by Ella M. Lee
“Not magic,” he said. “Our friendly neighborhood poison. Technically, we would call it an ‘ascender virus’ in Smoke, and Smoke is its origin. Hell, its creator called it that right in the tag.”
I turned to him, wide-eyed. “You know who created it?”
He smiled. “In a sense. I’ll explain.”
He held the pane with his left hand. With his right hand, he swiped his fingers across it, trailing magic over the glass. He then picked up a small device that looked like a spyglass, with a long body that could collapse into itself. It was fully extended to a length of about five inches.
“Look through this,” he instructed.
I leaned in, closing one eye. There was no need to ask what I was looking for. The pane was covered in letters and numbers, the same string layered on top of itself over and over again. It read: LIRIVCT1ASCVKT20171103.
“Do you see it?” Nicolas asked.
“Yes. What does it mean?”
He picked up his tablet. “L-I-R-I-V is the creator’s short name. Neither Jazz nor I recognize it, but we have requests out to Smoke for that information. C-T-1-A-S-C-V tells me that it’s a Category 1 ascender virus, a type of magical ‘virus’ that can only affect other magic. All ascender viruses either bind to magic, multiply and clobber magic, or consume magic. K-T is the lab of creation, located in Mongolia, according to Jazz. The last part is the date, created in November of 2017.”
“What was your short name in Smoke?” I asked, studying the letters through the spyglass.
He gave me a curious look. “N-D-E-M-A. I have many tags out there, mostly for very boring things. I didn’t create any viruses, for instance. Destruction wasn’t my specialty; I was more interested in magical creation and enhancement.”
“How hard was it to figure this out?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Harder than it needed to be, but still possible. There is a special compound used for revealing tags. I could have reached out to Smoke in order to obtain it, but you can imagine why I was reluctant to do so. I asked Jasmine to synthesize it instead. Once we had that, it was easy. Smoke tags aren’t meant to be incomprehensible. The truly classified things are made without tags. I have many untagged things out there too.”
I frowned. “So… it means something that this was still tagged. Why would someone use it in an assassination attempt if it could be traced back to the originator?”
He pursed his lips, wiping his magic off the pane.
“It could mean a number of things,” he said. “If this was purchased from Smoke, it might simply mean the purchaser didn’t pay enough to have the tag removed. Smoke magicians are vain; they don’t want others to be able to take credit for their work. Tags are a form of protection.”
“But why would the creator want to be associated with an assassination attempt?” I asked.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he said, shaking his head. “If a gun was used to kill someone you love, do you accuse the gun manufacturer of murder? No. This virus is a tool. It doesn’t matter who created it; it matters who used it.”
That made sense. “So we don’t care who the creator is?”
“I don’t have any particular interest in the creator. My primary objective was to ascertain whether this originated from Smoke. It did. That could mean several things—the most alarming would be if someone in Smoke was collaborating with Derek and Meteor against me.”
“Do you think that’s likely?” I asked.
“It’s certainly possible. Many people within Smoke dislike me. There are reasons for people or groups within the clan to target me or render assistance to someone trying to get rid of me.”
I must have looked very alarmed, because he took my hand. Things will be all right, lamb. I promise.
I nodded. Will you come to bed now?
Nicolas clapped his hands once, and the conversation between Jasmine, Ryan, and Cameron died.
“Let’s put the samples back in stasis and lock the lab,” he said. “We’ll wait on initial responses out of Smoke. I have other channels I can use if these are too slow.”
I stood back as Nicolas and Cameron quickly cleared the table of various panes of glass, handing them to Ryan and Jasmine, who put them into our magical stasis lockers. When they were done, everyone dumped their gloves into a big metal bowl on the far workbench, and Ryan lit them on fire.
All of them looked haggard and tired. Cameron, who normally had bags under his eyes, had even darker shadows than usual. Jasmine’s hair was coming loose from its messy bun, trailing down her back. Ryan had removed his suit jacket—a rarity for him—and was only just pulling it back on.
“Until morning?” Jasmine asked.
She pulled her sweater on over her tank top, but not before I caught glimpses of a tattoo patterned like stylized waves ringing both her forearms.
“Yes, we’ll see what information we’ve received by then,” Nicolas said.
“Want to get drinks?” Ryan asked.
Nicolas glanced at me. I thought he was asking permission, but before I could even get out a word, he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I’d rather go home.”
“See you tomorrow,” Jasmine said. “I owe my brother some quality time.”
She hugged Nicolas briefly, and I was proud that I didn’t even feel so much as a pang of jealousy. I trusted Nicolas’s words from earlier, and it occurred to me as I watched them that I should be glad Nicolas had a friend. He had so few people he felt comfortable with—who was I to ruin that for him? Part of the reason I loved him was his strength and resiliency, and I knew he possessed that due to the people in his life.
Ryan, Jasmine, and Cameron filed out of the room, chatting amiably. Ryan put his phone to his ear, and I imagined he was calling some of the others to join them.
“You don’t want to go with them?” I asked Nicolas.
