by Kim Knox
And yes, magicians were also strangers to a bloody straight answer. “So is that a no?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny...” Tobias straightened and pointed his cane at Blake and me. “But I have been ordered to bring you in, and that’s what I’m here to do.”
Blake stiffened. “No.”
“I thought you knew what the plan was, Blake?”
“No.”
Tobias grinned. “We should add monosyllabic to the list too, shouldn’t we? Now.” His hand tightened around his black walking stick. “The time for chatting is over. And since we didn’t kill you—which was rather fortunate, I think we can all agree—you will both come with us. You are...expected.”
They wanted us? What the hell for? To go to North Bank? And how did they know that Blake would be with me? It was too early in the morning for my day to be going so much to shit.
Blake’s weight shifted, so slight an action that I wondered why my instincts were screaming at me. But I felt the sudden dropping of his shoulders. Tobias’ movement, the tightening of his hand around his walking stick, had been Blake’s trigger.
My gaze flicked to the other magicians. Yes, they were ready to fight too. Shit. My training was basic and hadn’t been called on before. Worse, they had guns—small ornate guns, but lethal nonetheless. We were screwed.
Blake’s arm slid from my waist, and he stepped forward. Cool air washed over me, and I shivered. There was no other option but to stand with him. The magicians had shot at me, wanting to take me in. Shit, they’d quite possibly destroyed the waterfront in their attempt. Blake—and the strange burn of our connection, the one that fired his emotions through my flesh—would fight for me. Protect me.
I glanced at him, the early-morning light cutting shadows over his strong face. Even in a smart suit, animal power pulsed from him.
I balled my hands into fists and slid my feet slow over the stone step as I prepared my body to follow him. He would fight for me. I had to be prepared to do the same.
“Don’t start this.” There was a hint of regret in Blake’s voice as he focused on the magician.
Tobias’ smile twisted into his shark-sharp grin. He jabbed the silver cap of his walking stick at Blake. “You know, it’s not just the name. You are so familiar. Fuck, it’s annoying.”
“Just walk away, Tobias.”
“Not in this lifetime.”
I caught the brief twitch in Blake’s face. It almost looked like pain. But then it was gone, and I began to doubt that I’d seen anything at all. I had no idea what world I’d fallen into, but I wanted out of it. Magic had been an obsession since I was small. But if it meant being blown up and shot at...I wanted out of that world. Fast.
“Then your choice is made.”
The finality to Blake’s words forced even the magicians’ sharp grins to fade. Their fingers flexed around their weapons, and they shifted back towards the rail. It ran cold fear through me. Blake’s power was almost tangible. Even I stepped back from the force, the threat in his voice.
And then Blake attacked.
He was a stunning blur of fists and kicks...and something else. In a frozen moment, I caught a glimpse of his face. A hot wash of panic shot over me, and I staggered back into the shadow of the doorway, grabbing at the rough stone wall to steady me.
Horned. Unreal. Blake in that instant was anything but human.
First one gun and then the other clattered to the cobbles. A punch to the throat and one magician dropped. The other took a kick to the stomach, cried out, and slumped against the railings. Slowly, he slid to the ground.
With a blurring speed that almost matched Blake’s, his cane a streak of black, Tobias parried Blake’s blows. I could only stare, my heart in my throat. Blake grabbed his arm, but the magician’s fist connected with Blake’s jaw, snapping it back. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
Using the distraction, Tobias gripped Blake’s fingers, forcing his wrist back. An inhuman cry tore from my protector’s mouth. My stomach turned over, pulling me out of the shadowed doorway. Blake dropped to his knees, and Tobias cracked his cane against the other man’s spine.
I had to help him. He'd saved me—
“No.” Blake’s dark gaze found me. Pain and power radiated there. “Run, Leona!”
“I—”
The cane struck his temple with a sickening crack, and he sank boneless to the cobbles.
I stared at Tobias as he breathed out, leaning hard on his walking stick. He’d outfought Samuel Blake. My brain kicked in. The magician was distracted. Fuck, it was my only chance to get away.
