by Ella M. Lee
“Fiona?” he called quietly.
I crept to the bedroom doorway, nervous. Nicolas was perched cross-legged on one of the couches. His expression was less drawn, and he seemed a little more centered and collected than before. He tilted his head and waved me over. I took a tentative seat on the other end of the couch from him.
Please be okay, I thought, feeling light-headed.
The corners of Nicolas’s lips twitched into a tiny smile, and he put his hands up in a calming gesture. “Relax. I merely want to thank you for being so compassionate today.”
“Oh. You… you don’t have to thank me,” I said, startled. “I know today was probably very hard on you.”
He nodded, his gaze serious. “It was,” he agreed. “None of this has been easy on you, either. I know I am difficult to handle on the best of days and… You see, strong emotions from others are stressful for me. This morning was miserable. I don’t feel like myself right now...”
With everyone else’s thoughts in his head—that was the part he didn’t need to say. I felt terrible for him, forced to grieve for himself and everyone else.
“Are you an empath?” I asked.
Wind Clan was the only clan who had members with any sort of mind-reading abilities. Even then, they were extremely rare and weak, and they tended to be a cheat, to work mostly via magical empathy. Magical empathy was the ability to feel the emotions of others and project emotions onto others. In some cases within Wind, it was strong enough to actually allow the magician to glean thoughts.
It was a dangerous ability. It was possible to hurt and disable a person with emotional projection, and it was very easy to lose yourself within a person’s emotions or have your magic shaped or harmed by someone’s emotions.
It was said that empaths often lived in solitude or near solitude because of that, otherwise their magic was incredibly difficult to handle.
My question seemed to surprise Nicolas. “No. Not in the traditional sense, anyhow. I cannot project my emotions, nor is my magic affected by emotions in the same way as an empath. But… I am human. Sadness, grief, pain—these things bother me. Especially when I sense them from the people I love.”
“If you… if you ever want to talk…” I said, barely above a whisper.
His brows drew together in what I could only think was gratitude and appreciation, but he said nothing. I leaned over to pick the jar of almonds up off the table. I took several and then offered him the jar. He took it with a slight smile.
“Would you like dinner?” he asked.
I shook my head. I hadn’t been eating much these past few days, but my body didn’t seem to care. I wasn’t hungry, and couldn’t fathom the idea of squeezing more than a bite or two of food into my tight stomach.
Nicolas studied me with a frown. “I hope you’ll tell me if you’d like to eat. I’m not looking to starve you. Would you perhaps like something specific? I never asked you what you enjoy.”
I shrugged, unsure of what to say. Although I was glad he was feeling better and that there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger of him canceling our deal, I was still wary of this Nicolas who cared for my feelings and desires.
Oh.
Strong emotions from others are stressful for me, he had just said, and I was contributing to that. Of course he would want to make me feel better—my feelings had a direct impact on him.
I took a deep breath. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it?” I asked. “That I’m upset and scared?”
“While it’s true that your mental state is slightly irritating to me, I’m more concerned for your health,” he said. “It isn’t good for you to be under so much stress, to lose so much sleep, to not eat or throw up the meals you do eat.”
I sighed. As hard as it was, I needed to be grateful. Today could have gone worse. Yesterday could have gone worse. Every single moment since setting foot in Vienna could have gone worse, and I could have been dead already.
“I will try to be calmer,” I said.
“I would appreciate that, although I told you that you have freedom inside my apartment, and I will not go back on that,” he said, studying me. “I also told you I won’t hurt you in here, and that still holds true.”
“I get it. I should be able to relax. If only my body were as smart as my brain.”
He smiled slightly. “Hang in there, Fiona. You’re doing well.”
I had nothing nice or helpful to say to that, so I remained silent. I didn’t want to annoy Nicolas. His fingers were white as they gripped the glass jar, and his posture was still tense. I could only hope time and rest would help him handle his grief.
I was hoping the same thing for myself, too, but it was difficult to believe.
Chapter 11
Nicolas didn’t say a word to me for the rest of the night. Eventually he went into the bedroom and didn’t reemerge, shutting off the light with a click.
I lay down on the couch, taking deep breaths, trying to center and ground myself. Nicolas was right—I would die soon without him doing anything at all if I didn’t get food or rest, if I couldn’t manage to slow my heartbeat down to normal.
But I couldn’t calm down, I couldn’t center myself, and I couldn’t sleep.
I was sick to my stomach and worried about what tomorrow would bring. It was exhausting to walk on eggshells all the time, to have to watch every single thing I even so much as thought inside my own head.
I went into the bathroom and pressed a wet washcloth over my face. I had only wanted to do something to soothe my shaking and nerves, but it didn’t work. I took a shower, hoping the hot water would help me relax, but that didn’t do anything, either.
I opened the door back into the living room but couldn’t make myself take a step forward. I retreated, lying down on the bathroom tile like I had two nights before, taking deep breath after deep breath to keep myself from vomiting.
It didn’t work. I spent the night heaving up bile yet again, my brutally honest brain reminding me over and over that my life could end at any time. I could barely move, shattered from stress and not taking care of myself and having my magic ripped from me.
