Cold Burn of Magic (29 page)

I shook my head. “Wow. You are way too noble for your own good.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's not your fault,” I said. “People are responsible for their own actions. Grant decided to hurt people to get what he wanted, so that's what he did. There's no excuse for it. Don't you
dare
make excuses for him and everything he did.”

Devon nodded, and he was quiet again, although I could almost see the gears spinning in his brain. “There's one more thing I want to know.”

I tensed, knowing what was coming next, that he was going to ask me how I'd escaped at the slaughterhouse; I was already planning what lies to tell him.

“It's about your transference power.”

I blinked. Apparently, I didn't know what was coming next because I'd never dreamed it would be
that
.

Devon stared at me. “That's how you got out of your ropes, right? Grant used the same ones on me, so I know how thick they were. But you snapped out of them like they were nothing—
after
those guys used their strength to hold you still.”

I didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't say anything. Suddenly, I could barely breathe. One of my deepest, darkest secrets, and Devon was talking about it like it was an action movie we'd both watched. First, Claudia. Now, her son. The Sinclairs were a lot smarter than I'd given them credit for.

“And when we were running toward the bridge? I could barely keep up with you,” he continued. “You were the one pulling me along, Lila, even though you were hurt a lot worse than I was. That happened
after
I used my compulsion on you. And I started thinking about all the other times I've seen you fight, and how you always seem to get stronger
after
someone uses their strength or speed against you. That's transference, right?”

I wet my lips. “How—how do you know about my magic?”

He shrugged. “When I was a kid and found out about my own power, I started reading about all the different kinds of Talents. Whenever I meet someone new, I try to figure out what their magic is. It took me a lot longer with you than with anyone else, though.”

I kept staring and staring at him.

“Don't worry,” he said, noticing the sick, stricken look on my face. “I'm not going to tell anyone. I think it's cool. That we're sort of the same when it comes to our magic.”

He smiled, and some of the knots in my stomach loosened. He would keep my secret.

Devon hesitated, then reached over and put his hand on top of mine. His skin was warm, as though the sun had soaked into his body. I breathed in, and the crisp, clean scent of him filled my nose, the one that made me want to bury my face in his neck and inhale the essence of him over and over again. But I forced myself to exhale and step back, putting some distance between us, even though our hands were still touching.

“Look,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “You're a nice guy, a great guy. But I'm going to . . . be here for a while. You're an important member of the Family, and I'm your bodyguard, so it's my job to protect you, and we're going to have to work together. But I don't think there should be anything . . . else.”

“Because of your mom, right?” he asked in a low voice. “Because you blame me for her death?”

I sucked in a breath, so rattled that I couldn't even pretend I didn't know what he was talking about. First, my magic, and now this. Somehow, Devon knew all my secrets.

“How do you know about my mom?” I croaked out.

“I remember everything about that day in the park,” he said. “Including the girl with the blue eyes who helped save me.”

I didn't say anything. I could barely even hear him over the roar of my own heartbeat in my ears.

“It took me a while to figure out why you seemed so familiar. When I realized you reminded me of the girl in the park, I knew it had to be you. Mom would never have brought you here otherwise. Plus, there are several photos of your mother in the library. You look just like her. I know what happened to her. I'm sorry that she died because of me—so sorry.”

His green gaze locked with mine, that old, familiar guilt flaring to life in his eyes and punching me in the gut. And once again, I found myself wanting to comfort him.

“I don't blame you for her death,” I said. “It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. It was all the Draconis.”

“Do you really mean that?” he whispered.

“I do.”

Devon closed the distance between us and stared down at me. I let myself look into his eyes for another heartbeat.

Then I pulled my hand out from under his and stepped away.

Hurt flashed in his gaze before he could hide it. I wanted to stop. I wanted to tell him that I felt this thing, this attraction, this heat between us just as much as he did. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, pull his lips down to mine, and lose myself in him.

But I couldn't.

Not when I was planning on leaving the mansion, the Family, and him, the second I thought it was safe. I already cared about Devon way too much. And Felix and Oscar and even Claudia. I didn't need to fall any farther down that rabbit hole, especially where Devon was concerned, because I knew exactly where I would end up—with my heart broken.