So I ran.
Chapter Four
People were staring.
I glanced down at my jacket and trousers and batted red dust from the dark blue material. My fingers snagged on the long ragged tear cutting down to my jacket pocket. Blake’s blood—half dried in dark, disturbing streaks over my jacket and shirt—I could do nothing about.
Shrugging out of my jacket, I tied it around my waist. My shirt was—mostly—clean and rip free. Mostly. The slits in my shirt were better than a jacket wet with blood.
I straightened and tried to fix a nonchalant expression on my face, when I felt anything but unconcerned. I turned my gaze on the smooth platform, knowing I looked a mess.
A quick glance at the shining glass curving around the long station stop showed my normally tidy pale hair in a rough tumble. Debris caught in its mass. Dirt and blood smeared my face. I looked like a crazy woman. Tough. I just needed to get home.
The rail pads pulsed with a slow whine.
Yes, nothing stopped the workings of the South Bank. It was a well-oiled machine. Two station stops back, the line looked out onto the clouded rubble of the Merrow Dock complex, the trains no doubt witnessing the violent compression of the buildings.
I pushed myself out of the safety of my corner. The platform was a crush of waiting people: businessmen, office workers, teenagers on their way to college. None of them had the sharp look of magicians. None of them looked like Tobias or…or Blake.
My gut tightened. I ignored the twist of guilt. I’d left him to that magician. Maybe—the knot in my stomach tightened—maybe that strike to his temple had killed him.
The crack of the metal-tipped cane striking bone still echoed through my mind, and I swallowed back the sudden urge to vomit.
There was nothing I could’ve done for him...and Blake himself had told me to run. Still, the sour guilt of simply abandoning him to his fate roiled.
Running made sense. It did. Hiding made even more sense. Especially after I’d seen Blake’s face, the blur of an unknown beast twisting his features. I didn’t know what the hell he was. Something twisted by magic? Did the Cult of the Sea-Dragon do that? And I thought I was well versed in magical lore and history. Blake proved that I really knew nothing.
The train swept around the curve. I had one thing to focus on right then, and Blake’s ancestry wasn’t it. I had to get home. The approaching train would do just that.
A rush of warm air swelled around me, and the gun-silver train braked. Doors shot back, and I squeezed my way into the rush-hour crowd. The press of bodies around me, the scent of cloying perfume, soap, and sweat pushed a heavy weight down on my chest.
The charged air, the residue from passengers’ tech-implants had my head spinning. No doubt their brains buzzed with the catastrophe. My skin flushed. I covered my mouth with a trembling hand. Damn things always stabbed pain under my skin and often made me sick. The main reason that I didn’t have one grafted into my skull.
Slow breaths, take slow breaths. I repeated the words in my head. I couldn’t panic now. Not now. I willed my attention on the smear of buildings streaming past the wide windows. The familiar route home calmed me. It wasn’t far. Just one more stop.
The train juddered to an abrupt stop in my home station.
On automatic, I pushed my way to the doors, ignoring the mutterings of a man to my left and the sharp inhalation from the woman next
to him.
What? They hadn’t seen a woman caught in a magic-induced implosion before? Hysterical laughter bubbled up through my chest, and I forced it back.
With a hiss, the doors pushed out and to the sides, clanking against the metal of the carriage. My feet touched the grey concrete of the platform, and the doors closed behind me. I stood still as the hot air swirled, and pulled it into my lungs, the familiar burned metallic taste against my tongue grounding me. Home was only minutes away now.
The train powered up and shot off down the rails, leaving me alone on the platform. I blew out a slow breath. My tiny flat was a lift ride and a short walk away, the measure of the steps running through my thoughts. I kept the short, short distance at the forefront of my mind. It stayed the panic.
I crossed the platform to the row of lifts, stepping into the small silver box. The doors closed on me, and I forced my heart to slow. The everyday scent of metal, industrial polish and the burn of tech flowed over me.
