Forever After (Post Apocalyptic Romance Boxed Set)

by Rose Francis

  There were likely to be perks for the magicians who conveyed that message the best. Political positions, property, even influence.

  All if you played your cards right.

  My eyes flicked to Adair's and found them looking back at me as we passed into the tunnel leading to the ramps that would bring us up to the recreational levels we'd soon use to pretend we had even a moment to spare on diversion and distraction.

  Managing a tick of a smile, I looked away.

  “You think he won't throw you onto the tracks if limited spots become available for the liberation train?”

  Whoa, cut to the chase much?

  Adair's question took me off my guard completely.

  It wasn't often anyone spoke so brazenly against a member of the Advisory Council.

  “You didn't think you were a pawn?”

  My shock stuck in my throat as we traveled down the ramp.

  “Everyone being maneuvered by a power is a pawn.”

  It was true enough, but the cynicism in his comment unsettled me.

  ~

  Lifting our scanservs to the flash reader, we presented our recreational tickets (items we'd be loathe to have revoked – extra cords on the tethers that kept us serving the Advisory Council's will on most matters). Returning them to our pockets when the blue light flashed the security reader's top bulb, we stepped past the metal gate springing open. I started when it slammed shut behind us with an iron clang. It had been awhile since I'd been to the lower water hole, and that flipping gate took some getting used to.

  Eyes narrowing in the dim as we scaled the ramp and glancing the doors for open boothes, anticipation circled my gut. The pub was packed tonight, every bulb in the place lit, the clamor of muted voices dancing the air emerged from partially open boothes.

  When we finally found an available compartment, Adair's eyes flicked to the one across it with reserve. It was also open, and he seemed to pause over that. Preemptive exit prevention seized me then, and I made a swift move to draw his attention from it.

  “How many more nights will any of us have to enjoy a quiet booth and good drink?” I asked conversationally, as if not noticing where his attention had strayed.

  Eyes flicking to meet mine, Adair turned at the prompting and entered the booth. I flicked the light on the inside wall and took a seat across from his. Lifting my phone to the menu-reader, I brought up our selections.

  The menu popped up immediately, a list with the available bolded names of drinks and their descriptions in italics. My brow rose at some of the extravagant additions. Quality distillations and ingredients belonged to them that the less fortunate families and nomads were rarely privy to.

  The privilege I enjoyed had always unsettled me, and I was reminded daily of the unnecessary excess and spending come of the Advisory Council. I imagined they'd hoarded far more than they let on.

  “The Weed wine still good?” I asked, noting the searching depth Adair's gaze took on scanning our options.

  His eyes flicked up, heavy and a bit lazy in that unassuming but devastatingly attractive way he looked right through people. A flash of heat flirted the surface of my skin, and I swallowed my nerves before they took into a race.

  He had a quality that arrested me.

  “Not much of a drinker are you?” He answered, his words velvet without apparent intention.

  A glittering sensation traveled the intricate bi-ways of my nerves, and an answering grin tucked my cheek.

  “That obvious?”

  His head ticked.

  “That's not on the menu anymore.”

  My cheeks flushed.

  “Of course.”

  Warming, he smiled.

  “I recommend the Horehound. Delicate undernotes. Stays with you. I've never known it to disappoint any mood.”

  My smile brightened.

  “Horehound it is then.”

  The vendor slots delivered our carafe of the heady licorice brew and high-stemmed drink goblets, and we downed several shots of it before we found ourselves lingering on a third. The dark liquor was heady and smooth, easily warming me and washing the day away from the forefront of my consciousness. After awhile, our sparing conversation took on depth, and when our scanservs received a flash post announcing openings in the deadlands, we both grimaced and met one another's eyes with a shared dread.

  We'd be too important to send there, as valuable as our magical minds were, but the thought of anyone volunteering to enter such a place was unsettling enough to warrant a frown and briefly descended silence.

  Monstrous creatures and malformed once-humans roamed the deadlands. The place was rife with horde infections, and it seemed quite pointless to send anyone from the Advisory Council out there to carry out relief efforts.

  Whether it was to uphold the altruistic image the council wished to maintain, or that they truly cared because some distant relatives of displaced privilege might be out there needing saving was anyone's guess.

  I'd long taken the view that the relief-elects were scraped from the bottom of the political totem pole, expendable sorts, or perceived troublemakers the council wanted to get out of their hair.

  Or get rid of.

  Another tether to keep the magical community intent on staying within the prescribed bounds, and kiss the asses of the more powerful of the magical men who made the more critical decisions where survival and resources were concerned.

  I shivered at the images tagged to the remainder of the post, word of threats and the more recent infections, then set it aside before it completely blew my buzz. The action didn't shake the images or sensory imaginings away.

  The imagined howls of leeching hordes rung my ears, sending splinters of dread through my limbs until my fingertips took on an icy chill. Could there be anything worse than having the life sucked out of you, so some malevolent, tirelessly hungry spirit could insert itself into your body, maneuver your actions like a puppet master, and draw out or outright create a beast-version of you that might go on to serve its purposes?

