Page 9 of Runaway Magic
Cym shook his head in bemusement. “I will, but, um, where are we?” His hand gestured to the cavernous warehouse they were in.
“South Boston. I own this warehouse. Technically it’s supposed to be used for storage, but I use it when I have a job in the area. Or, I did. Now that you’ve seen it, I’ll have to sell it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Don’t apologize. You weren’t conscious when I brought you here. It did its job; now it’s done.” Fourteen walked toward the enormous, black SUV parked inside the nearly empty warehouse, leaving Cym to follow in his wake.
“Subtle.” Cym snorted indelicately, making him appear far older than he looked. Fourteen hadn’t been trying to—groping unconscious people was not his thing—but he was pretty sure he’d felt some muscles on the guy’s small frame when he’d carried him earlier. The kind children didn’t have.
“It also does its job.” Fourteen unlocked it and got in on the driver's side. He liked his ride. Cym could walk if he had a problem with it.
Cym opened the passenger side door and got inside. “It’s better than walking, I guess. You did a good job on my feet, but the Granary Burying Ground is miles from here, and without shoes…” He winced.
“We can stop and get you shoes.” What did Cym need from a cemetery?
“There’s no need. We’re going to get my stash bag, which, hopefully, has a pair of shoes in it, among other things. I hid a few around town when I first got here. This is the only one left.”
Fourteen was impressed at Cym’s foresight. He didn’t imagine many civilians could have made it as far as Cym had. If a normal person thought of having even one place to leave supplies in case of an emergency, it would be unusual. Having several showed serious forethought and good survival instincts.
“Jeeze, it seems even bigger inside,” Cym said, looking small and out of place sitting in the passenger seat. He had to tuck the shoulder strap under his arm to keep it from going over his throat, and, once again, Fourteen was given the impression Cym was very young. Another uncomfortable emotion clamored inside of his chest, and he allowed the cold to swallow it.
“How old are you, really?” Fourteen blurted out.
It was relevant information that was pertinent to the situation. Cym had said society considered him a man, but he was from a different society than Fourteen. Fourteen had been to countries where the age of majority was sixteen, and if Cym was sixteen, he really shouldn’t be on his own.
That was the only reason he cared. Definitely.
“Back to story time, I suppose. Okay, you drive and I’ll talk. Do you know how to get to the cemetery?” When Fourteennodded an affirmative, Cym began. “I had my nineteenth birthday six weeks ago.”
Fourteen tried not to feel relieved. Tried not to feel anything—something that was getting harder than he wanted to admit. Fourteen focused on starting the SUV and piloting it out of the warehouse as Cym talked.
“A month or so before my birthday, my cousin Astin came to me for the first time in years. He told me that my mother Elanor was dying. Being head of the family, this was causing quite a stir among the rest of the family. You see, powerful witches don’t die easily, and Elanor is a very powerful witch—most of the women in my family are. It came as a surprise to everyone when she started fading.” Cym was quiet for a minute and looked out at the boats in the harbor as they drove out of the marine park.
“Witches are beings with a direct line to the Source—the pool of magic where all life comes from. If a witch doesn’t die from an accident or foul play, she or he will keep on going until their soul can no longer connect to the Source. Once this happens, the witch will fade away and vanish into nothing.
“Witches with little power live as long as norms—or humans—do. A powerful witch like Elanor should have lasted a long time. My guess is that she’s older than most of us were led to believe, though she seemed to have been taken by surprise by this as well, so I could be wrong.
“According to Astin, once everyone found out Elanor was fading, they held a ceremony to divine who was supposed to be the next head of the Blaike family. Being born from magic means we’re ruled more tightly by it than other creatures. The universe decides who holds the mantle of power in each family, and it chose… me.” Cym’s voice cracked on the last word. It was a hopeless little sound that shot through Fourteen’s defenses like they were made of air.
“So they decided to kill you?” Fourteen wrestled with his control, but the harshness of his voice betrayed his anger.
Cym looked at him sharply, startled by his intensity.
“Why?” Fourteen brought his voice back under his command, and it sounded composed once again, but his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. His conditioning was definitely taking longer to kick in.
“Astin claimed they wanted me to abdicate. It isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t common either.” He gazed intently at his hands, as though he was expecting them to burst into flame at any minute. “It doesn’t always work—like I said, the universe is the one who ultimately decides in these matters—but I would have gone along with their plans. I know I’m in no fit state to rule the family.”
“Why not?” Fourteen’s instincts told him this was the part he’d been waiting for.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Cym huffed impatiently, though Fourteen could tell he was blustering, putting off spilling his secret for as long as he could.
Fourteen gave him an impassive stare.
“I’m a monster.” Cym looked up hesitantly from his hands to gauge Fourteen’s reaction, but when Fourteen rotated a hand in the universal gesture ofkeep going, he straightened his spine and said, “Look, you’ve been incredibly tolerant of me and my condition, but you can’t say you haven’t noticed anything.”
“Assume I haven’t noticed anything monstrous, and fill me in.” Miraculous, perhaps.
Cym frowned, looking mutinous, but complied. “Fine. I’ll give you the whole sordid scandal. The morning of my eighth birthday, I came into my magic. It doesn’t usually happen at a specific age, so no one was expecting it. I hadn’t noticed anything unusual, other than the normal excitement that birthdays bring, so I was a bouncy bundle of happiness when Ifound my family waiting for me in the breakfast room. It was covered in fairy lights and streamers and all my favorite foods were weighing down the table, ready for me to enjoy them. I walked in ready and willing to receive all the happy attention a spoiled, rich child tends to get on his birthday, but instead, my mother nearly killed me.
