Page 23 of Wrongfully Magicked
“I’m trying to give you an out,” I say through gritted teeth, marching after the bonehead.
My annoyance only spikes at being barefoot. I walk along the broken path with the others, grimacing at the dirt and assortment of gunk that sticks to the bottom of my feet. I refuse to look down—if I see the nasty crap gathered on the streets, I won’t be able to take another step.
Thankfully, being a bike messenger means I’m on my feet all day, so the pads are nearly indestructible from all the peddling. The rough ground abrades the balls of my feet, rocks dig into my soles, but it’s more annoying than painful, and I do my best to pick a path that avoids most of the trash.
“No.” This time, it’s Cassius who speaks, his voice brooking no argument.
I throw my hands up in exasperation and stomp after them. “Don’t you idiots understand that I’m trying to keep you safe?”
Porter snorts, Darby remains impervious, while Cassius and Soren exchange a look with raised eyebrows. Cassius is the one who drops back to speak with me, and I swear amusementcrinkles the corners of his eyes. “We are MID agents. We’re more than capable of keeping you and ourselves safe.”
I frown in annoyance when his sunglasses prevent me from seeing his eyes. When they say that the eyes are the windows to a person’s soul, it’s a bunch of bullshit, but I do believe they give away a lot about the person. “It’s dark out. Why still wear your glasses?”
Any amusement vanishes, and he stiffens, purposely not looking at me. The sides of his glasses wrap around his head, preventing me from getting even a glimpse of his eyes. “I’m a basilisk.”
He says it like that answers my question. “And?”
A furrow appears between his brows, and he tilts his head to give me a sideways glance. “Do you know what a basilisk can do? We turn people to stone with just a look.”
He waits, almost like he’s bracing himself for my reaction, but I only shrug. “And? What does that have to do with your glasses?”
His furrow becomes more pronounced, and he speaks slowly, a tinge of annoyance coloring his voice. “The glasses are a safety measure so, you know, people don’t turn to stone around me.”
I roll my eyes, following the others as we head toward a backstreet to try and stay off the radar. Most people along the borderlands mind their own business, but if people offer enough money, anything can be bought.
I excel at not being seen, I’ve been practicing the skill my whole life, but being surrounded by four obvious MID agents tends to draw attention, especially when they are skulking along in the shadows. As I glance around at the guys, though, I notice that said shadows seem to cling to us much like wispy fog. It swirls around our legs and up our bodies until we are indistinguishable shapes moving through the darkness.
Yeah, because that’s not creepy at all.
But it seems to have the desired effect. If anyone notices us, they quickly avert their gazes and scurry away like rats.
Honestly, I can’t say I blame them.
The borderlands are not a place where anyone wants to draw attention to themselves.
With his dark skin, Porter practically merges with the darkness, his large frame disappearing in the shadows. If I didn’t know where to look for him, I might not have noticed him at all.
Cassius huffs at my side when I don’t respond right away, and I turn back to face him.
“Yeah, I get it. Basilisk. Stone. Very dangerous.” I wave my hands vaguely toward his face. “But you control your abilities, not the other way around. That’s the first thing everyone is taught. The glasses are like a child’s binky.”
“A binky?” His steps slow, his mouth opening and closing.
A slithering sound, like something moving over dry rocks, floats in the air, accompanied by a chuffing hiss. If I didn’t know better, I would almost swear his basilisk is laughing.
The sound should chill me to my soul. No one wants to become a basilisk’s plaything. Apparently, their poisons can inflict agony on those who are infected. It would just take a touch, a light brush of his fingertips across my skin, and I would be toast.
My courage wavers for a moment, and I cautiously peer at Cassius from the corner of my eye. Cassius has a hand pressed against his chest and a poleaxed expression on his face. As we walk, his shoulders are stiff, and he studiously avoids looking at me.
The rest of the men eye the two of us—Darby with concern, Soren like he will step between us if it looks like Cassius might attack, while Porter just appears amused as he continues to guide us farther into the outskirts of town.
I blow out a heavy sigh, my shoulders dropping a little, and I call myself an idiot. “Sorry,” I mutter, giving a half-hearted shrug. “My family calls me tactless. Charlotte used to smile and call me blunt. She said it was part of my charm, but I suspect she found it more amusing than anything.”
Cassius reaches up and fiddles with his glasses, then he stiffens and drops his hand when he catches me watching. Without looking at me, he storms ahead and joins Porter at the front, and I can only stare after him with a pang of self-loathing.
Don’t make an enemy of the basilisk, Anita.
Beastlings are notoriously moody. You’d think I would know better than to antagonize one. Apparently, my self-preservation instincts are nonexistent, which isn’t surprising, considering that my life is such a shit show and I’m literally on the run.
