Yiran watched as Zizi unfurled Rui’s fingers one by one until her hands unclenched and her grip on him loosened. He did it gently, like he knew she was brittle glass under that steel exterior.
“Were you worried about me?” he asked softly.
Yiran felt Rui’s anger disappearing as she scanned Zizi’s face, taking him in like a person deprived of oxygen.
“I was,” she whispered.
“I didn’t mean to worry you.”
There was meaning in their voices that Yiran understood. Embarrassed, he walked away, pretending to tidy his already neat desk, certain he’d witnessed an intimate moment between them he had no part in. His fingers hovered over Rui’s sword bag. Tempted. She was distracted, but hecouldn’t hide the bag in front of them even if he took it.
“What happened to your hands?”
Surprised by the shrillness in Rui’s voice, Yiran turned. Zizi’s fingers looked oddly naked from the lack of rings. But there was something else on them. Stains, like black ink wiped off too late. The lines resembled veining on a leaf, creeping up in a haphazard pattern from his hands to his wrists.
“I don’t know,” Zizi said. “More of this black stuff appears each time I wake in a different place. It won’t come off.”
“What do you meaneach time?” Yiran took Zizi’s hand and rubbed it. The black markings stayed on like a tattoo.
“It started a couple of weeks ago. I’d lose consciousness and find myself in a new place with no idea how I got there. I thought I was sleepwalking at first, but it kept happening and it’s getting worse. Feels like magic I don’t understand.”
“Maybe you should see someone about this,” Yiran suggested. “If it’s a, I don’t know, magical illness, maybe what you need is a healer.”
“I’m not sick.”
“Do you think it’s related to the missing mages?” Rui said.
Yiran glanced between them. “What missing mages?”
Briefly, Rui filled him in. “We don’t know who really hired the mages to create that spell. But maybe they’ve decided to target Zizi now,” she finished.
“Is it a curse?” Yiran said. “Like a way to get you to them, but somehow you ended up here?”
“I would know if it were, I think.” Zizi winced. “It feels like my head’s been chopped off and screwed back wrong.”
Rui said, “Whatever it is, you need to be careful—what’s wrong?”
Blood had drained from Zizi’s face, and he was covering his eyes with his hands. “The lights...”
Rui ran to the window and drew the curtains. “Turn off the lights! I think he’s getting one of his migraines.”
Yiran flipped the switch and the room plunged into near darkness. There was a shuffling noise, and Yiran saw the shape of Zizi crawling under the duvet. With his shoes on. Yiran decided to let that go.
“Do you have any medication?” he asked.
A muffled voice came from under the duvet. “Not on me. With everything going on, I think I missed my dose. Maybe you’re right; I need to see someone about this.”
Yiran lifted the edge of the duvet slightly and peeked in. He could hear Zizi breathing hard.
“What can I do?” he whispered to the shadowy ball inside. He didn’t know why he was whispering, but if the light hurt, maybe loud sounds did too.
Zizi whispered back, “Give me your hand.”
Something featherlight dropped onto Yiran’s palm.
“Light this.”
Yiran looked. There was a cigarette in his hand. Did Zizi want to smoke? How would that help his migraine?