At dawn, I was still on the floor, watching the mountains and misty water sparkle in the morning sun. I hated it here. I wanted nothing more than to get out of this building. I was overwhelmed by a longing for the vast stretches of green wilderness laid out before me. It was impossible to feel like I would ever have that freedom again.
I would likely die here.
I jumped at Nicolas’s light touch on my shoulder, my heart kicking into overdrive.
“Fiona,” he said softly.
I rolled onto my back, looking up at him. He was kneeling on the tile, his palms flat on his thighs. His hair was a mess, an amusing contrast to his serene expression. He looked calm and composed once again. He even seemed a little younger and kinder in the morning light without stress wrinkling his brow. At least one of us had managed to get some rest.
“What?” I asked, wishing he would leave me alone.
“Get up,” he said, although his tone was still gentle.
I closed my eyes. “I’m good, thanks.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“You said I don’t have to listen to you here, remember?”
“You don’t,” he agreed, standing, “but I guarantee you will enjoy where I’m taking you more than shivering on the floor in a miserable heap. Get cleaned up and let’s go.”
I watched as he stalked out of the bathroom. I could push back. Not move, stay here, spend the day cold and numb. I didn’t think he would actually force me to do anything.
But I was interested in his words, interested in where he might be taking me, interested in why he was being kind to me. I had promised myself that if I got the opportunity, I would try to connect with him, and here was an opportunity.
I hauled myself to my feet, sore and stiff. When I finally emerged from the bathroom, still bleary, Nicolas was leaning against the apartment door with hi
s arms crossed.
He beckoned lazily for me to come to him. When I was within his reach, he held my shoulder in one hand and placed the other lightly on my face, making the quick gesture of a spell.
“A glamour,” he said. “We’re going outside, and bruises like yours attract unwanted attention in the real world.”
“Outside?” I asked, excitement shooting painfully through me. “Outside the building?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said. He released me, but his eyes were still on mine, level and serious. “Do I need to tell you what deep shit you will be in if you try to run? If you disobey me or cause me trouble in any way?”
I shook my head. “No, sir.”
Escape had crossed my mind for only a moment before I realized that my whole body felt like lead. I was in an unfamiliar city where I did not speak the language, and the person I would be running from could turn into a literal wolf and track me down in seconds.
Even if I could somehow manage to overcome all that, I had nowhere to go. My clan would not take me back, and I had very few connections among other magicians or mortals. I would be running for my life against forces far more powerful than myself, and I didn’t think I’d succeed.
No. I’d have to make the best of things as they were, starting by not annoying Nicolas with futile escape attempts.
“Follow me, Fiona.”
The process of getting out of the building was complex. Nicolas took us via elevator down to the fifth floor, which had a rather fancy reception area, staffed by several Water Clan magicians acting as guards.
A static force shield divided the room, and Nicolas gripped my wrist to bring me through it. On the other side was another bank of elevators. When we stepped into one, Nicolas swiped a black keycard on a reader and hit the button for the lobby.
He hadn’t been lying to me—there was no way out of the building without magic or a keycard.
Once outside the building, I looked around curiously. I had thought Hong Kong was a city of skyscrapers, on the ocean, cramped, home to millions of people. Wherever we were right now was barren and deserted, with wide roads and views of only mountains and the occasional towering apartment building.
“We’re in Sha Tin,” Nicolas said. “In the northern part of Hong Kong, the New Territories. It’s a little more laid back here. The part you’re thinking of is farther south.” He reached his hand out to me. “May I?”
I couldn’t blame him for preferring to keep a grip on me, and the fact that he had asked before just grabbing me was nicer than usual. I offered him my hand. He wrapped my fingers in his and led me beside him down the sidewalk.
I loved how light I suddenly felt. There was no press of magic out here. Even Nicolas had carefully reined in all of his glorious power. His expression was less closed than earlier, and his white jeans and blue shirt made him seem less imposing than his usual all-black attire.
The inside of his clan house was sterile and cold and imposing. Out here, my senses seemed more awake to the smells, the sounds, the weather.
“It’s really hot here,” I said, but then immediately shut my mouth, alarmed.
Nicolas smiled faintly. “It’s all right. We’re not likely to run into anyone important out here. You are allowed to speak.”
“How gracious of you,” I said.
My sarcasm had come naturally, and I froze, afraid. I had promised myself that I would be on my best behavior, and here I was being a jerk to him. Thankfully he didn’t seem offended.
“Don’t force me to rescind my generosity,” he said, laughing lightly.
I studied him warily, my hand tense in his.
He tilted his head at me. “I’m teasing you,” he said patiently. “Fiona, relax for a minute. It’s a beautiful day. We’re both alive, by some definition. Let’s not be miserable.”
I glanced away. I kept forgetting that Nicolas had lost someone important, just as I had. It was unfair of me to make him do all the work when he was probably still piecing himself back together. If he could use a sunny day to make himself feel better, I could try too. I didn’t think it would hurt my chances to be empathetic. His kindness and consideration deserved mine in return.
