that single commonality was enough to make me wish I’d let my cousin come.
I glanced at the trees swallowing up the track, searching for potential hiding spots to distract myself from the pang of that mental association. The mulch between the platform and the parking lot was empty, as was the well-lit waiting area. A single graffiti tag stood out on an outdoor trashcan, but the place was otherwise clean and deserted.
Jaesung’s toe-tapping stopped. “I still don’t feel right leaving you out here by yourself,” he said. “This isn’t a great area.”
“This is nothing,” I said. “I’m from Miami.”
He leaned forward with a half-smirk. “I’m from Chicago. And you haven’t seen the other side of the tracks.” He nodded at the train, which hissed and lurched, creaking as it prepared to leave the station.
He had me there. The passenger train didn’t have convenient openings between cars. I mentally kicked myself for not paying better attention when I was still on the train. I usually cased my surroundings far better, but I’d had images of cows and cranes and storm clouds over cell towers filling up my brain.
Krista plucked my phone from my hand. “Tell you what—here’s my number. If they haven’t showed up in, like, an hour, call me. You can crash on our couch.”
I bit back the protest. Maybe if I agreed, they would go. It wasn’t as if I had to call them. I forced my lips to bend upward and accepted my phone back from Krista.
“I will,” I lied. Jaesung’s eyebrows twitched up, like he didn’t believe me
, but he hefted his jingling backpack and gave Krista an expectant look.
“Let us know if you’re in the area for a while,” she said.
“Yeah, we’ll hang out,” I said, because that’s what people say. I don’t know what hanging out entails, but I think it involves video games, malls, and fro-yo.
“Take care, Miami,” Jaesung said, lifting a hand in a wave. “Waterproofing spray is your friend.”
Krista’s grin reappeared, though her eyes were a little too bright. “Stay warm.”
I watched them walk to the parking lot and climb into the pickup. A roar of engine, flash of headlights, and wave through windows later, they were gone. Behind me, the train had crept forward.
Alone. Again. It’s what I’d wanted. Or maybe just what I required, and that was close enough to count as wanting. Still, the night felt heavy now, like all the emptiness had turned solid and pressed down on my shoulders.
The final car rolled past. Florescent beams spilled across the tracks and lapped at my duffel bag and backpack. I felt the phone in my hand, hard corners and inorganic smoothness reminding me that I had a lifeline. My breath puffed in front of me, freezing and sinking.
The light from the platform across the tracks shifted.
I looked up, senses surging to alertness. A man stood on the far side, backlit by headlights from the other parking lot. The hairs on my nape stood on end. All I could make out was his silhouette, but it didn’t matter—I sensed what I couldn’t see.
I don’t know how they’d done it, or if they’d just made a lucky guess, but it didn’t matter. As the man stepped forward, he triggered a floodlight, and I saw him.
Skeletal, covered in ink and piercings. The lighting shadowed his eyes into skull-like pools, but I knew the instant his gaze landed on me. We both froze, me with my hand on the backpack with the book in it. Him holding a cell-phone to his ear with one hand, and in the other, a gun.
A Sorcerer stood before me, seeming as shocked to see me standing across the tracks as I was to see him. I didn't think, I ran.
Chapter Nine
Banging into the station's lit interior, I darted out the opposite door into the parking lot.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit. My mind went too fast to isolate any single question. I dove for the nearest cover—the red Prius—and pressed myself into the wheel, listening. Nothing but night sounds greeted me, and I held my breath, grappling to control my racing thoughts.
It didn't matter how he'd found me, not just yet. Right now what mattered was getting away. I clutched my backpack to my chest, felt the book solid and heavy inside.
One Sorcerer. I had to get away before more arrived, which meant I had to make sure this guy didn't follow me. I swallowed and let myself exhale. Transforming would be too hard.
I pulled Morgan's knife from my boot, the handle was warm in my palm from where it had rested against my skin. It wasn't my preferred weapon, but it was better than bare hands. Reaching behind me, I checked the Prius’s door. Locked. The Volkswagen lurked by the trees at the edge of the parking lot, battered and promising. I peeked through the windows toward the station, but it sat bright and inviting, bearing no sign of the Sorcerer. Either he was still looking for me inside, or he'd stopped to tear apart my gray duffel in search of the book.
I sprinted to the Volkswagen and hurled myself behind it, scrabbling for the back door. The handle gave a solid clunk under my hands and the door swung open, light flaring to reveal a filthy backseat filled with fast food bags, library books, and dirty coffee mugs. I scrambled for the light and turned it off, then buried the backpack in a heap of Burger King bags.
I eased the door shut and leaned around the car, peering over the hood toward the station. This time, I didn't trust my luck in the open parking lot. I ducked into the woods and crept close to the platform. My gray duffel had been torn open. A station attendant stood over it, speaking into his radio. I clenched my jaw, scanning the opposite platform. Whether the Sorcerer was searching the station or had left my bag there as a trap, I didn't know.
I waited until the attendant was looking the opposite way down the tracks and crouch-ran to the side of the building, pressing myself against the bricks. Though my nose and ears stung with cold, my palm had gone sweaty on the knife.
I heard a door open in the station, followed by a voice.
