Risk (A Mageri World Novel) (9 page)

The pages went on and on, but eventually some of those lines began to end as each generation brought fewer children than the last. Things really took a turn in the late nineteenth century when she followed her descendants to the United States. It was a far cry from her beginnings in Germany. Initially, they settled in Boston, but eventually the children split up, and one of them moved to California. She kept tabs on them over the years, occasionally flying to their location and taking a photograph to include in her book.

Much to her dismay, one child joined the priesthood, and that was the end of that. Her last hope was the twins—Judy and Clay. Judy’s line ended when both her sons were killed in the war. Clay didn’t have to endure that loss because his three children were young girls.

One of those girls was Sarah Grant, Ella’s mother. Hannah was especially fond of Sarah. She was opinionated, tough, and ended up becoming a lawyer. Her eldest sister was childless, and the youngest had only one. For a while, Hannah still held out hope that the line would flourish once again.

Until one summer when she checked up on her descendants and discovered the youngest sister and her twelve-year-old son were killed in a car accident. Hannah recovered the news video and watched in disbelief. The drunk driver had faced charges but ended up meeting his untimely demise by way of suicide in his cell.

Hannah made sure of that.

Left with only Sarah’s family, Hannah became overly watchful. Call it ego, but she simply refused to see the last of her genetic line perish. Sarah quit her job to homeschool the children, and when Hannah saw them struggling financially, she hired a Vampire to charm her husband into making some bold stock moves. They did very well in the stock market, and Hannah ensured they had the best financial advisor.

She later had the Vampire killed for treason. It wasn’t smart to leave loose ends, and anyone who knew about her secret was a threat. After the brutal slaying of Ella’s family, the financial advisor had an “unfortunate accident” of his own.

Hannah pushed the book forward and clenched her fists, the light pulsing. All that work… all that history. She’d always suspected the attack against Sarah’s family had been personal; everything about it felt deliberate. Nothing in the home was taken, the police found no prints, and then there was Ella. The manner in which she was left alive, brutalized in such a way that she would never have children, led Hannah to believe the culprit knew exactly what he was doing by executing the most lethal move that would end her family line. Hannah’s only weakness was the value she placed on her descendants. He or she had left Ella behind as a reminder—salt in the wound. Soon the only thing remaining in this world of her family would be tombstones and photographs. Somewhere out there, someone was laughing at Hannah, reveling in their accomplishment. Call it spite, but an idea struck her when Ella tried to kill herself.

Foolish child
.

So Hannah had done what no one would see coming. She made Ella into a Mage. Her gift as a Creator had always been a favorite subject in whispers. Most of her progeny didn’t survive the first five years, so few considered her a legitimate Creator.

Her light dimmed, and the room swam with shadows. In the time before electricity, her ability to generate light was a true gift. No lanterns were needed to light her way, nor would she be lost in the woods at night. But now, most called her a lighthouse or a glowworm; her gift was nothing more than a novelty.

She gently pulled the book toward her, flipping the pages until she reached the last name. Her finger traced over the inked letters, and she thought about all the empty pages afterward—ones that would remain forever blank.

This coward wasn’t going to give up—especially now that Ella was under her care. A Mage was nearly impossible to kill and had healing abilities that gave them the potential to live forever, but all things that are created can be destroyed. Beheading was one way, or burning—and those types of executions were often done in days of yore.

A knock at the door startled her, and she immediately put out her light, drenching the room in darkness. Hannah placed the book on her lap as the door opened and a rectangle of light sliced into the room.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Vera?” she said, her tone sharp.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were in here,” the maid replied. “I heard noises and saw a light beneath the door. I thought maybe we had an intruder. Is there anything I can get for you? Would you like me to turn on a lamp?”

“That’ll be all, Vera.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

The door abruptly closed, and Hannah released a sigh. Simon was her only hope, and yet his carelessness could result in Ella’s death. What choice did she have? None. She couldn’t tolerate Ella living in her home like an invalid, incapable of ever becoming independent.

That would be a true slap in the face.

S
imon had
on his poker face when he picked up Ella the next morning for training. He wrestled with a smile as she burst through the front door like a prisoner fleeing Alcatraz. Her eyes sparkled like jewels when she got in the car and looked up at him expectantly.

“Well, someone had their Wheaties this morning,” he mused.

She pointed at his shirt that said CHESS PLAYERS DO IT ALL KNIGHT, and he turned so she could read it. Instead of appearing offended, her face lit up and she shook her head. As long as he’d live, Simon would never understand women.

He headed off the property and merged onto the main road, wondering if he was a complete loon for taking this job.

Ella looked out the window with an infectious smile. His eyes skimmed down to her beige dress. This one was shorter and would have given him a glimpse of her legs had it not been for the black leggings. The sleeves were also long, as if she was trying to cover herself from head to toe. He licked his lip, admiring the shape of her body.

Ella suddenly grabbed the wheel and jerked it left. The car bounced when they hit the curb, and Simon swerved back into traffic.

She touched his right hand.
Pay attention before you kill a squirrel. Where are we going?

