by Elise Faber
Le sigh.
But she digressed.
She was putting her pride aside and ignoring her ego to focus on what was important. She needed to learn the basics, and that began at primary—or elemental—magic. The first tier of magic involved manipulating a single element—earth, wind, water, or fire.
Not that she seemed to be showing an iota of aptitude for controlling anything.
Six-year-old Daniel was better at it than her, and his powers had only manifested mere weeks before.
There was a swell of noise—kids hurrying to get their last bit of conversation in before instruction began—and Gabby shifted her gaze from the boys to the trees. Francis emerged from the shadowed path and walked toward them.
He wore jeans and a pale blue sweater, and his shiny black boots gleamed in the sunlight. His hair was an ashy blond laced with patches of gray at his temples.
Francis appeared to be about sixty human years but was probably ten times that, and though he’d been a patient teacher, Gabby knew she was getting on his nerves. She wasn’t progressing, and younger students were flying past her at regular intervals.
Gabby knew why.
She just hadn’t mustered the strength yet to take the leap and move beyond the fear.
If that leap went wrong and someone found out the truth about her past, everything she’d worked to establish could disappear in a heartbeat.
Part of her felt that because Francis was the oldest Rengalla by far—rumor had it he’d rubbed elbows with da Vinci—there wasn’t anything she could tell him that would shock him.
The rest of her was too afraid.
“Hello, children,” he said then added with a smile, “And Gabby.”
“Hello, professor,” they all dutifully replied back.
“Last week we began working on air. Today we will continue the lesson. Pair up and practice conjuring small spheres of air. Go.” He waited until they’d rearranged themselves into groups of two before he spoke again. “Remember to keep the balls small—control is very important. Now practice gathering your magic in your mind and releasing it. Then when you’re ready, your partner will try to push the sphere out of your grasp.” He moved among them as he spoke. “Your task is to keep it in place.”
Gabby glanced at her partner, seven-year-old Sabrina, and smiled. “You want to go first, Brina?” she asked.
Sabrina shook her head.
Gabby felt her stomach clench, just the slightest bit. Sabrina was shy, almost painfully so, but she was smart and by far the most talented student in the class. Unfortunately, Brina got so nervous when Francis or her other classmates came near, that no one besides Gabby knew that.
For whatever reason, Sabrina was comfortable around Gabby.
Probably because Gabby was so consistently terrible.
With a mental shake, she forced herself to focus. One deep breath before she closed her eyes and called on her magic—it was ever ready, a small knot of tangled strands in her mind, the pale brown color that matched her eyes exactly, just like every other Rengalla.
Just like Mason, with his beautiful hazel eyes, the strands of his green and gold and brown magic layered together to mimic the gorgeous irises she’d stared at far too often.
Brina shifted and Gabby blinked again, forced herself to focus again.
Mason didn’t need to live in her mind every second, even if she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him—
Enough.
Remembering her loss of control during the Post-It explosion earlier in the week, she carefully—oh so carefully—pulled forth a slender thread of power. It crawled out of her mind, slid down her spine and arms, and burst from her palms in tiny sparks.
Since she was concentrating on air and not her natural affinity for water, Gabby struggled to only call upon the air around them. It wasn’t an entirely simple task—the filtering out of water and dirt particles in order to just corral the atmospheric gases—but she managed.
She was sweating like a pig, but she managed.
But the rules of magic were with her, or at least one of the first directives she’d learned—like called to like. So as soon as Gabby managed to filter out the water and dirt and had a pure ball of air formed, other gases were attracted to the small sphere.
Soon enough she had a palm-sized ball of gas.
But this was the part that was tricky. She had to stop the flow of those gases and keep her little globe of air contained. To not let it grow and get out of control.
That was what had gone so wrong a few days before.
During the Post-It incident, her sphere had rapidly sucked in the surrounding gases and because she was a novice, still learning how to turn her powers on and off, it had only taken a heartbeat for her power to spiral out of control. Still, she was getting at the whole control thing, especially with her natural element of water.
Air, not so much.
But she struggled onward and forward.
Someday this would all get easier.
Or at least that was what she kept telling herself.
“All, right,” she said as soon as she was able. “I’m ready.” At the rate the small bit of magic was zapping her strength, her powers would be depleted in minutes.
“Okay,” Brina said. “I’ll push your ball.”
Gabby nodded and braced herself as the chocolate brown thread of Sabrina’s powers slid toward her.
It floated closer.
And closer still.
The moment the Brina’s magic made contact with hers, every bit of control Gabby had managed to wrestle disappeared in an instant and she lost hold of the sphere.
Pop!
The ball of her power unraveled with a sudden burst of air, loud enough to freeze everyone in place.
“Sorry,” Gabby said, her eyes watering from the abrupt gust. Poor Sabrina’s hair looked like it had gotten stuck in a blender, her wild curls even crazier than normal because of Gabby’s ineptness.
