Natural Mage (Magical Mayhem #2)(87)

“You first.”

“I’d rather be the one jeering and whooping.” She laughed, strangely not a forced sound, given the situation, and shoved him left at the next corner.

With the next turn, the black fog rushed into his vision, only to clear immediately when Penny pulled him around the corner. “One back there.”

A jet of magic roared behind them, the power blistering as it passed by.

“They’re either packing serious power, or they’re constructing spells together,” Emery said, breathing heavily now.

“I thought mages didn’t work together.”

“Not in the way you’re thinking. Not like witches. Remember when we made that spell in Darius’s warehouse? We each created half of it, then merged it together? Mages work that way when confronting a larger power source. Or else naturals would go unchallenged.”

“Like building a Lego village with someone.” She nodded, like that made sense, and pointed in front of them. Beyond a roadblock cutting off traffic, people meandered up the middle of the street. Neon light glowed and spilled across the cement, sliding over the passersby. Music pulsed and people moved, lifting their plastic cups and cheering for no reason other than the fun of a constant party.

“We’ll walk down there for a ways.” She grabbed his hand and they veered right, around the roadblock and into the crowd. The crowd wasn’t as dense as it would be for a festival or Mardi Gras, but there was ample opportunity to hide. “Stay to the middle,” she said. “Keep with the crowd. When we can, let’s break away and run again. We need to get away from the mages.”

“I agree. The chase is on. If we can get them to follow us instead of surround us, we’ll be fine.” He clutched her hand, smiling for show and even moving a little to the pounding music blasting out of a nearby bar, fitting in with the group of people in front of them.

“You can dance.” She shook her hand loose before slipping her arm around his middle. His gut tightened in a way that wasn’t appropriate for the situation, and he exhaled at the warm feeling unfolding in his chest. He let his arm fall around her shoulders as she said, “I’ve always liked to dance.”

“I don’t know about dancing, but I can jive to rhythm well enough.”

“Jive?” She smiled at him, and the world around them started to dim. Her effect on him was not helping him focus. “Next you’ll tell me you have fancy feet.”

She chuckled and scanned the area around them. Her hand gripped his waist a little tighter and her face dropped, now looking through her eyelashes.

He followed her gaze. A scarred-faced man stood at the side of the street with cunning eyes and a naturally downturned mouth. He wore scraped-up leather pants, a worse-for-wear leather duster, and a black shirt.

“Someone must’ve told him you were dangerous,” she whispered.

Emery laughed. “Or tricked him into thinking it was a costume party.” He looked away, scanning the other side of the street, then above them, just in case someone hanging out on one of the balconies looked out of place. “He’s a mercenary. They aren’t clever in their fashion choices. The Guild is outsourcing. Unless he’s working for someone else.”

“Is he magical?”

“Maybe. Or else he’s just a thug. He either doesn’t know what he’s up against, or knows exactly what he’s up against. The choice of outfit would be the same for either situation. We’re hoping for the former, obviously.”

“They want us really bad,” she said, that halo of survival light covering her body. This time, it expanded to cover him as well.

Unbelievably, his survival magic kicked in, too, welling up from deep inside of him and rippling into hers like a new current in a tranquil pond. The colors swirled and mixed until they blended, pumping with power and turning a hazy gray.

“Sorry,” he said, spotting a plain woman with a tight bun and a purple sash around her neck. The color signified power level, he remembered, though he didn’t know which tier that specific color was.

“For what?” Penny’s nails dug into his sides. Beyond the woman, who was obviously with the Guild and showing her higher status, leaned another mercenary, this one in somewhat newer leathers. Either that meant he made a good living, or he was a greenie.

Emery hoped for the latter.

“I made your snow-white halo a muddy gray,” he said, not liking the numbers stacked against them.

She shrugged. “You turned me from the color of a blank slate into a drab color. At least I have a little color now.”

He laughed despite himself, remembering their conversation in Seattle about her white survival magic versus his black. He’d always seen his magic as a reflection of his soul—black—but she’d flipped the script, saying she had no color because they’d all fled, but he was full of them.

A crowd of guys stood to the side, looking up at two girls dancing on a balcony, ready to flash their goods.

“Here we go.” Emery pushed Penny in front of him and shoved his way into the group of guys, lifting his hand and pumping his fist. “Take. It. Off,” he chanted. “Take. It. Off.”

Penny lifted her fist and joined in.

The guys weren’t long in jumping on board, and the combined chant drew more onlookers. One of the girls lifted her shirt and the guys jumped and threw up their hands, splashing beer down and dousing the sleeve of Emery’s hoodie. He jumped with them, his hands on Penny’s shoulders to keep her close.