“Fine.” He slapped his stack of flyers on top of a crate. Blai and Chantal added a handful more. “This might not work. I’ve never… I’ve never done anything like this.”
Blai gripped his shoulder. “Powerful intention.”
Chantal offered him a pen. “Powerful emotion.”
Powerful magie.
He took a shaking breath and nodded. “Find that boy.”
They both took off again.
Nik braced, pen hovering just above the pages of Lisette Plouffe’s flyers. She smiled up at him, inked to the paper by some grand magie thatcould make her speak and move. The artist must’ve had years of practice to accomplish such a thing. How the hell was he supposed to—
Loosen up.Elara’s voice came to him.You look like you’re about to face a firing line.
He laughed. If only she knew…
“You have to start somewhere,” he said quietly.
Then he pressed the ink to the page. With each stroke of the pen, he focused on the pain his father had caused. The beatings, the years of verbal abuse, the empty promises of affection.
But that wasn’t enough.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew it would take more than that to bring this sketch alive.
He pushed through the hurt to find a memory of his mother’s face bathed in morning sunlight as she tended to the lavender on their windowsill in that tiny apartment. That winter, she’d made lavender tea. It had been his first taste of magie, but not his first taste of love.
For her, he would make this right.
For Elara.
For the Restes.
For himself.
When he pulled back, the ink was dry, from the top sheet to the bottom. Either it had soaked through because of his heavy hand or he’d succeeded.
Time would tell.
“Got him!” Blai panted. “Mouthy brat wanted compensation for his work.”
“As he should,” Chantal snapped. “I’ll pay you handsomely when this is over.”
The boy from the river beamed up at her, then turned to Nik. “You need me to make something?”
Nik held out the flyers. “Please.”
The boy delighted in having unfettered access to the flyers, to press and fold them into a few dozen types of birds and butterflies. Together, they took turns releasing them in batches.
“Look!” Someone pointed.
The crowd turned their gazes upward as the papers swarmed into a massive cloud.
“Nice job,” Nik said, patting the boy on the head before he pushed through the crowd.
Chantal and Blai joined him as he climbed atop the cooking station.
“This is what Lafontaine has done.” He pointed toward the massive banner of Lisette Plouffe. She’d died to try and make things right, and Nik would give her another chance.
