I picture the future, how easy life could be if I went with him, surrounded by people who understand my magic. Who understand me. But when have I ever taken the easy route?
I have learned that without adversity, we do not grow, and without challenges, we do not change.
In this new, uncomfortable humanity, I cannot yet defend myself, but I am not ready to be cosseted either.
I turn to Knox. “Again, thank you for rescuing me, but I will not be travelling with you to your island. I am something of a lone wolf, happy to work with others, but best on my own.”
I do not trust Lander, nor do I trust Knox. The only person I can rely on is myself.
The smile falls from his face. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure. If you ever need anything, simply send a note.”
His velvet-dark eyes remain kind. “Whatever you need, we’ll be here.”
“Thank you.”
At the next set of lights, the car slows. The city outside is a blur of movement, pedestrians crossing, voices rising, and horns blaring.
The moment the vehicle stops, I move. I pop the door and slip into the crowd, and vanish.
Chapter Eighteen
Navigatingthe Magic Sector is surprisingly easy now that I have access to my magic again. I can reach my funds and all the property I own. I have never kept all my eggs in one basket, so I have homes scattered across the sectors.
With a simple spell, I summon a car and driver. I will be picked up within the hour.
I look around at the signs, trying to decide where to eat, and spot a chicken shop across the road, wedged between a glowing potion apothecary and a wand-repair kiosk. Chicken should be safe enough for a brand-new stomach.
I cross over, head inside, and place my order.
The shop is small but spotless and smells of hot oil, salt, and something sharp and peppery. When they hand me the device to take payment, I simply wave my hand. My magichandles it—no card needed. The staff member does not even notice; the screen beeps, and they smile.
It only takes a moment for my chicken and chips to arrive. It is served in a cardboard box, and I am vaguely horrified. Times really have changed. Maybe I should have gone to a proper restaurant. My first meal in forever, and it is… chicken and chips, like I am a teenager.
I sit in a quiet corner, open the box, and eye the contents. The chicken is coated in something—I think it is breadcrumbs. It is golden, crisp-looking, and it steams faintly in the fluorescent light. I stare at it, thinking of all the careful, healthy meals I used to cook for other people.
I wait for it to cool, then peel off the coating with surgical care, exposing the white meat underneath. The breading flakes away in greasy crumbs, leaving my fingertips slick. I pull away a small piece of chicken and pop it into my mouth.
The taste is… a little salty. Not much flavour otherwise—probably all in the coating I just removed. The texture is oddly slippery and fibrous at once, and my new tongue cannot decide what to make of it. Chewing is an ordeal of moving parts: teeth, jaw, tongue, all working together.
I swallow and wait.
Wait for something awful to happen—for my body to reject it, for nausea to rise like a tide—but nothing does. No pain, no dizziness, no sudden betrayal.
So I try another piece.
By the time I am done dissecting the chicken, I have a little pile of discarded coating to one side. I do not want to risk eating that just yet.
The chips are cooling now. Just salted potato. Mytongue already feels as though it is curling away from the seasoning, protesting the bluntness of it.
With my meal, I got a tea—served in a paper cup. I remove the teabag and take a tentative sip. Thankfully, it is no longer scalding hot, and while my mouth is still full of the taste of chicken and salt, it is not awful.
The important thing is I have not had an adverse reaction or embarrassed myself.
I cannot finish it all, but I still feel guilty as I throw the remains away. I come from a time when food was never wasted, when a hard winter could make a person grateful for crusts. Still, I doubt takeaway chicken is good for long, and I am not about to carry it around.
I finish the tea, bin the cup, and head out to meet the car.