Magicians hadn’t followed me. I’d escaped them...whoever they were. I had to believe it.
The lift dropped, the familiar sensation bringing with it another touch of normality. I clung to it and wanted to believe that the madness of the morning was simply a bizarre dream. Yet, the taste of brick dust and blood still filled my mouth, and Blake’s scent, his fearsome touch clung to my body.
I closed my eyes and ignored the rise of more guilt. He’d told me to run, and I had to be honest with myself. I couldn’t have taken out Tobias Conrad. I was a null, totally devoid of magic. And he had to have used magic to beat Blake’s strength. Rationalising it didn’t help. The guilt of leaving him still had my gut in a knot.
I leant back against the rail and stared at my feet, forcing away thoughts of Blake. My plan was very, very simple.
Get home. Pack. Leave the city. It was a fucking fantastic plan.
I ran my hand over my tangled hair, and more grit fell away. A wince pulled at my mouth. And if I wanted to stay anonymous, I’d put “scrub myself till I shone” on that list too.
“Street Level.” The soft, feminised voice made me start.
“Relax.” My voice echoed against the metal-lined lift. “I wasn’t followed. I wasn’t.”
Believing that didn’t stop me from jogging across the tree-covered square. It was empty of people, and the towering blocks of steel and glass looming over me only made my shoulder blades itch. Wind whipped my hair and chilled my skin. Shit. The unexpected and oppressive weight of someone watching me pushed against my skull.
“Paranoia. Just paranoia,” I muttered, my gaze searching every angled shadow and ears straining for footsteps other than my own. Nothing. Just the twists of wind spinning loose leaves up into the air and the whine of the distant train over the rail pads.
I was quite alone.
I jammed my fingers into my pocket and pulled free my identity card. Its black-linked chain stretched tight, and I swiped it across the soft, synthetic panel running the length of the main doors. A slow hum resonated, making my teeth ache. The locks thunked in sequence. I pushed the glass door open and slipped into the atrium.
I turned and shoved the door back into its frame. Hard. The locks engaged again, sealing me inside the building. I stared over the empty square in front me, making myself breathe slow and concentrate. My breath steamed the thick glass, and I wiped at it, afraid to miss any movement.
No, there was no one. Only the silent wind whipping at the bare trees, glass facades gleaming in the cut of the early-morning sun, and the great curve of the tube line slicing through the hollows and gaps between the towers. Nothing unusual. The South Bank as it always was. Free of the insanity of magic.
I pushed myself away from the entrance doors and kicked my plan into action. Shower. Pack. Run.
I breathed in the antiseptic smell of the confining lift and watched the metal doors close over. Less than two hours before, I’d ridden down in the little box, completely oblivious to the wreck my life was about to become. I pressed my lips together. My image distorted in the steel, and it unnerved me. I looked away. The lift pinged my floor, and the doors jerked open.
I pulled in a breath...and waited. No one leapt out at me. No bullets zinged into the lift’s metal walls. Fine. It was all fine. I’d made it to my floor in one piece. My trembling hand caught in my tangled hair, and stupidity slapped me for my paranoia. I snorted. It wasn’t really paranoia. People were out to get me.
My boots were silent on the worn grey-brown carpet of the narrow corridor running the length of the building. Wide windows stretched out beside me as I walked, and their openness stretched my nerves.
I felt…exposed and hugged the wall. My skin pricked. Fuck, there was that press against my skull again, and I had the uneasy feeling that someone else padded the corridor with me.
But that feeling was all in my imagination. I’d read enough about practicing magic to know that magicians couldn’t make themselves completely invisible. Bend light, yes, but I’d be able to hear them, smell them.
I took a deliberate breath, pulling the cool air into my lungs through my nose. The usual carpet and cleaning fluid smells slid deep into my senses. I found no trace of an overdressed and dandified magician. The suppressed panic had my imagination in overdrive.
I stopped at my door.
