“They’ll have someone watching the house,” I said, resurrecting the argument we’d had climbing into the car. “Or they will, if they’re alive.”
“Which is why I’m grabbing stuff, not you,” Jaesung said. He put a hand out, waving me lower in the seat. “Might need to get on the floor in case they’re up high.”
“That sounds easy and not painful at all.” I unbuckled and shifted forward. The scabs forming on my legs cracked, bleeding into the lumps of lambs wool taped across my thighs. The floor was wet with melted slush from my boots, and it soaked through my leggings in cold splotches.
I wrapped my arms around my knees and huddled in the coat. Jaesung’s legs stretched beside me, foot moving on the gas pedal. He hadn’t even changed out of his stupid, shiny shoes. For some reason, this set my eyes to burning.
I hadn’t touched him since telling him the truth—I’d left the question of contact up to him. This time, I couldn’t help it. I snuck a hand across the seat, putting it just above his knee. He didn’t pull away, and I could only hope that was tacit welcome. It was comforting just to confirm the existence of another person with touch.
His muscles flexed under my palm as we accelerated and slowed, until he pulled into a parking spot down the street from Ruff Patch. With a low, “be right back,” he slipped from the truck and locked the doors behind him.
I huddled in the footwell, out of sight, and tried not to listen to the whisper of my own thoughts in the silence.
Chicago. My only impression of it was wind, tracks, and concrete, plus the big station where I’d cried for Mom so many weeks ago. Jaesung planned to take me to the suburb where he’d grown up, since his mother was in Henard for the wedding. I could crash and recuperate, gather my resources and form a new plan. On the other hand, potentially leading the bounty hunters to Jaesung’s family was a stupid risk, and one I shouldn’t have been willing to take.
Shouldn’t, only here I was—doing nothing to stop it. I could have hot-wired the truck. It was an old fucker, and though I was now short one boxcutter, Jae kept a box of tools behind the seats.
I wanted him with me. I’d finally gotten too weak to deny it. The thought of facing the next days alone made me want to return to the farmhouse and toss myself onto that burning car, just to stop the ache.
Time crept by, and though I leaned my head into the seat, I didn’t dare let myself doze. I couldn’t afford to let sleep slow me down if we got attacked. But twenty minutes went by without Jaesung. Then thirty.
By forty minutes, he hadn’t answered the two texts I’d sent him. Either he was spending way too long picking out which boxers he wanted to bring, or something was wrong. Or maybe he was just calling the police to let them know there was a crazy, magic-wielding shapeshifter in his truck.
I unlocked the doors and slipped out, skulking through the shadows as well as my injuries allowed. My neck prickled, though I could no longer tell whether it was from cold or uneasiness.
I pushed open the office door and slipped inside.
A low, soft rumble vibrated in the dark—a growl. My hand went for the light. Panic shot up my spine as I bent my knees, prepped for another bounty hunter.
The light flooded on, earning a bark from one of the smaller dogs. Poo-stank growled in his kennel, standing over a dark-clad form, slumped against the bars.
Jaesung, gagged and handcuffed, shouted something muffled just in time.
A spell shot from the darkness.
I dropped into a crouch. My legs screamed. The sapphire mandala splashed against the wall and solidified into a net of energy, trapping a metal pencil-holder.
“I’ve got a proposition for you, sweetheart.”
The familiar voice only made me drop my guard a trifle.
Isaac stepped from the shadow of the stairs and into the disc of light pouring through the plexiglass circle above. His face had a long streak of blood across the jaw, and most of his left side appeared to have been recently on fire, but the gun leveled at my chest was steady.
“You usually do,” I said. “And I usually say no. But why not—let’s hear it.”
He didn’t look amused. In fact, his face was sourer than I’d ever seen it. “Heard you were skipping town. Thought I’d come along.”
“No.”
“Let me rephrase,” he said. “I’m coming along, or I’m explaining to Deepti that you used sanguimancy to kill those four rogues.”
My mouth went dry, but I could think of nothing to say to that.
“You know it leaves a residue,” he said. “It was all over that farmhouse.”
