“Good enough for me.” The tall lanky girl positioned herself to the side of the witch to pick up the edge of the dresser. “My name’s Mykel, by the way,” she told the witch with a hazy smile.
“Kit,” Kit said forlornly, his voice far more breathless than it had been a minute ago. His face was pale as though he were about to pass out.
“Stop talking to her,” Gentry snapped at the witch as she took the same side of the dresser by his legs. She looked down at him. “Try anything, and I’ll make your first Favor to me turning yourself into the mages.”
He nodded and so Gentry counted to three. On three, she and Mykel rolled the dresser off him, the effort far more difficult than she’d anticipated. Apparently stuffing her entire life in those dressers (primarily clothes, copious amounts of textbooks, and romance novels) had given it more heft than she’d thought possible.
As soon as the dresser was clear of his body, the witch scrambled back and threw the chainmail off himself. He jumped over the dresser then, the motion incredibly fast and jarring as he went as far back as the bedroom wall allowed him like a cornered animal. He held his one good palm up, the other hanging uselessly at his side.
Gentry moved as quickly as he did. She pulled on that first page, highly aware that the Favor would be claimed if she tore so much as a millimeter of it, “Try it,” she snarled, her heart in her throat. Technically, she didn’t need to activate the Favor to protect herself, but the witch could strike out at Mykel without repercussion. She would not let that happen.
Satisfaction sang in her veins when the witch froze and then lowered his hand to clutch at his injured shoulder, misery stamped on every inch of his stupidly handsome face.
“I won’t be able to protect you, you know,” he said, “every witch who wants to make a quick buck will want to kill you. You were best off without putting out that damn hit. Now we’re both screwed.”
Before Gentry could respond, a furious fist pounded at their door.
“Mykel — you stupid whore! What did you drug me with?” an infuriated Justin screamed.
seven
Kit
The mage burst into the room, his blood red eyes zeroing in on Gentry’s friend. He was tall and angry and so clearly inebriated that, for a single second, Kit felt some sympathy for the poor man. He’d overheard the girls and knew that they had drugged him. Witch bodies didn’t process medical drugs well because the magic mucked stuff up.
But he had no time to feel bad for anyone else. He had enough of his own problems to solve, starting with the girl who’d trapped him and dislocated his shoulder. As his shoulder throbbed and waves of pain ran from his fingertips back up to his shoulder, he didn’t take her eyes off her, nor she him. His eyes darted to the Favors in her grasp. If he could just levitate the papers away from her —
Riiiiip. His target tore the first sheet of pink paper clean down the middle and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
“Get us to a safe place,” Gentry demanded.
The breath escaped Kit’s lungs in a rush of air as soon as she finished speaking. He grasped his throat with his good hand and tried to breathe, but failed. It was only when he stumbled afoot towards the government mage and the pressure around his throat lessened that he understood.
He had to obey Gentry’s word when a Favor was claimed, or else he’d suffocate to death. He suspected it’d be a similar experience if he so much as touched a hair on her evil head. Fuck. That was annoying.
“Who are you?” the mage barked, noticing him at last. His face was red in anger, and his eyes hazy. He curled his hand in Kit’s direction.
But not fast enough. Kit knocked him back with the fastest telekinetic shove he’d ever magicked. The mage flew back into the hallway wall with a thud. Kit curled his fist, heart thudding as he realized the move had left him with a meager amount of magic.
Both girls ogled him, their eyes wide, as he stalked towards the one person he could take his frustration out on. To the mage’s credit, he was already stumbling back onto his feet, ready for a fight.
“Don’t hurt him,” Gentry’s high friend murmured, “he’s just mad I drugged him.”
“Oh, he’s a jerk who uses you, Myk,” Gentry snapped. “Do what you want, Kit.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kit groaned, fed up with the know-it-all girl who’d outsmarted him at every turn. He didn’t want to think about his new situation, about how drastically he’d just failed on a job for a Weaver.
Visha would soon be hunted by Clea because he was an absolute fucking idiot.
The mage sent a nasty puncture spell right at his eyes. It was a nifty, skillful piece of work for a government mage. But far too slow and complicated for a duel.
Kit dissipated the spell with a flare of his own magic and knocked the guy’s head against the wall with another telepathic shove. Hard. His opponent slumped over like a ragdoll.
“Oh no…” Gentry’s friend slurred as she ran to the mage and touched his cheek. “You killed him.” She sounded really sad at the idea.
Kit felt more than a little annoyance, particularly as patients started filtering from the hallways at the ruckus. Some ducked back into their rooms when they saw him. Some discreet, skilled assassin he made. “No, he’s just unconscious, but we need to get out of here.”
His former target already had a bag hoisted over her shoulder. She looked wholly unimpressed with him, instead beelining to stand at the door to block his retreat from all the staring eyes. “Mykel, pack some stuff up. You have to leave with us now.”