  With the threat of the noxic, we all faced that peril, but in the deadlands, one needed very attentive patron spirits and a formidable set of skills if they were to have any hope of avoiding such a fate.

  “Poor buggers,” Adair said finally, setting his phone to the side.

  Grimacing, I left the comment to hang over us, not knowing how to respond.

  Adair took a draught of his horehound liquor and leaned back, a little more relaxed than before.

  “Don't worry yourself. It will avail you nothing.”

  He lifted his drink to take another sip, and I was struck by the sense that he was quoting someone significant to him, though it seemed he would keep the source private. Adair didn't strike me as the sort of guy to pour out all of the minor or major details of his history or connections of the heart. He seemed more the observer, perhaps regularly holding himself at bay.

  Perhaps to fence out unwanted disappointments.

  Without his intention, I was sure, that was telling enough in and of itself.

  Adair had a past he was certainly doing all he could to keep from repeating. It had formed a wall around him that I wasn't sure how to breach, though I was growing increasingly sure I wanted to.

  It wasn't just his beauty that motivated me.

  There were plenty beauties around whose shells were far easier to crack, but they surely lacked the intrigue that wreathed Adair, steeping him in mystery.

  A silence shrouded us, upticking when he flashed an approving smile.

  “You're a bit of an innocent, aren't you?”

  My eyes flicked up from my drink.

  Innocent? I'd certainly never considered myself to be.

  He tilted his head assessing me.

  “There's a well-meaning innocence in you. Rare quality to possess among magicians. Quite perilous, actually. Especially for someone so bright.”

  I grinned, secretly marveling at the sudden opening in him. He was confident, perhaps more than I i
magined. It reframed his earlier aloofness, making me redefine his detachment as starkly-decisive, though undoubtedly still wisdom based.

  “You consider me bright, do you?”

  I was flirting I realized. Maybe it was the horehound. I hadn't drunk in quite some time, and the more I looked at him my thoughts zeroed in on the lush curve of his lips, the malted honey of his voice, and the way he looked at me, like he hadn't yet decided whether or not to let me cross over the wall.

  I was sure, he had no intentions of bringing it down.

  But he was open now, more engaged than I'd experienced, yet, and I wanted to stay on this side of the ride for as long as I could. Downing the remainder of my drink, I tilted its edge toward him for another fill.

  To this he grinned and lifted the smoked-glass carafe to slow pour more of the heady licorice liquor into my cup. Adair sat back then, lowering its heady glass bottom to clang the table, and locked gaze with me. His look was deep-probing in its assessment, almost asking me if I was sure I wanted to play with fire.

  I was, but really I hadn't sensed a fire in him until that moment. I'd been intrigued with something else. Lifting the goblet to my lips, I pulled a slow, slinking draught of liquor down my throat.

  We stayed like that for awhile, my heartbeats hard and thick in my ears. I didn't think time could have moved any more slowly than it did in that moment, felt him leaning into me with a sense of delighted wonderment.

  And then the booth across from us gained several, attention-seeking occupants who drew our attention from one another, filling me with a cold dread I couldn't rightly identify the root of.

  I chalked it up to intuition when Adair's jaw set, and his gaze went leaden, the beautiful spark that had me leaning forward, fully willing to flirt with the danger that always came with romancing self-assured men, gone.

  He drew himself up just that quick, and in my own nervous reaction to it, I lifted my goblet and drew another sip, adrenalin filling my veins at the prospect of having come so close to potentially knowing more about him, piercing his veils, only to have it snatched from me so easily.

  Stealing a glance at the table I saw what had given him pause, putting two and two together, and my belly did a flip. The nymph from the rail, the pale-haired one. He was entertaining guests, not big-wigs, but officials, and the way he flicked a gaze over to Adair said it all.

  They weren't on the best of terms, for whatever reason.

  I thought I even spied something competitive in the nymph's lingering gaze.

  Adair turned to me then. I felt the heat of his attention on my cheek and met his eyes, finding a look of veiled steel, and something else – melancholy? He searched my eyes, like he was looking for something. Not openly, but certainly.

  I blinked with confusion.

  “Do you ever get the sense that we've been sent to a polluted chamber of the world that's been closed off by a gate with a broken key?”

  It was a spectacularly strange question, one that captivated me, both with its riddle and the deadpan delivery with which it was extended.

  He didn't wait for my response.

  “I bid you adieu. Thanks for the carafe.”

  His words, still velvet smooth, dismissed me easily. Like he'd investigated me and decided that I was a pleasant enough pastime he'd perhaps had his fill of.

  It left me incredibly numb.

  “Goodnight,” I said softly.

  He gave me a small, almost reluctant smile, took a searing glance at the pale-haired nymph, who raised his glass with a smirk and a tilt of the head, and then turned and made his way up the ramp.

  Finding my stomach after a lingering moment, I gathered myself, and made my way from the lower watering hole, as well, a hollow feeling building in my belly.

  5

  The halfling was distant the next day, sparing few words at any given portion of our session. The clink of glass and whirl of the Aquel potion at varying degrees of readiness. We were set up in groups, one reserved for following the recipe we'd devised the previous day, others set to the task of expanding upon its properties.