“You said I saved your life last night. Well, you saved mine, too,” I said. “So I would say that we're even. There's no need for thanks or anything . . . else. Does that work for you?”

By this point, Devon's face was as hard as the black marble of the mansion. “Yeah. That works. Sorry I bothered you. It won't happen again.”

He turned and walked across the balcony. This time, instead of climbing up the drainpipe, he ran up the stairs, disappearing from sight, and he didn't look back. Not even once. Good. I didn't want him to, even though every one of his soft steps was like a knife in my heart.

This was for the best. I knew that. Really, I did.

But why did it have to hurt so much?

T
he next morning, Claudia called me down to the library before breakfast. She was sitting at her desk poring over some papers, but my gaze locked on to the black velvet box perched on the corner. It was the same size and shape as the one that had held the ruby necklace I'd stolen.

Claudia looked up at me, then stabbed her pen at the box. “Don't worry. You don't have to steal it. Take it. It's yours.”

I pressed my hands to my heart and batted my eyes. “Diamonds? For me? You shouldn't have.”

She snorted. “I don't even buy myself diamonds.”

“Well, that's a shame.”

She made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Claudia leaned back in her chair, watching me, so I slid the box off the desk and cracked it open.

A silver cuff lay inside.

“Every member of the Family wears one,” she said. “Go on. Put it on.”

I sighed and plucked the cuff out of the box. It was just like all the other Family cuffs I'd seen—a thin band of silver with the Sinclair crest stamped into the middle. With one difference. A tiny, star-shaped sapphire was embedded in the silver, as though whoever was holding the sword was wearing a small ring on her hand.

“It was Serena's,” Claudia said in a soft voice. “I thought you would want it.”

My throat closed up. I nodded and slipped the cuff on my right wrist. It was lighter than I thought it would be. Instead of a shackle, it felt almost . . . nice. Like I was connected to my mom again. Like I was part of something.

Like I finally belonged somewhere.

“It's not like the other cuffs,” I said.

“No,” Claudia replied. “It's not.”

I traced my fingers over the crest, feeling the small points of the star catch against my skin. “Thank you for this,” I whispered.

Claudia nodded and went back to her papers. With the cuff on my wrist, I closed the black velvet box, tucked it into one of the pockets on my cargo pants, and left the library.

 

I thought that was the end of my not-so-formal initiation into the Sinclair Family, so I headed to the dining hall for breakfast. To my surprise, the others were already gathered around one of the tables—Felix, Devon, Oscar, and Mo.

“Lila! There you are!” Mo called out.

He was wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, this one a cool white with bright pink margaritas patterned all over the fabric. He got to his feet, came around the table, and gave me a hug.

“I'm so proud of you, kid,” Mo whispered in my ear. “And your mom would be, too.”

He stepped back and swept his arms out to the side, and I realized that the table was covered with food. Platters of eggs, hash browns, pancakes, and, most important of all, bacon. Mounds of it. Piles of it. More bacon than I had ever seen in one place before. All arranged around my usual seat, as if it had been put there especially for me.

“What's all this?” I asked.

“Breakfast,” Oscar said, twitching his wings.

“Extra heavy on the bacon, just for you.” Felix winked at me.

Devon cleared his throat. “It's our official way of saying welcome to the Family.”

His voice was quiet and his eyes were dark, telling me just how much I'd hurt him last night. My own heart squeezed tight, but once again, I told myself it was for the best.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, and we all sat down and started eating. Mo dominated the conversation, talking about all the plans he had and all the great deals he was going to make for the Sinclairs. I knew he would do a good job as the Family broker.

At one point, Felix leaned over to me. “Geez,” he whispered, “does that guy ever shut up?”

I laughed.

“Plus,” Mo said, finally stopping long enough to take a breath, “just
think
of how many more customers I'll get at the Razzle Dazzle, now that it's an official Sinclair Family joint. Why, I can already picture all the advertising.”

Mo beamed still brighter, to the dismay of Devon, Felix, and Oscar. Their eyes had long ago glazed over. I hid a smile. They'd get used to Mo . . . eventually.

