by Trudi Jaye
The doctor places a gauze pad over the wound, and holds it down. “It wasn’t in deep, you’ll be fine. But it looks like you managed to stab yourself in an old wound. That’ll make it hurt worse than it would have.”
I nod, as though all of this is completely normal.
“I don’t think you’ll need to go to the hospital,” the doctor says. “But I’d like to run you home, just to make sure you’re set up properly.”
I look up sharply into the doctor’s face and he gives me a knowing look. I clear my throat. “That would be great, Dr. Fletcher. I appreciate it.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Connor, speaking for the first time. “I can take her home.” His voice is so sharp you could use it to cut diamonds.
The doctor shakes his head, not looking at Connor. “It’s not a matter of just taking her home. It’s about making sure she’s medically sound when I get her there. I won’t feel comfortable unless I ensure she’s okay. This kind of wound can deteriorate quickly.”
I peek at Connor, trying to gauge what he’s thinking. He clearly knows I stuck the fork in my leg to stop his siren magic from affecting me. What I don’t know is whether he’ll forgive me for it. “It’s okay, Connor,” I say. “I’ll call you tomorrow to let you know how I am.”
He stares at me, and then flicks a hard look at the doctor. “If you’re sure this is the best thing for Hazel?” he says.
“It is. I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”
Connor nods at me, and then turns on his heel, storming out.
The doctor pats me on the other leg, a sparkle in his eyes. “We’ve all been on the kinds of dates where you wish you could stab yourself in the leg with a fork. I’ve just never met anyone who’s actually done it before.”
14
I put the finishing touches on the side of the toaster and put it down on the countertop. It’s still ridiculously early in the morning, but after my horrific date with Connor last night, I couldn’t sleep. My fork wound is pretty small, and I can mostly still get around without my crutches, but it still stings. Dr. Fletcher was happy to just drop me at the door to the apartment last night—he was only saving me from what he thought was the ultimate disastrous date when he insisted he had to drive me home to Connor.
The look on Connor’s face as he left has me worried I’ve made a crucial error in judgment. What made me think I could handle Connor? What is he going to do? Will he accept I had no choice? That he can’t use his magic on me just to get his way? Or do my actions constitute a broken agreement? I wish I knew.
I pick the toaster up again and smooth one hand along the side. It looks brand new. I’ve knocked out the dents and given it a polish as well as fixing the basic mechanism.
Hope Mrs. Wilson likes it.
Looking around the room, I try to find something else to work on, but nothing leaps out at me. May as well take the toaster downstairs to Mr. Fookes. He can give the toaster back to my neighbor.
I creep awkwardly past Blade, still sleeping on the couch, and let myself out of the apartment. Limping slowly down the stairs, clutching the toaster under one arm, I try to imagine living somewhere new again. Maybe somewhere with elevators. The only problem is that I’ve gotten used to this place, the people, and its eccentricities. I don’t want to go.
Last night’s date made it clear that Connor isn’t going to give up, and I’m not going to have sex with him just so I can stay. But I can’t risk him getting me arrested. They’d lock me up and throw away the key, and I can’t bear the thought of that after all this time.
Mr. Fookes is an early riser, so I have no compunction about knocking on his door. When he answers, he’s dressed and has a piece of toast in one hand.
“Come on in,” he says and turns back into his apartment before I can give him the toaster.
I have no choice but to follow him inside.
I’ve never been in his apartment before, and I’m not sure I really want to do it today. But as I’m here now, I look around curiously. It’s much nicer inside than I was expecting. And far stranger. Around an antique-looking table, there are old-fashioned chairs with carved wooden arms and padded seats made of an elegant patterned material that I’d get dirty in a week. The walls are covered in various types of clocks, many of them cuckoo clocks, but also some alarm clocks, toy train clocks, and even a pink fluffy clock.
The carpet is thick and soft under my feet, and the light comes from a range of lamps scattered around the room, giving it a gentle glow.
Mr Fookes looks different inside his apartment. Like he’s better dressed somehow and doesn’t have as much of a pot belly. His eyes are sharper, a deep blue that’s disconcerting. Something clicks.
“You’re a super as well, aren’t you?” I blurt.
He smiles, showing off perfect white teeth. “It’s taken you all this time to figure that out?”
“What are you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he says.
“Try me.” I’m feeling too grumpy to be more charming.
“I’m a genie.”
I close my eyes for a moment, getting used to the strangeness of having a grown man tell me he’s magical. “Where’s your lamp?”
“I was set free from my lamp many years ago by a kind master. These days I just make people in this building happy.”
“How do you do that? Do you grant wishes?” I suddenly see all the hours I spent fixing appliances for him in a completely different light.
“Not in the Disney movie sense. It’s more like… helping people out. Fixing their water pipes, making their toasters work again.”
“So just normal stuff a superintendent is expected to do?” I ask, trying not to be too heavy on the sarcasm.
“Sure,” he says with an unaffected grin. “It just comes a little easier to me. That’s why when I saw your talents, I made sure you joined our little building.”
“So you could have fixed this toaster without me?”
