Page 15 of Runaway Magic
“What about the hole I made?” Cym tugged on his backpack, trying to get it off, but he only managed to get it tangled with the seatbelt he’d forgotten to put on. Would Fourteen let him borrow a knife to cut the seatbelt loose? He glanced at the shiny, well-kept interior of the SUV and decided not to ask.
“From what I observed, the hole stopped growing by the time it reached the buildings. People were inconvenienced, not hurt.”
Cym frowned at Fourteen’s callused response and continued the fight to separate his backpack from the seatbelt. Eventually, he had to remove the plastic buckle on his pack to set it free and cursed when he bent a fingernail backward trying to put it back on again.
When Cym had finally sorted himself, the seatbelt, and his backpack into their rightful places, he looked up and realized they were almost to the warehouse, so he dug through his bag and put on the tattered pair of Converse he found at the bottom.They were tight over the now-dirty bandages Fourteen had wrapped around his feet, but they still fit.
It seemed silly, but with shoes on, Cym felt more capable of dealing with the garbage life was throwing his way.
Once they were inside the warehouse, Cym made a show of looking around for a moment, then asked, “Um, is there a bathroom here I can use?”
Fourteen nodded and gestured for Cym to follow him toward the opposite side of the building they’d stayed in last night.
“Your bathroom is that far from where you sleep?” Cym imagined getting up to go pee in the middle of the night and having to go down two flights of stairs and across a creepy, drafty warehouse.
Hard pass.
Fourteen shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”
“Says the soldier,” Cym whispered under his breath.
Fourteen snorted and said, “Right through there, cupcake,” proving his sense of hearing was better than it had any right to be. He ushered Cym towards a shabby closet in the back of a small office. “I’ll be upstairs when you’re done, and we’ll talk.”
Cym needed to change his clothes ASAP. He should have done it in the car to throw off potential tracking spells, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to get undressed in front of Fourteen. His face burned at the very idea, and he rubbed at his cheeks furiously. What the heck was going on with him?
Cym dug through his bag and was glad to see a pair of jeans, but the pink tank top made him wince. It might be spring, but in New England that could mean anything from snow in the morning to a toasty seventy-five degrees in the afternoon.
It looked like a visit to a thrift shop was going to be in order so he could get some warmer clothes. He would have to get as much as he could afford to buy—the more clothes he had, the longer he could avoid detection.
Cym shucked off his torn hoodie and sneezed when the dust and debris from the destroyed building filled the air. His pants followed, making even more dust for him to choke on, and he jammed his dirty clothes hastily into his bag. Tattered as they were, in a pinch, they could still help him throw off a tracking spell. As he was stuffing them in, he found the small tin containing money. It was every dime he had left.
When Cym opened it, he was pleasantly surprised to find a hundred-dollar bill instead of a fifty. Past Cym had been very generous when packing this bag. Now he could afford an actual jacket.
He straightened and caught his reflection in the mirror.
Cym had never thought much about his appearance. Having no contact with the outside world made worrying about what other people thought of him seem silly. He examined his face in the dingy, spotted mirror. His hair was thick—something fashion magazines harped about constantly—so that was a point in his favor. He brushed a chunk of plaster out of his hair and finger-combed through the tangles.
Most of his features were delicate enough to appease even the harshest celebrity critics, with the exception of his square jaw. It gave him the appearance of being stubborn—something that had gotten him into trouble a lot when he was little. It was currently streaked with soot, so he wet his fingers from the faucet and did his best to clean it off.
He looked back up to gaze at his sky-blue eyes and wondered if Fourteen liked the color blue.
Realizing what he was doing, Cym backed away from the sink and jerked his bag up off the floor. It was long past time for him to go.
As he opened the window to the bathroom, he thought about how to use the money he had left after his shopping trip. He could use it to gain distance and improvise once he got farenough, or he could see how far he could get walking, maybe even hitch and use the money to make himself look presentable enough to find a job he could tolerate.
Hoisting himself over the windowsill, he decided on the latter. But first, he had to go check on something.
Chapter 6
Fourteen
His equipment bag was a mess. He always made a point of checking all his equipment after a mission, so it didn’t take long for him to discover Cym had systematically vanquished any semblance of order he once had. Everything was going to have to come out so he could fix it.
He appreciated that Cym had gone through all his options during the time Fourteen had been compromised, but it washisequipment bag. As far as he was concerned, the guy might as well have rifled through his underwear while Fourteen was still in them. He was going to have to talk to Cym about it.
Though the underwear idea had him pausing for a moment. As long as consent was involved, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…
Nope, he wasn’t going there right now. Fourteen was so exhausted he was about to drop.
