Seeking Magic

by Eden Briar

  20

  It’s been three days since Archer told me they’re sending me away. He hasn’t said when yet, only that it’ll be soon. The guys are keeping their distance. Ben won’t talk to me. He won’t even stay in the same room as me long enough for me to try. Even Jazz is growing distant and has taken to avoiding being alone with me. The only bright side is that Lynea is still training me. Though she’s puzzled by the loss of my superspeed, and we’re both ignoring the topic of my imminent departure.

  Soon I’ll be among a new set of strangers, and once again, nothing will seem familiar. I’m used to that. A succession of foster placements taught me that a home isn’t a permanent thing. It’s just a place you stay until you’re too much of an inconvenience, and they shunt you off to be somebody else’s problem. I know Archer thinks he’s doing the best thing for me, but I’m not sure I believe it.

  I spend long hours sitting in front of the mirror in my room, hoping to see Zac. If I have to leave the city, maybe I could go wherever he is. Maybe we could hide together. But the mirror shows me nothing but my own reflection, my eyes back to their usual dishwater gray.

  My rumbling stomach reminds me it’s dinner time, and I skipped breakfast and lunch. Peter’s legendary lasagna is on the menu again. It’s probably my last chance to eat it, so I’m not going to miss out.

  I head down to the first floor. As I step out into the corridor, I catch sight of Ben at the other end. He’s heading my way, but he hasn’t seen me yet. Maybe this time he’ll talk to me? But he glances up, catches my eye, and falters. Before I get close, he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving me alone. I stand there for a long moment, watching after him. What was I expecting? That he would just suddenly come around?

  As I continue along the corridor, a woman I’ve never seen before rounds the corner and walks toward me. She smiles pleasantly as we pass, and I smile back even as a shiver runs through me. There’s something about her, something I can’t quite put my finger on…

  And then I feel her hand on my shoulder, her body flush against my back. She presses the point of a blade into my neck.

  “My master sends his regards,” she whispers, drawing the blade across my throat in one quick motion.

  She lets go, the heat of her body disappearing as I feel warmth spreading down my chest. I stare at the blood cascading down my T-shirt. I can’t scream, I can’t make a sound. My hands scrabble at my neck, but there’s so much blood.

  The edges of my vision are already dimming. I feel myself fall, going to my knees. The force of it sends a shock through me. Everything happens in slow motion, the sound of my heart’s frantic beating loud in my ears. I slip sideways to the floor and wind up on my back, staring up at the ceiling. A wave of coldness washes over me as I realize what’s happening. My body is shutting down, its desperate attempts to keep me alive just killing me quicker.

  I hear noise in the distance, the sound muffled like I’m underwater. My hands fall to my sides, weakness quickly overtaking the cold. An odd thought surfaces—I can’t feel my toes. It’s more frightening than anything else. I’ve always been able to feel my toes.

  A face appears above me, as a voice calls out again.

  “Indy!”

  I’ve never heard my name spoken with such terror before. But I try to smile. Because it’s Ben staring down at me. He’s here. He’s not walking away.

  He kneels down next to me, and I try to speak, warn him about all the blood. It’ll stain.

  “Shh. Don’t try to talk,” he tells me, and then lifts his head and yells again. Calls for help.

  It’s far too late for that. I know it. He knows it. Most of my blood is now painting the floor around us, a flood of brilliant red. Sometimes, I look in the mirror and see blood-red eyes staring back at me. Maybe this is what they were warning me about. It doesn’t do me much good now.

  It feels like years since Ben arrived, but a part of me is aware it’s only been seconds. Time has slowed, my thoughts racing almost as fast as my heart is beating, almost as quickly as my blood is draining from my body.

  And then Ben does the bravest, stupidest thing. He presses his hand over my wound.

