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Rochelle let out a breath and set her fork on her plate, her appetite lost. She might as well pay and head out. This way she at least wouldn’t have to rush to the bookstore where she worked. As grateful as she was for the job, and the fact that she was paid consistently whether they were busy or dead slow, it was hard to convince her heart that she was where she needed to be. She certainly wasn’t where she belonged, if there was such a distinction.
“Please come again!” the same waitress said. Her smile was a bit brighter as Rochelle finished paying and made her exit.
Maybe.
It depended on whether or not she chose to leave the city altogether, really.
She kept her head slightly bowed and walked briskly in the direction of the bookstore. She wasn’t running late by any means, but the wonder of the wide, new city had worn off quickly. She was well aware of her exposure. She was also aware of the dangers a woman alone faced in a large, overpopulated, under-policed city. It was a tension that had been building almost palpably since the not-so-quiet whispers about King Jensen and Aric had started.
The magical awareness Aric had taught her to hone suddenly sparked off to her side, almost like a warning flare, and Rochelle twisted on her heel at the same time as she erected a wall of energy and wind. She was just fast enough to block a water sphere, like a fireball of condensed water, from crashing into her shoulder.
Across the way were two men, both gaping at her, presumably in surprise that she had defended herself.
The one who’s magical aura matched the water ball recovered first and pointed an aggressive finger at her. “Take a hint and get out of our city, Zryn!”
Rochelle let her magic fade and glared back at the jerk. “I am Yafaen. Take your prejudice somewhere else.” She turned her back on them without waiting for their replies and continued on her way.
The same man shouted something crude in her direction but didn’t follow.
As soon as she rounded the next corner, her breath caught in her chest, and she wished she’d indulged the bullies’ desire for a fight. It would have been preferable.
The small, immigrant-owned bookstore where she worked was engulfed in flames. The windows had already blown out, smoke billowing high as she watched. The sight threw her back to her last memories in Corast without warning, to that moment forever frozen in time when her first Yafaen employer gave his life for her survival. Before she’d even met Aric, she had been scarred by nearly the same sight.
A tiny body came running, stumbling, out of the smoke and flame, coughing and choking. The body—a young boy—hit the ground on hands and knees just feet from the building. He was crying audibly. “D-daddy,” his choked voice cried. He tried to turn toward the building, not paying attention to anything else around him. “Daddy!”
Rochelle rushed forward and grabbed his arm, pulling him farther from the danger. “Von, no! It’s not safe!”
Von struggled, finally looking at her, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. “Daddy,” he said. “Daddy’s there!”
Her throat swelled and she clutched the boy to her chest for a long second, willing him to calm enough to hear her. “Get to Central Street and scream for help, okay? I’ll save your dad.”
Amund had been a good employer to her, even offering her a place to sleep—though she’d refused it—and she couldn’t, above all else, let this seven-year-old boy become an orphan. If this was the moment she paid Bjorn’s sacrifice forward, that was fine. The trembling boy in her arms had so much more life to offer this world than she did.
“Promise,” Von said, his voice barely a whisper and heavy with anticipatory grief, grief he likely couldn’t express. “Promise you’ll save Daddy.”
Rochelle rubbed her hand through his ash-ridden hair. “With the ancestors as my witness.”
He sniffled and stepped back.
She pointed to an opposite corner, glad it wasn’t the way the bullies had been going. “Now, run, Von. Run, and scream, okay?” As soon as he nodded, she drew a breath and called up her magic.
It wasn’t as if she’d practiced running into a burning building. But there was a life on the line, arguably two, and so she would learn. Trial by fire, right? Fire lived on oxygen, so she couldn’t use that as a barrier this time. Water was harder, but she dragged it out of the atmosphere around her and infused what she could grab with some soul to reinforce it. Then she wrapped it around herself. It was the best she could think to do.
Then she ran into the already devastated bookstore, the roaring, crackling flame only getting louder until the sound was as all-encompassing as the heat. It smothered her, clogging her lungs in a single breath and forcing her to gasp.Ancestors, please.She had to at least find Amund.
How did Aric do that searching spell? She knew it was based on magical energies, and she was familiar enough with Amund. If he was still alive, she might be able to pull it off.
One of the exposed rafters from the lobby ceiling crashed down, snapping into pieces as it collided with the oblong table below. Ash and sparks scattered everywhere, and Rochelle’s barrier sizzled in protest. She felt a pressure, like the weight of raindrops over a coat, but no further discomfort. For the time being, her barrier held.
She focused for a second on funneling a thin stream of oxygen straight from outside and into her nose, like an invisible oxygen system. It was uncomfortable, but her lungs cleared out immediately—as well as her mind.
Amund.
She closed her eyes, trusting in her learned strength, and pictured the middle-aged immigrant. The way his usually tired eyes would spark when he talked about a book he’d enjoyed or when he was particularly proud of his son. The way he always snorted when he laughed. The almost reluctant way he used his magic, as if he were uncomfortable with it. The way his magic felt.
She ignored the consistent sense of assault against the thin veil of a barrier that protected her, her mind finally zeroed in on what she needed. She didn’t know if it was more effective to cast a scan like a net or release it like a radar, but since she knew the size and layout of the live-in store, she opted for the net style. She hoped once she found him, she’d be able to use it like a lead.
Rochelle tossed her magical net out, essentially fishing for Amund’s aura.
