Page 68 of Runaway Magic
At least it wasn’t all of them. Considering their interaction earlier, Creepy Grandma must have been keeping up the façade with Sterling. Cym was momentarily warmed at the possibility that his baby brother might not want him dead. If Cym couldfind a way to contact Sterling, maybe he could convince his brother to help.
Cym’s attention went to the door as it opened.
“Look what we found!” Hester announced gaily as she breezed back into the garage. “Please put him over there.” She pointed at the floor next to Cym’s cage.
Cym’s uncle Grant came through the door and took up a position by Hester. He avoided eye contact with Cym and watched silently as two young men dragged a body into the room. Hope shattered as Cym watched them drop Fourteen on the floor beside him.
“You should see your face!” Hester crowed triumphantly. “You really are the worst liar ever. If I hadn’t known he meant something to you before, there’s no doubt about it now. Are you going to cry? Please do, I’d like to see that.” She clapped her hands like a small child anticipating a special treat.
A guttural cry tore from his throat as a single thought resonated through his entire being.
How fucking dare they?
After Cym had sacrificed Fourteen’s trust and his own well-being to get the man away from a dangerous situation of Cym’s own making, how dare they drag Fourteen back here?
He began to thrash wildly in the crate, kicking and straining at the damaged corner of the cage mindlessly, screaming like a wild thing.
“Oh for fuck’s sake… Cym, stop that, right now.” A welcome voice in long-suffering tones broke through Cym’s rage.
Cym stopped dead and looked at where Fourteen was now kneeling, hands bound before him, but looking none the worse for the wear.
“This would have worked better if your stupid family thought I was unconscious, but I’m not going to let you damage yourself over this.” Fourteen frowned, as he took in Cym’s blood-stained,mangled arm. “What did they do to you?” His voice sapped what little heat there was from the room.
“He did that to himself, champion.” Hester clucked her tongue in disapproval at Cym. “Did you really think I wouldn’t want your body if you injured it? This is nothing—a day wearing a few spellpatches at most.”
Cym ignored her. “Fourteen, you can’t?—”
“Don’t!” Fourteen’s voice rang out sharply. “Just… don’t, okay?”
Hester clapped her hands again and twirled around in a circle in delight. “Oh yes! Stella told me about this. Does that beautiful man really have to do everything you tell him to? Cymbeline, you naughty fox, I can’t wait to play with him once I’m you.” She wiggled in anticipation.
Nausea returned in full force.
Cymbeline. That was his name. His full name. It had been so long since he’d been called anything other than The Boy that he’d only been able to give Fourteen a mangled version of it. Hearing it come out of the mouth of the freak show in front of him sounded foreign and wrong.
“Over my dead body, bitch.” Cym would choose a reenactment of what he’d done at the cemetery over letting this monster have control of Fourteen.
During the interplay with his grandmother, Fourteen had crawled over to inspect Cym’s arm. “We need to get the bleeding stopped,” he stated. “This is worse than it looks. He’ll die soon without help.”
Cym was probably more occupied than he should be with wondering exactly how mad Fourteen was with him versus whether or not he was embellishing Cym’s condition for a tactical reason. Fourteen wasn’t exactly being gentle with his examination, but he wasn’t being rough either. It was clear,however, that he was taking extra care not to make skin contact or touch Cym any more than necessary.
“I’m not an idiot,” Hester said in an exasperated tone. “No one here is going anywhere near Cymbeline until we figure out how to control him. If you want to patch him up, that’s your business.”
“Your people took everything I had. I need supplies.”
“Then I guess you’re out of luck. Why don’t you do us all a favor and fill us in on how you can stay free of his magic? Is it a norm thing?”
One of the young men in the room piped up. “When I questioned the people in the boy’s last apartment building, they all showed signs of being affected by him. If it’s a norm thing, it’s not common.”
“Cym, I need you to promise me you won’t tell me to do anything for the next few minutes.” Fourteen whispered under the cover of the debate going on overhead.
“You can’t?—”
“Promise!” he insisted harshly.
“Fine.” Cym choked down his protest. It was foolish of him to keep railing against what was happening. Unless Cym decided to blow up the entire building and them along with it, he was going to need Fourteen to get them out.
“I’m holding you to that.” Fourteen’s bound and gloved hand squeezed Cym’s briefly.