  Above me, his body tenses, his eyes clouding over, and I know he’s seeing a vision of my death. Which is ridiculous, because it’s happening right here in front of him. He’s literally kneeling in my blood right next to my soon-to-be corpse. His hand tightens against my wound, and I feel warmth against my neck. Ben jerks, like a puppet whose strings have been pulled. A series of images flash before my eyes before it all goes dark. I slip down and down into that darkness. It’s a relief, even though I don’t want to go.

  I’m dragged unwillingly back to the surface by the heat of Ben’s hand. It feels almost unbearable against my skin. I draw in a ragged breath, and a sob escapes my throat. He’s given me back my voice. He’s given me more than that, I slowly realize, as my breathing steadies and my heart slows.

  Other people arrive, and I catch a glimpse of Jazz’s ashen face, of Archer looking so fierce and furious, and then Ben gasps out a breath, letting go of me. It breaks our connection, and he collapses onto the ground beside me.

  I struggle to sit up, reaching for him. “Ben? Ben!”

  The world swims around me, Jazz’s arms catching me as the curtains fall and we fade to black once more.

  21

  I wake to the feeling of a hand holding mine.

  “Huh?” My eyes crack open a sliver, and I wince at the too-bright room.

  “We invented curtains for a reason, you know,” I complain as I struggle to adjust to the light.

  “Indy?” It’s Jazz by my bedside, his head bowed, his eyes red, his unwashed hair hanging limply around his forehead. “You’re awake.”

  “What, did I oversleep? Lynea is going to be pissed if I missed train—”

  It comes back to me in a rush: the woman slitting my throat, bleeding out on the floor, Ben—

  My hand scrabbles at my neck, feeling for the cut. “She… she…”

  His hand catches mine, stilling my frantic movements.

  “You’re okay, Indy. You’re fine. It’s all healed. I’ll show you, okay?”

  He leans to the side, grabs hold of a mirror sitting on the bedside locker, and holds it up in front of me. I lift my chin, twisting my head this way and that. There isn’t even a mark.

  “That… happened, right? The woman, the knife. My throat?”

  “It happened. The carpet still has the bloodstain to prove it.” Jazz’s eyes flash with anger as he speaks.

  “Ben?”

  “He’s sleeping it off in the next room.”

  “Sleeping what off?”

  “How much do you remember?” Jazz asks cautiously.

  “Um… he found me. Tried to stem the bleeding. He must have had a vision, and then—” I run my fingers over my neck, still struggling to get my head around it. “Did he…?”

  “Yes. He tapped into his caster power. He healed you.”

  “Fuck.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “I… I saw… when he touched me, when he healed me…”

  “You saw something?”

  I nod, the memory stark yet with an unreal quality that makes me doubt it.

  “What did you see?”

  “So much.” I sink back against the pillows, tears leaking out of the sides of my eyes and trailing down into my hair. “I need to talk to Ben. I need to see him.”

  “As soon as he’s up and about,” Jazz assures me.

  He leans in, brushing the hair from my forehead and resting his hand there, his touch cool and calming.

  “You need to rest. Ben might have healed you, but your body still took one hell of a battering.”

  I feel drained, exhausted. How I’d expect to feel if someone had tried to bleed me dry.

  “She was Matthias’s.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact.

  “Yes, she was. We figured out how she got through the wards on the doo
r.”

  “How?”

  “Sorcerer magic. Archer and Dale have strengthened the wards to stop it from happening again. But we’ve also spread the word that the attempt was successful.”

  I blink tiredly at that.

  “You’re telling people I’m dead?”

  “It’ll get the vamps off your back. The fact that Matthias was able to do this, was able to wield that much control despite a stake through his heart, means that you really aren’t safe as long as they know you’re here. Let them think their attempt worked. It’ll be safer in the long run.”

  “What about the woman? Did she get away?”

  “She’s dead. When the alarm was raised, the wards sealed, and she couldn’t get back out of the house. She chose to end her life rather than hang around and answer our questions.”

  Jazz is right. If Matthias still has that much power and influence over his human followers, then my being ‘dead’ is a blessing in disguise.

