by Unknown
Sam squinted up at the sun. It would be hours before the leader of the vampires would be available to talk about her day.
Then there was the new murder. Sam stopped to think about what little she had managed to see. Like the other murder, there had only been one bite mark. How had one vampire, who was technically dead and therefore within the control of a necromancer, be able to take the fae down? And what sort of amulet was he so worried about? Sam didn’t know, but she knew someone who would.
Sam adjusted her course.
If she was honest with herself, this was the last place she wanted to go, but the murder of three fae was bigger than any embarrassment on her part.
Sam jogged across the central courtyard of the Res, dodging various mystics trying to hock their wares from homemade jams to clothing outgrown by their small children. Sam ignored them as she worked her way to the proper entrance.
A long row of apartment buildings lined the northern edge of the courtyard. Originally it had been three buildings with two narrow parks running between them. When the mystics had been forced to move into the Reservation and the population had escalated, two new buildings had been constructed in place of the parks, their walls touching those of the original apartment buildings. The result was rather comical looking as no continuity in style had been attempted.
She opened the door on the farthest building and jogged up the first flight of stairs. The second she took at a walk, entering the hallway and stopping at the second door. Sam took a deep breath to steady herself before knocking on the door.
Just as she had feared, Chad was home.
Her ex-boyfriend smiled at her from the other side of the threshold.
“Sam,” he said, sounding as thrilled as she knew he would.
“I need to talk to your dad. Is he here by chance?” she asked.
Chad deflated, as though his joy in her visit had been holding him up.
“My dad?” he asked.
“Yeah. He home?”
“Sure. Come in.”
Chad led her to the living room. His family was one of those lucky few with better-paying jobs inside the Reservation. With Chad’s gift of being able to read and write any language, he was often used by a governmental archeologist department even though it was technically against international law for them to use a registered fae. Their comparative wealth showed in the newness of their furniture and clothing, the freshness of the food, and the size of their apartment.
“Is that Sam I hear?” Chad’s father called as they walked down the hallway.
“Hello, Mr. Newberry,” Sam said as she entered the living room.
Chad’s father rose, opening his arms as he prepared to give her a large hug. She reached out her hand for a formal hand shake. There was an awkward moment and for a second she considered giving in and offering him the embrace he sought, but her determination paid off. Finally, he lowered his arms and shook her hand.
“What can we do for you?” he asked as he motioned her towards the plush love seat.
She sat down, absently noticing how close Chad sat next to her.
“There’s been another fae killing today.”
She watched as the older fae’s jaw muscles worked to control his anger before a curse could escape.
“How do you know this?”
Sam bit her lip. She didn’t like to talk about her powers to others; no one wanted to be reminded about the Void in their midst. But these were the people who had been ready to welcome her as their daughter-in-law. She would give them the benefit of the doubt.
“I felt a power, a weak, dying power. I followed it.”
“Who was it?”
“I don’t know his name, but it was the necromancer.”
Mr. Newberry let out a gusty sigh as he dropped his head into his hands. “John Webb,” he said into his hands.
“There’s more,” Sam said. “Before dying he said ‘The amulet’. Any idea what that might mean?”
“Sam, I appreciate your concern for the safety of your people, but you need to leave this to the feds to deal with.”
Sam burst out laughing. “The feds? Are you serious? When have they ever solved a murder or stopped a criminal within these walls? Other than keeping us inside, what are they good for?”
The two men sat in silence, exchanging worried glances for a long moment.
“And what makes you think you can do any better?” Mr. Newberry asked.
“This wouldn’t be the first murder I’ve solved.”
“Sam,” began Chad, speaking for the first time. “You could get hurt, die even.”
Sam glanced over at the young man. Though she had been raised to be humble, to a fault even, she was tired of playing down her abilities for fear of being hated, or worse. Sam suddenly jumped to her feet and paced the length of the living room before turning back to look at the two men.
“You two know what I am.”
“Yes, Sam. We don’t judge you for being a Void,” said Chad at the end of a sigh, as though he didn’t want to dig up old wounds.
Sam bit down on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to dig up old wounds either, but the truth was she had never been thoroughly honest with them. She wanted to go on hiding the true extent of her abilities, but she needed to know what Mr. Newberry was keeping from them, and for her to get that information they needed to know just how powerful she really was.
“The thing is, I haven’t told you the full extent of my gift.”
“What do you mean?” asked Chad, coming to the edge of his seat.
“I can do more than just take another mystic’s power.”
“Like what?” asked Mr. Newberry, mirroring his son’s movement.
“After I take a mystic’s power, I can use said power.”
“I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘use it’?”
Sam hesitated a moment. “May I make a demonstration? May I take a small portion of your power, Mr. Newberry? Just a little?”
Chad’s father hesitated a long moment before finally nodding.
“When I do. Think of a number between one and… and five hundred.”
