by Dannika Dark
Ella’s hand tightened, and Simon’s head flooded with sounds and words, like memories caught in a twister.
He stabbed my mother in the heart, she choked out.
Simon reclined his head against the trunk and looked up. The leaves overhead made the soothing sound a mother would make to a weeping babe. Shhh.
Ella’s palm began to sweat as her thoughts quieted down. It was over so fast. I wanted to run to her, but it was like one of those nightmares where you can’t move and you’re just standing there in terror. My elbow knocked a lamp over, and that’s when he looked at me. My dad rushed in and yelled for me to get out, but I couldn’t. They were standing near the hall that led to the back door, and I couldn’t leave without Jasper. I ran upstairs and heard my father fighting and yelling.
Simon couldn’t just sit there staring at the squirrel in front of him. He let go of her hand and then crouched beside her so he could see her face. Her blue eyes stared vacantly at the road. She’d switched something off inside her to get through the memories.
Simon knew all about that switch. It was a coping mechanism survivors used to get on with things. Channeling his anger into fighting had helped him in the beginning to develop his skills as a knifeman; he used the instruments to lash out when his voice could not. But experience had proved that fighting with emotions was an Achilles’ heel.
He took her hand, and Ella drew in a deep breath as if she were going to speak aloud.
Jasper didn’t know what was going on. I forced him under the bed and told him to stay quiet. I wish I could go back in time; I would have taken him into his room instead of mine.
“Why’s that?” Simon asked, feeling a swell of anger in her energy.
My room didn’t have a window or phone. That’s where I found him, and I just ran inside and slammed the door, sliding a heavy dresser in front of it. I was too big to fit under the bed, so I hid in the closet. Through the slats in the door, I watched the man push his way in. He had a blunt object in his hand—like a hammer—and I was actually relieved because it wasn’t the knife. I thought he’d scan the room and keep going, but he kicked the bed hard enough to move it. Jasper’s foot was sticking out.
She choked on her words, and Simon felt sick to his stomach.
I never thought anyone would hurt a kid, she continued. I wish I’d never told him to hide there. I thought he’d be safer there than I was, and Jasper was asking a lot of questions and I was afraid he’d make too much noise if he were in the closet with me.
Simon lightly shook her hand. “You don’t have to defend your decisions. You did what you thought was right.”
But Ella didn’t hear him. She was in a different place now.
When he pulled Jasper out from under the bed, I pushed open the door and screamed, but he’d already swung. He struck Jasper in the head and—and then he kept hitting him. I’ll never forget that sound.
Ella wrenched her arm away and stood up, stomping the dirt with the toe of her shoe.
Now he knew the demons she battled that made her so bloody fragile, but it didn’t fill in all the holes. Men didn’t break into homes to murder a family unless it was personal. A serial killer didn’t dress up in a ski mask only to knock on the front door. No wonder she wound up suicidal, but why would Hannah offer her a spot in their world? A girl who’d experienced that level of trauma was unfit to offer immortality; that kind of emotional damage made a candidate a liability in the eyes of the Mageri.
There was no sense in prodding her for more details, but Simon was going to get to the bottom of this Hannah situation.
He stood up and gripped her hands tightly. “Here’s how it’s going to go from now on. I’m not crawling into your head every time you want to share a thought. The lip-reading is fine, but you need to learn how to use your voice. And yes, you have one. Saying your name is not enough. You know how to speak; this isn’t rocket science. Fuck how you think you might sound. It’s about time you learn how to brave the critical eye of the world, because people will judge the ever-loving snot out of you, and there’s no escaping that no matter who you are. If you want to talk to me in secret, then go ahead and grab my hand. But anything else—whether we’re in private or public—you’re going to speak, for fuck’s sake.”
Her lips pressed tight, and she pulled her hands away. “You’re an asshole,” she said aloud in perfect, clear English.
Simon’s laughter pealed out. So much so that he bent over with a stitch in his side. He smiled at the stubborn woman. “A Mage after my own heart.”
“I can’t understand everything you say because of your accent.”
He stood upright. “Well then. Guess you better learn to speak my language.”
“Do I sound funny?” she asked.
Quite truthfully, she had the voice of an angel, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “No, but make it less monotone. You don’t need to be self-conscious. You’ve been speaking all your life, so you know how to control the inflections of your voice. Put some emotion into it.”
A gust of wind picked up from the east, and he marveled at the way it captured some of her silken hair that had loosened from her braid. He’d never seen hair so fetching, and he wasn’t the sort of bloke that ever used the word fetching… either verbally or mentally.
But there it was.
Simon spun on his heel and stalked back to the car. The feeling of protectiveness he had for her was unnerving.
“Get it together,” he muttered to himself. “Next thing you know, you’ll be opening doors and acting like a gentleman. You need to do your job, collect your money, and then…” His attention steered away when a flare from another Mage licked at his energy field.