Felix finally managed to enter the conversation, and he, Mo, and Oscar started debating what color Mo should paint the Razzle Dazzle next. This time, my eyes were the ones that glazed over, at least until Devon nudged me with his elbow.

He nodded at my arm. “The cuff looks good on you.”

My hand crept over to the thin band of silver, my fingers once again tracing the small star embedded in the metal. “Yeah.”

“I'm glad you're here, Lila,” he said. “I hope you feel that way, too.”

Devon stared at me, a mix of emotions swirling through his eyes. I saw everything I had that first day at the Razzle Dazzle—the guilt, grief, sorrow, and all the other burdens he carried in his heart.

And then there was that hot spark, a little darker and dimmer than before, but still burning all the same.

“Me too,” I said.

Devon smiled, and that spark brightened just for a moment, and I felt an answering bit of warmth stir in my own heart. I nodded at him, and we both went back to our food, things a little less tense between us. A few seconds later, we were laughing, along with Oscar, as Mo and Felix talked over each other nonstop.

Somewhere between those laughs and all the others that morning, I realized something.

My home. My friends. My Family.

Sometimes, good things come in threes.

 

 

 

W
orking for the mob isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Oh, sure. It looks all glitzy and glamorous on TV and in the movies. Folks wearing slick suits, eating in fancy restaurants, and talking about how to best deal with their enemies over coffee and cannolis. And maybe I'd actually done some of those things during these past few weeks I'd been working for the Sinclair Family. But most of the time, taking care of Family business was a boring, tedious job, just like any other—

“Watch out, Lila!” Devon Sinclair shouted.

I ducked just in time to keep from getting pelted in the face by a blood persimmon. The ripe, apple-size fruit sailed over my head and splattered against the ground. The skin exploded on impact, painting red pulp all over the gray cobblestones and filling the summer air with a sweet, sticky scent.

Sadly, the cobblestones weren't the only things covered in fruit—so was I. Red pulp had soaked into my blue T-shirt and gray cargo pants from where I'd already been hit, while seeds and bits of skin clung to the laces of my gray sneakers.

An angry, high-pitched
cheep-cheep-cheep
sounded, the noise somewhere between a crow's cawing and a chipmunk's chirping. I glared up at the tree where the persimmon had come from. A creature with charcoal-gray fur and emerald-green eyes jumped up and down on its hind legs on a branch about ten feet above my head. The creature's jumps were so hard and powerful that more ripe blood persimmons dropped from their branches and hit the ground, bursting open and adding to the oozing mess that already coated the cobblestones. Oh, yeah. The tree troll was definitely upset it had missed me with its latest fruit bomb.

Tree trolls were among the many monsters that made their home in and around Cloudburst Falls, West Virginia, along with mortals and magicks, like me. I'd always thought of the trolls as sort of a cross between an oversize squirrel and the flying monkeys from
The Wizard of Oz
. Oh, tree trolls couldn't actually fly, but the black webbing under their arms helped them catch wind currents as they hopped from one branch and tree to the next, while their long, bushy tails let them dangle upside down. The trolls were about a foot tall, so they weren't nearly as dangerous as copper crushers and many of the other monsters in town. Most of the time, trolls were pretty harmless unless you got them riled up. And this one was certainly riled, since it kept jumping up and down and
cheep-cheep-cheeping
at us all the while.

Careful of the falling persimmons, Devon Sinclair stepped up beside me and craned his neck back. His black T-shirt and khaki cargo pants were splattered with even more persimmon pulp than mine, making it look as though he'd been caught in a red rainstorm. The only part of him not covered in fruit was the silver cuff that glimmered on his right wrist, one stamped with a distinctive design—a hand holding a sword aloft. The symbol of the Sinclair Family.

“He's not a very happy fellow, is he?” Devon murmured in his deep, rumbling voice. “No wonder the tourists are complaining about him.”

Cloudburst Falls was known far and wide as “the most magical place in America,” a place where “fairy tales are real,” so tourism was the name of the game around here. People from all over the country and the world came to see the magnificent views from Cloudburst Mountain, the rugged, fog-covered peak that loomed over the city. They also enjoyed the shops, casinos, restaurants, hotels, and other attractions that ringed the Midway, the main drag in the center of town.