“That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen,” Robert, a toe-headed five-year-old said from behind them. Awe made his voice pitch across the clearing and every pair of eyes in the large space turned toward them.
Gabby felt her cheeks go pink—hell, they didn’t just go pink, rather they turned a shade of rip-roaring, raging, fire engine red.
Francis walked over, and it was the first time that she had ever seen irritation in his expression. That was directed at her—
Shit.
“I’m sorry—” she began.
“Come with me.” He turned to the class. “Children continue. Sabrina, join Robert’s group.”
As she followed Francis to the edge of the clearing, Gabby’s heart plummeted down to her toes, her legs shook. This was the moment he would find out. This was when she would lose everything.
He stopped.
She steeled herself and mirrored the movement.
Francis’ eyes locked onto hers as silence stretched between them, and Gabby found herself unable to look away. She’d always thought that the pale blue, the same color as the summer sky, was beautiful. But directed at her, piercing straight into her soul, all traces of kindness and understanding having withered away—
That was completely different.
After a long moment, she spoke. “I’ll go.”
A flash of disappointment crossed his face and the sigh that slipped between his lips was a long hiss. “I think that’s for the best. Until you learn control, you’ll need to train with those who can protect themselves if something goes wrong.” He grimaced. “When I think about what could have just happened—”
Abruptly everything seemed so much worse. “What could have happened?”
Francis gaze was steady, but she read the truth in his expression.
“I could have hurt someone?” she asked, eyes burning. She could have hurt Sabrina? Sweet, innocent Sabrina? Or Robert? Or Daniel?
Compassion made an appearance on Francis’ face. And it made everything so much worse. She didn’t want F
rancis to pity her. She wanted to be like everyone else. But there was empathy in those blue depths, he didn’t mince words. “You hit Sabrina in the head, dear. If the impact had been stronger or more direct, it could have caused brain damage.”
“Oh God.” Bile burned the back of her throat and one hand came up to cover her mouth. She bit down on her tongue hard. It was so much worse than Post-Its or making Sabrina’s curls even crazier.
The fact that she could have hurt someone. Just like—
A hand touched her shoulder. It was daylight and the soft rustling of trees, the occasional chirp of a bird surrounded her.
It was vastly different than the events that haunted her memories. But she still jumped. Still, her heart rate still shot into the stratosphere and sweat coated her body.
Francis immediately stepped back. It became easier to breath.
“Forgive me,” he said. After a moment he continued, “I know it wasn’t intentional, dear, and you must understand that I only have your best interests in mind. I wish you would consider the private lessons—”
“I won’t take up any more of your time,” she broke in. When it looked as though Francis would protest, she added, “I’ll consider the lessons. Really. I will.”
His expression went stern and Gabby wondered if he’d so easily seen through her blatant lie. It appeared so.
“You’ll—”
“I’ll train her.”
Mason’s voice penetrated the tree line and Gabby had two distinct thoughts—
How long had he been standing there? How much had he seen?
The pitying expression told her enough. He’d seen everything.
More shame. So much fucking shame. Five-year-olds could control their magic better than her, were infinitely more skilled. It had been bad to screw up in front of the class. Worse to be singled out by Francis. Worse still that she might have injured that innocent little child.
But even multiplying that shame and humiliation by a thousand wouldn’t encapsulate the disgust that filled her in that moment at seeing Mason walk from the trees after having born witness to the multitude of her mistakes—
“Excuse me,” she managed to croak out. Then she did what she did best.
She ran.
Six
Mason
He watched Gabby’s face fall, her cheeks go bright pink, and those pretty brown eyes locked with his for a split second before she whirled away and all but sprinted for the tree line. Fuck.
Because that glimpse had showed him enough.
She was hurting.
Fuck, again. Mason had been married to Victoria long enough to know he’d bungled something. Unfortunately, he just didn’t know what it was. His gaze flicked to Francis, and he raised a brow.
“Ah. To be so young,” Francis said lightly, but there was concern in the professor’s eyes.
“I’m not that young,” Mason replied. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked into the silence that fell.
“That I’m not so sure of.” Francis glanced toward the clearing where the kids were chattering. “Daniel,” he called, “keep the sphere smaller.” His stare returned to Mason. “She’s got a large reservoir of power, but she’s too tentative. Too jerky. It makes her dangerous in the way a new recruit is when first learning how to handle a grenade.”
Having spent several hundred years with the man in front of him, Mason understood the seemingly obscure connection. “She pulls the pin too soon and threatens to blow up everything around her?”
“Exactly.”
“Damn.”
There was a beat of silence before Francis spoke again. “I don’t think it’s a bad idea for you to teach her. I’ve wanted to study with her privately for a while now, but she’s resistant. Perhaps you can convince her otherwise.”
“I don’t know why she would listen to me.”
“I don’t know why she wouldn’t,” Francis said. “You can be very charming. When you try, that is.”
Mason scowled. “I think I should be offended.”
