Dajia gasped, rushing forward. She clasped his chin and lifted his face, realizing with a start that his cheeks were tear stained. “Charlie! Why isn’t he with the nurse?”
“Liam, tell her what happened.”
The boy bit his lip. He couldn’t have been fourteen, one of Charlie’s ninth year students, most likely. He had an unruly mop of black hair and a nose that looked too big for his face. Blood had stained the front of his plain white t-shirt, visible beneath a red plaid flannel shirt.
Charlie’s voice was gentle as she said again, “Tell her, Liam. You can trust Miss Bray.”
He cleared his throat. “Derek Longmire insulted my dad, so I punched him.”
“Derek Longmire has about fifty pounds over Liam,” Charlie added.
Brave kid. Dajia nodded for him to go on.
“He whaled on me for a minute before Miss Harley caught us and separated us.”
“Derek is with Mr. Grayson,” Charlie advised Dajia. “Tell her what you did next, Liam.”
Liam took a deep breath. He reached into his open flannel shirt and extracted a thin wand tipped by sheer, beautiful amber. He sat it on the table in front of him and looked peevish. “I zapped him.”
Dajia sat heavily in a chair across from him. She stared at his wand—it was old. Definitely not his, not originally. She reached inside her sweater pocket and took out her dad’s rose-quartz wand, laying it on the table beside his.
His eyes widened. “You…”
“Yeah. And you?”
He nodded.
Charlie leaped from foot to foot like an excited child, as if Dajia was taking too long to process what this meant. “Day! There’s more than one of you! He survived the purge!”
9
Dajia
“Yes, Charlie. I got it, thanks.” Dajia shook her head. She leveled a serious glare on Liam. “Did anybody see you?”
The kid shook his head, black curls flopping on his forehead. He motioned at Charlie. “ ’Cept for Miss Harley. She don’t miss anything.”
“Doesn’t,” Dajia corrected automatically. “She doesn’t miss anything. Liam, you understand how dangerous it is for you to carry this wand, right? Just having it on your person is a death sentence. And casting spells… If the regent is paying attention, he’ll feel your magick, and he will come for you.”
“If he doesn’t kill you on sight, he’ll throw you in a dungeon and drain your powers until you’re nothing more than a dried up husk,” Charlie added.
“Charlene!” Dajia admonished. She reached across the table and took the boy’s hand, attempting to soothe the terror in his eyes. “That’s an old urban legend, Liam. Don’t listen to her. What does Derek know?”
“I told him it was static electricity,” Charlene said. “Used big words, made it seem like a natural occurrence.”
“Thank the gods for you and your quick thinking.” Dajia squeezed the boy’s hand and let go. “Let’s get your eye cleaned up. Will you come see me after school today?”
He nodded.
Dajia pocketed her wand, then looked at his. “Put that away. Don’t remove it from your clothes unless your life is in danger. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The irony of her warning him off using magick hit her as she cleaned him up. The worry she felt for him could only be a fraction of how her mother felt about her. She vowed to be a little more understanding.
After cleaning Liam’s face and sending him on his way, Dajia faced Charlie in the silence of the abandoned wing.
“You aren’t the only one,” Charlie said softly.
Dajia peeked into the hallway and closed the door once more. “We lived last night because of my magick. My magick kept us safe long enough for the regulators to find us and kill the ravager.”
Charlie gasped, a red-taloned hand fluttering to her lips. “Ohmigod. You saw one of those things?”
“I didn’t just see it. I felt its breath on my face.” Dajia shuddered. “Only six families on M Street survived. What if they survived because—”
“—of someone like you,” Charlie breathed. “Dajia, what if you’re not the only forgotten witch? What if other kids survived the purge to be raised by humans?”
WHEN LIAM SHOWED UP IN her classroom after the final bell, Dajia sat quietly behind her desk, her bag already packed so she could leave to check in with Clark.