  Maintaining a larger burst of magic was crucial to our defense plans. The initial iteration was good, but we needed much more of an edge if we were to normalize a regular barrier to the noxics and prevent them from ever reaching us.

  It was both vital and lucrative, and though the pressure was surely on, I knew it wasn't the seriousness of the matter that had struck the halfling quiet.

  I had a tendency to refer to him as the halfling when he was distant from me, like this, maybe out of some unconscious desire to name the aspect of him that was guarding the blazing power within him that I'd only just glimpsed.

  He was so quiet, I found it hard to concentrate.

  The silence and space between us was only eclipsed by the doom that whispered threats of failure in the air.

  “Can I speak to you a moment?”

  My eyes flicked up from the double boiler, and I met the hopeful eyes of the young sigilist. It instantly warmed something in me. Hope vanquished doom. Maybe he'd found something, something we'd overlooked.

  “Yes?”

  “I've found something.”

  His brows rose, communicating the significance of what he'd discovered.

  A seriousness settling into my spirit, he seized my complete attention.

  “Show me.”

  I followed him to the work station at the very back of the room, brushing past the curtain he'd drawn to keep even the slightest hint of magical fumes from touching the air. The scent of distilled fire wood and vapor immediately pricked my nostrils, and I squinted in the small fog hovering above the potion bottles.

  “There's a distinct charge when I invoke the lower Aia sigil on the flask rings. I tested it against three probable momentum scenarios and it holds its own. I think,” he paused, his excitement obvious,” it might hold up an entire day before requiring a recharge.”

  Shit.

  Just like that, a burst of light.

  Leave it to me to underestimate the effects of the right sigil.

  “Excellent work, Aren,” a smile ticked my cheek. “The Advisory Council will be thrilled. “Let's get started on something small-scale for a presentation.”

  Aren wore his pride with a subdued smile that said he didn't want to look too full of himself. It was part of his appeal, but he'd be rewarded handsomely if this was more than just a fluke. It would benefit the entire group, Adair and I especially, but it would undoubtedly raise the young sigilist's station,too.

  That was good. He deserved it. We all did really, the Advisory Council consistently set up a lot of hoops for us to pass through.

  When I stepped out of the tenting around sigilist's workstation, my eyes locked with Adair's briefly before he managed a professional nod and looked away, returning his attention to the sheets spread out around his workstation.

  Dredging up the nerve, I made my way over to him. The tone between us had certainly changed, but the discovery of the Aia sigil's effects was a gamechanger, and one I needed to alert him about right away as a fellow inspector.

  His wood-musk scent rung my nose as I drew closer, and I steadied myself against the near instant arousal it roused in me.

  “Good news.”

  His eyes flicked up, ultra-serious, but not cold necessarily.

  “Oh?”

  “The young sigilist's made a discovery that might bring an end to our potion-optimizing efforts.”

  A grin ticked his cheek.

  “Amazing if true. We certainly have other areas to secure before end of week. Does he have it set up?”

  “Yes, and he's already working on a presentation.”

  It was a sincerely hopeful moment, one that made me think there might be another opportunity to return to the small space of warmth the previous night's bonding had begun to open to us.

  A burst of fire filled his movements, and as we made our way back to the young sigilists' workstation, and he saw the progress for him
self. I saw a brightness return to his eyes that almost did the job of convincing me he'd come out of his shell completely.

  I realized quickly that it was just his sense of accomplishment, though, that burning desire to succeed that filled everyone with a burst of delicious excitement and hope.

  When we concluded our session and packed up our trunks after the others milled out to rush off to the trading posts, archives, and their bunks, an uncomfortable silence settled between us.

  I wasn't sure how to approach it at first and quickly bat the thought of inviting him to the watering hole away. Whatever had gotten into him the previous night had made him chilly, and I'd no doubt it would have the same effect if he encountered the pale-haired nymph again before they resolved whatever it was that sat sorely between them.

  I knew little of nymph politics, so it was useless to even hazard a guess. The line there was clear enough, though, and I'd no intent to cross it. So when I'd tarried enough and finally decided to just retire for the night, I gave Adair a farewell greeting, starting when my scanserv buzzed in my pocket.

  Noting Adair's hands reaching for his own, I realized we'd both received a flash message and hurriedly flicked my screen awake to an ornately designed invitation. To the Favors, no less.

  A tick creased my brow,

  But when my eyes met Adair's again I realized this invitation was somehow tied to him, and the frown that instantly replaced the exhaustion that had begun to fleck his face made it clear he wasn't happy about it.

  Gritting his teeth, he hit the end button, and sweeping past me without a word, he made his way out into the hall.

  ~

  The following day, I rose early, checking and rechecking my phone for a note from the council that I knew would eventually come. I'd submit the presentation ticket early, and there was simply no way the young sigilist's discovery wouldn't be thoroughly investigated.

  Sipping an enlivening lemon-ginger tea, I tapped the metal surface of my scanserv and turned my attention to the viewlink screen. Nothing particularly eventful in the news today. But there would be tomorrow. I had high hopes for the young sigilist's discovery. It was a sure game changer.