Scorched by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #7)(56)

I rolled my eyes. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘powerful’.”

Rylan’s expression didn’t change, but I could practically feel him grinning on the inside. “So what? Power is sexy, right? And she’s definitely got some serious…something, about her. But she doesn’t smell like a mage. What’s happened?”

“You’d have to ask her,” I said evasively. The high neckline of Annia’s leather jacket covered her torque, so I figured she didn’t want to advertise it. “She mentioned something to me about some unique adventures, but she was pretty vague about it. I don’t think she’s ready to share yet.”

“I’ll get it out of her at some point,” Rylan said, his eyes gleaming at the challenge. He was looking at Annia like she was a fine sirloin steak that he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into.

“Oh yeah?” I dug my elbow into his ribs, just enough to make him flinch. “And what about Nelia?” I bit back a grin as Rylan’s cheeks reddened.

“What are you two talking about?” Annia asked.

“Nothing,” we said in unison.

Annia arched a brow, and Rylan’s face flushed even further. “Just a personal problem,” he amended with a sheepish smile. “You know, shifter stuff.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Unconvinced, Annia turned her dark gaze back to the streets, and I tried not to laugh. If Rylan wanted a challenge, he’d sure picked the right person—Annia was just as big a flirt as he was when she wanted to be, but she was also a very tough nut to crack if she wasn’t interested. And though I’d seen her eyeing Rylan once or twice, she rarely dated outside her own race.

We rolled to a stop in the Shiftertown Town Center, and the three of us got out to say hello to the volunteers who were already assembled to unload the truck. The volunteers were mostly shifters, but there were some humans, too. To my surprise, I recognized them from Father Calmias’s congregation. Had he already begun talking to his followers? I wondered if he’d been out volunteering in Maintown yesterday—I’d been too stuck in grief and despair to notice. Or perhaps he’d fallen victim to the quake, like too many others.

We got the supplies off the truck in short order, and the volunteers behind the tables set up in the square handed the food to the lines of people waiting. Annia and I helped them dole out pre-portioned packages of varying sizes depending on the family, and I took the time to say a few words to each mother, father, or child who came up, asking how they were coping. Most of them sported bruises and stitches of some kind, and there were more than a few with serious injuries. I made a mental note to come back tomorrow and set up a makeshift clinic in the square, and to rope a few other mages into helping out. We couldn’t heal everyone, but we could at least alleviate some of the worst injuries.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a middle-aged woman with a nasty burn on her forearm approach our table. As Annia handed her a basket of food, she casually brushed her hand against the woman’s arm. The scent of magic stung my nostrils, and Rylan, who stood watchfully nearby, stiffened. To my astonishment, the woman’s burn healed completely. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to thank Annia, but Annia only winked, pressing a finger against her lips. Understanding, the woman smiled, then melted away into the crowd, taking the evidence of what Annia had done with her.

My eyes met Annia’s, and she shrugged a little before turning to help the next person in line. I forced myself to focus my attention on the next person waiting for food in my own line—a fourteen-year-old boy—but even as I made small talk with him, my mind was still stuck on Annia. That spirit, or goddess, or whatever she was, clearly wasn’t limited to what she could do in dreams. Annia could wield her magic, just like any mage! I’d never heard of such a thing before. Carefully, I creaked open the door to Fenris’s memories to see if there were any records of humans acquiring magic that way. But nothing popped out, so I guessed it must be very rare.

I’d love to discuss what it means with Fenris, I thought, and a pang of agony hit me in the chest. By Magorah, everything was going to remind me of him. It had been that way with Roanas, my mentor, for a good few months, before the pain of his loss began to fade into something like acceptance.

A couple of hours later, the crowd finally began to thin out. As we handed out the final packages of food, I noticed a wizened old man loitering nearby, shooting me a look of abject hatred. He was dressed in a navy-blue tunic, his skin sallow and wrinkled, his head completely bald. As soon as he noticed me staring, he averted his face. Shrugging, I turned away. My ring was only moderately warm, so he wasn’t much of a threat, whoever he was.

“Look again,” Annia said in a low voice that sounded a lot like the exotic woman in my dreams. She leaned in close, her shoulder brushing against mine, and I caught the scent of dragon fruit and chilies. “That man is an enemy.”

“Rylan,” I murmured, making a subtle gesture for him to come forward. “Come with me a sec.”

I stepped out from behind the table, and slowly approached the old man. As soon as he saw me coming, he tried to hurry away, but his decrepit form and withered limbs didn’t allow him much speed.

“Hang on there,” Rylan said, appearing in front of him in an instant. “We just want a quick word.”

“By Magorah,” I breathed as the man’s scent hit me. Beneath the stench of decay was a very familiar male scent, one that made my blood boil. “Argon Chartis, it’s you, isn’t it?”