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“You don’t have to wear the gloves,” Noel said softly, folding them back into his pockets. “And I promise I won’t hurt you. Whoever did that was a monster, but I know saying that won’t change your mind about how you think of me, much like how I’m not exactly all that fond of teaming up with a hemomancer in this grand escape.”
“Escape to where?” Grey puffed out, his shoulders dropping. “If any one of us goes back home, won’t they just ransack the place? They’re probably drafting up bounties for our heads right now?—”
Noel stiffened at the distant snap of underbrush and held up a finger. “Quiet.”
Blessedly, Grey paused, his gaze following Noel’s to a point further down the untraveled path into the dark woods. The world fell eerily silent without the soft chirping of cicadas and rustling of small creatures underfoot. Noel heard Grey swallow just as the faint, haunting glow of red shone in the distance, sending a shiver up his spine.
“Get on the bike,” he whispered, his tone sharp and urgent.
Grey didn’t object to the order, the two of them climbing on with the fumbling jingle of keys being pulled from Noel’s pocket. The engine revved as two angry, red dots pierced the darkness, accompanied by a low, guttural growl. Grey’s hands found the opening of Noel’s denim jacket and held tight to the metal zipper teeth.
Please don’t try to use your magic here, he silently pleaded, imagining the blood he’d never get out of the fabric and a drained forest left in their wake.
The motorcycle shot forward, and Grey gasped out a yelp, squeezing his arms around Noel’s body as a clearer, more horrifying outline of a hulking bear-like silhouette slunk into view.
“Turn, turn, turn—” Grey chanted, his voice climbing with each panicked syllable.
Instead, Noel ducked down, punching the bike forward.
“Are you crazy?” Grey yelled over the engine.
Maybe. Then again, he knew it was suicide to take any untraveled route out of these woods. The creatures dwelling deeper within might make an exception for their ritualistic prey, but that wasn’t a chance Noel was willing to take.
He slid his blade out from his boot again, a comfort to feel the worn leather covering the hilt in his hand. But even more comforting was the knowledge that solid iron extended from it. A satisfying howl tore from the creature’s lungs as they passed, dagger sliding through shadowy hide. And by the time it turned to give chase, Noel and Grey were long gone.
* * *
Grey stayed glued to Noel’s back, even after they left the woods and rolled along the dirt trail toward home. The wind teased his skin the further they went, taunting him to drive straight into the arms of the game wardens once again.
“Where are we going?” Grey’s voice sounded small and worn, but it jolted Noel back to the task at hand.
“I don’t know just yet,” he mumbled, the bike slowing in answer.
Cold spread over him as Grey pulled away, his arms trembling in their brush against Noel’s sides. “Do you need to stop for a bit? You used your blade back there?—”
“Hm? Oh, that wasn’t macharomancy. Just me slicing it with iron to keep it off us long enough to escape.”
“What about the net?”
Noel opened his mouth and snapped it shut again. He supposed he had, and he’d been running off pure adrenaline since their escape—enough of it that he must’ve pushed down that gnawing sensation in the pit of his stomach from channeling his power. So, he guided the motorcycle off the path, bumping along the grassy hill with Grey’s hands gripping his jacket.
Grey half-fell into the grass when they dismounted, and Noel scrambled to grab his arm, almost recoiling at the reaction when he reminded himself this boy wasn’t just any mancer.
“Did you use your magic back there?”
“Yes.” He winced, righting himself and—thankfully—shaking off Noel’s support. “But I already traded. I think I’m just spent.”
Was that a lie to get him to drop his guard? He’d heard of some hemomancers hitchhiking and brushing off any strange behaviors or scars. It was only later that the poor souls that became their victims learned that those were warning signs. Maybe Grey’s eye was from a macharomancer defending themself?
Noel shifted awkwardly, brushing off his jacket before he took a seat in the grass, far enough away from him that he’d have time to react before succumbing to his trade: energy for energy. Meditation would have to suffice since he ate the last of his rations hours ago with the assumption he’d be able to hold off until he reached another town. His eyes closed, and his tensed at the subtle rustling from Grey dropping down next to him.
Grey made a noise like he was trying to clear his throat. “What do you use in your trade?”
“Food, usually,” Noel mumbled. “I can manage some with—” The zip of nylon popped his eyes open again, narrowing on the shadowy bag he fumbled through before holding him a granola-bar-looking thing in offering. “Thanks…” He gingerly took it, sniffing it as Grey retrieved some dried fruit.
Okay, so maybe he was still stringing him along? Or he really meant what he said about Noel having a greater chance. Honestly, he didn’t think that really mattered when the sole survivor of the Wild Hunt typically died in the confines of the Grand Capital within a week because they succumbed to fae madness.
He eyed Grey, watching him pick through his rations to nibble on. If he didn’t eat anything from his bag, Noel certainly wouldn’t risk it.