The boy sat in a chair beside her, wearing his nerves on his flannel sleeves. His shirt was buttoned over the bloodstains on his t-shirt, and the skin around his bandaged brow had begun to bruise.
“Dajia Bray.” Dajia offered a hand.
“Liam Holloway.”
His handshake was cold but firm. Dajia sat back in her chair, appraising him. “You look familiar.”
“We live on your street.”
Dajia snapped her fingers. “You’re the wallkeeper’s son. But I guess he’s not your real dad, right? Like my mom isn’t my real mom.”
Liam glanced over his shoulder at the door.
“We’re alone,” Dajia promised him. “You can trust me. I hope I can trust you.”
Liam nodded vigorously. “You can trust me. My real dad was… well. He died during the purge.”
“You couldn’t have been more than an infant,” I remarked. “How old are you? Fourteen?”
“Fifteen,” Liam corrected. “My mom died in childbirth the day before they came. My mom—the mom who raised me—was the nurse who assisted my birth. There was a lot of chaos, I guess, that next day. She wrapped me up and took me home before someone could figure out I was born to witches.”
“My gods. It’s like the plot of a movie.”
Liam grinned. “That’s what Dad says.”
“I saw him this morning. I knocked on your door as he was getting ready to leave for work. When he saw the scorch marks showing you guys survived, he looked proud. Was it you?”
Liam ducked his head. “I guess.”
“How’d you do it?”
He shrugged. “I camouflaged our scent. Mr. Grayson taught us in biology last year that ravagers can’t see. They find prey through scent. I figured, if they couldn’t smell us, they couldn’t find us.”
“Brilliant,” Dajia said, shaking her head. “So simple, and so brilliant. But we wouldn’t know how easy it could have been because we weren’t given the chance to learn.” She spoke more to herself, but Liam gave an agreeable nod. “Whose wand do you have? Your dad’s?”
“My mom’s. Mom took it off her body when she took me.”
“Your mom is a brave woman. If they had caught her taking you… you’d both be dead.”
Liam blushed. “She’s been a good mom. The best. Who raised you?”
This time, it was Dajia who glanced over Liam’s shoulder at the closed classroom door.
“You can trust me.”
“I know I can,” Dajia said honestly. “It’s everybody else I’m worried about.” She lowered her voice and told him the truth, about seeing her parents’ assassinations, who her parents were on the council, and how her nanny had raised her.
“The regent’s curse didn’t work on you?” Liam asked, confused. “He’s the most powerful witch in Sector 14.”
Dajia nodded. “That’s what I used to think, too. And now, with the breach and the fact the heir regent is doing public service announcements, I’m not so sure anymore.”
They stared at each other. Dajia had always felt a connection to her students; it was hard to not get attached after spending nine months of the year, eight hours of the day with them. Liam wasn’t hers—not yet, anyway—but he had an even bigger connection to her than any child she’d come across in the four years she’d been teaching literature.
What was the term Charlie had used? They’d been forgotten. Not Recorded. Their magickal legacies and familial lines had been erased.
Forgotten.
10
Eli
It was nearly dusk before Eli found the time to get away from the palace.
At last visit, his father had slept peacefully under Noelle’s watchful eye. She’d chirruped about the doctor’s surety that the regent would make a full recovery, her knitting needles click-clacking as she spoke.
Eli appreciated his mother’s stubborn positivity in the face of tragedy. But anyone with a working brain could look at his father and see the decline happening in real time. The regent would not survive. When he fell, so would Eli. So would the sector.
Garbed in his regulator gear, Eli faded into the evening, his mask offering anonymity among the dozens of other regulators patrolling the beats. Nightfall offered peace and solitude in Sector 14, particularly for regulators, who were often avoided by everyone else.
Sometimes, he remembered how law enforcement had once been the heroes. Not in his lifetime; maybe not even in father’s. But once upon a time, before human ego and greed had cast a war against the men and women who protected them.
