Page 22 of Magic Forsaken
“Curse it all, Kes. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” she managed to say between clenched teeth. “This will only take a moment.”
All I could do was sit beside her, leaning back against the side of the bunk bed and lending her the poor comfort of my presence. We’d been through worse—both of us—but we’d also hoped that part of our lives was over.
I was just going to have to be even more cautious. More controlled. Keep this magic even more tightly contained. Both for Kes’s sake and for mine.
It worried me that I’d lost control twice already, but at least the worst of my magic was still tightly leashed. If I was going to keep my job and find a way for us all to stay together, I needed to put my fear aside and move forward. Our very survival depended on my ability to stay focused on what was, not on everything I regretted.
As far as everyone in this town knew now, I was half water elemental, half shapeshifter. Our only hope was for me to convince them that they were right. Because if I slipped up even one more time… Our already dubious welcome would become a trial by fire—one that I doubted any of us had the power to survive.
My nerves wereon edge when I finally walked into The Portal just before six the following evening. I’d tried to catch up on sleep, but the kids had been restless, and I wasn’t exactly feeling confident about whatever Faris had meant by “settle things.” Also, I’d found another backpack outside my door this morning. With my shoes and uniform clean and tucked neatly inside.
Maybe they were the same ones, maybe they were new, but either way, I didn’t love that my boss knew so much about me. And what had Callum told him about last night? Did he know about the shifting?
And most important of all, what had happened to the kitten?
This time, when I entered through the back door of the club, I was met by no more than a subdued hum. There were no strangely clad gargoyles, no dryads, and only a whisper of hushed voices from the front of the building. I peered into the kitchen, but it was empty except for two of the men who’d helped clean up the mess from the night before.
They were standing on the far side of the room, engaged in quiet conversation—Isaac and Kyle. Isaac had the amber eyes of a shapeshifter, and Kyle had to be a fire elemental, given the tiny flame that danced across his fingertips as he let out a short, unamused laugh.
Kyle suddenly paused and looked over at me. He shot Isaac a significant glance, and their conversation died.
“Hey.” Kyle greeted me with an emotionless nod.
“Raine.” Isaac matched his single syllable.
Both of them were watching me with a sort of reserved caution, and Kyle’s eyes were narrowed. Had they heard about what I’d done last night, or did they treat all newcomers with this sort of suspicion?
“I’m looking for Faris.”
“His office.” Kyle jerked his chin upward to indicate the second floor. “Top of the stairs, second door to the left.” He shot me a sly smirk and a wink. “He’s not alone in there, so make sure you knock.”
Well of course I wouldknock—given that I’m neither an idiot nor a barbarian.
“Thanks.” They continued to watch in silence as I left the kitchen, feeling oddly exposed with their eyes on my back.
The stairs creaked underfoot as I made my way up, but I heard nothing else until I was within a few steps of Faris’s door, when the low rumble of his voice filtered into the hall.
“… the last person I would have expected.”
A low-pitched female voice answered him. “You misjudge him. But he encourages it. Always has. I don’t think he would have survived otherwise…”
And that was about as much eavesdropping as I felt comfortable with, so I hurried forward to knock and was answered with a single gruff, “It’s open.”
I opened the door and stepped inside with a neutral expression. No need for Faris to know how on edge I was.
Directly across from the door was an enormous, scarred wooden desk. Faris sat behind it in what looked like an antique office chair, leaning back with his arms folded and a more welcoming expression than I’d expected.
Tucked in the back left corner of the room, a pair of cozy chairs flanked a small, round coffee table. In one of the chairs, an unfamiliar woman sat cross-legged, her hands wrapped around a stoneware mug.
She was tall and muscular, with brown skin, long dark hair, and a multitude of scars that spoke of a complicated history. One of her eyes was covered by a patch, while the other looked past me with an alert expression that suggested she was sensing me with something beyond normal vision.
“Hello, Raine.” Her voice was low and raspy. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Morghaine. Or Morgan. Or sometimes ‘You Impossible Dragon,’ depending on the day.”
Dragon? Just how many dragons were lurking around this place, anyway?
Morghaine must have sensed my unspoken curiosity, because she smiled slightly and tilted her head in my direction.