Page 11 of Runaway Magic
Ignoring the sound of small fists pounding on the door, Fourteen did a circuit all the way around the cemetery. His inspection told him it was an open space, walled in by buildings on all sides—one of the random spots of green in the city.
The whole place was dotted with trees in the early stages of blooming. It was probably pretty, but Fourteen only saw what an assassin would see—exposed branches that left little place to hide. It was still too early in the day for any of the businesses to be open, so it would be easy to spot someone out of place. A lone jogger was doing a lap of the cemetery with her dog. She looked benign, but the best assassins always did. Fourteen waited for a long time after she left before deciding the place was as safe as it was going to get.
When he got back to the SUV, he pushed another button on his key fob and saw Cym tumble out of the back passenger door, falling ungracefully onto the sidewalk. Fourteen approved of the fact that Cym hadn’t sat passively waiting and wondered if he had tried to break a window. It wouldn’t have worked, but it would have been the first thing Fourteen would have tried. He offered Cym a hand to help him up, but it was ignored.
Cym’s hair had fallen out of its bun and was a shining mess over his face and down his back. Hurt, childlike blue eyes projected worry and confusion but no anger. Fourteen would have been furious. “Why did you do that? They have magic you don’t understand. If you don’t have me with you, you won’t know what to look for.” He jerked his hair over his shoulder and twisted it until it looked painfully tight. “Do you have any idea what my family would do to you if they knew you were helping me?”
“I’m pretty tough.” Fourteen rapped a fist against the chest armor lining his jacket. “As far as I can tell, magic is just a weapon—one I may not understand, but a weapon just the same. The person wielding it is the real danger to look out for. That’s where I come in. It’s what I was trained to do.”
“Just… don’t lock me in the car again, okay?” Cym’s voice shook with emotion, but he looked him right in the eye. Fourteensaw a glimmer of the anger he’d expected earlier. “I… I don’t like that.”
Damn. Cym had just told Fourteen he’d spent most of his life locked up, and he had turned around and done the same thing to him five minutes later. Fourteen rubbed his forehead in frustration. “I… apologize. I’m not used to thinking of people as people. Targets or opponents, yes, but not people.” Fourteen extended a hand to help Cym up, not knowing what else to do. “Keeping someone alive is new to me.”
Cym stared at his hand pensively before finally taking it and allowing Fourteen to help him stand. Though he didn’t deserve it, he basked once again in the glow of peace that flowed from Cym’s body to his. It was then that Fourteen realized he was hooked.
Chapter 5
Cym
He knew the man hadn’t done it on purpose, but Cym was still skittish about having been locked in the monstrosity Fourteen called a car. He tried to focus on the next thing—get his bag, change his clothes, and put on some freaking shoes. After that, he would get himself someplace safe—alone. What Cym had told Fourteen so far should be enough to assuage his curiosity about the Other. Now Fourteen would be free to go his own way, and Cym could go his.
They walked to the cemetery where he’d stashed his bag. He took a moment to get his bearings and then wound his way through headstones, past the obelisk, and up to the tree he had stuffed his backpack inside, and looked up. It was taller than he remembered. He’d had to climb to reach the hole—something that had been a challenge in the middle of the night.
This time it was broad daylight, and he had help… if he asked for it. Cym was about to ask Fourteen for a boost when the soldier swung himself into the tree with one graceful motion.
“Where is it?” Fourteen looked down at Cym with his impassive gaze.
“About three feet higher and a little to the left you should find a hole. It isn’t very big, so I had to jam the bag in pretty tightly.”
As Fourteen climbed higher, Cym had no choice but to appreciate the way the man’s jacket accentuated, rather than hid, the muscles in his arms. Cym couldn’t have looked away if he tried. His throat went dry, and he gave an involuntary cough.
Cym was definitely going to miss Fourteen when he was gone. Aside from Fourteen’s obvious handiness, he was the definition of eye candy.
“Got it.” Fourteen’s voice broke Cym out of his reverie. The man dropped out of the tree and landed on the ground with the finesse of a cat. “Here.” Cym’s backpack, covered with cute cartoon cats showing off their tiny kitty buttholes, dangled from his fingers.
It had seemed funny and adorable when he’d bought it, but now Cym was pretty sure that if he ran screaming into traffic, it wouldn’t be an overreaction to the situation he found himself in.
Instead of choosing that incredibly tempting option, Cym forced himself to snatch his bag from the outstretched hand and quickly slung it over his shoulders so Fourteen couldn’t see it anymore.
Say something, Cym. ANYTHING to distract both of you from the fact that your backpack is covered in dozens of cat assholes.
“Thanks. You’re, ah, very good at that, um, tree-climbing thing. It’s probably all the muscles you have tucked away in your pants. Body! I meant in your body. You have a very muscular body with lots of muscles inside it.” Cym wanted to stop talking,he really did, but he’d forgotten how, so his mouth kept going without his permission. “Do you work out a lot?”
This wasnotthe distraction he’d hoped for. Maybe Cym would get lucky and have a stroke soon. Cym wasn’t like this. He normally had his words under control, even if he couldn’t say the same for his magic. But then did Cym really know what he was truly like? He’d spent so much of his life undersocialized that he was probably going to come off painfully weird to any remotely normal person.
Fourteen looked at him with his customary expressionless face and nodded. For all Cym knew, the soldier had filtered out anything Cym said that didn’t have to do with their current retrieval mission. It was also entirely possible that he had heard everything but only thought of Cym as a high-maintenance houseplant. So even if Cym started speculating out loud about how big Fourteen’s cock was, the man might not bat an eye.
Oh, Vis no. Why in the name of everything holy would Cym’s brain have chosenthatas an example? Now all he was going to think about was Fourteen’s dick for the next forever. How was Cym supposed to look him in the eye now?
Well…he didn’thaveto look a person in the eye while talking. It wasn’t a law or anything. Cym would know. He’d read over a dozen law textbooks out of sheer boredom during his forced stay at Casa No Fun Ever. But not looking Fourteen in the eye meant looking at the rest of him, and that was doing terrible things to Cym’s concentration.
It was also severely hampering his ability to not pop a tent in front of the literal assassin he’d met only a handful of hours ago.
Talking now. Do the talking thing now, Cym, before you start staring at Fourteen’s package and he murders you just to end this awkward situation.
“Well, that’s… um…” Cym had absolutely nothing to follow that brilliant opener with, but fortunately, the tree next tothem exploded, saving him from finding a way to escape the conversation.
He was bowled over by Fourteen as the man tucked Cym’s body into his chest and rolled behind a headstone.