Speaking with his mind was starting to make him feel like an idiot, so he also answered her aloud. “Are you up for a little ass-kicking this morning? Thought we’d squeeze in a few bar fights before dinner.”

Her expression turned stony, and she nodded before letting go of his hand.

Ella acted as if terrorizing juicers was part of her daily routine. No complaints? No further questions? Perhaps Hannah had deadened her soul after all. While he could toss knives at Ella all day, he’d never be able to assess her skills unless he watched her in a real fight. He needed to grade her reflexes, her ability to change tactics and deal with distractions. That was the only way he’d discover which fears were limiting her growth as a fighter.

Simon kept his eyes on the road, but as he turned corners, he glimpsed her touching the glass. He didn’t have his stereo on, and it was as if she were searching for sound. Each time they stopped at a red light, he’d rev the engine to watch her expression change.

After a fifteen-minute drive, they reached the Breed side of town, and Simon parked his car in an empty lot. They got out and strolled up the road, passing two Vampires who were wearing dark shades. Even if they shielded their inky eyes with sunglasses, you could always spot them by their flawless complexion, often free of wrinkles or other blemishes. Their skin had a unique, healthy glow to it that was indescribable, as if they’d reacquired the natural skin that they were born with.

Simon couldn’t help but notice Ella’s wandering gaze. There wasn’t anything special about their surroundings, but something about the way she examined every little thing put him on edge.

She peered over her shoulder at one of the Vampires, who looked back at her, lifting his shades and giving her a wink.

“Come on, you,” Simon grumbled, clutching her arm and hurrying her along. “That’s not a man who will take you to dinner; that’s a man who will drink you for dinner.”

When they reached a bar called Roughnecks, Ella grasped his hand.

This is your master plan?

“Best place I could think of with inexperienced rogues on the prowl. They tend to scout for new Learners, but not many dainty little flowers such as yourself wander into these parts,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “They’ll probably line up to see who can take home the prize. It might take you all morning to fight them off, and by then it’ll be time for lunch. There’s a nice place up the road that serves lamb.”

She stepped close.
You move your arms a lot when you talk. Just remember we’re holding hands, and that makes us look like a couple of idiots out here playing London Bridge.

He glanced around. “Sweetheart, let’s get something straight. I don’t have to hold your hand, and I mean that in more ways than just one. My job is to fashion you into a weapon, and we’re here to see just how capable you are on your own. Whatever happens, you can expect no help from me. You’re on your own, so give it everything you’ve got. I’ll be sitting on the sidelines, tallying up the points based on what you’re doing right and wrong. Pretend I’m not even here. Off you go.”

Just as he heard a curse fly through her head, he let go of her hand and stalked toward the entrance. Four men were hanging out by the front door, smoking something that smelled illegal. Some Breeds used human drugs, but specialty drugs made with magic were often preferred. Usually it was nothing more than a little marijuana laced by a Sensor who transferred an emotion into the dry leaves for a hallucinatory effect.

Ella followed him but kept her distance. When her footsteps fell too far behind, he almost turned until she ran forward and caught up with him.

“Looks like the gods answered my prayers,” one of the men murmured.

Their eyes feasted upon his redheaded companion. Most men didn’t care who a woman walked into a pub with; it only mattered who she left with. Unless a Mage carried a visible mark that showed they were bonded, Breed men wasted no time making their moves on a woman.

Simon truly loathed places like these. He missed English pubs, which were cozy neighborhood establishments where everyone knew everyone. American bars were noisy places with dance floors and feeble minds. He glared at several men who looked about as intellectual as a group of schoolchildren eating glue.

He sat on the barstool and used his eyes to communicate that she leave an empty seat between them.

It didn’t take but two seconds before a man in a leather coat, who looked like a troglodyte, made his move. “Can I buy you a drink, sweetie pie?” He scratched his thick muttonchops, ogling her outfit.

Simon smirked when Ella’s lip curled in disgust.

The man snapped his fingers at the bartender. “She’ll have a silver bullet.”

Simon had never heard of a silver bullet, which meant it was probably the house specialty. Most bars and clubs had a special drink mixed with powerful magic that made people do foolish things. He faced Ella and gave a subtle shake of his head—a warning to deny what the man offered.

She shifted her gaze toward the bartender and watched him mix the drink.

Muttonchops drew in a deep breath and smiled lazily. “I love it when a Mage doesn’t conceal her energy. Does your light taste as sweet as you look?”

It wasn’t until then that Simon realized how perceptive Ella was at interpreting a question versus a remark. Maybe it was the arch of the brow or the tilt of the head that gave it away, but she always responded accordingly.

Her reaction amused Simon immensely. She snobbishly lifted her chin, eyes hooded as if deciding not to give him the time of day.

Naturally, that kind of behavior set a challenge with Breed men.

When the drinks arrived, Simon sipped his beer and remained uninvolved so he wouldn’t be mistaken for competition.

Ella curled her fingers around the narrow glass, and Simon speared her with a hot gaze.

Defiantly, she lifted her glass and knocked back the drink.