  “When am I leaving?” I avoid Jazz’s eyes as I ask the question. After this last attack, Archer’s got to be ready to shove me out the door and make me someone else’s problem.

  “Not until you’re healed up.” Jazz’s thumb brushes a stray tear from my cheek. “And you’re not going alone. I’ve made my decision. Where you go, I go.”

  I lift my head, wondering if he’s serious and why the change of heart.

  “This is your home.”

  “Home is just the place you happen to be. I’ll make a new one.”

  “But why?”

  He grins at me.

  “You’re a trouble magnet. You need someone to keep an eye on you.”

  With a shake of my head, I rest back against the pillows. “Be serious, Jazz. Your training, your work, they’re important to you. You can’t leave that behind just because I have a habit of getting myself into trouble and needing rescuing.”

  He reaches for my hand, takes it in his, and just holds it, watching my face.

  “I knew I had feelings for you, Indy. But it wasn’t until I saw you on the ground, in a pool of blood, your face so pale I thought you had to be dead, that I realized the strength of those feelings. Home, for me, is where you are. From now on, I go where you go.”

  “You’re crazy.”

  I rub my free hand idly across my throat, feeling the phantom trickle of blood. It’ll be a while before that particular sense-memory fades.

  “It’s been said,” Jazz retorts easily. “Besides, I’m half-shifter. Lunacy is in my nature.”

  I swat weakly at his arm, a wave of tiredness overtaking me.

  “Here.” He helps me lie down properly. “You need to rest. Healer’s orders.”

  “You’ll tell Ben I want to talk to him? You won’t let him avoid me, right? Even if he saw me die, he saved my life. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?”

  Jazz strokes my forehead again.

  “Yes, it means something. It means a hell of a lot. Ben has finally found his caster power. Healing is rare, Indy. And it’s prized. But it often comes at a cost.”

  “Like seeing death?”

  “What a trade-off, huh? The ability to heal any injury or ailment, big or small, but you’ll always be taunted by the fact that, in the end, death will take them.”

  “Poetic,” I mumble softly. “And morbid.”

  “Hey, I can channel my inner goth from time to time.”

  “I don’t want morbid right now. I want sunshine and rainbows and fairy tales with happy endings.”

  “Once upon a time,” Jazz starts, taking my hand in his. “There was a beautiful princess who lived in a tower…”

  I’m asleep within minutes.

  22

  I find Jazz and Lynea by my bedside the next time I wake. The person I most want to see is conspicuous in their absence.

  “I need to see Ben.”

  Jazz takes one look at my determined face and gives a sharp nod.

  “Okay. But…”

  I don’t like how ominous that one word sounds.

  “But what?”

  “Ben hasn’t woken up yet,” Lynea explains.

  I sit up, brushing my hair out of my eyes. “Right. I guess healing me must have taken a lot out of him?”

  “Yeah.” Jazz’s eyes stray to Lynea and back to me, and I know I’m not getting the full story.

  “Is he okay?”

  “He hasn’t woken up,” Jazz repeats.

  “Yeah, Lynea said that. Wait, how long has he been out for?” The light outside my window is bright once more, and I really, really need to pee.

  “Almost two days now.” Jazz’s face says it all.

  “Is that normal when you bring someone back from the brink of death?” I’m really hoping they say yes.

  “It’s normal to need some recovery time,” Lynea assures me. “But it is not normal to be unconscious for so long. It’s clear that Ben isn’t sleeping. His comatose state is something more.”

  “I need to see him.” It’s Lynea I’m asking, but Jazz who answers.

  “He’s expecting some visitors soon. Once they’re gone, we’ll bring you to him.”

  “Who? Another healer?”

  “A healer attended Ben this morning, but he wasn’t able to do anything. This isn’t a physical injury that can be healed.” Lynea’s even tone isn’t enough to calm me.

  “Then what? What’s wrong with him?”

  Is this because of me? Did I do this?

  “We don’t know, Indy.” Jazz sits down next to me on the bed and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

  “Ben’s father and uncle are coming to see him,” Lynea explains. “Archer asked them.”

