“I was wondering if you were hiring?”
The woman continues to assess me, I’m sure coming to the conclusion that I’m trouble. Reluctantly, I pull my hand away from my stomach, realizing it’s going to look like I’m trying to play on her sympathies as starving. Between my thin frame and the backpack slung over my shoulder, I’ve got to be projecting at least a dozen red flags right about now.
Cringing, I try to salvage the situation. “I hope to stick around for a little while, unless anyone around here takes offense at the prospect.”
With a town this small, I have no illusions they don’t know everyone’s entire life story and have their family trees memorized. The mark peeking out from beneath my collar is a dead giveaway, so no point pretending I fit in. Fingers crossed that coming across as honest as I’m able to will buy me some time. But honestly, with this many shifters, I wouldn’t be surprised if they threw me out of town before nightfall.
“And if so, I just ask for a day or two to gather some supplies and come up with a plan.”
The wait for her answer is agonizing, her head canted to the side and eyes slightly glazed over like she’s opting out of the conversation, off in her own little world.
Finally, she breaks the terse silence. “You’re in luck. I have a couple people playing hooky today and could use a hand unloading the delivery truck.”
Exhaling in relief, my shoulders sag. “Happy to help.”
She extends a hand over the counter with a small smile. “Rin.”
Awkwardly smiling back, I shake her offered hand. “Rel. Well, Esmerelda.”
Her eyes twinkle with humor as she nods. “Come on back and we’ll get things worked out, Rel.”
* * *
“Goddamn,”I pant, flopping another fifty pound bag onto the stack inside.
Shifters rarely ever get sick, and despite how it worked in my favor today, I’m slightly regretting it. We’re stuck with the biggest asshole that refuses to help since ‘he wasn’t paid to unload it, just drive it here’. A crock of shit if you ask me, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Climbing up into the back of the truck again, I press my trembling hand against my stomach, panting. This is the most I’ve moved around since getting shot, and honestly, I’m not used to this intense amount of manual labor on the best of days. Running or climbing, sure. Even the occasional fight isn’t unusual, but not half an hour of hefting dead weight.
Dragging another bag to the edge of the truck, I hop down, scooting it off of the ledge. Wrapping my arms tightly around it, I clutch it to my stomach, leaning back a bit before adjusting my grip underneath to get a better hold. It’s only a short jaunt between the truck and the garage-like set up attached to the bakery where I’m piling bags onto pallets, but it feels like half a mile right now.
“Who are you?” a male voice sounds, far too close for comfort inside the storage room.
My magic reacts to his proximity, and before I can rein it back in, the bag splits above my palms. Powdered sugar pours out, rushing out in an avalanche of white, while sending a cloud to suffocate and coat me in its wake.
“Motherfucker.” I cough, holding the ruined bag in one hand and coughing into my free fist.
“Shit, I’m so sorry!” the guy hastily apologizes, hurrying to close the small distance between us. “Are you okay?”
As soon as he attempts to take the empty bag from me, fingers brushing against mine, I get a jolt sharp enough to sting. Yanking my hand back, I drop the trash on the pile of sugar in front of me, gaze whipping up to him in accusation.
His obsidian hair offsets the light grey of his eyes, currently wide with terror. “I didn’t, I mean,” he stammers before cursing. “I promise, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I don’t know what happened,” he finishes lamely.
Rubbing at my fingers, it’s clear he wasn’t trying to attack me, but enough mages like to fuck with each other in our own display of pissing contests over who’s more powerful. The fact that there’s even another mage in town, and here of all places, is surreal enough as it is. But by the apologetic fear on his face, I’m inclined to believe him.
And honestly, I think it was my fault for being startled. My skin is still crawling, little static charges racing across my skin like they have off and on since I woke up a week ago. After nearly depleting all of my energy, the force that not only lets me wield my abilities, butlive,it’s not that surprising. With as little food as I’ve eaten lately, it’s been harder to replenish. And after being shot and getting used to the peace and quiet, I’m a little jumpy.
“My fault.” Chuckling awkwardly, I try to laugh it off. “New place and still on edge.” I’m not about to admit to being low on reserves to someone that fully understands the implications of that statement. Namely, how vulnerable that makes me.
“I get that.” He accepts my words at face value, though there’s still blatant concern on his face. “I really am sorry though, I didn’t realize Rin hired someone.”
Swiping my hands over my clothes to try and shake out some of the powder, I realize just how futile the effort is and sigh. “After this, I’m sure it isn’t going to last anyway.”
“Hey, Ian, could you-“ Rin stops in her tracks in the doorway, eyes widening at the mess. “What the heck happened?”
My apologies are on the tip of my tongue, but as I open my mouth, Ian’s voice comes out instead. “My fault. Thought someone was trying to make off with shit and got carried away.” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, though by the way Rin smirks to offset her narrowed eyes, it doesn’t look like she buys it for a second.
“Mhmm. Who’s seriously going to need to steal a bag of powdered sugar?” she challenges and his retort is so instantaneous I bet he’s been waiting for the chance to use it.
