Cold Burn of Magic (16 page)

H
e was wearing black gym shorts and a T-shirt that stretched tight across his muscled chest. His green eyes blazed, and his mouth was an unforgiving slash. He must have been hitting the bag for a while, because sweat had beaded at his temples, turning his hair more black than brown in places. It looked good on him, though. I was beginning to think everything looked good on Devon Sinclair.

The bag arced back toward Devon, and he hit it with a brutal one-two combo, then another one . . . then another . . .

He kept hitting the bag over and over again, working himself to the point of exhaustion. But he kept slamming his fists into it, even as his punches started to lose a little bit of their brutal pop. And I realized something about Devon, something that his quiet exterior had hidden so far.

He was
fierce
.

And I liked it.

I liked
him
.

Much more than I should have.

I should have climbed back down the drainpipe, but I stayed where I was and watched him, admiring the bunch and flex of his muscles, his quick, precise footwork, and the way he kept his gaze focused on the bag, as though it were a real enemy. Devon could definitely hold his own in a fight.

He showed no signs of stopping his assault on the bag, so I decided to end it for him.

“I think you've killed it already,” I called out.

Startled, Devon let the bag swing back toward him instead of hitting it again. He grabbed it and peered around the side. His mouth turned down at the sight of me.

“Oh. Lila.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Don't sound so glum about it.”

He shrugged, headed over to the cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water, again making the muscles flex in his arm. Yeah, I totally ogled that part of him once more—along with his chest, shoulders, and legs. All of him, really. Devon was definitely easy on the eyes, and I was all too happy to take advantage of that.

He straightened back up. “You want something?”

“If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I never pass up free food or drink. A water would be great.”

He tossed me a bottled water, then plopped down in one of the lawn chairs. He stared out into the darkness before putting his foot up against the second chair and sliding it toward me.

“You can sit.” He hesitated. “If you want.”

This time, I was the one who hesitated, but I didn't have anything better to do. At least, that's what I told myself as I went over to him. It wasn't because some strange part of me wanted to know more about him. No way. Not at all.

The chair squeaked when I sat down, but it held my weight. Devon propped one foot up on the railing. I did the same, and we sat there in silence, drinking our water and staring down at the flashing lights of the Midway.

“So,” I finally said. “This is your hideout? Your super-secret clubhouse?”

“Something like that.”

“I like it.”

He grunted.

We kept drinking our water. The view from the roof was even more impressive than the one from my balcony, especially since the fireflies had come out for the night, their quick yellow flares adding to the rainbow glow from the Midway.

I was happy to sit and enjoy the view, but Devon kept glancing my way.

“What?” I asked. “Do I have a bug in my teeth?”

“No. It's just that Felix is the only other person who ever comes up here. You're much quieter than he is.”

“You mean I'm not running my mouth like I'm driving a racecar. That boy never shuts up.” I rolled my eyes. “I bet he even talks in his sleep.”

Devon's lips curved into a smile, and he let out a low laugh—the first deep genuine laugh I'd heard from him. Such a simple sound, but it completely transformed him. In an instant, he went from scowling at the stars to that hot spark flaring in his eyes. The one I found much too interesting for my own good. And I realized that I liked making him laugh, I liked seeing that spark. Devon took life way too seriously. He needed to lighten up. If nothing else, that would make the next year I was stuck here far more pleasant.

But his laughter faded away, and he eyed me again. “Why did you come up here?”

“I was out on my balcony, and I heard you murdering the bag. So I decided to investigate.”

He glanced at the wall. “But how did you get up here? I locked the door behind me.”

“Drainpipe.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “Drainpipe? You climbed
up
the drainpipe? From your balcony? But that's, like, four stories.”

I not-so-modestly shrugged. “It's a thing I do.”

“And why are you staying?” His voice dropped to a low whisper.

“Because of the quiet.”

He frowned. “The quiet?”

“I'm not . . . used to being around a lot of people. The mansion, everyone here, the noise in the dining hall, it's taking some getting used to.”

The faint bit of claustrophobia I'd been feeling was as much of a weakness as I was going to admit. Even then, I didn't like showing that part of myself to him. I was here to do a job, nothing else. But for some reason, I had a hard time remembering that.

“Grant says he can't find any record of where you've been living,” Devon said. “No apartments, no hotels, nothing.”