"Hey, yeah—that's mine, sorry," a man said, his voice high pitched and rough, like a smoker. "Girlfriend's inside. Just got off the train."
The station attendant said something reprimanding and official, and from the grunts and zipping sound, I could only imagine that they were picking up my stuff. I peeked around the corner. The Sorcerer was average height, but I could see from here that his buzzed hair was a sheen of red-gold over his scalp. He shouldered my bag with a grunt and retrieved his phone from a pocket. The station attendant stumped back inside.
"She's not inside. No." A pause. "I didn't see her out front. Well, who the hell's bag did I just go through, then?"
I forced my breaths to remain steady. His footsteps paced toward me, scraping across the concrete.
"No. No, this is the last one for fifty miles. She's not still on the train—I saw her on the platform. Well, that's why they pay me the big bucks."
I braced myself as his feet came closer, shifting my grip on the knife. Surprise was the only advantage I would have in this, since there might be a dead body when I finished.
His footsteps scraped the concrete just around the corner from my hiding spot, and stopped. He sighed, and I watched the plume of breath waft out, white against the dark forest.
That's when my phone rang.
I started, thrown off my strategy, and an instant later, I attacked, swinging around the corner with the knife coming up low, aiming under his guard. It was an instant too late. He dropped his phone, and my knife plunged into the shiny gray duffel bag. He reeled, cursing, and stumbled backwards as I came in again, undeterred, and swung my left fist.
It cracked across his cheek. Pain exploded in my knuckles, jarring down my arm to my elbow, but I didn't care. It was familiar. It felt good.
Sorcerers, on the whole, are not physical creatures. What they are is tactical, and I'd given him enough time to think. He hurled my bag at me, forcing me to duck to the side, and reached for a ring.
I wasn't the best fighter in my pack by a long shot, but I'd been fortunate enough to learn from them. The kick was muscle memory—a pivot and lash that struck the Sorcerer's hand, knocking his spell astray. I didn't see what it was. Momentum brought me back around and I slammed an elbow across the Sorcerer's temple. It sent him to the concrete, where he stayed, groaning. If I’d had Dad’s Beretta, I would have shot him out of sheer reflex. Instead, I snatched up my duffel and ran.
I made it to the Volkswagen before the pain caught up with me. My left hand throbbed, and my elbow felt like someone had taken a hammer to it. Fighting was never painless, but this had taken more from me than I’d had to give. I dug through the Burger King bags, tempted to just crawl inside and cover myself with trash.
But I couldn't risk that. This Sorcerer had found me somehow, and if he'd tracked me with magic, staying close would just make it easier for him. I pulled my backpack out, wishing I knew how to jump a car, when my phone chirped.
I swung my backpack on and hefted the duffel, heading for the street before I checked the message. It was a voicemail from Eamon, but when I put it to my ear, it was not Eamon's voice that came through. It was Morgan's.
"Hel," he said, and I could hear the sharpness of his breath, a rush of language around him like he was hurrying through a public place. "They got Eamon. Where are you? You can reach me on this phone."
I stopped at the curb, those three words replaying in my head. They got Eamon. The fact dropped into my brain without a ripple, settling at the bottom of my consciousness with all the other things that were too big to feel. I stood there on the sidewalk, just outside the glow of a streetlamp, and stared at a darkened thrif
t shop across the street.
I lowered the phone. The duffle bag slid off my shoulder, then the backpack. A car turned onto the road, but I didn't care. I sat on the curb, boots in the leaf-filled gutter, and bent my forehead to my knees.
This was useless. Why had I ever thought I would be strong enough to face up to the Guild? I couldn't keep running like this forever. Should I have just given them what they wanted? If I did, would they let Eamon go?
The rumbling vehicle slowed down as it neared me, and I lifted my head to wave the good Samaritan on when a head of orange hair emerged from the passenger's seat.
"I have a capture pole and I'm not afraid to use it!" Krista yelled, extending a length of narrow pipe with a loop at the end. "We already made up the couch. I promise Jae doesn't have fleas."
I blinked up at her, barely comprehending. She pushed the door open and reached for my duffel bag, hefting it into the truck bed with a grunt. "Come on," she said, extending both hands. A second later, she glanced behind me and the hair on my nape stood on end. I twisted around to see the Sorcerer, holding his phone to a swelling face. He stopped in the street, gaze flicking from me to Krista to the truck, and I saw his mouth flatten.
Something clicked in my mind. I put my hands in Krista's and, ignoring the pain in my knuckles, let her pull me to my feet. I shoved my backpack into the truck and climbed in. Jaesung gave me a smirk as I settled in beside him and fumbled to unearth the seatbelt from between seats. Krista settled into place and slammed the door, then redirected her vent so a blast of hot air hit me right in the chest.
I sat stiffly, watching the Sorcerer watch me, both aware of what I'd only just realized: as long as I was with civilians, he wouldn't attack me. As far as Jaesung and Krista knew, magic didn't exist, and it was his job to keep them ignorant. I could use the Guild’s own laws against them—as long as I was with these two normal, unthreatening people, I was safe. I almost wanted to laugh.
Jaesung executed a three-point-turn and Krista gave the glaring Sorcerer a wave as we drove back the way they’d come.
Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1) Page 6