Sam closed her eyes, focused on her gift and her tattoo, and very carefully took from the telepathic fae. Immediately she began to hear the hurried thoughts of Chad and his father. Mr. Newberry was very carefully repeating a number in his head over and over again.
“Three hundred and nineteen,” Sam repeated out loud. “Another… Twenty-two. Another…Eleven…”
The gift and their mental voices faded.
“Nope,” Sam said as she opened her eyes. “What I took has already faded. I didn’t take much.”
The two men stared up at her. Chad glanced between the two of them, unsure if she had been correct. Mr. Newberry stared at her as though she had just informed them that they were free to leave the Reservation.
“You heard my thoughts?” Mr. Newberry asked.
“Yes. Every thought. And no, I am not getting back together with Chad,” she added, answering the question he had tried his best not to ask between thinking up numbers. “Now, that was what I can do with a tiny bit of a telepath’s power. Imagine what I can do if I drain a vampire or a werewolf or, heaven forbid, a Túz fae.”
“You’d light the whole Res on fire.”
Sam nodded. “I am not weak. I don’t mean to brag, but I can take on anything the killers throw my way. The feds will not keep our people safe, but if I can catch these killers, I can. Tell me what you know about this amulet John Webb spoke of.”
Mr. Newberry let out a long sigh, once again dropping his head into his hands and running his fingers through his graying hair.
Finally, Chad’s father looked up.
“John had the Soulfire Amulet. It strengthened his ability to control the dead. Thing is, if someone else had it they too could control the dead.”
“So if the vampires have it?”
Mr. Newberry shrugged. “They could control ghosts, zombies, other vampires.”
&nb
sp; Sam nodding, storing the information away for later consideration.
“Thank you, Mr. Newberry.”
Chad’s father rose from his seat, waving Chad back when he would have followed. Mr. Newberry motioned for Sam to lead him toward the front door. Sam cringed inwardly, knowing what was coming next as Mr. Newberry followed her down the hallway. At the threshold, they stopped.
“I don’t mean to pry,” began Chad’s father.
“But you’re going to anyway?”
Mr. Newberry grimaced. “I suppose so. You and Chad are good together.”
Sam brushed an arrant strand of hair out of her eyes. She really did need to stop long enough to get her haircut.
“Sir, there is a wide gap between ‘good together’ and ‘in love’. I’m not in love with your son and, no matter how messed up this world is, I won’t marry someone for a political reason. Have I made myself clear?”
Mr. Newberry pursed his lips as he stared at her. “The only problem is, my son is in love with you.”
“That I find hard to believe.”
“You might find it hard to believe, but it’s true.”
Sam raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into long bangs. It was a better response than laughing in the man’s face.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“All I ask is that you give him a chance to prove it,” Mr. Newberry said after a long wait.
Sam shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
The father gave her a sad smile. “Let me know if you need anything else, and the very best of luck to you, Samantha.”
Chapter Eight
Sam hurried away from Chad’s apartment. It was still many hours before the sun would set, but if her suspicions were correct she needed to warn Heywood as quickly as she could. She tried to keep her pace as normal as she could, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Sadly, white hair in a sea of a brown and black heads stood out no matter what pace she set.
“Sam,” called Roman from the other side of the courtyard.
A few hundred heads turned to watch the tall man weave through the crowd to where Sam stood. They were not so much struck by Roman but by the fact anyone would seek out Sam’s company. Roman stopped in front of her, took her hand, and began walking with her in the direction she had originally been heading. Sam spotted the heads of the executives from his plastics company eyeing him before they turned and headed toward the port.
“Doesn’t your boss need you?” she asked, her gaze still directed behind them.
“Nah. I’m fine.”
“But your boss?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Sam let out a sigh. She couldn’t tell him that she didn’t want to be around him, mostly because it wasn’t entirely true. Sam took a deep breath, willing her gift back down into its proper place as it felt Roman’s powers taunt her.
Sam’s feet stopped on their own accord as a thought formed.
Roman stopped too, turning to look at her.
“What?”
“There’s a new mage in the Res. You need to be careful. He’s powerful. He may notice you, and he might just reveal you.”
Roman gave her a wicked smile, acting as though she had not turned down his offer just this morning.
“Miss Gollet, are you worried about me?” he asked as he closed the distance between them.
“This mage is bitter about being caught. If he found another mage living outside the Res but working within, I have no doubt he would reveal you. You need to be careful. He has long brown hair that he wears in a ponytail and a close-cut, brown beard. You need to watch for him.”
Roman’s face grew serious for a short moment before another playful smile lightened his eyes.
“If you’re not careful, Sam,” he whispered in her ear, “I’ll begin to think you have feelings for me.”
Sam shoved against his chest, too tired and stressed to enjoy his playfulness.
“Fine. Don’t take my warning seriously!” she snapped, storming away as quickly as the crowd would allow her.