But monsters were also drawn to the area because of all the bloodiron, a magical metal that had been mined out of Cloudburst Mountain over the years. At least, that's what the local legends and tall tales claimed. Tourist rubes might like to
ooh
and
aah
at the monsters in the various zoos in the Midway and photograph the creatures in their natural habitats during tours and expeditions up the mountain, but the out-of-towners didn't appreciate tree trolls lobbing persimmon grenades their way as they walked down the sidewalk. And the tourists didn't care to be attacked or eaten by dangerous monsters lurking in dark alleys and shadowy spots around town. So it was the job of the Families, or mobs, to make sure the monsters stayed in their designated areas. Or at least didn't snack on too many tourists.

This particular troll had taken up residence in a tall blood persimmon tree that sat at the edge of one of the shopping squares off the Midway. Since this particular square was part of the Sinclair territory, we had been called in to deal with the creature. For the last three days, the troll had been fruit-bombing everyone who dared walk by its tree, causing several tourists to drop and break their expensive phones and cameras.
Nothing
pissed off a tourist more than losing their fancy new phone. I knew, since I'd spent the last few years swiping phones out of the pockets, purses, and fanny packs of every out-of-towner who looked like an easy mark.

Beside me, Devon shifted on his feet, moving out of the bright, direct sun into a pool of dappled shadows closer to the tree. The warm rays filtered down through the branches and danced across his muscled body, showing off his intense green eyes, rugged features, and the honey highlights in his dark chocolate brown hair. I breathed in, catching a whiff of his crisp pine scent, mixed in with the sticky sweetness of the splattered persimmons. Just standing near Devon made my heart do a funny little
pitter-patter
in my chest, but I ignored the sensation, just as I'd been doing for weeks now.

“What do you want to do about the troll?” I asked. “Because I don't think he's coming down from there without a fight.”

Devon was the bruiser, or second-in-command, of the Sinclair Family, responsible for overseeing all the Family guards and dealing with the monster problems that arose in Sinclair territory. Most of the bruisers for the various Families were arrogant jerks who enjoyed bossing people around and taking advantage of the other perks of their powerful position. But Devon was a genuinely good guy who treated everyone in his Family equally, from the smallest pixie to the toughest guard. Plus, he would do anything to help his friends and the folks he cared about, something he'd proven by putting himself in danger time and time again.

Devon's inherent goodness and devotion to others were two of the many things that made me like him way more than I should. His soulful green eyes, teasing grin, and rocking body didn't hurt matters, either.

Me? Good and I weren't exactly close friends, and the only devotion I had was to myself, and making sure I had plenty of cash in my pockets, food in my stomach, and a warm, dry place to sleep. I was a loner thief who'd spent the last four years living in the shadows, until a few weeks ago when I'd been recruited to be Devon's bodyguard. Not that he really needed a guard. Devon was a tough fighter who could take care of himself—and then some.

“Well, I say we pick up all the fruit that's still in one piece and chuck it right back at the troll,” another voice suggested in a snide tone. “Let
him
see how it feels to get splattered for a change.”

I looked over at Felix Morales, Devon's best friend and another Sinclair Family member. With his wavy black hair, bronze skin, and dark brown eyes, Felix was even more handsome than Devon, despite the fact he was also covered in pulp. Not that I would ever tell him that. Felix was already a terrible flirt. We'd been in the square for ten minutes, and he'd spent more time grinning at the tourist girls who wandered by than trying to figure out what to do about the troll.

Felix winked at two girls in tank tops and short-shorts who were sitting on a nearby bench sipping lemonade, then waggled his fingers at them. The girls giggled and waved back.

I elbowed him in the side. “Try to pay attention.”

Felix shot me a sour look and rubbed his side.

“What do you normally do about tree trolls who throw things at tourists?” I asked.

Devon shrugged. “Usually, we don't have to do all that much. Most of the trolls stay in the trees in their designated habitat areas in and around the Midway. Whenever they start making pests of themselves, we send some guards over to tell them to either cut it out or move back up the mountain where they can do whatever they want.”

I nodded. Like most monsters, tree trolls could understand human speech, even if mortals and magicks couldn't really understand
them
all that well.