Before I could reply, we turned a corner, and I jumped, surprised. We were at the entrance to a busy outdoor market. It was a narrow alley crammed with stalls and vendors selling fruit and meat and dry goods and live chickens. Women slicked with sweat haggled with customers while scowling men stacked boxes and refilled stock. It was loud and crowded and I reluctantly crept closer to Nicolas, feeling disoriented and out of place.
Nicolas walked us through the entire market to the opposite end, where there was a row of tiny restaurants. He steered me into one, and we took a seat in plastic chairs at a cheap Formica table.
Almost immediately, an old woman came to greet us. Cantonese is a harsh language, and I couldn’t tell if she was happy or upset until she clapped Nicolas on the back, and he laughed. He spoke rapid fire to her, still smiling, and she nodded heartily.
Eventually, she began to turn away, then appeared to change her mind. Leaning in to Nicolas, she pointed at me and said, very slowly and clearly, as though she wanted me to understand, “Lei lui peng yau hou leng!”
He laughed again. “Hai, ngo ji do.”
“What was that?” I asked once she had left.
Nicolas tilted his head at me. “She told me that my ‘girlfriend’ is very pretty.”
I widened my eyes, surprised. “What did you say?”
He smiled. “I said ‘yes, I know.’”
“What, did your glamour make me prettier, too?” I scoffed.
“No need,” he said, pulling chopsticks and napkins from a drawer beneath the table and setting places for us. He offered me a rather sweet smile, wider and more expressive than others he’d given me.
I looked away, feeling uneasy and confused. Had he just complimented me? Flirted with me? Or maybe he was just teasing me. He seemed to have a genuinely playful personality now that we were outside the clan house, but I wasn’t sure what to make of it or how much I should engage him.
I was completely bewildered, more alarmed by his kindness than by his threats and glares. I kept my eyes on the busy market outside until our food was brought over.
“I don’t think I can eat this,” I said.
Nicolas’s expression was almost comically shocked. “You don’t eat Chinese food?”
“No, no, not that. It looks delicious, really,” I said. “I just didn’t have a good night. Food is unappealing right now.”
He frowned. “Try,” he said, pushing a bowl of wonton noodle soup closer to me.
He called the owner back to the table and ordered some more items. I was two small bites into my soup when she returned with a foam cup of pale liquid and a plate of white toast with butter.
“For you,” Nicolas said. He idly scrolled through his phone as he ate, largely ignoring me.
I took a sip from the cup—hot lemon honey water—and had a few bites of the toast before saying to him, “Has anyone ever told you how confusing you are?”
He glanced at me. “All the time,” he said without any elaboration, but the words also sounded like light banter.
I knew we were only out here because it would have been unbearable for him to deal with me wallowing on the floor for the entire day, but I was still surprised he had gone this far to help me.
I knew it couldn’t have been an easy decision for him to bring me outside given how much risk it presented, yet he had done it anyway, knowing it would cheer me up. He was speaking gently to me, teasing me, and now he was kind enough to order me special food because I wasn’t feeling well.
This friendly Nicolas was completely different from the frightening commander who had threatened to have me tortured and executed, different even from the reserved Nicolas of the last few days who had interacted with me coldly and almost professionally.
Why was he shifting his personality? Had that been his plan all along? Or had
he realized being cold wasn’t working, that it broke me down too far and he needed to bring me back somehow?
Was it a good sign that he didn’t want to torture me and drive me insane?
He was practically being sweet right now, and if the behavior weren’t so weird and out of place, I might have enjoyed it. This Nicolas was a man I could see myself trusting—but maybe that was all part of his plan.
Nicolas didn’t respond to my silent musings. I was starting to wonder if he didn’t like doing that. Instead, he continued to study his phone for a while longer before getting up from the table to pay the bill. I took small sips of my hot water and tried to convince myself to feel better, for his sake and mine.
“Come,” he said, holding his hand out to me.
“I’m not your dog,” I said, but I stood and took his hand as he had commanded.
He cast me another one of his charming smiles. “Oh? You are as obedient as one. Very well trained, and so quickly.”
I rolled my eyes. “You have been really hard to hate these past couple of days, you know.”
He put a hand to his chest dramatically. “You flatter me. I think I like it. Compliment me again.”
I shook my head, disarmed by more of his unexpected playfulness. “Your hair doesn’t get frizzy in the humidity like mine does,” I said, tugging on my ponytail.
“And here I was, hoping for something like ‘Nicolas, you have impeccable bone structure’ or ‘your eyes are as lovely as stars,’” he said with an amused laugh.
“Lovelier, actually,” I said.
His lips curved into a pleased smile as he tugged me back into the market. I watched in fascination as he bought a whole roast duck, smoked almonds, apples, grapes, passion fruits, and tiny fluffy cakes from a bakery no wider than a phone booth.
Everyone he spoke with seemed to know him, at least in a passing manner, and his chattiness was oddly captivating and endearing. He alternately kept his hand wrapped around mine or resting lightly on the small of my back. Although I knew he did it because the trust between us was fragile, I appreciated that he didn’t make his touch feel possessive or claustrophobic. He was acting like a genuine gentleman, and I attributed that to his better mood and not needing to seem so menacing and deadly outside his clan house.