So Claudia hadn't just taken Mo at his word; she'd had Grant investigate me. Well, that was smart of her. I wondered what Grant had managed to uncover, and what he and Claudia had thought about it, but I had no way of knowing. Apparently, it hadn't been bad enough to make her reconsider her plan to strong-arm me into protecting Devon.

“Grant says that you're not in the foster care system, either. What happened to your parents?” Devon asked, seeming genuinely curious.

I shrugged again. “My dad was never in the picture. He died before I was born.”

Which was one of the reasons my mom had left town, not that I was going to tell Devon that or any more about myself than absolutely necessary.

“And your mom?”

“She died, too.”

He must have heard the cold chill in my voice that told him to drop it because he changed the subject. “You should leave. Get out of here. While you still can.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He sighed. “You should take off, Lila. Forget about staying here. Forget about the Family. Forget about me.”

And I realized what he was really saying. “You don't like me being your bodyguard.”

“I don't need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself,” he said in a stiff voice.

“But you don't have a Talent,” I pointed out, not trying to be cruel, but just stating the obvious. “You don't have any magic. And most everyone else in all the other Families does. Surely, you can understand why your mom would want you to be protected.”

“I can take care of myself,” he snapped. “I don't need magic to knock the sneer off Blake Draconi's face.”

No, he didn't. Not with the way he'd been waling on the punching bag earlier.

My eyes narrowed. “Is it because I'm a girl? Is being protected by a chick some threat to your precious manhood ? Because if that's the case, then you need to get over yourself, dude.”

“It's not because you're a girl,” he snapped again. “I'm not some sexist pig. Not like Blake.”

I wouldn't call Blake a pig so much as a monster, but I got his point.

“So what is it then? Are you pissed because I got Blake to back off and you didn't? Because there was nothing you could have done. If you had tried, one of the Draconis would have skewered Felix with his sword. Grant, too. The only reason they didn't come after me was because they didn't know me. Because Blake is a sexist pig, and they didn't realize that I was a threat.”

“You're not the threat.” He sighed again. “I am.”

“What do you mean?”

Instead of answering me, Devon surged to his feet before crushing the water bottle in his hand, turning, and hurling it over at the scaffolding. The bottle hit the heavy bag and bounced off. Devon gave the crumpled plastic a disgusted look.

I got to my feet. “What's got you so upset?”

He snorted. “You never give up, do you? You're as bad as Felix, always trying to get me to talk about things.”

“In this case, I'll take that as a compliment.”

Devon whirled around, his eyes glinting with anger. “Do you think I want you here?” he growled. “Do you think I want you to die for me like Ashley did? And all the others before her?”

I couldn't have been more surprised than if he had slapped me across the face. The words hung in the air like the fireflies around us, winking on and off and bringing a fresh flare of pain with every bright burst of light. Devon let out a bitter laugh, and I thought of all the guilt, grief, and sorrow I'd seen in his heart. And I realized that it was for
them
—Ashley, his other bodyguards, all the people who'd died protecting him over the years.

Including my mom.

“And do you know what the sad part is?” he growled again. “I really
can
do it. I really can take care of myself. I'm as good with my fists and a sword as any of the guards. That's why my dad made me the bruiser and put me in charge of the guards before he died. I can beat anyone in the Family in a fight. Well, except maybe you.”

I started to make some snide comment about his faint praise of my skills, but I decided to let it slide. This one time.

“So what's the problem?”

“My mom. If she would just let me—” He clamped his lips together, as if he was about to tell me something he shouldn't.

“If she would just let you what?”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”

Devon paced around the roof before turning back to me. He sighed, and all of the anger leaked out of his body, like a balloon slowly losing air.

“I don't care what my mom told you or promised you or threatened you with,” he said. “I'll take care of it. I swear. But you need to leave now before it's too late. Please, Lila? Please just leave. Before I get you killed.”

Devon gave me a final haunted, wounded look before unlocking the door, stepping through to the other side, and disappearing into the dark of the mansion.

 

I stayed on the roof, thinking about Devon's words and all the emotions flashing in his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Grief. Fear.

But once again, that fear wasn't for himself—it was for
me
. He truly meant what he'd said. He wanted me to leave because he really thought I would get killed being his bodyguard.