Simon sharpened his light as a red car pulled up behind his GTO. Ella walked ahead of him, and he seized her wrist.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, using her voice.
Sharpen your light, he replied in thought. I don’t like the looks of these wankers.
“Nice day for a walk,” the tall one said as he stepped out of the car. His white shirt stretched so tightly around his chest that it distressed the black lettering printed across the front.
“State your business, Mage,” Simon said, blocking the man’s view of Ella. He clenched his jaw when she sidestepped him to remain equal with his position.
The man pursed his lips and looked between them without really looking either in the eye. “She looks newly made,” he remarked, nodding at Ella. “Is she your Learner? You don’t look like a Creator.”
Simon raked his fingers through his hair so the messy strands weren’t in his eyes. “I suppose you think Creators go around with a special patch sewn on their jacket.”
“No, but they have money, and you’re dressed like you crawled out of a sewer.”
“Says the bloke who shops in the little boys’ department. I wouldn’t be surprised if you had nappies on beneath your trousers.”
He was three inches taller than Simon, unlike his Asian friend, who was closer to Ella’s height. But neither height nor muscle had anything to do with who had the advantage in a Mage fight. It had to do with how skilled you were at wielding your light, handling weapons, and using your gifts. Most avoided daytime fights because healing could take place continually, making it difficult to keep an opponent down. Both he and Ella had stunners, but a smart Mage never assumed his opponent was less armed than he was.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Simon announced. “You two have fun diddling behind the trees.”
The Mage flashed in front of him. “I’d like to take the girl for a walk.”
Ella’s middle finger flew up.
Simon lifted his chin. “Looks like she’s going to pass.”
The man kept staring at Ella, and Simon didn’t sense lust in his energy. This one had a hidden agenda.
Simon stalked toward the man and shoved him back. “Nothing worse than a low-life juicer.”
The man flashed him a crooked smile. “It’s not her light we want; it�
�s her life.”
Tension crackled in the air, and Simon looked at Ella and mouthed the word fight.
Simon exploded into action and thrust his palm into the man’s nose, breaking it. Blood gushed down the Mage’s face before he drew light from the sun, immediately healing his injury.
Ella rushed at the second man, attacking him with her bare hands. Her moves were brilliant, and it peeved Simon that he had to look away.
With alarming speed, the tall Mage lunged at Simon with a dagger, aiming for his heart, but luckily all it pierced was the fabric of his shirt. Simon spun out of reach and kicked him in the knee, breaking it.
“Fuck!” the man bellowed, drawing in healing light as quickly as he could.
If Simon didn’t get a dagger in him, this could go on forever. He reached down and freed his blade from the sheath, gripping it in his right hand as if a missing piece of him locked into place.
“You have appalling teeth,” Simon pointed out. “The English have a bad rap, but you’re giving us a run for our money. Couldn’t get braces before your first spark?”
The man’s cheek muscle twitched. Simon loved throwing off his opponents by uncovering their insecurities, and usually it was something trivial.
Simon twirled his knife and circled to the right, stepping over a fallen branch. “Your fashion sense is trite, your teeth are an abomination, your vocabulary infantile, and you hold your weapon like a sissy. I’m not sure whether you’re going to stab me or slather me up with cake frosting.”
“I’m gonna carve you up like a turkey!”
The man rushed forward, and when he began to fall to his knees, Simon realized he was two seconds away from getting impaled in the balls. He launched himself off the man’s shoulders and landed on the hood of his car. Now he had a good view of Ella and the other Mage. Without the long dress, she moved freely. In fact, when she did two backflips, Simon almost cheered.
Ella’s braid whipped behind her when she faced her opponent, blade in hand. Despite Simon’s complaints about her plaited hair, he realized the impediment she would face had it tangled in front of her eyes.
Simon looked down at the peon who was slashing the air with his dagger. He advanced toward the car with a burst of energy, but Simon was already five moves ahead of the game.
Ella stumbled into Simon’s apartment, giddy with laughter and dirty as hell. That unplanned encounter was just the sort of thing she would experience in real life, and she’d had fun fighting those men. It was a boost to her confidence because Simon hadn’t been sitting on the sidelines this time, waiting to step in if things got out of control.
Simon touched her fingers and drew near. “Well played,” he thought and said aloud. She could see pride shining in his eyes, the kind she’d once received from her own Creator.
Ella warmed to him, craving his approval. The awareness of her pounding heart was never more pronounced than when he brushed against her to lock the front door. She didn’t move, and he gave her a peculiar look—one filled with humor that quickly turned serious when his gaze drifted down to her mouth. Her energy quickened, and she couldn’t stop staring into his brown eyes. Even with patchy stubble and sweaty hair, Simon was handsome. In a swift movement, he turned away and headed into the kitchen.
Her shoulders sagged. What was she expecting? For him to kiss her?
Ella followed, and just as she looked up, he nailed her in the forehead with an orange.
Stars twinkled in her line of vision, and she fell backward. Instead of hitting the floor, Simon flashed into the room and caught her in time.