Francis’ eyes glimmered with amusement. It was a side of the teacher that the others didn’t often see. But Mason knew that the older Rengalla had a wicked sense of humor. Though that humor wouldn’t be driving him in this mess with Gabby. Francis was compassionate to his marrow, and it was easy enough to see he was concerned.
“I’ll help her,” Mason promised, the words an unwilling, but necessary responsibility.
Francis had been there, had pulled him from the darkness after Victoria’s death at the hands of the Dalshie. He’d do anything for the other man.
Damn. Sometimes he really hated having ties to the people around him.
“Don’t wear that martyred expression,” Francis told him. “She’s a pretty woman who needs your help. Play the rescuer.” A nudge of Mason’s shoulder. “Live a little. Have some fun.”
The cavalier way with which Francis spoke made the old anger rage, the full force of what he’d lost flooding Mason’s mind. It was only the massive amount of respect he held for the older man that stopped Mason from snapping out a retort he would no doubt regret later.
Francis tilted his head, his eyes no longer amused. They’d paled, were lined with sadness, with sympathy that threatened to crack the ice around Mason’s heart.
“No fun then,” Francis murmured. “Just do your best.” He was quiet for a moment. “You deserve your best effort.”
With that cryptic statement, Francis turned back to the class, leaving Mason struggling for the cool dispassion that had served him so well the last decades.
It several minutes for him to find it.
Then he turned and continued in the same direction as Gabby.
Very little effort was required to track her down. Besides the obvious trail of footprints and broken plants, Mason felt a sort of instinctual draw toward her. In fact, that draw was strong enough that he had the uncomfortable thought that if he’d closed his eyes and focused on Gabby, on her silky blonde hair, her pale brown eyes, on her slightly tart lemon and lavender scent, he could teleport to her in moments.
But he didn’t take advantage of that instinct, wasn’t willing to tempt fate or admit even to his own brain that there was some sort of connection between them.
Because it was wrong.
Any ounce of attraction to another woman disrespected his wife, blurred the memory of his son. Jacob had only been four years old—
The soft sound of sobs broke through the barbed remembrance slashing across his mind, made his heart throb at the wrenching noise. There was so much pain in those tears, so much more than just a simple failed assignment.
It reminded him again that he didn’t know anything about Gabby.
She’d only been at the Colony for half a year, brought here after John had found her on one of his missions to seek out and destroy the Dalshie. Maybe it made him an asshole, but Mason had never bothered with the details before, not with so many of their number retreating to the Rengalla’s home base over the last months, but he’d finally read the report the previous evening.
Her father had died, and Gabby had been held captive for several months before managing to contact the Colony.
She was lucky, really.
Sometimes the Rengalla who lived off the grid simply disappeared. Sometimes they had no way to contact the Colony if they got into trouble. And while John and his team did their best to keep track of those who didn’t stay at the Colony, there were always a few Rengalla who slipped through the cracks. Especially those like Gabby, whose parents moved so often that the file of their previous addresses was at least ten pages long.
Still, Gabby was one of the fortunate ones. She’d been able to contact John, been able to seek out help from her fellow Rengalla. They weren’t a large people, but there was strength in living with one another, in laughing and loving together.
Strong. Lucky. Fortunate.
Somehow he doubted very much that she was feeling any of those things at the moment.
; Carefully, he pushed through the bushes dotting the sides of the trail and sat down next to her. She hadn’t gone far, had merely slipped between some of the freshly planted underbrush and collapsed.
At his movement, she glanced up.
Her tear-streaked cheeks, her reddened and puffy eyes were a bullet to his gut.
He flinched back, trying to ignore the sharp jab of remorse as her face fell.
“I’m okay,” she said, voice hoarse. “Just go about y-your day.” With that, she turned away, her hands coming up to cover her cheeks. The sobs were quieter as she rose to her feet, but no less destructive to his resolve. Leaves rustled as she pushed through the brush, her shoulders stiff, her gait unsteady.
“Gabby.”
He stood and followed her, witnessed the terse shake of her head.
“Leave me alone.” She moved faster, headed for the exit.
Irritation welled through him, because he seriously hated it when people ran from their problems. Why couldn’t she just be reasonable and deal with this? Or shove it down, lock it up, and throw away the key like he had?
“Gab—”
“Just go!” she shouted.
“Dammit,” he growled, losing the final thread on his temper and teleporting across the distance she’d gained. He grabbed her arm. “Just stop.”
His tone made her jump, but it was his touch that made her cringe.
Unlike their interaction in the infirmary, he released her immediately.
She stumbled backward then tripped and landed on her butt, horror taking the place of his anger. She’d been through a trauma. She needed understanding, not him growling at her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, extending a hand to help her up.
She cringed and he drew back his hand, not wanting to make things worse, not when he’d already bungled them to hell and back. Something very much like regret— no, guilt—swelled within him. It was an uncomfortable, unfamiliar feeling, especially when his emotions had been locked down for so many years.
But he found that he couldn’t concentrate on the whirlwind in his mind, not when embarrassment and shame was whipping across Gabby’s face.
