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That sounds boring—and like a colossal waste of time.
Killian
Because it will be.
Maybe later. Once I’m more comfortable.
Killian
Noted.
I set my phone down and contemplated my empty glass. “It seems Magiford has a lot of unusual things to share.”
Unusual was a rarity in my experience.
Nothing was truly new to the world. Technology might “advance” the human race, but the truth was every generation simply repeated the same mistakes and problems of their forefathers. This stupidity was not unique to humans—it also affected most supernaturals. It was why vampires were asinine in their longing for history, and why the vampires whoweren’toblivious to this pattern typically ended up sleeping forever. The monotony of seeing the same pain and terror being repeated was enough to steal anyone’s desire to live.
And yet…Magiford had offered a lot of newness in the short time I’d been here.
Unbidden, my thoughts returned to my redheaded neighbor: the human who was terrified of humans but made herself approach them, yet was calm and easy with me.
Jade.That was her name.
The realization that I’d actually remembered her name when she’d introduced herself surprised me.
I didn’t bother to remember human faces, much less names.
But…I suppose there was no harm in having a name for one of my new methods of entertainment.
As long as my real powers remain hidden, I imagine Magiford will hold quite a bit of entertainment for me.I grinned and glanced in the direction of Jade’s apartment.Perhaps this won’t be the trial I’d imagined.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Jade
Music pumped in my ears, helping me keep my pace as I sprinted down the street avoiding looking at anyone’s face as I dodged pedestrians.
I’d chosen today for my running program—my family had developed a very particular training regimen that included weightlifting and running for optimal health and physical wellbeing. I kept the training schedule, even though it wasn’t very fun when I didn’t have my brothers to train with.
Today, however, I was seriously questioning my dedication to the training schedule.
The sun beat down on my shoulders, and even though I’d put on sunscreen I had a nagging feeling I was still going to end up burned. (Thank you, Irish heritage that made me pale enough to pass for a ghost.) I’d also sweated through my athletic shirt so I probably smelled terrible. My face was red and a few loose tendrils of my curly red hair had pulled free from the pins and were plastered to my forehead. It felt like I was swimming instead of running thanks to the day’s high humidity.
It might be September, but the weather certainly hadn’t gotten the notice.
I kept sprinting, hurried on by the hope that my sprinting session was almost done.
I ran through a flock of pigeons, who flew off with an ease I envied—they didn’t seem to mind the hot weather. A French fry pelted my shoulder—likely a parting gift from one of the birds—and just when I thought my lungs were going to collapse and I would die on the sidewalk from heatstroke, the alarm I’d set went off.
“Finally.” I slowed from my sprint to a slow jog more suited for a long-distance run.
Having the ability to both sprint and jog for long distances had been deemed necessary by my parents.
It did help—I had excellent stamina and lung capacity—but I still hated training for it.
“I can’t wait for summer to be over,” I grumbled to myself as I peered around trying to get my bearings.
I’d started over on Main Street, and now I was on Goldstein Street—where the mantasps had been released.