M Street stretched toward the wall, silently unnerving. Fresh white bricks concealed the forest on the outside, but the delineation of the eggshell color against the weathered beige of the rest couldn’t hide the fact the wall had been breached. Like a visible bandage, it was proof the world had shifted, proof that Sector 14 would never be the same.
Eli crested the two shallow steps to the porch of 233 M Street. He could hear two female voices inside, muffled by the walls. A clear laugh like a bell arced through him, and he paused before knocking. Beautiful sound.
He dropped his hand. What was he even doing here? He wanted to know who she was, but he warred with the fact that once he did know her identity, he had an obligation to his father to turn her over. A more logical side of him knew that every extra witch they had in Sector 14 was one more gatepost in their ongoing fight to stay safe.
Eli lifted his hand again. He’d meet her. See if she would admit to being a witch. Find out her story. Then decide his course of action.
No more sounds of talking or laughing came from inside the house. Now or never. He knocked on the door.
He listened intently to a beat of silence. He had a feeling this household wasn’t used to drop-in visitors, especially after dark on a Friday night.
Eli had come prepared with a speech to explain his presence, but all preparation escaped him when the door opened.
A petite young woman with wide brown eyes and dark chocolate hair gazed out at him. A black sweatshirt hung off one shoulder, exposing an expanse of creamy skin he knew would feel like satin beneath his fingers. Her brilliant white smile vanished as she registered his uniform. Fear touched her gaze before she shuttered her expression.
“Officer. What can I do for you?”
Eli realized he’d been staring for far too long and cleared his throat. “I’m visiting each of the remaining families on M Street to ensure you have everything you need.”
The girl shifted from one foot to the other, still holding the edge of the door. Her long dark hair shifted with her, falling like silk down her full breasts.
“Yes, I suppose,” she responded. She tapped the wood beneath her fingers. “They came and replaced this door, and another downstairs.”
“Were there any injuries in your household?”
“No.” She flashed a smile that melted his knees.
He stood for another moment, trying to come up with a reason to keep her talking in that sweet, melodic voice. There was a darkness in her eyes that suggested she was older than she looked.
“What is your name?” he finally asked.
She blinked. “Dajia Bray. Am I in trouble?”
Bray. The name tickled his memory, so close to his mother’s uncharacteristic mention of Vanele. A memory surfaced of his mother’s best friend. Vanele Bray had been lovely with exotic features and uncommonly pale skin. Natives to Sector 14 usually had deeply tanned faces and thick skin, passed down from their Inuit ancestors. A smaller minority existed with Viking features, usually humans. This girl—she looked just like his mother’s old friend. The resemblance was too uncanny to be coincidence.
“Any relation to Vanele Bray?” Eli asked.
The girl was good at hiding her emotions, but not great. A glimpse of pain deeper than an iceberg graced her face and then flitted away. “An aunt.”
“You’re lying.” Eli hadn’t meant to say it. He absolutely meant the girl no harm; he’d just wanted to see her, to know who had saved the sector. Looking at her now, he knew he would never have turned her in.
Dajia Bray’s lips pursed. “So are you, Your Grace.”
Eli gaped at her, speechless.
Her cheeks flushed pink. “I know your eyes.”
Eli glanced over his shoulder. The street was empty. He grabbed her by the sweatshirt and tugged her onto the porch, reaching past her to close the door so the other female inside couldn’t eavesdrop. As he leaned in, he caught the scent of her, something sweet but wild.
“It’s a little cold,” Dajia said wryly.
Eli glanced down at her bare toes curling against the wooden boards. “You can make yourself warm, Miss Bray. We both know you can.”
She ignored his remark. “The mask is unsettling.”
“Is it?”
Dajia reached up and tugged off his hood. Eli let her, feeling like there was something symbolic in the unveiling.
“You’re bigger in person,” she remarked, dark eyes roaming over his broad shoulders.
Eli glowed beneath her appraisal, though he felt naked now with his face visible. “You’re pretty small for a girl with such big power.”