He was probably right about that.

But for the first time, I actually wanted to stay, and not because Claudia was paying me or threatening me or using Mo as leverage. I wanted to stay to prove Devon wrong. I wanted to show him it wasn't his fault that he was a target. That this was the life he'd been born into and that there was nothing he could do to escape it.

Just like I couldn't escape it now, either.

I wanted him to stay safe. I wanted to show him that I could survive anything the Draconis or any other Family threw at me.

More than that, I
needed
to do it, in the same way that my mom had. Mo was right. I was just like her—a fighter, a soldier, a protector. For the first time, I realized why she'd gotten off that park bench when Devon and Claudia had been attacked. Because she had wanted to save an innocent boy. And now, I did, too.

Damn it.

But the first step to protecting Devon—and myself—was finding out who wanted him dead. I thought back to the attack at the Razzle Dazzle. No doubt Grant had been investigating that as well. I'd have to ask him what he'd found out, if anything. And I'd ask Mo, too. He might come up with some leads that Grant had missed.

It was just like casing a house to rob or sizing up a tourist to pick-pocket. You analyzed risk versus reward, you looked for weak spots, and you figured how to get in and out with no one being the wiser. Easy peasy. I'd never failed on one of my jobs for Mo, and I wasn't about to start now.

Satisfied with my plan of attack, I left the roof, climbed down the drainpipe, and went back to my room for the night.

T
he next few days passed by quietly, and I quickly fell into a routine.

Down in the dining hall by nine to eat as much breakfast as I could stuff myself with, then following Devon whenever he left the mansion, usually with Grant and Felix along for the ride. Once Devon was finished with his daily rounds, it was back to the mansion to spend some time training Felix in the gym or exploring the grounds. I finished up by grabbing dinner in the dining hall with Felix and annoying Oscar by slipping Tiny some berries, lettuce, and other treats when I went back to my room for the night.

Devon didn't say much to me, but every morning, he seemed disappointed when I showed up for breakfast, as if he'd wanted me to sneak off in the middle of the night. But I wasn't going anywhere. Not until I knew he was safe. It's what my mom would have wanted, and I'd be damned if she'd saved him all those years ago just for him to die now.

So I nosed around the Sinclair mansion, casually chatting up the guards, pixies, and visitors to see if anyone had a beef with Devon. The mystery man had to have some way of tracking Devon's movements; otherwise, the attack at the Razzle Dazzle never would have happened. And what better way to get that info than to have an inside man spying on Devon?

But everyone I spoke to admired and respected Devon, and nobody had anything bad to say about him. I even used my soulsight to make sure folks were telling me the truth, but they really meant all the good things they said. If the mystery man did have a spy in the Sinclair Family, I couldn't find the informer.

I didn't do much actual bodyguarding, though. Mostly what I did was stand out of the way in a corner, my hand on my sword, as Devon met with other guards, business owners in the Midway, or whoever else he needed to see. He also had some more fake dates with Poppy, trying to smooth things over between the Sinclairs and the Itos, before the night of that big dinner when all the Families would get together. Felix and I tagged along on those, too. I didn't mind, though. I liked Poppy. She was smart, funny, and loved action movies, just like me.

I also used those opportunities to ask people outside the Sinclair Family about Devon, but I got the same answers and admiration as before. So far, the mystery man had covered his tracks well, and I was no closer to figuring out his identity than when I'd started.

Devon and Felix wanted to have some cheesy monster movie marathon at the mansion, which meant I got an afternoon off. So I decided to visit Mo. He'd texted me, and we'd chatted on the phone several times, but it wasn't the same as seeing him in person. Besides, I wanted to know if he'd found out anything about the attack on Devon, since I'd hit nothing but dead ends so far.

Grant had some business at one of the Sinclair banks, and he volunteered to drive me to the Razzle Dazzle. The sun and heat weren't as intense today, so Grant buzzed down the windows. I leaned my head back against the seat and enjoyed the steady breeze on my face. The wind whipped at my ponytail, but I didn't mind. At least, not until I realized that Grant didn't have a hair out of place. Seriously. His golden mane looked as sleek and smooth as when he'd first gotten into the car. I wondered how he did that. Or perhaps that's what his Talent was—always looking perfect. Heh. A faint chill of magic emanated from him, indicating he was using his magic in some small way, although it wasn't enough to trigger my own transference power.

