Love Potion: A Valentine's Day Charity Anthology

by Graceley Knox

  I raised my hand and all the sizzling power I’d gathered burst out of me. A twisting rope of lightning blazed across the gap, seeking the metal knife I’d embedded in my target’s body.

  A flash. A burst of magic.

  My lightning hit the man—and rebounded. The crackling bolt came screaming back, and one thought filled my head: Izzah was right behind me.

  I leaped forward into my lightning. I could’ve let it strike me and flow unhindered into the ground, but that would have released fifty thousand volts into the damp earth and everything touching it—including Izzah.

  Instead, I pulled the power back into my body. Agony blazed through my nerves as I contained the lightning inside me, then neutralized the charge. Smoke rose off my clothes.

  In the seconds it had taken me to control the power, Icarus had widened the gap between us to two hundred feet. His dark shape glided above the moonlit river, heading toward the shore. Too far for me to hit him. Electricity preferred the path of least resistance, and even aiming for my knife in his shoulder, the current would ground into the water before it reached him.

  Izzah stepped to my side and whispered, “He’s flying.”

  Anger and sharp defeat built in my chest. I’d had one chance and I’d missed it. He’d be long gone by the time we made it back through the tunnel.

  “Did you … did you see his feet?” Izzah gulped. “As he took off, his cloak flapped and I saw …”

  “Saw what?”

  “His shoes—he was wearing golden sandals with … with wings.”

  I dragged my eyes off the shrinking thief and pressed two fingers to my temple, gingerly massaging my throbbing head. “Sandals with wings. In your story about Andromeda, Perseus had four gifts …”

  “A sword, a helm, a reflective shield, and … the winged sandals of Hermes.”

  Silence spread between us as the implications of that sank in.

  “The shield,” she said after a moment. “I understood it to be polished like a mirror, but could it reflect magic as well as—”

  “That’s known sorcery,” I interrupted. “I’ve seen spells like that before.” Though never one that could reflect power across that kind of distance.

  “But flying footwear?” Izzah asked quietly. “Have you ever heard of something like that? I haven’t.”

  I shook my head and turned away from the distant figure as he reached the far shore. “Which nexus does he need next?”

  “Earth elemental at 12:15.” She peered at my watch. “We have an hour and a half.”

  “Where’s the most powerful earth nexus?”

  “The botanical gardens at UBC.” She chewed nervously on her thumbnail. “From here, that’s got to be a forty-five-minute drive …”

  “Plus the time to go back through the tunnel.” I almost missed her shudder at the mention of the underground passageway. “I thought it was a piece of cake?”

  She winced. “Actually, going through the submerged section was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done, but I pretended it was fine because I figured—I figured however scary it was for me, it was ten times worse for you.”

  I stared at her.

  “Only because you’re not a hydromage,” she added hastily, mistaking my look. “You were—you’re—I mean, you’re clearly made of tough stuff. And you were so fast when we came on Icarus. I can’t believe you hit a moving target fifty feet away with that tiny knife. Do you use the knife to aim your electricity? I didn’t realize you were an electramage. Did you get electrocuted when he … shot your attack … back … at you?”

  She wilted under my unblinking stare and finally fell silent.

  “Electrocution means to be killed by an electric shock,” I answered after a long moment, deciding only to address the last thing she’d said and not the fact she’d braved that tunnel without batting an eye despite being scared out of her mind. “I can be shocked or electrocuted if the amperage is high enough and I can’t safely ground the current through my body.”

  “Is that what happened when your attack rebounded?”

  “Sort of. I didn’t let it ground because it might’ve hurt you.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “It’s safer to keep your distance from an electramage,” I added.

  Her shock shifted to annoyance, and she muttered, “Perasan, how was I supposed to know you’re an electramage?”

  I almost answered, “Because I’m a Yamada,” but changed my mind. Her questions, however, had reminded me of something else. Reaching behind her, I detached the small clip I’d stuck to her jacket when I first caught her at the collector’s property. She watched me slip it into my pocket, frowning in confusion, then outrage flashed across her face as she figured it out: the metal clip served the same function as my metal knives.