Poo-stank growled louder as I rose from my crouch. It was ten feet across to the first kennel, and only if I leapt straight over the examination tables. The likelihood of me getting to Jaesung before Isaac shot was slim to none.
“This doesn’t have to be another fight, Martin. You’ve got bigger problems than me. Gwydian is coming, and he won’t stop coming till you’re dead. You’re gonna have to face him, and your best weapon is in here.” He tapped his head. “Which means you need more spells and—if the state of that fire out in the county is any sign—control.”
“So Deepti sent you to babysit?”
“Call it what you want. You need my help. Especially if you’re taking Tinkerbell over there with you.”
Jaesung gave a slow, unimpressed blink.
I narrowed my eyes at Isaac. “Put away the gun and we’ll talk.”
He thought about it a moment, then stowed the weapon in a side-holster.
“You said I need more spells,” I said. “Are you going to show me?”
“I figure you ought to learn something that isn’t a fire-geyser.”
I gave him a wary look. “And you’re, what, expecting me to let you tag me first?”
Isaac rubbed at the ridge of his eye socket, heaving a sigh that was half growl. “We thought we’d have enough time for all that. Turns out we don’t. We can’t guarantee we’ll protect you from Gwydian. He’s pointed his whole network at you.”
Dread swooped in my belly. “That’s a lot of bounty hunters.”
“Yeah. And according to Guild Hunters spread out down the coast, your friends from the other night weren’t the only ones with a pet Hellhound.”
I winced, forcing the implications of that to the back of my mind. My pack couldn't be priority right now. I had to think about my own survival.
“So. You’re suggesting we skip town and go all master-apprentice until Gwydian catches up?”
Isaac shrugged, but his gaze slid sideways a fraction. I narrowed my eyes.
“That’s not why, is it? Ah.” I nodded, a bitter smile curving onto my lips. “I get it. Teaching me is a cover—that’s why you’re not worried about tagging me yet. I’m not the goal right now. I’m bait.”
Isaac watched me, arms crossed. He seemed to consider me, deciding what amount of truth would be just enough to placate me.
“I know how this works,” I said. I glanced at the kennel, where Jaesung had quieted Poo-stank and watched us with a sharp, suspicious look. “We leave them out of it, except for someone to keep them safe. I’ve dragged these guys into enough trouble. It stops now.”
Isaac sucked in air through his teeth. “Actually, we’re taking Tinkerbell with us. Insurance.”
“Like hell you are.” I tried to duck around the steel table, but the movement was too much for my weary legs. Isaac blocked me.
“Easy, Martin. Like you said—you know how this works,” he said. I kicked. Pain made me slow and the movement left me off balance. I wobbled, and Isaac caught me across the chest as I overbalanced forward.
I grunted, pain sparkling behind my eyes. Thin, cool fingers found the nape of my neck, traced a mandala there. I worked on my breathing, relatively certain the mandala he drew would heal, though it was hard to discern the exact glyphs.
Jaesung grunted something. His voice sounded worried. Not for himself, but for me. The idiot.
“I’m fine,” I whispered. A moment later, w
hen sapphire magic made a brilliant glow, silhouetting me and Isaac against the wall, it was almost true.
“I’m not the healer Mia was,” he said. I clenched my teeth at the past-tense. “But that’s got you a few days along—whoa, kid. Yeah. Forgot to mention it’ll take it out of you.”
My knees had given out. Isaac’s arm across my stomach was all that kept me upright. I shook all over, vision swimming, gut as empty and ravenous as a Hellhound. He lowered me to the concrete. I slumped back against the column.
The pain had faded. My face no longer throbbed, and the tightness of scabs across my thighs told me healing had begun there too.
I forced my head up. It took a lot of effort to open my eyes and glare at Isaac.
“You did that to weaken me.”
He smirked, and I knew I was right. Then he turned to the kennel, fishing a key ring from his coat pocket.
“Leave him out of it,” I said, voice tremulous with exhaustion. “I already said I’d go along with it.” An image had swum up in my mind. Dad, stepping into that enslavement circle because Gwydian had Mom and me. Would I go back to that life—or worse—if he had Jaesung at his mercy?
