Page 7 of Runaway Magic
The mist from the can coated Cym’s feet with blissful numbness, and his nervousness ratcheted down to a more tolerable level. Before he could do more than sigh in relief,Fourteen pulled out the tweezers, causing the nervousness from before to blossom into full-blown panic. Desperate for a distraction, he asked, “What was your name before it was Fourteen?”
“I can’t tell you that.” Fourteen had yet to touch Cym’s feet in any way. In fact, he appeared to hesitate for some reason. “I don’t tell anyone my name.”
“Why not? Would you have to kill me if I knew?” Cym couldn’t imagine he was squeamish about blood, so it had to be another reason Fourteen didn’t want to touch him.
Fourteen gifted Cym with another brief smile. “No.” He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, and then placed his hand on the top of Cym’s left foot slowly, reverently.
His calloused hand was so warm it radiated up Cym’s leg, right to the center of his body. Cym started in surprise, but Fourteen didn’t notice. Instead, he tightened his grip a little, eyes gone distant. The warmth intensified as it reached Cym’s chest, doubling, then tripling, and his heart sped up.
After the span of several heartbeats, Fourteen’s eyes cleared, and he pulled Cym’s foot into his lap, inspecting it carefully. “I was recruited when I was fourteen.” His attention was focused entirely on what he was doing, but his voice was soft.
Cym wondered at the shift—Fourteen sounded almost normal.
“They don’t usually take people that young, but I was a special case. My age stood out among the others during training, so I got the nickname Fourteen. It stuck.”
When Fourteen started using the dreaded tweezers on Cym’s heel, he only felt pressure, no pain. “Why don’t you tell people your real name?” Cym knew he should stop badgering the man, but there was something inside him urging him on and telling him it was important that he ask.
Fourteen dug out three more pieces of road trash from Cym’s foot before answering. “Because they can’t have that.” His voice was so harsh it made Cym’s throat hurt in sympathy. When he caught sight of the man’s eyes, they burned into his own with an intensity that should have sent Cym scrambling off the bed, but he held firm. Cym needed to hear what he had to say as badly as Fourteen needed to say it. “I hid it away because it’s the only thing I have left of her.”
“Who?” It was barely a whisper. Cym’s chest was so warm he was surprised it wasn’t glowing.
“My mother.” Fourteen’s voice was so quiet that, if Cym hadn’t been listening closely, he would have missed it. “My mother named me, and it’s all I have left of her.” Fourteen’s pupils had dilated to the point that his eyes appeared black, and his breath was ragged. “I can’t remember her. I can’t remember anything about myself. They took that from me. They took everything.”
Breaking away from Fourteen’s gaze had ceased to be an option as they sat there, eyes locked on one another. Cym felt as though he’d been staring into Fourteen’s eyes for days, learning secrets about the man even he himself didn’t know.
Fourteen continued, “Except my name. Before they took that too, I hid it away, deep inside. I never think about it. Ever. They can’t take what they don’t know about.”
Cym had forgotten about his feet entirely. The cool and collected man who had shuffled them from crisis to crisis all night had cracked open and shown Cym that, on the inside, he was burning alive.
Cym’s hand found its way to Fourteen’s leg in a silent gesture of comfort, and he gave the man an awkward pat before snatching back. Whatever had been driving Cym’s words had wandered off, leaving him with no idea of what to say next.
Fourteen gave Cym an almost smile, and something about it made Cym’s heart ache. “I hid it too well because even I don’t know it now. I can feel it though, like a spark inside my chest. If I wanted it, I believe I could have it again.” Faint lines creased the corners of Fourteen’s eyes, and the purple shadows underneath drew Cym’s attention to how tired he looked.
How old was Fourteen? A job like his would age a person quickly, so he could be younger than the thirty-ish man he seemed to be.
Fourteen closed his eyes, breaking contact. Cym noticed Fourteen’s aura no longer had the pleasant buzz from when they first met, and it made him feel restless and confused. Cym’s hand reached out and stroked the air next to the man, and it was like touching a tangible thing. He smoothed it down on reflex, like he was petting an anxious animal, and was pleased to note Fourteen’s aura smoothed out as well.
Fourteen’s eyes popped open, empty of all emotion once more, and he continued working on Cym in silence as though nothing important had happened, his hands gentle but efficient as he finished cleaning and wrapping his feet. Fourteen left both hands on Cym’s feet once he was done, as if as hesitant to let go as he had been to start. Finally, he took his hands away and began tucking the supplies into a backpack he pulled out from the bottom shelf.
Without his touch, the feeling in Cym’s chest dissipated. What had just happened? Such an emotional experience should have left them both feeling raw, but he felt calm, like he was surrounded in a warm, pink cloud.
He watched Fourteen move around the room, continuing to load the backpack with a random assortment of items, seemingly unaffected by the strange incident that had just occurred. Maybe, as a norm, he hadn’t noticed? Magic didn’t always affect them the same way it did the magical community.
“Thank you.” Cym wiggled his toes experimentally. “My feet feel much better now.” Whatever his magic was up to now, he didn’t have time to investigate further. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”
Fourteen zipped up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then he walked over to the door and picked up his equipment bag as well. “Where to next?” It was obvious he was planning on going with Cym.
Maybe this would be harder than he thought. “I need to go alone. You’ll only get caught up in something you aren’t prepared to deal with.” Cym bit his lip and readied himself for an argument.
Fourteen studied him for a moment, his expression calm. “I adapt quickly to new situations. Until tonight, I didn’t know people routinely hang out inside floating holes trying to kill kids. I think I managed well enough.”
“I’m not a kid.”
“Sure.”
“Whatever,” Cym said in irritation. “Next time they’ll send more than my cousin Astin after me.”
“Which is why you should take me with you.”