Grant drove over the lochness bridge, showing no signs of slowing down to pay the toll. But I was ready for that. I palmed some coins from one of my pockets, then dangled my hand out the window and flicked open my fingers.

The three quarters skipped across the top of the bridge before tumbling down into the river below. That should satisfy the lochness.

“What are you doing?” Grant asked.

I pulled my hand back into the car. “Nothing.”

I didn't care to be made fun of again, just because he didn't believe in things like lochness tolls.

“So,” he said, “how are you liking the Family so far?”

“It's okay.”

“Well, the guards have been quite impressed with you. I've heard reports that you've beaten all of them in one-on-one combat. What's your secret?”

“Bacon,” I deadpanned. “And lots of it.”

He laughed, but his chuckles sounded a little forced. He opened his mouth to ask me another question, but I cut in before he could get started. I had zero desire to talk about myself. Besides, this was the first chance I'd had to pump Grant for information about the attack at the pawnshop.

“Have you learned anything else about the attack at the Razzle Dazzle? Who the mystery man was, and why he wanted Devon dead?”

Grant shrugged. “I'm investigating, but nothing concrete has come up yet. If the Itos or another Family were behind the attack, they've kept it quiet so far.”

“What about the dead guys? Who were they?”

He shrugged again. “Just some guys who hired themselves out as muscle. Low-level thugs. Nobody important.”

I frowned. The guys were important enough to have provided protection to the accountant I'd robbed, the one that had some Family connections. I'd have to ask Mo which Family the accountant worked for. That might provide some sort of clue about the attack, or at least narrow it down to which Family was really behind it.

“Why are you suddenly so interested in the attempt on Devon's life?” Grant asked.

“I just want to know what I'm up against.”

“Are you sure it doesn't have something to do with Devon?”

I couldn't keep myself from stiffening a tiny bit. “Why would you say that?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, Lila,” Grant said. “But I've seen this before. It happened with Ashley and another girl before her who was assigned to guard Devon. He treated them as friends, the way he does everyone, but they both got a little too . . . close to him.”

His meaning was clear. The girls had fallen for Devon, and their devotion had cost them—their lives.

“There's just something about Devon,” Grant mused. “Everyone loves him . . . for some reason.”

He stared through the windshield instead of at me, but the longer I looked at him, the more his blue eyes seemed to darken, like they had at breakfast the other morning. He shook his head, and the illusion vanished.

“Just be careful, okay?” Grant said. “I wouldn't want to see a nice girl like you get hurt.”

Nice girl? That was the
last
thing I was.

Or maybe I didn't want to admit that he was right. That I had way more than just a casual interest in Devon Sinclair.

One that was probably going to get me killed.

 

Grant dropped me off in front of the square near the Razzle Dazzle. He offered to come back for me after he finished at the bank, but I told him I could take one of the tourist trolleys back up the mountain, so he drove off.

I stepped inside the store, rattling the lochness bones. The pawnshop was empty except for Mo, who was sitting at the back counter, his white straw hat tipped back on his head, flipping through another decorating magazine. He wore his usual Hawaiian shirt, this one a bright green patterned with pink flamingos. My heart squeezed, and I realized how much I missed him.

Mo raised his head, and his face split into a wide smile. I thought about running around the counter and hugging him, but I resisted the urge. Mo wasn't a hugger any more than I was.

“Why, hello, stranger,” he rumbled. “Welcome to my humble little corner of the world.”

“Nice digs,” I said, playing along. “A girl leaves you alone for a few days, and you go and repaint the whole store again.”

Instead of robin's egg blue, the walls were now a light green.

Mo held up his magazine. “It's called seafoam. I read this article about it. The color is supposed to put people in a good mood. And people in a good mood . . .”

“Spend more money,” I said, laughing and finishing the saying he'd quoted to me many, many times.

He shrugged and gave me a good-natured grin. “Something like that. How are you, kid? How's life with the Sinclairs?”

I propped my elbows on the counter and told Mo everything that had happened. He nodded, absorbing my words, but he was also on the lookout for anyone passing by outside who stopped long enough to peer in the windows. Every time he made eye contact with someone, he grinned a little wider, trying to get them to come into the shop. But everyone ignored Mo's attempts at charm.