Mr. Fookes shakes his head. “Not like that. The way you’ve fixed it is much better than anything I could have done.”
I glare at him suspiciously. I’m feeling a little patronized, like he’s patting me on the head for a job well done, when he could have done it by himself with a flick of his fingers. “Did Mrs. Wilson really need it to be fixed?”
“Of course she did. Who do you think I am?”
“I don’t know! All this supernatural stuff is new to me.”
“You didn’t know?” Mr. Fookes raises his eyebrows as if I’m confirming some long-held belief. “That does make some sense. You did seem a little obtuse at times.”
“Obtuse?” I’m starting to get offended by all his gibes.
“Well, perhaps more that you didn’t know how the game should be played,” he says placatingly. “But I understand why now.”
“Is it a game?”
“It can be. Supers dance in between the humans, trying not to bump into them as they lumber their way through life.”
“And is there a game afoot between the different supers?”
“Do you think there is?”
“From what I’ve seen so far, yes. It’s some kind of weird game that I don’t know if I want to be a part of.” I’m feeling grumpy that Mr. Fookes has been living in my building this whole time, and I didn’t realize he was supernatural.
“Don’t worry, with your powers, you’ll always come out on top.”
“What do you know about my powers?” I ask, my eyes going to his face. Does he know something that will help me?
“I know you’re a chalice. They were thought to be extinct not so long ago. Which means you’ve been hiding out somewhere.”
“What do you know about chalices?”
“They’re closely connected to demons. In some definitions of a genie… I’m considered a demon too.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Can I control you?”
“I wouldn’t try it. It might end badly for you.” Mr. Fookes’s eyes sudden
ly look dark and stormy. He loses his usual jovial edge.
I smile, showing my teeth, properly amused for the first time. “That’s the world’s most evasive answer. It makes me feel like I might be getting my rent dropped very soon in my future.”
“Or it could mean that your luck has just run out, and you get hit on the head by a falling piano.” His words are hard and gravelly, his expression uncompromising.
I give him a mock hurt look, still amused. “You’d do that to me?”
“If you tried to control me.” He hesitates, his expression softening again to the man I know. “I had a bad experience. A master who forced me to do things I didn’t want to do. I swore I would never go back to that when I was freed.”
Now I feel bad for messing with him. “I didn’t mean to freak you out, I was going for funny. I’d never try to control you.”
“The promise of unlimited magic can change people.”
“I have enough magic of my own to figure out. I don’t need yours.”
Mr. Fookes stares down at me, as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. I must pass some kind of test, because all he says is, “Come, sit down. I’ll make you a coffee.”
I put the toaster on the table and sit in one of his fancy chairs. “What’s with all the clocks?”
“They remind me not to waste my time here on earth. I spent many thousands of years trapped, doing the bidding of others. Now, I do not waste a second of my day on things that are unimportant.”
I think of the food stains that Mr. Fookes is always sporting. “I’m guessing you think eating is pretty high on the priority list?”
Mr. Fookes lets out a bark of laughter. “Of course. Is there anything better than a good meal, well prepared?” He comes back into the room with two cups of coffee. They smell delicious, like he’s just had them made at a coffee house in Italy.
I look suspiciously past him into the kitchen, and he accurately interprets my expression.
“No magic. I have a coffee machine back there. State of the art, top of the line.” He places a cup in front of me. There’s even a little pattern in the froth.
“Thanks,” I say, as I raise the cup to take a sip. A taste sensation hits my lips, the delicious roasted flavors of the coffee blending perfectly with the frothy milk. “Wow, that’s amazing coffee.”
Mr. Fookes smiles at me and takes a sip of his own coffee. “I do my best.”
“If I’d known you had coffee this good, I’d’ve been here every morning for a cup,” I say.
“Ha. You’ve been too busy hiding out to notice anything.”
My gaze flicks immediately to his face.
“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me. I’m not a snitch.”
I don’t even know if he actually knows any of my secrets. But for some reason, I do feel safe in his hands. I don’t think he’d tell anyone about me, or tell on me to the wrong people. Not on purpose at least.
“Don’t tell anyone where I live,” I say, just to clarify.
“I won’t,” he promises. “You’ve fixed appliances for almost every other tenant in this building. They all owe you something. The building and I will protect you from harm.”
For some reason, I find myself tearing up at his words. I never cry. I wipe them away quickly.
I don’t want to leave, and because of this stupid mess with Connor, I’m going to have to.
“What’s the matter, Hazel? What have I said?”
“I don’t know enough about being a chalice to do what I need to do properly. I feel like I’m walking with a blindfold, at night, through a corn maze, and I’m expected to know which way to go.” Without meaning to, I let the words spill out of me.
“Just do what you always do. Research it. One step at a time, isn’t that what you’re always telling me? Just be methodical.” He mimics me, his voice high and singsongy. Despite that, what he says hits a chord. I’ve been thinking about this all wrong.
I’ve been waiting for other people to just tell me what to do, tell me what it all means.
But what I really should be doing is researching the shit out of it.