It looked normal and untouched. I had to believe that no one had found me already. My fingers curled into my palm. I had to risk it. Well, really, I had no choice. I swiped at the door with my card, rushed inside, and shut it behind me. My whole body fell against it.
Home. Home.
I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes and expelled a slow breath. The past few hours already had a twist of unreality to them. Magicians could have no interest in me. I was a complete null. Even tech-implants didn’t take to my flesh.
Why did they want me? There’d been no magic users in my family for generations. I came from a depressingly long line of magic-free ancestors. It made no sense.
I pulled my hands from my face, and the rows of books packing four shelves of my small front room confronted me. Being a complete null didn’t mean magic didn’t fascinate me, though.
Had I witnessed something in one of the dives on the dock road? Was that it? I’d spent hours in smoke-filled holes, where desperate people—such as myself, obviously—from the South Bank hung out with the magicians who’d smuggled themselves across the river.
For the magicians it was easy, if dangerous, money. Small feats of fire raising and image casting had had my heart in my throat. They didn’t dare more. The guild masters’ treaties would have them executed.
But there’d been nothing beyond those minor parlour tricks. Nothing that suggested the scale of the destruction of the Merrow Dock complex.
“You have messages, Leona Munro.”
My pulse jumped at the sudden voice, and I cursed. It was my Interface. “Shower. Pack. Run.” I repeated my plan, tugging my jacket loose and throwing it over a chair. Kicking off my boots, I padded into the tiny bathroom.
I stripped and turned the dial. The showerhead spurted a rush of water, and steam wreathed around me. Stepping into the hot jet of water, I soaped the grit, dust, and blood from my body. Water needled my face and soaked my hair. I sighed and scrambled about in one of the alcoves for shampoo. My hair heavy with lather, I stuck my face back into the stinging water.
“Not sensible to come back here. Not sensible at all.”
I shrieked. Swallowed water. Choked. I shot out my arm for the towel hanging to the side of the shower cabin...and found only the bare hook.
Blake had got to it first. He waggled the white towel at me. “Looking for this?”
“No.”
A rush of relief burst through me, hot and fast and I grabbed at the lip of the alcove to steady myself. He was alive. Somehow. Fuck, how the hell was he alive when I’d seen him take a crack to the head? A thousand questions bubbled through my thoughts—ones I knew I’d never get an answer to—chased by too
many conflicting emotions.
I blinked. I’d been forgetting the obvious. I was naked, and he, well he had my towel. And he wasn’t giving it back. Bastard.
I glared at him, unnerved by the hunger in his gaze, and snapped off the flow to the showerhead. The water died away, and cold bit at my wet skin. But I refused to fall into a tug of war with the man over the towel. Trouble was, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Long strands of my hair stuck to my face, neck, and spine. Yes, I needed something to do, so I wrung out my hair, cool water splashing over my feet.
“Pretending I’m not here, Leona?”
Heat burned my face. It’d been a long time since a man had seen me even remotely naked. The way I’d reacted to Blake, his scent, his strength, the remembered brush of his lips against my skin, added more heat. The way he’d fucked me—
Silent curses ran through my mind, and I pushed those thoughts down. “Is it working?”
His laughter was rough. “No. Here.” He pushed the towel at me. His knuckles brushed against the wet skin of my stomach, and I sucked in a quick breath, liquid heat rushing through my flesh.
Blake stood back, his face unreadable, his flare of desire gone, and he rubbed his fingers over the back of his wet hand. For a moment, the doorway framed him, and then he turned around. His tone was brittle as he said, “Dry yourself.”
I ran the towel quickly over my limbs, my chest and back, then finally wrapped the damp towel around my head. “Excuse me.” I waited for Blake to move from the doorway and headed for my bedroom. Not rushing. I took slow, even breaths, extremely aware that I was completely naked. I had no idea why I hadn’t wrapped the short towel around my body.
Maybe it was a little push of defiance. And that was so unlike me. Maybe it was something else, something I wasn’t thinking about as my body ached in places I also wasn’t thinking about. He was alive. If he was alive...and I was so very naked...