  “Because if this isn’t something physical, then it’s something magical, right? Something to do with his visions?”

  “Maybe,” Jazz hedges. “It can’t hurt to explore every avenue, right?”

  When I give him a closer look, I see he’s exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his lank curls stuck to his forehead.

  I lean closer, resting my head against his shoulder.

  “He’ll be okay.” I try to sound more confident than I feel.

  “You should get up and about,” Lynea tells me. “The sooner you’re back on your feet, the better.”

  I glance down at myself. Someone’s changed my clothes, and there was a valiant attempt to wash the river of blood from my skin, but I can still see small streaks here and there.

  “A shower sounds good.” I look at Jazz as I say it. I don’t want to be left alone.

  “Ditto for me,” he says tiredly, pushing off the bed and helping me to my feet.

  “You can see Ben once his family has left,” Lynea calls after us.

  “Where’s Archer?” I ask as Jazz wraps his arm around my waist and guides me out into the corridor. We’re down on the first floor, toward the back of the building.

  “He’s been in and out, checking on both you and Ben, and dealing with all the rest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry or so worried.”

  I bet Archer’s wishing he got rid of me days ago. Ben was right. All I’ve done since I got here is cause trouble for everyone else.

  As we walk down the corridor to the stairs, Peter appears ahead of us, leading two men I’ve never seen before. Jazz’s arm tenses around me, but he doesn’t slow down. We reach the turn for the stairs before Peter and his guests reach us, and I’m relieved to be out from under the gaze of the strangers.

  “Is that her?” I hear a voice ask as they pass the entrance to the stairs.

  I don’t hear Peter’s reply, but I glance at Jazz. “Were they Ben’s father and uncle?”

  “Yeah,” he confirms quietly.

  We reach the second floor. As we’re about to part ways, me for my room upstairs and Jazz for the communal bathroom, I hesitate.

  “I really don’t feel like being alone right now. Would you mind showering upstairs? We can take turns in the bathroom.”

  The look Jazz gives me is brimming with understa
nding and… relief. “Of course. Let me grab a towel and a change of clothes.”

  I hang around the door to his room as he pulls clothes from a dresser. His room is about as messy as I’d pictured it, and the thought makes me smile.

  “What?” he asks when he catches me.

  “I knew you weren’t a neat freak.”

  He laughs. “If you think this is bad, you should see Ben’s room.”

  “Ben is neat. Have you seen his handwriting?”

  Jazz’s grin deepens. “When I show you the black hole that is his bedroom, it’ll blow your mind.”

  We both sober at that, and I glance away, trying not to think of just what’s happening to Ben’s mind right now.

  Jazz’s hand presses against my shoulder a moment later. “Come on, there’s a shower calling our name.”

  We climb my stairs, Jazz sticking so close, I can feel the warmth of his body right behind me. I pause as we step inside, wondering what to do next.

  “You go first.” He gestures to the en suite door. “I’ll stand guard.”

  “You should lie down and try to get some sleep.” He looks exhausted.

  “There’ll be time for sleep later,” he promises.

  I grab what I need and head into the bathroom, relieved that Jazz is only a few feet away. As I’m washing my hands at the sink, I spare the mirror a quick glance. The only eyes I see are my own, my glamours firmly back in place. Figures, seeing as I nearly met my death in what everyone assured me was a safe place.

  Moving away from the sink, I turn on the shower and start to strip out of my clothes. My T-shirt comes first, and I’m not wearing a bra under it. Clearly someone—Lynea, maybe?—had dressed me after they cleaned me up. I push my sweatpants and panties down to the floor and step out of them. There are only a few traces of blood across my skin.

  I turn and glance in the mirror, and a scream works its way from my throat at the cascade of blood flooding from my neck down my body.

  The door bursts open as Jazz rushes into the room. I clamp my mouth shut, silencing my scream with a sob and shutting my eyes.