Gunnar’s features softened. The mask of formal etiquette slipped, and for a moment, I thought I saw…could it be…compassion? I couldn’t tell. It was replaced too quickly with long-cultivated charm. "As long as you keep causing trouble with your writing, I'm going to keep neutralizing it."
"You can't stay stuck in these old ways,” I said softly. “Change is inevitable. If you don't change and adapt—you die."
Gunnar's posture changed. No longer was he open and inviting. He was tight, closed, and ready to pounce. "Is that a threat, Ms. Joutsen?"
"It's an invitation, Gunnar," I said, voice still soft, not wanting to bait him into an attack. "Change with me. Let me show you how much more we can be outside of the limits put on us." I offered a hand to him, devoid of any energy or magical push.
He sneered at it. "Change destroys; control is the only way."
"I know you think you're doing what's best, but—”
"I AM doing what's best!" he roared over me.
His sheer volume made Amari step closer to me. Lucy chewed her lip on the sofa and mouthed "Be careful!" at me.
"Do you know how long it's been this way? Do you know how long I've struggled to keep the balance between nons and practitioners? I will not throw away decades of work and research so you can write a book!"
I wanted to shout back, to match his rage and volume with my own. But I knew better. "It's not about the book, Gunnar. It's about showing people there's another option. It’s about ending accidental energy abuse from nons," I said, weaving power and softness into my words.
"Such arrogance, Zora. I have to say you are the most self-assured, arrogant little Gypsy I've ever met."
Amari and I shared a look. I never expected Gunnar of all people to use such a pejorative term. I stole a glance at Lucy. She shook her head slightly.
He’d used that word on purpose, to bait me.
"First off, Gunnar," I said, stretching to my full height and summoning a few strands more to the surface. "I'm only half Roma, your insults mean nothing. Secondly, explain to me how you've mistaken fixing a problem for arrogance. Why is it OK for nons to feed on us, to accidentally abuse our energy? How is that acceptable?"
"Why is it acceptable for you to abuse nons with your magic? Lucy’s assistant tells me your brand of coercion is quite, shall we say, disturbing. And if you’ve done it once, I’m sure you’ve done it before. Possibly to someone who isn’t aware of practitioners. Imagine how unsettling that must be.”
“Zora only uses energy…”
“No, he’s right, Amari. I have, but I WON’T apologize for it, Gunnar.” I spat his name like an insult. “I’ve used magic to get my way and to protect myself. Many times. But I wouldn’t NEED to if the non/practitioner dynamic were different!” I yelled.
Fuck.
I’d let him get to me and escalated it, giving Gunnar just the nudge he needed.
With a terrible shine in his eyes, Gunnar asked softly, “What makes you think you know what’s best for an entire population?" And green energy shot from his palms.
"Zora!" Lucy yelled.
Amari tried to pull me out of the way, but I planted my feet, squared my hips, and met Gunnar’s energy full on. Green icicles shot through me, chilling my blood and making me stumble.
"Zora, what are you doing?!" Amari yelled. But I knew I could take it. Amari had shown me that. I was female, yin, receptive; whatever Gunnar could throw at me I could house.
He poured more and more icy bolts of energy into me, and I collected it, transmuting it to something more manageable.
Fiery, wild sex magic built in my core, my own energy now meeting what Gunnar added—spindling, growing, waiting.
I watched his face carefully, waiting for what I knew would come, what always came.
The concentration on Gunnar's face slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing the slightest twinge of fear.
"Now, Zora!" Lucy screamed, but I already knew. I stopped collecting, opened all my channels, and the wild magic flooded out of me. I felt the moment it met Gunnar's icy-green energy. They collided, but my energy was bigger, stronger than Gunnar's and easily overpowered it. It was only moments before my thick cord of magic was inches from Gunnar's chest. I had no idea what would happen if it touched him.
I stopped the cord just before it reached him. "Are you ready to leave me alone?" I asked.