“I want to be with you,” he said.
I frowned. “Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry. Let’s go home.”
The two of us were silent on the way back up to the thirty-sixth floor. Nicolas took my hand the moment we were back on the floor and pulled me through his apartment door. He didn’t turn on the lights; he merely kissed me deeply before sweeping me up and carrying me into the bedroom. I was obsessed with how he handled me—he was careful to never hurt me while still being passionate enough to convey excitement in his affectionate touch.
“Nicolas!” I gasped as he dumped me on the bed and covered my body with his, pressing against me.
“Mon Dieu, I love you,” he murmured, brushing his hands over me. “I am dying to show you how much.”
My hands crept under his shirt to feel his hot skin. I grasped the hem of the fabric and pulled it over his head, wanting more of him.
I could just barely make out his features in the dark bedroom. My breath caught as he ran a hand up over his face and through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. How did I have the most gorgeous boyfriend in the world? He closed his eyes as I brought my fingers up to touch his nose and fine cheekbones, memorizing him again—his smooth skin, the sharp line of his jaw, his full lips. I pulled him to me, running my hands over his back.
“Can I get a tattoo like yours?” I said, imagining the glorious ink on his shoulders beneath my hands.
He smiled. “You want a dragon on your back?”
“Not a dragon,” I amended. “But something. All of you have tattoos. I feel left out.”
Nicolas had his dragon—elegant, half in flight, strong and powerful, just like him. Daniel had gorgeous art and poetry across his chest. Ryan had several tattoos, including rings of wild vines around his forearms. Teng had a geometric design and several Chinese characters on his neck that were usually hidden by his long hair, in addition to his phoenix. I knew the others possessed things I had yet to see inked on their skin.
“I wouldn’t jump into it. It’s permanent, after all,” he said. “I happen to like your perfectly milky, unblemished skin. In fact, I think I need to
examine every inch of it again and again before you make changes.”
His words melted me. “Please.”
“May I start now?” he asked me softly.
“Please,” I said again.
He smiled, his lips meeting mine possessively. I thought things between us might be weird after I had kissed Daniel, but they weren’t. If Nicolas felt any awkwardness or resentment, he hadn’t shown it for even a moment. He understood that what had happened had been an unanticipated mistake, partially outside of our control. Magic was a stronger force than any human.
Love was a force stronger than any human too. I loved Nicolas with every molecule of my body. Every inch of him excited me in ways I had never experienced before—that hadn’t changed in the slightest.
In agonizingly slow motions that left me gasping for air, he stripped off my clothes. I shivered as he slipped his hand across my skin and beneath my underwear. I trembled in anticipation as he made delicious circles on the most sensitive parts of me, imagining him in me, filling me. We fit perfectly together, and him moving inside me was exhilarating.
“I’m feeling overeager for you tonight,” he murmured, kicking off his jeans.
“I’m yours,” I replied, barely able to think as he touched me gently.
I will never get sick of hearing that, he said, his husky tone rich in my mind.
I pulled at the hem of his underwear, sliding it off him, feeling how warm he was underneath. Nicolas was always warm; it was my favorite thing about him. I ran my hands over him, and his breathing turned ragged.
“I need to be inside you,” he said. His eyes met mine for a moment, smoldering. “Please, lamb?”
My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. With both hands, I drew him into me. His movements were still agonizingly slow, and I watched every second of the pleasure on his face with delight.
He groaned softly as he buried himself in me, his lips meeting mine emphatically. He sped up until he found the exact rhythm that he knew undid me. It was so easy for him to finish me; he hardly had to try. I fell apart in his grasp as I came, blind to anything except the sheer pleasure of release spiraling across me.
I barely noticed Nicolas finish, shuddering and uncoiling against me. He panted into my skin as I held him. I loved these rare moments when he was completely pleased and vulnerable. I loved that I had so much of his trust that he could relax with me.
“Fiona,” he whispered. He shifted, pulling me into his embrace.
“Nicolas,” I said, equally softly.
“You never call me Nico,” he mused.
“I don’t like it. I like your full name. It’s perfect for you. Shortening it does it a disservice. I would never cheapen you like that.”
He let out an amused breath. “That’s kind of you to say. No one has ever said anything like that to me before.”
“Being with someone as amazing as you, I constantly have to come up with ways to impress,” I said. “You never call me Fi. Why not?”
“Oh, because that’s Daniel’s name for you,” he said.
That response surprised me. “Really? But plenty of people in my life have called me Fi.”
“Not here, though,” he said. “I would never step on that part of your relationship.”
“You can call me Fi,” I said.
“All right. Fi,” he tried.
I wrinkled my nose. I had to admit, the short syllable sounded strange coming from him. I was very used to hearing it in Daniel’s smooth voice, or occasionally in Keisha’s high, excited squeal.
“No, I don’t think so,” Nicolas said, kissing my nose playfully. “Fiona.”