Then again, if Gwydian already knew about my friends, would they be safer left behind with a few Guild protectors, or with me, and the larger force of Sorcerers?
"Hel, don't." Jaesung must have gotten free of the gag. I tried to look up, but my head weighed a thousand pounds.
“It ain’t like she can argue with you right now, Sugar Plum,” Isaac said.
“Unlike some people, I care what she wants,” Jaesung said.
“Bitch is K.O. What’s she gonna do?”
“Call her a bitch again, bitch.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow and pointed back and forth between himself and Jaesung. “Which one of us is handcuffed in a dog pen?”
Jae had no witty response for that.
Isaac unlocked the kennel. Poo-stank had been leashed to the back, because he lunged at Isaac and came up short.
“Stanky, hey! Stank!” Jaesung said, and gave a sharp whistle. Poo-stank backed up, head low and ready for the attack. He still growled, shoving his furry body into Jaesung’s as if to herd him behind.
Jae stood, the chain connecting his cuffs rattled against the door. For the second time, he glared down at Isaac, contempt twitching his lip.
“S’matter, Tinkerbell?” Isaac said, unlocking the cuffs. He seemed unperturbed by the height disparity, and that Jaesung was making threats with his whole body. One cuff sprang open, and Jaesung freed himself from the kennel door, rubbing his wrist.
Isaac jerked his chin in my direction, and the next moment, Jaesung was there, long legs bent as he knelt in front of me. His hands went to my face, brushing back hair and checking injuries. My breath was coming short and fast as I fought to stay awake.
His thumb dragged across a lip that had been split five minutes ago.
“See?” Isaac said. “Didn’t hurt her. Now you can grab all that shit you packed and come on. You said Chicago, right?”
“Yeah,” Jaesung said. His dark eyes met mine, and I shook my head, trying one last time to warn him off. “We can’t go just yet, though.”
Isaac lifted his hands and dropped them in frustration. “What the fuck is it now?”
In one graceful movement, Jaesung stood, pivoted, and brought his fist across Isaac’s face.
The Sorcerer went down, twisting with the force of the hit. He landed on his hands and knees, conscious, and undoubtedly wishing he wasn’t. Jaesung shook out his hand, grimacing even as satisfaction rolled off him. “Now we can go.”
When he bent to slide an arm around my back, I clenched a fist in his shirt and tried for a smile. A flicker of a return smile ghosted his face.
I knew I should tell him to run, to leave while Isaac was down, not willingly come along as collateral. But the truth was, I wanted him with me.
He finally knew everything. He had proof I was a shape-shifter, a magic-user, and a fugitive from two separate groups of deadly Sorcerers. His whole world had changed in the past few hours, and still he pulled me against his side, supporting my unsteady shamble all the way back to the truck.
I couldn’t believe Jaesung wanted to stay with me, but he did, and that changed everything.
I slept almost the entire drive to Chicago. Wedged as I was between Jaesung and Isaac, it should have been more uncomfortable, but I was used to Jaesung's smooth driving, and his arm around me was the anchor I needed to feel calm. As much as I hated to admit it, Isaac's presence helped. He was grumpy, and likely disposed to letting Jaesung get singed were it to come to a magic battle, but I wouldn't have slept so soundly without someone there to keep an eye out for sanguimancers.
We stopped at a gas station in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, where Isaac forced two cokes and a rubbery breakfast burrito on me, followed by a bag of powdered donuts.
I don't remember how many I made it through before the tears leaked out, but the last several tasted like salt. Jaesung's hand rubbed my arm, hugging me to him as we pulled onto the highway again. I slept.
The next time we stopped, the world sounded different. The loud hum of highway and bright slash of passing headlights were absent. Instead, I opened my eyes to a garage door creaking open, and the muted sunlight of an overcast morning.
My throat was dry. I sat up, woozy and with a mouth that tasted like lambs wool. Isaac, one elbow pressed against the window, blinked heavily. Had he fallen asleep? It made sense—he'd fought too.
"Home sweet home," Jaesung said. He slid out of the driver's seat. I scooted over and waved off his help. I needed to show Isaac I could stand, even if doing so made me nauseated.