The girl crossed her arms and glared. “How do you know?”
“Look at you. ‘And though she be but little, she is fierce.’” Eli winked.
She looked stunned for a moment, and then squinted at him. “You know what I mean. Don’t deflect me with Shakespeare.”
Eli glanced into the street again, ensuring they were alone before he said, “A friend saw you last night.”
“Are you here to arrest me?” Her jaw jutted out indignantly.
Eli chuckled. He had a feeling if he had come to arrest her, she would have put up a hell of a fight. And he’d have let her.
“I’m not here to arrest you.”
“As far as I know, the heir regent doesn’t make a habit of house calls. If you’re not here to arrest me, why are you here?”
That’s a good question. He considered his words. His preparation had slipped his mind completely. “You did me a favor. I’m here merely to thank you and offer you a token of my apprecia—.”
Her arched brows furrowed, and she interrupted him. “Did you a favor? I’ve never even met you.”
“More’s the pity.” Eli plastered on his most charming grin and stuck out a hand. “Elliott Pierce, Heir Regent of Sector 14 and humbly at your service.”
“Ugh. Stop.” She rolled her eyes. “I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are.”
Eli dropped his hand, amused and a little irritated at her rebuff. “Right. Well, that’s settled.”
“No, it’s not. What is this favor I did for you without knowing?”
Eli stared at her. The dark-eyed vixen wouldn’t stop till he came clean. He read it clearly in her stubborn expression. This meeting had not gone according to plan.
How to approach this diplomatically? Dajia Bray would see through his bullshit in a way no other woman ever could—except his mother. He felt out of his depth with this fierce little minx.
“I found myself… lacking,” Eli said carefully, “and borrowed a bit of your energy to patch the dome.”
Dajia froze for a split second. Then she leapt on him, her fists flying. “You—complete—asshole!”
Eli stumbled back under her assault and tripped over a rocking chair. He crashed to the floorboards like a fallen tree, Dajia on top of him.
She didn’t miss a beat, her tiny fists pummeling his chest. “How dare you? We almost died because of you! It isn’t enough that you’re all great and powerful, you have to steal from other peop
le, too?”
He tried to get a word in, to grab her furious hands, but she was quick, and her screech was louder than his.
“Someone will hear you!” Eli hissed, grabbing at her hands as she hit his face.
“I don’t care! Let them come and arrest me! I loathe you!”
Eli growled under his breath. He ducked under her arms, lifting with his hips. He clasped her waist, fingers making contact with bare skin as the motion of his roll lifted her sweatshirt.
Eli came out of the roll on top, nestled between her legs. He registered the softness of her body beneath him, and the thin cloth that separated them, kept them from being skin to skin.
He silenced her next angry shriek with his mouth.
God, she tasted good. Honey on his lips, sweet and hot and fluid. He had meant the kiss to startle her into silence, to stop her idiotic raging and keep half the enforcement team from responding to her screams.
He hadn’t meant to enjoy it.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Dajia’s body relaxed. She relented to the kiss, her arms entwining around his neck, her knees lifting on either side of his waist.
Her supple skin felt warm and malleable beneath his fingers, but he didn’t move further than her waist, though his body screamed for him to do so. He flamed from head to toe, turned to fire so close to this beautiful, obstinate woman.
He rocked his hips against the scorching heat between her legs. Dajia whimpered against his lips, fingers clawing at his shirt as she tried to pull him closer, exposing his abdomen, reaching for his belt…
Eli went rigid as her fingers slipped beneath his waistband. Fuck. FUCK. He wanted nothing more than to feel those perfect fingers on his aching erection, but he had to be the good guy. Since when was he the good guy?
“Dajia, Dajia, stop.” He didn’t even recognize his voice. It came out rough, breathy. His whole body throbbed with need as she kissed him again.
He caught her wandering hands before they went too far, beyond the point of no return for his “good guy.”
The Shadows and Sorcery Collection Page 45