"I cannot allow it," he said, and green light burst from Gunnar’s chest.
"Oh Gods," I whispered as the enormous tree trunk of light overtook my cord. I didn't know what to do; I'd given Gunnar all I had. I watched as his power steamrolled mine. With every breath I took, the green magic grew closer and closer to my chest.
Amari shoved his hand in mine. "Take what you need from me," he said, offering a link to his magic.
Together we could probably overpower Gunnar.
But I wouldn’t take from Amari. I wouldn’t risk his life.
I didn't have time to think. I couldn’t wonder how bad the synaptic damage would be. I couldn’t think about the fact that maybe I was the one who wouldn’t walk away from this. I shut my eyes and took the entirety of Gunnar’s magic.
It ripped through me, limbs to core, and built, as before, in my center. Gunnar’s icy Nordic power grew within me so fast, my own magic had no chance of matching it.
For a moment, I thought of all the books I’d read about the archetypal “Chosen One” who was miraculously stronger than everyone because—plot armor. Hell, I’d even written one like that myself. I wanted to be that Chosen One. That Magical Girl who, despite all odds, won simply because she was the heroine.
But I wasn’t. Gunnar was stronger than me. As he should be—he was older and more skilled in his practice. The cold, green magic tore through my nervous system, searing neurons and peeling away the Myelin sheath covering nerve fibers.
I wailed and knelt as every part of my peripheral nervous system was overloaded. Neurons, set ablaze with nerve death, fired their death rattles throughout my body. My knee reopened, filleting itself beneath my pants, and the wound that started all of this, the scar over my ribs, unraveled.
“NO!” Amari yelled and spat a disgusting, round gob at Gunnar.
The moment his saliva touched Gunnar’s hand, it exploded into ruby-red flames.
Huh. I had no idea the fabled Gypsy spit-curse was a real thing.
Gunnar screamed as the flames consumed his hand, and the cold magic frying me up stopped building. He grunted and pulled the flames into himself.
Shit.
There wasn’t a mark on him.
I closed my eyes and watched Gunnar’s energy, hoping he would telegraph his next move. Both mine and Amari’s magic had no effect. But I still housed all his magic. If I could catch him just before he attacked, and hit him with everything I’d siphoned, I might have a chance.
I didn’t have to wait long.
Just as I brought Gunnar’s stolen magic to the surface, his attack blew past me. The trunk of power had no tells.
No.
It hit Amari square in the chest.
No!
I let loose all the magic Gunnar had dumped into me as Amari’s eyes, alight with sickening green magic, found mine.
“Zora, NO!” Lucy cried.
“It was supposed to be me,” I whispered.
It was too late. I couldn’t control it, couldn’t tame it. It wanted only one thing, to go back where it came. It smashed into Gunnar, and for a moment he was knocked off balance.
But like the flames he’d absorbed, the magic I threw at him did no damage.
Amari doubled over.
“NO!” I yelled and cut off my attack as soon as I realized what was happening.
The energy I poured into Gunnar added to the assault on Amari.
No, Gods, no! Please, not Amari.
I tried to reabsorb the lingering magic. Neurons screamed at me once more, and my knees would no longer hold me, but I shoved the rest of it back inside.
; I fell to the ground and watched as Gunnar Ahlstrom slowly burned away Amari’s nervous system.
“Please,” I whispered. “Stop this.” I stretched a shaking hand toward Gunnar.
Gunnar’s green magic was suddenly gone. And Amari collapsed to the ground.
"No," I breathed. It was supposed to be me!
Gunnar’s broad frame shadowed Amari’s lean one as he hovered over us.
“Why?” I asked.
“You made every choice that led to this. You did this,” Gunnar said.
"No, YOU did this!” Lucy yelled from the couch.
Gunnar shook his head and left his office, closing the door behind him.
61
"Amari," I whispered, and crawled to him.
His warm, scared gaze found mine.
Tears stung my eyes as I took in his sallow complexion. “It’s OK, Amari. You’ll be OK.” I lied, while he shook from energy abuse.
