“Oh, right.” Matt dramatically whacked his forehead. “If you give me the day—”
“I’m not giving you a day, and now you’re making me uncomfortable.” I held out my hand.
Matt clenched his jaw. “Fine, message first. You can check it again in an hour.”
“Peachy,” I said, not really okay with that at all.
Matt slipped back to the bar and returned with my TB. It was my turn to take deep breaths. This was going to be challenging in two parts.
First, I still didn’t know how to work magic, and second, I didn’t have many positive experiences asking for help. But I was out of options.
I took a deep breath and released it.
I was a monster.
Not really, but really. If this was the future, I was born before the tremors, back when magic hadn’t permeated the world yet. My newest theory: the magic inside me was an outdated operating system on a computer. It worked, but none of the programs for Windows Dystopian Future™ were compatible.
Over the last week, I’d started destroying random objects, including: A pair of sexy women’s undergarments, which definitely didn’tbelong to me, and the cloth and beeswax wrapping around my sandwich, which I now feel guilty about because Cayden asked for it back. I’d also spent a silly amount of time locking and unlocking my door.
When I destroyed stuff, I felt my Majekah. But when I unlocked my door, I didn’t because the lock pulled general magic out of me, because it was there. Apparently, it was an entire dragon’s worth as long as someone else was accessing my operating system.
“Are you actually going to send a message?” Matt prompted. “I don’t have all the time in the world. It’s still a packed house. There’s a queue at the bar.”
I buried my fear and gave him a brilliant smile. “You could leave me with it.”
“You’d take it and run,” Matt responded sweetly. “Message now.”
I didn’t want his push, but I needed it.
The only time I’d used magic that I was aware of was running from the physical placement. Pure fear and adrenaline forced magic into my legs. It was plain and simple will power, like Cayden kept saying. Instead of trying to make a scrawl, I clasped my TB between my hands and brought it under my chin mimicking a prayer. My emotions weren’t out of control, but I was equally desperate to change my future.
I pictured being turned into a baby mill, trapped and unhappy, still unable to use my magic because it kept me docile. Why else would I be given a tutor for everything under the sun but that? A phantom collar burned my neck, and three spots on my back ached. I suddenly struggled to breathe. This could not be my future. My hands started shaking with my whipped-up fear. Before I could lose complete control, I demanded the TB send Rowan the message I’d been repeating over and over all morning.
Heat suddenly burned my hands. I flung the TB to the floor, where it bounced once before skidding to a stop. Wispy baby-blue tendrils floated out of it.
That miserable future would not happen. I was fine. I had friends. Right now, I still had control.
“What did you do?” Matt stepped away from me.
I fought to control my heart rate. “I don’t know!”
Matt mumbled, and water from the sink doused the little square. We both stared at it. When it didn’t start smoking again or move, I picked it back up. Although a few scorch marks blackened the edges, it looked fine.
I turned it to the message side. My words shimmered, translucent but readable. Little bits of prismatic crystal sparkled inside each loopy letter. I grinned like the crazy person I might be.
Prismatic Crystal
I need a favor. I can pay. Meet me at The Cock when you're available?
I took a deep breath, pushing down the remainder of my worked-up panic. This would give away that my TB wasn’t, in fact, missing. However, based on how fast I’d whipped myself into a frenzy, I was clearly not doing well.
It was worth the risk. I couldn’t be trapped here.
Rowan was one of Ezra’s generals. He could get me past the guards. Moreover, his family was broke; that was a huge reason he was with Angela. I wasn’t asking him for help. I was offering him a job.
I was still blankly staring at my message when Matt reached forward and peeled my TB out of my fingers.
“You’re an odd one, Quinn.” Matt gestured toward a stack of dishes. “Now, I want all those cleaned before the lunch rush.”