We climbed the small set of stairs into the laundry room of what turned out to be a tiny two-story townhouse. The kitchen and den were a single room, with just enough space for the standing piano where Jaesung's mother taught lessons.
Isaac lifted his eyebrows. "This place is too clean."
Jaesung shrugged, but I privately echoed the sentiment. There were fresh vacuum tracks in the carpet, and the pictures lined up on the back of the piano seemed to have been dusted recently.
Across the living room, I couldn't quite see the smaller pictures, but there was one of a younger Jaesung in a basketball uniform, and another of him as a kid, looking mischievous while wearing what I could only guess was a school uniform. The street behind him in that picture looked strange. There were wide, brick sidewalks lined with potted greenery at regular intervals, and far too many power lines criss-crossing above. Then I spotted the yellow and white symbols painted on the street behind him. They were in Korean.
It must have been a street in Seoul. The little uniform, with its plaid shorts and white-piped navy blazer, might have been the cutest thing I’d ever seen. It was weird to look at those pudgy cheeks and slightly evil grin and compare it to the lean, dark man beside me. He hadn’t worn glasses at that age. He was still wearing his contacts now. I missed his glasses.
Jaesung dropped his keys into a dish on the kitchen island and ran a hand backwards over his head. A pang of guilt stabbed my chest as I noted the dark shadows under his eyes. He’d been up for more than a day. After all the intensity of the wedding, then worrying and looking for me, having his understanding of reality shattered, and driving six or more hours from Henard to suburban Chicago. I bumped his arm with my shoulder. He wound it around me.
"You look like shit," I said.
"You're welcome," he replied, correctly interpreting my meaning.
Isaac popped his neck and drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna set wards. You got any salt?"
Jaesung stifled a yawn. "Like, table salt?"
"Sea salt works better, but table salt's fine."
"Cabinet over the stove. Knock yourself out."
Isaac grunted and went to the range. Jaesung turned his head toward me and mouthed, "Salt?" I shrugged. Salt-water worked to amplify magic, but I wasn't sure why, or how to explain
that to Jaesung.
He dragged me to a narrow set of carpeted stairs lined with more pictures. I caught flashes of family members and pictures of Jaesung in a variety of costumes and ballet poses. The most striking appeared to be a page from a magazine.
The photographer had caught him mid-leap against a black background, legs at full extension. He looked out along the line of one arm, with the other curved strong over his head.
He was shirtless and barefoot, the tights leaving no curve of muscle to the imagination. Even young, his legs were powerful, chest and shoulders only slightly thinner than they were now.
The bottom corner had a small caption that read: Jae Sung Park, 17 - Chicago High School for the Arts.
They'd photoshopped out his scars.
I didn't have time to dwell on the feelings that surfaced when I saw the smooth shoulders, the struggles they'd erased, or why I found it so offensive. He was continuing up the stairs ahead of me, drawn by the siren song of bed.
At the top of the stairs, he turned left, and opened the door into a tiny bedroom. I followed him in, taking in the neat twin bed with its gray and red comforter, the bookshelf that held basketball and track trophies wedged between sci-fi paperbacks. His desk was empty except for a picture frame and a small, potted cactus.
“You want a shower?”
His voice was startling in the quiet. I nodded. Being clean right now sounded like the best thing in the world. He motioned me down the hall to a small bathroom, pulled a towel from under the sink, and gestured to the tub. “Toothbrush and stuff is downstairs. I’m… gonna crash, I think.”
“Okay. Do you want me to…” I searched for the right way to ask where he expected me to sleep. “I mean, I don’t want to wake you up coming in.”
He shook his head, hand twitching dismissively. “It won't matter—I’ll either be dead to the world or freaking the fuck out, so just come in when you’re done.”
There was still a slight bruise on his wrist from the handcuffs, and I touched it. "I never meant to drag you into my mess."
“I know.”
“I was going to leave.”
“I know.”
“If you knew the truth, I didn’t think you’d want me to stay.”
Unleash (Spellhounds Book 1) Page 27