“Usually, that's the end of it, but this guy doesn't seem to want to leave,” Devon said. “He's still here, despite the guards that I sent over yesterday. And he's not the only one. I've heard rumors that all the other Families are having similar problems with trolls. Seems like something has them spooked, causing them to come down the mountain in record numbers.”

As soon as Devon said the word
leave,
the tree troll started jumping up and down even faster than before, its
cheep-cheep-cheeps
growing louder and louder. The high-pitched shrieks stabbed into my brain, making me grateful that enhanced hearing wasn't one of my Talents. The creature was plenty loud enough already without the sound being magically amplified.

All around us, the tourists stopped slurping down their jumbo sodas, noshing on their giant wads of cotton candy, and snapping photos of the bubbling fountain in the middle of the square. They all turned to stare in our direction, curious about the commotion. I dropped my head and slid behind Felix, trying to blend into the background as much as possible. As a thief, I'd never liked being the center of attention. Kind of hard to pick someone's pocket or snag a watch off her wrist when she was looking straight at you. I might not be here to steal anything, but old habits die hard.

Devon looked at me. “Do you think you can use your soulsight to see what he's so upset about?”

“Yeah,” Felix chimed in. “Let the great Lila Merriweather do her magic mojo. She is the monster whisperer, after all.”

I reached over and punched him in the shoulder.

“Hey!” Felix said, rubbing his arm. “What was that for?”

“I am
not
a monster whisperer.”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you or did you not feed three guys to a lochness a few weeks ago?”

I winced. That was
exactly
what I'd done. I didn't even feel bad about it, since the guys had been trying to kill Devon and me at the time. But I'd always been secretive about my magic, my Talents, and all the things my mom had taught me about dealing with monsters. I'd had to be, since I wanted to keep my magic firmly inside my own body and not have someone rip it out of me to use himself. So I wasn't used to Felix or anyone else joking about it so openly. Every time he or Devon made a comment about my magic, I looked around, wondering who might have overheard and what they might do to me in order to get my power.

Devon noticed my worried expression, and he put his hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his fingers soaked through my T-shirt and burned into my skin. That was something else I liked a lot more than I should. I shrugged out from under his touch, trying not to notice the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Please, Lila,” Devon said. “Try to talk to the troll.”

I sighed. “Sure. Why not?”

The majority of magic fell into three categories—strength, speed, and senses. So lots of magicks had a Talent for sight, whether it was the ability to see great distances, in microscopic detail, or even in the dark. But I had the more unusual Talent of also being able to see
into
people and feel their emotions as though they were my own, whether it was love, hate, anger, or something else. Soulsight, it was called. I'd never used it on a monster before, but I supposed there was a first time for everything.

I stepped forward, tipped my head back, and peered up at the creature. Maybe it sensed what I was trying to do because it actually stopped jumping up and down and focused on me as intently as I was staring at it. My eyes locked with the monster's, and my soulsight kicked in.

The tree troll's red-hot anger slammed into my chest like a flaming fist, but that emotion was quickly smothered by another, stronger one—stomach-churning fear.

I frowned. What could the troll have to be so worried about? Sure, Devon, Felix, and I were all wearing swords belted to our waists, but so did most everyone in the Families. It wasn't like we were actually going to
hurt
the creature. Or maybe that's what the other mobs did. I wouldn't put it past the Draconi Family to slaughter the monsters that dared to wander into their territory, either down here in the city or up on Cloudburst Mountain, where the Draconi mansion was located.

Whatever the troll was so worried about, it wasn't going to leave or even calm down until it had been taken care of. As if it could sense my thoughts, the troll
cheeped
again, then skittered up a branch, moving higher into the tree and disappearing into the green cluster of leaves.

“What did you do to it?” Felix asked.

“I didn't do anything,” I said. “Here. Hold this.”

I unbuckled the black leather belt from around my waist and passed it over to Felix. He clutched the belt and the attached sword and scabbard in his hands.

“What are you doing, Lila?” Devon asked.

“It's worried about something. I'm going to try to find out what that is.”

I went over and circled around the persimmon tree, my dark blue gaze going from one branch to the next as I mentally calculated how I could best scramble up to where the troll was now perched.