  “When did you—” she began furiously.

  I caught her arm and tugged her into motion. We started back into the trees—Izzah still fuming—as my watch ticked down the minutes until our next meeting with Icarus.

  Chapter 7

  We made better time through the tunnel on the way back, climbing out of the chute at 11:10 p.m. The cold breeze cut through my damp clothes, and I was shivering again. It was a miserably cold night to keep getting drenched to the bone, though Izzah had again pulled most of the wetness out of our clothes.

  She stumbled away from the hatch, shaking her head. “Never again,” she muttered. “Nope. Never.”

  As I pulled our electronics out of their hiding spot, Izzah ran her hands carefully down each arm, then over her front and down her long legs. I watched from the corner of my eye as I clipped my earpiece back in.

  “Want me to dry you off the rest of the way?”

  It took me a moment to realize she’d asked a question; my gaze was fixed on her hands gliding firmly over her ass as she dried the seat of her jeans. I started slightly, my trance broken.

  “Sure,” I answered belatedly.

  Stepping closer, she placed her palms on my shoulders and ran them slowly down the long sleeves of the fitted, heavy-weight sweater I wore under my vest. As her hands passed, a faint mist clouded the air, the last of the dampness pulled from my shirt. It might have been my imagination, but she seemed to grip my biceps more firmly than necessary.

  “I know some hydromages can do this without touch,” she mumbled, brow furrowed with concentration, “but I just can’t get all the moisture out otherwise. Want to take off your vest?”

  I unsnapped my vest and shrugged it off. The sturdy, lightly armored fabric thudded as I tossed it onto the ground.

  Shifting behind me, she slid her palms from my shoulders down to my lower back and over my backside, then returned to face me. Her hands hovered for a moment, then she pressed them to my chest and dragged them downward. Mist poofed out of my shirt, but I wasn’t watching that—I was watching the soft pink flush rising in her cheeks. The firm pressure of her hands slid down my stomach and stopped at my belt.

  She abruptly crouched and planted both hands on my upper thigh. I twitched but managed to hold still. She applied her magic to my pant leg and down to my shoes, then repeated the process on my other leg. As suddenly as she’d crouched, she shot up to her full height, her face redder than before. I wondered if she’d thought this through before offering to dry my clothes.

  She didn’t move, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing, so I just said it.

  “You can’t leave me with the front of my pants wet.”

  Wincing, she looked at everything except me, then muttered what sounded like, “bucket.” I could guess what she’d actually said.

  Lower lip caught between her teeth, she pressed a hand gingerly to my left front pocket. A puff of mist. She touched my right pocket. Another waft of moisture. She hesitated again, her face flaming.

  I took her wrist and pushed her palm against the fly of my pants. I wasn’t normally this bold, but I did not want to spend the next hour with a wet patch in that spot.

  She squeaked, starin
g goggle-eyed at her hand. Then a misty cloud blurred the air and she yanked her palm away.

  “Thanks,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible.

  With a quick nod, she turned away to hide her embarrassment. Conveniently, that gave me an excellent view of her recently dried jeans.

  “Let’s get moving,” she said, her confidence returning. “We have a demigod to catch.”

  I grabbed my vest and hastened after her through the dense bush. “He isn’t a demigod. He isn’t Perseus.”

  “No, he just has two ancient, legendary artifacts that perfectly match Perseus’s gifts, and he’s after the Andromeda Spell.”

  “They don’t perfectly match. We don’t know how he reflected my attack. All we know is he has an artifact that allows him to fly.”

  She glanced back so I could see her dramatic eye roll. “And that’s not unusual at all.”

  “It’s unusual, but it doesn’t make him a demigod.”

  We hurried out of the trees and onto the road.