“You were supposed to catch that,” he said.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you say catch,” she mumbled sarcastically, still leaning back in his arms.
Simon’s cheeks seemed fuller since he was leaning over with his arms around her. He smiled, his eyes glittering. “You can take out a Mage with a dagger, but I can knock you out with an orange. And here I thought we were making progress.”
“Looks like we’re making produce.”
When he laughed, she got butterflies in her stomach. Not just because of the way his body shook and how his eyes changed to crescent moons, but while he was touching her, she could hear the laughter in her head. She reached up and traced her finger over the dimple carved in his left cheek. His pupils dilated so fast that they swallowed up his brown irises. Simon was attractive, but not in all the conventional ways. He was dangerous, intelligent, and everything about the way he looked at her gave Ella goose bumps.
Simon stood up and then let go of her, taking a step back. “I think we should have offed those men instead of locking them naked in the trunk.”
“What did they want?”
“You.”
“For juicing, or did they want a well-dressed bride?”
Ella didn’t care for the accusatory look he was giving her, as if she knew something about it or had brought it on. She withdrew her blade and set it on the bar. “Clean my bloody knife.”
“Did you just make a pun?” He shook his head when she didn’t laugh. “What are you so flustered about?”
She pointed at her leggings. “My favorite pants have blood on them.”
He licked his lips and gave her a mischievous grin. “I’ve wanted to work that crossword on your left thigh since I first saw it.”
She laughed and stuck out her leg. “If you can solve it, I’ll obey your every command. I’ve been working it out in my head for years.”
When Ella spun around to head to the shower, Simon snatched the waistband of her leggings and yanked her back. She peered over her shoulder.
“Challenge accepted.”
Her heart stuttered. “I was kidding.”
“Never set a challenge you don’t mean to make good on. People will never take you seriously.”
He said something else but turned away before she caught it. Simon led her to the oversized chair in front of his sofa and pushed her down. It felt good to relax, and she watched him swagger to the desk on her left and dig in one of the drawers. When he turned around, he had a slim marker between his teeth as if it were a cigarette.
She was too tired to laugh at the way he was theatrically strutting through the room as if he were on a catwalk. Simon was right about her dependence on flashing during a fight. She’d tried not to use it as much this time, but she could tell by his boundless energy that she’d tapped into her own light far too much.
Ella tucked her fist against her cheek, sleepily watching Simon kneel before her and bite the cap off his marker. He wedged himself between her legs, his left hand resting on her inner thigh while he examined the puzzle.
She kept thinking about his hand—how warm it felt through her thin leggings and the way the tips of his fingers would press against her when he filled in a word. Being this close to a man should have frightened her, but the fact that he didn’t make any advances made her feel more trusting toward him.
And, much to her surprise… aroused.
“How old are you?” she asked.
He mumbled, and she jostled her leg, causing him to lift the pen and look up at her. “I lost count,” he mouthed more clearly. “In the hundreds.”
“You barely look thirty. Am I the first female student you’ve ever had?”
Simon glanced up from between her legs, his left hand still resting near the apex of her thighs. “A Learner is a Learner, and what you’ve got between your legs makes no difference to me. What bothers me are your dresses. Did you pay attention to how well you fought today?” He snapped her leggings. “These are the kind of clothes you should be wearing, not long dresses that will tangle around your legs.”
“My Creator prefers me in dresses. Since she buys my clothes, I don’t have a say in the matter.”
He looked down and scribbled in another word. She smirked when the thin marker tickled her thigh.
“I like this,” she said, watching his mouth.
“What? A man between your legs?”
She thump
ed him on the head. “No, having a conversation. You don’t realize how much you miss it until you’re cut off from the world.” Ella concentrated on the volume of her voice, touching her larynx to make sure she wasn’t too loud. “How do I compare to your other students?”
After filling in another word, he shook away the hair from his eyes. “You’re more headstrong, but you pay attention and follow orders without question. I guess I can thank Hannah for that. But it’s not escaped my attention that your technique has improved.”
Her eyelids grew heavy, and reading his lips became increasingly tiresome. Ella took his hand—the one resting on her thigh—and touched his fingertips so she could listen to him while he spoke. He didn’t seem to mind, but in truth, she wanted to hear his accent and the rhythmic cadence of words that was sometimes musical and other times sexy.
“Who taught you how to fight?” she asked. “Your Creator must have been a badass.”
Simon retracted his fingers and didn’t respond.
Even though Simon looked like a rock star who should be on the cover of Rolling Stone one day and GQ the next, she sensed his experience. The older a Mage was, the less human they seemed. It gave her hope that she’d someday be able to shut off her own emotions, because they were the very thing that had almost killed her.
She made contact with his fingers and sent him a thought. Will you have sex with me?
His pen slanted across her thigh and left a streak. Simon slowly lifted his eyes, and the moment they met with hers, a feverish desire licked over her body.