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“You alright?” he asked, clearly concerned.
“I am, yeah,” I said as he helped me back onto my feet. The security guard seemed nonplussed at my fainting spell.
“I’m sorry” were Maddox’s next words, surprising me. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. If you didn’t want to use your powers, you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” He closed his eyes, shielding me from the hypnotizing powers of his icy-blue gaze. His apology was genuine, and I wholeheartedly accepted it.
“It’s fine,” I said, placing a hand on his forearm. Maybe it was an effect of the spell, or it could have been something else, but sparks shot through my palm, coursing up my arm, through my shoulder, down my back. I almost didn’t want to let go, but already, I felt like I had held on for seconds too long.
“I’m sure there aren’t many Marvels who don’t like to use their powers.”
“Did you just get them in the recent Pulse?” Maddox asked, impossibly blue eyes back on mine. He stole my breath away.
Or was that still the drain from my magic?
“No,” I answered, deciding to open up a bit without letting the memories of my Pulse night drag me under. Those were memories I had blacked out years and years ago. “I became a Marvel in the 2010 Pulse. I was sixteen. I’m twenty-nine now. So it’s been a while since I’ve had them; I just don’t use them.”
Pulse night came around every ten years, marking a moment in time when tidal waves of magical energies poured out of the Tears all around the globe, washing the world in magic. Most people remained unaffected by the event, getting a free light show when the clouds turn pink and purple, but some people found a part of themselves unlocking, the ability to channel and weave the three major threads of mana—reds, greens, blues—turning them into powerful beings from one day to the next.
And then there were those people, a very small few, who succumbed to the magical energies by turning into a multicolored bonfire, leaving behind only ash for their loved ones to bury.
I swallowed back a lump of emotion. My Pulse night began to claw at the barrier I placed around it, the gnarled talons poking at the mental locks. I couldn’t deal with it. Not now.
“It’s been twenty minutes,” the security guard said. I filled my lungs with a deep breath and tried to get the world to feel a little steadier under my feet. “Let’s go.” The security guard nodded his head toward the door, a hand hovering just over the blade at his hip.
Maddox gave a low growl. “Can you give him a minute?”
“I already gave him twenty.”
“Give him twenty-five,” Maddox said, clearly getting upset. I put a hand on his shoulder and managed a smile. The touch between us sent back those silly little sparks that I wasn’t exactly used to, so I ignored them.
“I’m okay. We can head out now.”
“You sure?”
I gave him another nod and walked out of the room, back into the quiet hallway, where a group of museum guests were listening to their audio tours as they looked at the paintings on the wall. The security guard closed up the room and locked it again. He gave us one last look and left, clearly annoyed he had to play babysitter today, although that was probably the most excitement the douchebag had gotten in a while.
“Well, that wasn’t as productive as I thought it’d be,” Maddox said, hands in the pockets of his black pants. He wore a designer shirt—forest green with a logo I knew symbolized it was far too expensive for me—and an equally unobtainable watch on his wrist, silver with a deep blue face that matched his eyes.
“You mean you didn’t see the brand on the thief’s forearm?”
Maddox nearly tripped over himself with how quickly he stopped walking. “Wait, what? You saw something?”
“I’m just shocked you didn’t.”
He chuckled, eyes squinting as his smile grew. “One thing you’ll learn about me is that I’m not the greatest with detail.”
We walked through the lobby, which was filling up with more and more tourists. “I’m starting to pick up on that,” I said, walking out through the sliding doors and into the bright afternoon sunlight. A marble fountain of a dolphin with wings spat water out in a relaxing trickle, the sound mixing with the dings of the ticket kiosks and the occasional honks from nearby traffic. “If you were paying attention, you would have seen the burning circle branded on the thief’s neck.”
“Fucking hell,” Maddox said. “Seriously?”
“Mhmm.”
“How do you know so much about the cult?” Maddox asked. It was an innocent question, but I couldn’t help but feel like he was beginning to dissect me. Like I was some kind of creature pinned to a table with Maddox coming at me, scalpel in hand.