  “They say most demigods of ancient legend were actually mythics,” she told me as we walked up to her yellow Dodge Neon waiting in the darkness. “According to many accounts, Perseus was a real person. Maybe not the son of Zeus, but he was a warrior, a king, and a dangerous foe.”

  “Icarus is a thief putting his stolen artifacts to good use,” I insisted. “Don’t make your enemy into something he’s not.”

  She unlocked the driver’s door. “I know. I’m just worried he’ll give us the slip again.”

  “We’ll get him at the next nexus.”

  Her eyes swung to mine, sparking with hope. “We will?”

  I caught her emphasis and understood she was asking if, this time, we would approach the nexus as a team. A deep-rooted need inside me protested. I preferred to handle these things alone. Even working in groups, I always took the lead if it was an option.

  But without Izzah, I would’ve lost Icarus’s trail the moment he escaped the collector’s property. I wouldn’t have known about the hidden tunnel, and even if I had, I would never have made it to the island.

  “We will,” I murmured.

  She beamed, her cheeks dimpling, then hopped into the car. I circled to the passenger side—wishing pointlessly that I could drive instead, but I wasn’t enough of an asshole to ask—and pulled the door open. As I dropped onto my seat, planning to call Aaron on the drive, Izzah stuffed the key in the ignition and turned it.

  The engine gave two sputtering coughs and died.

  “No,” she moaned, turning the key. A clicking noise sounded. “No, come on, please.”

  She tried three more times, the starter clicking dully, then even that stopped.

  “I don’t believe it!” she raged, slamming her fist into the steering wheel. “This hunk of junk! I knew the battery was crap, but I—I—” Her anger fizzled out. “Sial. I left the lights on, didn’t I?”

  “I thought you left the lights running on purpose—so we could see.”

  “No, it was an acci—ugh. Never mind. What do we do now?”

  I flung my door open. Izzah scrambled to join me as I strode away from the car, heading toward the houses we’d passed on our way in.

  “Kai?” she prompted, trotting at my side with her ponytail swinging. “What’s the plan?”

  “Well.” I arched an eyebrow. “Since we’re dressed like thieves and chasing a thief …”

  Her mouth fell open. “We’re going to steal a car? Do you know how?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared at me, then grinned. “I’ve always wanted to steal a car!”

  “You have?” I coughed to keep from snickering. “Ambitions to rival the stars, Izzah.”

  “I just think it’s one of those things you should try before you’re all grown up. Drink your dad’s whiskey, smoke a cigarette, steal a car, bang your boy toy in a—” Flushing pink, she cut herself off.

  “Bang your boy toy in a what?” I asked.

  She grumbled something under her breath.

  “I didn’t catch that.”

  “In a back alley,” she muttered.

  I snorted. “Classy.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a back alley,” she huffed, indignation drawing out her accent. “It could be anywhere taboo. Back alley just sounds best-lah, okay? Now, leng chai, forget I said that and steal us a damn car.”

  Smirking, I stepped off the main road and onto the first driveway with a garage. The house was dark, the entire community quiet as a graveyard. I slipped up to the garage’s side door and produced a small pouch from a pocket of my vest.

  “Ooh,” Izzah breathed, leaning over my shoulder as I opened the fabric case. “Is that a lock-pick kit?”

  I chose two tools, poised one over the lock, then paused.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked worriedly.

  Taking the handle, I twisted it. The door opened with a muted creak. “I always forget to check first.”

  She chuckled. I stashed my kit back in its pocket and stepped into the garage. The soft glow of my vest light flooded the small space, illuminating not a car but a beast of a motorcycle. Two helmets, a saddlebag, and other accessories sat on a side counter.

  “Hmm,” I murmured. “For your teen rebellion bucket list … would stealing a bike count?”

  Chapter 8

  As we tore west on the motorcycle, Izzah’s arms clamped tightly around my waist, I updated Aaron through my earpiece. My helmet blocked out enough road noise for him to hear me—and complain about his next assignment.

  “We sat at that water nexus for an hour,” he grumbled. “Now we have to watch an earth one?”