Eventually, he gave up and focused on me again. “You know what, kid? I'm starting to think you're bad for business.”

“Nah. You just need to up your game. So you can compete with the big boys out on the Midway.”

Mo grumbled at my teasing. “Speaking of the big boys, how are you getting along with the folks in the Family?”

“Fine. There's one guy, Felix Morales, that I hang out with. He's okay, for someone who never shuts up.”

“And what about Devon?” Mo asked in a sly voice.

I tensed up the same way I had with Grant in the car. “What about Devon?”

“You've been texting me about him a lot.”

“No more so than anyone else.”

“True. But you never really
say
anything about him,” Mo countered. “Just that he's there.”

“What am I supposed to say? I follow the guy around all day long. Trust me. He's not that interesting.”

Yeah, I was totally lying, but I didn't know how I felt about Devon. I didn't childishly hate or automatically blame him for causing my mom's murder. Not anymore. Not since that night on the rooftop when I'd seen how much her death and the murders of Ashley and all his other bodyguards weighed on him.

“Have you heard anything else about the attack here?” I asked, changing the subject. “Who was behind it and why?”

Mo shook his head. “Nope. Not a peep from anyone. And you would think by now that
someone
would have spilled their guts about
something
. It's hard to keep a secret in this town, especially where the Families are concerned.”

“But what about the dead guys? I recognized them. They worked for the accountant I swiped that ruby necklace from, the one you said was mobbed up.”

“Nothing on them, either,” Mo replied. “Besides, they're dead, so what does it matter?”

I told him my theory that maybe the dead guys had been working for the same Family the accountant did. Mo didn't know who the accountant worked for, but he promised to find out.

I started to ask him some more questions, but Mo distracted me by talking about some of the items that people had brought into the pawnshop over the past few days, everything from an oversize rubber bath duck to a fountain pen that only wrote with invisible ink to a superhero action figure that was in mint condition.

His quick, excited words washed over me, and I found myself relaxing. Mo was like Felix—once he got wound up, it was hard to get a word in edgewise. It made me smile because it was a typical day at the Razzle Dazzle. But it made me a little melancholy, too. Because it wasn't a typical day, not really, not with me having to report back to the Sinclair mansion tonight or risk Claudia sending the guards out to hunt me down. No, things weren't the same, and they never would be again.

I was surprised by how sad that made me.

Mo ran out of steam about the new items in the shop, although he gave me a thoughtful look. “Now that you're all moved in at the mansion, what are you going to do with the rest of your stuff?”

“You mean what's left in the library?”

He nodded.

I shrugged. “I don't know. I'll go get it at some point, I guess.”

“Well, you better do that soon. Isn't it about time for the summer sale?”

I groaned. With everything that had been going on, I'd forgotten all about the sale the library sponsored at the beginning of every summer to clean out the old, used books and earn a little money to buy shiny new titles. But the date was circled in red on the cheap calendar by my cot because it was one of the few weeks of the year when I had to crash at Mo's. During the sale, the librarians actually came down into the basement to sort through and clean out everything. I had to hide my stuff as far back in the basement as it would go, stack boxes of books in front of it, and hope my things would be left alone until after the sale. Then, when it was over, I could put everything back the way it was. At least until the next sale.

Mo had already brought my most treasured items to the mansion, but there were some things in the library I still wanted. Extra clothes, extra weapons, a few more knickknacks.

“What's the date of the sale?”

Mo pulled out his phone and surfed the library's website. “Let's see. According to the calendar, it looks like they start going through stuff tomorrow. The sale starts three days after that.”

I groaned again. That meant I needed to get my things tonight or risk losing them. No doubt the librarians would wonder exactly why they hadn't noticed the cot, the mini-fridge, and the rest of my stuff before. I'd be lucky if they only added it to the sale, instead of calling the cops to complain about someone squatting in the library. I didn't think anything there could be traced back to me, but it was better not to take the chance.

“I need to go then,” I said. “And salvage what I can.”

“You want me to come with you, kid? Give you a hand?”

The lochness bones over the front door rattled, cutting me off. Three women wearing shorts, pink baseball hats, and matching T-shirts entered the shop. Mo perked up. Only the rubes from the tour groups wore matching T-shirts.