It was supposed to be me.
"You'll be fine," I said again, petting his beautiful wavy hair.
"No I won’t," he said, voice weak but lips curved into a slight smile.
I looked at Lucy. She held his hand, her hazel eyes glistening with tears.
I gathered all the strength I had left and looked in his sweet eyes. "I’m so sorry." I said, and exhaled a shuddering breath. "I’m so sorry, Amari." Silent tears fell from my cheeks and pooled on Amari's silk shirt. “I'm right here with you."
With a shaking hand Amari wiped my cheek dry. "I love you," he said, and closed his eyes.
It only took moments. Amari’s face relaxed and his energy left his body, in less time than it took Gunnar to burn through his peripheral nervous system.
His beautiful, ruby-red rope dissolved into nothingness, and I wailed at the ceiling, cradling his head in my lap.
"Zora? Zora, please, we can't stay here." Lucy's quiet words were a dagger in my mind. I couldn't leave him here. Not in this place. Not like this.
"I'll take care of it," she said, and pulled me off the floor. "I've got friends here. We’ve got to get you out of here," she said, and put my arm around her shoulder.
My wobbling, energy-ruined muscles did not want to hold me. Every step was arduous, every part of me buzzed with electric pain, but Lucy kept me upright until we reached her car.
Lucy’s hand never left mine as she drove us back to our building. I soon found myself being slowly lulled into numbness by the car ride.
She didn’t bother with my condo. Instead she headed straight for hers, and got me settled in her living room with a box of tissues and an entire gallon of water. “Drink it,” she said. Lucy sat across from me and watched while I drank straight from the jug.
She took my hand when I set the jug down. "I know this is not the time, but you have to know. There are many people at the Corporation unhappy with the status quo. Both practitioner and non."
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.
"Because this is only the beginning, Zora."
I couldn't think about that. I didn't give a shit about other practitioners or nons or any of it. How could I? It had cost me my favorite person. And my favorite place. And all I had to show for it was a fucking manuscript.
62
I was right. I couldn’t think about that, or anything. Not then. Not for a while. It took weeks for the constant crying to stop. Then, just when I thought I was starting to feel better, a man in a cheap suit came to the condo and handed me some paperwork and a huge check.
Amari left me everything, the bar, the loft, I was even the beneficiary on his life insurance.
I cried for another week.
But eventually, I could breathe again. And people stopped being annoying and started being helpful. My mother signed over the lien she had on the building to me. Jane helped with the insurance adjusters and rebuilding of The Laughing Cat. Annie, Jane’s partner, brewed me the best, most potent Grief Tea I’d ever had.
And the days I cried grew less than the days I did.
I threw myself into the rebuild and reopen.
And I sent my manuscript to Elle. Because I owed it to my beloved.
Jane the Nymph
Feed, feed, FEED!
She was always hungry. There was never enough time to hunt or feed, and recently it seemed her refractory period was growing shorter.
A feeding used to satisfy her for a few days. Now she had only moments of satiation.
She didn’t want to live like this, always and only thinking about her next meal.
“I’m not a junkie,” she mumbled under her breath. But all her self-talk couldn’t convince her, not really, not deep down.
Jane knew what she was.
Her eyes narrowed as her next target approached.
“I’ll have a grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha,” the tall stranger said, “Extra hot,” he amended. “But no foam,” he added as an afterthought.
Despite his uncommonly annoying drink order, Jane’s pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, turning the deep brown of her iris black. “Sure,” she said with false cheeriness and uncapped her marker. “What’s your name?”
“Eric.”
“OK, Eric,” Jane wrote his name on the cup, positive he would make a very tasty meal. “That’s four ninety-five, please.” She called his order back and took his credit card, making sure to brush the back of the stranger’s hand. Returning the card with his receipt, Jane again touched his bare skin.
Laying the groundwork was crucial.