  “If we don’t tag him this time, we’ll be staking out fire nexuses next. Do you want to bring this guy down or not?”

  “Oh, I do. I checked the bounty on him. Six figures.”

  “Then get moving,” I said, opening the bike’s throttle.

  The cold wind whipped at my clothing, but it was nothing compared to that icy water. Izzah hugged my back, a warm weight against me. Her arms tightened painfully with every corner. I didn’t mind, though I normally disliked passengers when I rode.

  This motorcycle, unlike my sports bike, was a power cruiser—it had all the torque I could ask for, but I wasn’t enjoying the relaxed, upright position. I wanted to be low and tight to the bike’s body, feeling the engine and the road. Izzah was probably much happier with this posture, though.

  The pavement flew under the tires, and I passed the few cars on the road like they were moving in slow motion. As we left the highway, I brought it down a few notches. The city lights closed around us, streetlamps flickering past. Leaving the residential neighborhoods behind, we entered the university district. Barren trees and wide stretches of winter-browned grass pushed the buildings back from the road, and it was even quieter here. I slowed further.

  “The Nitobe Memorial Garden,” Izzah called over the engine. “Left here.”

  I made the turn, drove two blocks, then cut right. At the next corner, I spotted the garden wall—a stone base, wooden panels, and a tiled roof. I sped past it to an empty parking lot out of sight of the street. Izzah and I jumped off the bike, hung our helmets on the handlebars, and started toward the garden.

  Ears straining to catch a sound, I inspected the shadows beyond the light of the short decorative streetlamps. My watch read 11:50 p.m. We were early. Maybe we’d beaten Icarus here.

  The high garden gates, recessed into the wall, were closed and locked. In the corner, however, a tree with boulders artfully piled against its trunk leaned over the wall. Taking a running head start, I planted one foot on the largest rock, launched up to grip a thick branch, and swung myself at the roof-like tiled top. A quick roll over the peak and I landed lightly on the muddy, woodchip-covered earth on the other side.

  Izzah’s steps thudded as she ran at the same spot. The tree branch shook, then there were scraping sounds, a scuff, and a thump. Her head appeared above the top. She strained to get an elbo
w over, then swung a leg across.

  I had a second to realize she was off balance before she pitched sideways off the wall. Lunging forward, I caught her. She thudded into my arms, her hands grasping my shoulders and her breathing fast.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, flushing. “I’m out of practice.”

  I rather doubted she’d ever been in practice, but I decided not to say that. I tipped her onto her feet, and she quickly stepped away, straightening her jacket as she scrutinized the park.

  Even in December, the park retained vestiges of its summer beauty. The grass sloped down toward a sprawling, hourglass-shaped pond, thin white ice bordering its shallow edges. A footpath circled the water, and benches, stone lanterns, a gazebo, and a small teahouse dotted the path. Between the moonlight and the city lights, it wasn’t nearly as dark as Douglas Island.

  “Where’s the nexus?” I whispered.

  She pointed across the pond. I headed left, following the trail past the toolshed-sized teahouse. The garden was dark, quiet, and deserted, but I didn’t trust it. Already I was building a charge inside my body. I could unleash my base attack swiftly—a shock with the same power as a police-issue stun gun—but anything more required either preparation or access to an electrical source. Thanks to the pond, Izzah didn’t need to prepare by drawing moisture out of the air and ground.

  A small gazebo sat on the shore, and beyond it, a short bridge crossed the narrowest point of the pond. The wood thumped hollowly under my feet. On its other side, two trees formed a natural doorway, and beside them was a tall stone lantern that resembled a Buddhist temple.

  Izzah angled toward the carved stone. “This is it. The seven-story pagoda.”

  “This is a nexus?” I muttered. “Right here in a public park?”

  Shrugging nervously, she peered around. “I don’t think he’s here yet.”

  “Good,” I said. That meant Icarus’s ability to fly must be limited by height, distance, or duration. Otherwise, he would’ve beaten us—but he could still arrive at any moment.