Roman quickly caught up with her, catching her arm and pulling her to a stop. Sam wrenched her arm free and picked up her pace. To her annoyance, Roman followed her straight into Heywood’s neighborhood where the crowds noticeably thinned. Finally, Roman grabbed her arm one last time and dragged her into the narrow pathway between two houses lined with dead weeds.
“What is this all about?” he hissed.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she asked, all of her patience blown away with the frigid Illinois wind.
“Get what, Sam? Get what? What am I too stupid to get? Please, enlighten this idiot.”
“When the day is over and your work is done, you go home. You go to your large home with your two car garage or your high-rise apartment with your view, or if it’s been a really crummy day you slum it in the room the feds have provided for you in the admin building. We, the real mystics, we have to stay here. We live here, every day of the week. We sleep here. During the winter we freeze because we’re only allowed so much energy to heat our homes. During the summer we sweat because none of us have AC. Year round we starve because we don’t earn enough for meat.”
Sam felt her powers break free of her restraints, her tattoo burning against her skin, but she couldn’t care. All the years of hurt—from her father, her people, the feds—all of it came flowing out, combined with her gift.
“You ask why I’m not wearing my winter coat—this is my winter coat. I have three pairs of pants. That’s it. Six shirts. One sweat shirt, but it has a whole in the elbow. The text books in our schools are twenty-five years out of date. That’s why our kids stop going to school years before human kids. We do the work no human would ever be willing to do for a tenth of the wage any human would work for.”
Roman dropped to one knee, the veins in his neck pulsing visibly as he strained against her gift.
“Do not for a second imagine you know what it is like to be a part of my world just because you’ve walked my streets. I fight for my basic right to draw breath every single day. My own people want to see me dead. The feds want to see me dead. Reynolds wants me as his mistress. Heywood is blackmailing me and, to top it all off, the fae are dropping like flies. So if you want a real idea of what it’s like to walk in my shoes, read Lord of the Flies, then maybe, just maybe, you’ll understand.”
Roman slumped back against the brick wall of the house gasping for breath.
Sam felt his powers surging through her body. Her heart raced through her chest like a runaway roller coaster. She wanted to release his magical powers in a fireworks display, blowing up the buildings around them while simultaneously mounting him and riding him until his knees buckled, but in the end her anger won. She gave him her back and walked away, forcing her raging body into a sedate, controlled walked.
She had never taken so much power from someone before. It felt as though the more power she took the larger her tank grew.
“Sam, wait,” croaked a soft voice from the ground.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. Her gift told her to leave him on the cold ground. It would teach him a lesson. He wouldn’t mess with her in the future if he was left to recover on his own.
“Sam, you could hurt someone.”
Sam bit down on her bottom lip until she tasted blood. He was right, and she hated him for it. She unzipped her jacket. The winter wind kissed her flushed skin and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let me help you.”
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She had neared killed him.
“Why would you help me?” she asked, her voice sounding harsh.
“Let me help you,” he repeated.
Sam hesitated another second before turning back to him and squatting down in front of him.
“What do I do?”
“Help me sit up.”
She did.
“Now kiss me.”
“What?”
&nbs
p; “Transferring power—when you’re not a Void—is a very intimate spell. The more intimate the touch, the better it works. Just kiss me. It will be the last time. I promise.”
Sam couldn’t doubt the truth in his voice. Tears stung her eyes. She grabbed his cheeks and slammed her lips against his, pouring all her wounded pride into the kiss. At first he barely moved his lips against hers, but as the magic began to shift from one body to the other—restoring his strength—his hands crept up to her waist, slowly pulling her down onto his lap. His cold fingers found their way under her clothing making her flinch.
Roman deepened the kiss, taking more from her as he wrapped an arm around her neck and pulled her body away long enough to unzip his winter jacket. He helped her part the jacket so that she could cozy into the warm folds of the fabric and press her body against his. Warmth flowed from one body to the other, relaxing just the right muscles, while tightening others.
Sam felt the muscles between her thighs tense. A soft moan escaped her lips. As though her voice had been a cue, Roman stopped, moving his hand to her waist. He hoisted her off his lap and up high enough for her to get her feet under her. She scrambled to her feet, shocked by his sudden change. A second later, he was on his feet too, adjusting his shirt and zipping up his jacket.
“I’m sorry for my part in this, Miss Gollet,” he said formally, before giving her a half-nod, half-bow.
With that, he turned and walked away.
Sam watched him walk away. A gust of wind reminded her that her jacket was unzipped and that she didn’t have his magic to keep her warm. She zipped up her jacket and marched on to Heywood’s house, determined not to think about what had just happened—not her complete lack of control or the subsequent making out.
She reached Heywood’s house and entered, ignoring Breena’s complaints as she jogged up the stairs. She knocked on Heywood’s door, knowing it would likely be too early for him to be awake.