15
I stand at the bottom of the stairs looking up. It feels a little like I’m looking at Mt Everest. I sigh and begin the slow, painful climb back up to my apartment.
At least I know what I’m going to do.
I’m going to go back to the compound and talk to Baz and any of the others who’ll talk to me. It’ll be dangerous, but no more dangerous than sitting around here waiting for Connor to tell the police about me.
I need to know more, and surely the people who raised me will know something?
Plus getting out of town might work as well as leaving for good. There’s still a huge part of me that’s reluctant to go. Right now, at least. Maybe in a week or two, I’ll be ready to make the move.
I stumble through the door to my apartment… and slam into hard muscle.
Blade.
He’s wearing jeans, but for some incomprehensible reason, he’s not wearing a shirt. My face has just slammed up against his warm, hard—completely bare—chest.
I swallow hard, the memories of our kiss last night replaying in full-surround-sound, high-definition color inside my head. He doesn’t seem to be experiencing the same brain freeze. In fact he’s looking down at me like I’m something on the bottom of his shoe.
I guess he’s still annoyed about me going out with Connor last night.
When I got home, he was asleep on the sofa, and I just hobbled past him and straight for bed. Where I didn’t sleep for ages. Where I remembered the feel of his skin under mine. Where I remembered his kisses deep into the darkest hours of the morning. Where I wished I didn’t go out with Connor, and I definitely wished I didn’t have to stab myself with a fork.
Which was why I got up so early and went to talk to Mr. Fookes.
“We need to go to the compound where I grew up,” I blurt out. Just so I can say something and not feel awkward. I take a stumbling step back, before I start stroking body parts that I’m not supposed to touch.
Blade frowns. He lifts one hand, which is holding his mobile phone. “My grandmother just called. She needs my help this morning, I promised her we’d go visit.”
“We?”
“She wants to meet you.”
I open my mouth to object, but then remember the last time one of his family members called to ask for help. He ended up fighting multiple demons and I saved his life. “Does she have a demon infestation as well?”
“Not an infestation. But she will have information. She might know more about being a chalice.”
Research. Just what I’ve vowed to do. I nod. “Okay, let me get my bag. And put some shoes on.” And try to compose myself after my close encounter with Blade’s chest.
I make it to my room, grabbing my things as fast as I can with a fork wound in my leg, giving myself a good talking to as I do it. I need to get over this obsession with Blade. He clearly just kissed me last night to try and control me, not because he likes me in that way. And now, because he didn’t get his way, he’s gone back to being Grumpy Blade.
I don’t need that kind of drama in my life. It’s complicated enough being me right now.
Putting my shoulders back, I push up my glasses on my nose and scowl at myself in my mirror. Then I hobble out of the room and back out into the living area.
Blade has—thankfully—put a shirt on and is standing by the door. His green eyes have darkened to the color of a forest, deep and mysterious. His black shirt emphasizes the tanned skin at his neck and his forearms where he’s rolled the sleeves up. Even worse, it doesn’t hide his lean, hard muscles.
I clutch my bag more tightly and nod to him. “Let’s go,” I say in my best no-nonsense voice. I don’t know how else to deal with this kind of attraction. I’ve never noticed anyone the way I notice Blade. I’ve always been too focused on demons and making my devices.
I honestly don’t know where to look.
&nbs
p; But Blade makes it easy, because he’s not looking at me—I glance over quickly just to check—so I can focus on getting my keys out and getting to the door.
By the time we make it downstairs to his truck, the tension is so thick, I could cut it with Blade’s knife. The little demon fizzes inside me, pushing me to say something. I click the seatbelt into place and take a breath. “Do you want to hear about my date with Connor?” I ask, then wince. That’s probably the last thing he wants to hear about.
There’s a long stony silence on the other side of the truck. “Sure,” he says eventually.
I glance over at him, trying to work out if he’s being serious. He just puts the truck into gear and takes off out of the parking lot.
“Well, you were right,” I say cautiously. “Connor did think he could get more out of me than just a nice date.”
Blade’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. I watch his reactions curiously. Is it because he doesn’t like the idea of me and Connor? Could he be jealous? Or is he just pissed because I dared to go against his will? I honestly don’t know—and I’m not brave enough to ask.
“He tried to use his siren magic on me to get me to go home with him.”
“Do you expect me to be sympathetic?” asks Blade, his voice grating. “I told you that’s what he would try to do.”
“I don’t need sympathy. I dealt with it.”
“How?”
I hesitate, not wanting to tell Blade what I did. It seems too desperate in the cold light of day. It’ll tell him exactly how scared I really was.
“He tried to use his magic on you?”
“He did. It didn’t work at first, but later in the night, once I’d been in his company for a while, it seemed to get more powerful.”
“So he has to be around you longer for it to work, that makes sense,” says Blade musingly. “Full sirens can charm anyone, anywhere.”
“He thinks he can charm anyone,” I say, remembering Connor’s smug face.
“He can probably use his abilities to charm human women more easily.”
I nod, thinking that over. “So he’s used to being able to bowl over human women and doesn’t realize it doesn’t work as easily with supernaturals?”