I smiled, pressing myself into him. I was so glad that our relationship had managed to survive all the turmoil it had been subjected to lately—first Daniel, then our argument over Nicolas’s past, and finally his capture and near-death experience. I didn’t know what it meant that we were so able to bend under stress without breaking, except that maybe it proved we belonged together.
He held my hands tightly. Lamb, he said, I am so grateful for you. I love you more than words can say. I’m still in shock that you are willing to give me a chance. Typical relationships would be over instantly because of what I am.
When has clan life ever been described as typical? I thought. I’m not typical. We aren’t typical. I just can’t stay away from you.
He sighed against me. His eyes met mine for a moment and then closed. I was prepared for you to leave me. You didn’t.
I figured my life is too scary and short to so easily give away the things I want, I said. But after this week, I’m thinking it’s your life that’s too short.
Any amount of time with you is too short, he said.
That’s an amazingly cheesy line, but I’ll take it, I said, amused. Nicolas’s moments of clichéd romanticism secretly warmed my heart.
I fell asleep with him wrapped around me, our legs entwined, his warmth and magic comforting me.
Nicolas was gone when I awoke. That wasn’t unusual; he needed less sleep than I did, and he liked to work out in the early mornings. He had an extensive exercise routine that involved yoga, core and balance exercises, strength training, and a lot of cardio. He was an excellent fighter who often trained with Sylvio—his lieutenant and the group’s combat specialist—and he was as flexible as a dancer.
Daniel was all speed, and Sylvio was all strength, but Nicolas liked to maintain a balance in his style. He was more than capable of holding his own against most opponents, and he had the added benefit of commander-level magic at his disposal when he needed more power.
I was a good fighter, but not as good as Nicolas. I didn’t have his decades of experience in clans. He was forty-five years old and had spent more than half his life as a magician. I was thirty years old, with not much more than five years in this world. I still had a lot to learn compared to him and most of his group members.
As much as I wanted to laze around in bed remembering the previous night, I had work to do. I checked my phone. There was a string of messages I needed to answer, but the message that caught my eye first was Nicolas’s.
Love you, lamb. I intend to make tonight even better than last night.
My breath caught and my heart ratcheted up a notch. I wrote back, smiling the whole time.
It’s a date. :)
Nicolas was painfully romantic, and I loved every second of it. He tried so hard in this relationship, and I owed him the same amount of attention.
Once I was back in my apartment, showered and dressed for the day, I pulled out the box that contained his journal. I ran my hands over the worn leather several times before I could make myself open it.
An hour later, I was in tears.
I had read what I could of his writing. The entries were all short, a strange and staccato stream-of-consciousness style that was hard for me to imagine Nicolas using. At least a quarter of the text was in either French or Chinese, completely incomprehensible to me. I skipped those sections. It didn’t really matter; there wasn’t a narrative, just jumbled feelings and anecdotes.
The journal was hard to get through. These words had none of his current confidence and calm. Instead, the Nicolas of fifteen years ago was hopeless, depressed, and looking for an escape. He had been happy to accept his captivity and torture as punishment for his research in Smoke—research that had often killed innocent people.
My chest ached to see him hate himself so much, to think himself so unworthy of living, to believe himself so far removed from humanity. His words were full of raw emotion that I didn’t generally see from him these days.
As the journal progressed, it was a small pleasure to see him come to an understanding about himself, to turn his new abilities into strengths that helped him rise through Water Clan. I understood more about his relationship with Ryan, whom he often called “brother,” even though they weren’t related by blood, and more about the balance he maintained to get where he was today.
It was probably
rare to witness real change within a person, but Nicolas hadn’t lied to me the previous week when he told me he’d changed from who he had been in Smoke. I had the proof right in front of me.
I stood before my bathroom mirror with a cold towel pressed against my face while I waited for my emotions to settle. I would need to reread the journal. I would need to ask him questions. But that could all come later—after we figured out the bigger issues currently plaguing our lives.
I sent Nicolas a message, unsure of where he was or what he was doing.
I wanted to let you know that I read your journal. The parts I could understand, anyway. I love you and I don’t want you to worry about us. This changes nothing. I have questions, and there will be plenty of time for them later, I promise.
He didn’t respond, but that was fine. He was extremely busy, and I was, too. I had a dozen messages from Daniel, all commanding me to do various tasks or talk to various people. I had no idea where he was, either, but he would track me down if he needed me.
I cast one longing look toward the comfort of my bed before sighing and bending down to tie my shoes.
Chapter 4
“Fiona?”
I was in the middle of moving cases of water from the storage closet on our floor into Nicolas’s apartment. Nicolas normally did this himself once a week, but I didn’t want him to worry about minutiae when he was busy with actual problems.
It took me a moment to recognize the speaker as Jasmine.
I popped my head into the hall and saw her walking toward me from Ryan’s apartment. She smiled and waved, and I once again felt the tiniest stab of jealousy. Jasmine really was beautiful, with her bronzed skin and sparkling eyes. She was taller and thinner than me, and poshly turned out in skinny jeans and an oversized cream-colored blouse.
“What’s up?” I asked.