“Bottoms up,” he murmured. Perhaps it would do her some good. Nothing erased fears or inhibitions like a good snog or a strong drink.

“Honey, is he bothering you?” an older waitress asked. She had round hips, and her ample cleavage sparkled with flecks of gold.

Ella waved her hand and shook her head. She could have asked Ella if she wanted anything, so again, Simon noted how appropriate her gestures were. One would never assume she was deaf. Plenty of Breed women didn’t waste their breath talking to men in bars.

Simon called the bartender over, keeping his voice low. “Say, what’s in that drink she just had?”

The bartender—a young man with a spiky black Mohawk—leaned forward and pinched his goatee. “That one only lasts fifteen minutes, which is why we call it a bullet. Some of the other bars serve drinks that knock the customers out all night, but this one’s great because the effect is short-lived and they come back for more.”

When he disappeared to mix more drinks, Simon spun around and perched his elbows on the bar.

Muttonchops leaned in closer to his prey. “My name’s Arsen. If you don’t want to talk, that’s fine by me. Nothing wrong with being shy.”

Ella circled her finger around the rim of her glass and watched him.

“Let’s take a stroll,” Arsen said, grasping her hand. “We’ll go around back where it’s nice and quiet. My light’s strong, little girl. Might be more than you can handle, but I promise you’ve never had it better.”

Simon looked over his shoulder to observe Ella’s expression. Arsen had her hand in his, and Simon wondered if she could hear his thoughts. Her eyes didn’t brighten the way they did with him.

Arsen tugged insistently, and she slid off her barstool, a hazy look on her face.

With excruciating patience, Simon waited until they exited the bar before he followed. He turned right, and when he reached the corner, he took in the scene unfolding on the side of the building. Two men were watching Ella and Arsen, waiting like vultures for a turn to taste her light.

When Arsen reached for her hands, ready to bind his light with hers, she spun out of his grasp.

Clever girl
.

A smart Mage never assumes they can reason with their opponent. And when a woman pushes an aggressor away, his first instinct is to grab her, making it difficult to escape or attack.

When Arsen reached for her arm again, she slapped him so hard that all the men cringed. Before he could react, she flashed behind him and pulled up his underwear with a hard yank.

Simon howled with laughter.

Arsen swung around and gripped her braid, flinging her against the wall. Simon tensed, suppressing the urge to intervene and kick some muttonchop ass.

Ella’s techniques were breathtaking. Her flaws shone through, but her fearlessness was a thing of beauty.

“Goddamn,” a man exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a woman fight like that before. You sure she’s a woman? There might be a tiny dick under that dress.”

Arsen flung her against the old chain-link fence, and it bowed with her weight. As it sprang forward, her dress snagged on one of the metal links, preventing her from flashing out of his grasp.

“Bloody hell,” Simon murmured. “Hannah, you’re going to kill this girl with your fashion nonsense.”

Arsen curled his meaty arm around her narrow waist. Ella relaxed submissively, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she reached around and pressed herself against him.

The men standing around grew thick in the trousers. Meanwhile, a hot coal settled in the pit of Simon’s stomach, and he removed his sunglasses.

Ella walked Arsen backward toward the building, their bodies pressed close. Arsen became submissive and let the petite woman pin him against the wall. She unlatched his buckle, moving her body like a serpent against his.

“Jesus Christ,” he moaned. “Sweetie pie, we have a crowd. Do you want them to watch?”

Simon was two seconds away from walking off and tearing up the contract. It wasn’t uncommon for a Learner to get off on all that raw energy, especially during a fight when it was coursing through their body in high doses.

“Give it to her good,” an onlooker said. “She’s begging for it.”

Arsen looked down, his chin against his chest, while Ella unfastened his trousers. She looked like a woman who needed a hard man inside her.

His eyes hooded when she reached between her legs.

Simon was torn on whether to intervene or take off. If she was under the influence of the drink, then she wasn’t thinking clearly.

With lightning speed, Ella palmed a push dagger with a two-inch blade and drove it into Arsen’s chest. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, eyes wide.

This young, fresh-faced Learner gracefully turned like a ballerina to face her audience. Then, with a cunning gleam in her eye, she crooked her finger at them.

* * *

S
imon took
another bite of his bratwurst sandwich, the heels of his shoes thumping against the concrete wall he was sitting on. Eating his meal on the street was worth it after seeing the look on the restaurant manager’s face when Ella walked in with her chin high and waited expectantly for him to seat her. They’d gone into one of the classiest digs in town, and her beige dress had blood spattered all over it. Some of her hair had loosened from its braid, and she hadn’t bothered healing up her bruised face. It would have been a riot if he’d seated them.

“How’s your sausage?” he asked, holding up his own.

She nodded.

Moments ago, Simon had crossed the street to buy lunch from a food truck while Ella sat on a low wall and healed herself in the sunlight. Waiting for their order, he watched as she readjusted her braid and reassembled every hairpin. She was incredibly different from human girls her age. Well-spoken, conservative, mature—all boring traits to a man like Simon. And yet… he was bewitched.

Ella wadded up her wrapper, having finished her giant sausage before he had even made it halfway through his.