Page 74 of Princess of Thieves

Zayn’s eyebrows lift, intrigued. His lips curl into a slow grin. “I can try.”

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, I flee to the garage like it’s a sanctuary.

The scent of oil and old leather lingers in the air, and the polished surfaces of the cars gleam in the soft post-dawn light. The whole tableau fills me with a bittersweet feeling, almost like nostalgia for something I haven’t yet lived past.

I’m not committed to staying here yet. Not formally. I haven’t said as much, even though it’s starting to feel inevitable. Especially after last night.

And maybe that’s I feel an obligation to check on the cars. To turn over that one last piece of the puzzle, feel out its edges and confirm that yes, this is it. This will put everything back together.

Because how could I ever leave? Really—how could I?

Idly, I run my fingers along the cool metal of a vintage Camaro—late 60s, blue, with rally stripes—it feels good. Like I’m doing something right. Like my presence alone is reassuring to the cars—healing, even.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but I don’t care. I’m lost in the process of examining the sleek lines of a BMW wagon (imported, only ever made for the German market) when I hear someone enter the garage, their footsteps light on the concrete floor. I glance up from the car and smile.

“Morning, Tuck,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag.

“Morning, Maren,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He takes a deep breath, clearly trying to muster the right words. “I, uh, wanted to check in on you. After everything that happened yesterday.”

I nod. “I’m doing okay. It’s a lot to process, right? But I’m managing, I guess.”

Tuck shuffles a bit, his gaze shifting between me and the cars. “Yeah, I can imagine. It’s not every day you’re thrown into the middle of... well, everything that’s been going on.”

“Definitely not,” I agree, sensing that Tuck has more on his mind.

Sure enough, he clears his throat. “Actually, I also wanted to come talk to you about, um...your abilities.”

That stops me in my tracks. I set down the rag on the hood of the BMW.

“My abilities,” I repeat. It’s crazy to think that somehow, the fact that I have some sort of supernatural powers latent inside me has become an afterthought, but...well, I guess that’s what happens when you’re tangled up in a, what, shapeshifting polycule being pursued by the law?

“Yeah,” Tuck hurries on. “I couldn’t really sleep last night, no surprise. So I stayed up doing some research and, well, there’s not a ton of lore aroundanyof this, you know, shifters and all that...we kind of just figure it out on our own, find each other, learn by trial and error, but there aresomesources to investigate...”

I nod, trying to suppress a smile. His enthusiasm is both endearing and slightly overwhelming. I gesture for him to continue.

“Right.” Tuck pulls out a small notebook and flips it open, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “So, I’ve been digging into historical accounts and obscure texts—really obscure ones. Like, ancient manuscripts from the Far East and pre-Christian European folklore. There are references to people who experience physical sensations linked to emotional states, but they’re not always straightforward.”

He launches into an explanation, his voice quick and animated. “For instance, in some old Celtic legends, there’s mention of individuals who would experiencephysical symptoms—dizziness, nausea—when exposed to strong emotions. It’s thought that their powers might be somehow tied to their emotional state or their connection to the supernatural. Then there’s this obscure text from the Ming Dynasty that talks about similar symptoms in people who were believed to be under spiritual influence...”

His words start to blend together as he delves deeper into his research, describing various historical phenomena, magical practices, and ancient beliefs. I listen, my mind drifting as he goes off on tangents about magical ley lines and obscure rituals.

“...and then there’s the phenomenon in South American shamanistic traditions where...”

“Okay, Tuck,” I interrupt gently, raising a hand. “I appreciate all the research you’ve done, but maybe we can cut to the chase here?”

He blinks, snapping back to the present. “Oh! Right. Sorry, sorry. TL;DR, from what I’ve gathered, there’s plenty of evidence that your dizzy spells could be linked to your emotional responsesandthat’s what intensifies your powers.” Tuck fidgets with the edge of his notebook, clearly working up to something. “Point is, I’ve been thinking we could...try something.”

“Try something?”

“A small experiment,” he clarifies. “Just to see if there’s more to your powers than we’ve noticed so far.”

“An experiment,” I repeat.

He nods, his enthusiasm tempered by my wary expression. “Nothing too crazy, I promise. But I think it could help us figure out what’s going on with you.”

My skepticism lingers, but I know Tuck wouldn’t suggest anything actually dangerous...I don’t think.

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