It was quite a casual and practiced movement giving no indication that Jane’s insides shuddered at the energy she felt within him. Jane was quite sure this man would be the best meal she’d had in a long time.
She was sort of right.
Jane hadn’t worked at the coffee shop long, she’d just moved to The Circle, and truth be told, she hated coffee. But customer service offered her a steady stream of new people to keep her sated.
At least, it had been. Nothing kept her satisfied anymore. She tried everything. Men, women, couples, she’d even briefly ventured into the world of “professionals”. But nothing kept her hunger quelled.
Jane needed this.
She waited on the next customer, keeping an eye on Eric, and making sure the light suggestion she’d weaved into her touch was doing what it was supposed to.
Keeping him here.
She only had fifteen minutes until her break. He needed to stick around.
She wouldn’t survive the rest of her shift if she couldn’t feed.
Just as she’d expected, Eric got his coffee and settled at a nearby table with his e-reader. He slowly sipped his obnoxious drink, eyes glued to his screen, while Jane waited on one under-caffeinated person after another.
Jane’s nerves swirled in her belly. The anxious need for a feeding, combined with the fear of everything that could keep her from it, churned her guts and made the tattoo on her arm shift and wriggle.
She smoothed the fabric of her polyester uniform shirt, trying to calm the wriggling, writhing sensation.
Just a few more minutes. He just needed to stay until...
Her manager appeared from the back office, on her way to relieve her. But Eric was getting up. He threw away his cup and left the coffee shop.
Fuck!
What the hell was she going to do? She could do a cold-start, but it had been a long time since she’d tried that, and Jane hadn’t brought any extra clothes.
She had to catch him.
“Jane, you can…”
“Thanks!” she said, cutting off her manager and running out the back of the shop.
Jane bolted out the back door and directly into Eric’s chest. The force knocked her backward, but she kept herself from falling on her ass with an ankle-rolling side step.
That was going to hurt later.
“You should have just asked,” said Eric.
“What?” Unprepared for a confrontation, Jane fell back on her con-artist roots, perfectly mixing equal parts surpri
se and confusion in her voice. She was good at what she did but had no idea why her tactile suggestion hadn’t worked. “What do you mean? Asked for what?”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Eric said, and rolled up his sleeve. “Here,” he said, offering his forearm.
“First off, I’m an excellent liar, and secondly, what the fuck do I want with that?”
“Don’t dick around with me - I’m good at what I do, too.”
This guy made no sense to Jane. “What are you talking about?”
Eric closed his eyes for a moment, scenting the air. When he opened them, his expression had changed. “I’m sorry, I misread you. All your thoughts centered around feeding and need. I assumed you were a vamp. I was offering you a meal, but I was wrong. You’re not a vamp, are you? I don’t think I’ve felt anything like you before.”
“You thought…no, I’m not a fucking vamp.” Jane was so offended she could barely keep an even tone. If that’s how she was being taken, she needed to change her approach.
“Well then, what are you?”
“What are you?” Jane asked defensively. No one ever asked questions, they just had their fun and went on their way. She’d never had a conversation with any of her targets before.
“I’m an empath,” said Eric.
“Fuck,” said Jane under her breath.
Eric smiled, “I saw your tactile coercion before you ever touched me.”
Jane pursed her lips. “Yeah? Then why’d you stick around?”
“I was curious,” he said, and lightly flicked the edge of her name tag. “So, tell me, what are you, Jane?” he asked again.
“I’m part nymph.” Jane lied, but it was true enough that Eric didn’t pick up on the part that was false.
“Oh. Oh!” Eric said, blue eyes growing wide as the reality of what Jane was actually hungry for dawned on him.
“Still willing to offer me a meal?” Jane asked. Her lips curved into a smile, the first she’d had since colliding with her meal. While potential meals asking her questions was weird, Jane found it strangely exciting. She liked having to use other skills to catch this meal.
“Um,” Eric’s initial alpha male bravado vanished behind a glaze of awkward uncertainty. “Really?” He stared straight at his shoes.
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