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I laughed at the eerie accuracy of his remark. “You have no idea.” I braced myself for another bout of burning and reached for his hand this time. The sting was there, albeit less intense, likely because he relied on his hands and didn’t want to overprotect them.
His eyes widened, then rolled to the back of his head as I slipped inside. Thankfully, there were no fragments like I’d witnessed in Bruce’s brain. This was a normal mind, albeit somewhat warped by years of drugs and violent video games. This guy would’ve been the poster child for the Reagan era, a warning of the type of person you’d become if you let your vices control you. None of that made him dangerous, though, at least not to me. That honor was reserved for his magic.
Pain radiated from my hand to my head, but I maintained a firm grip. I could outlast his defenses. It was obvious he wasn’t expecting me; his protective magic was only a thin layer.
I forced my way deeper into his brain. There was no barrier to entry. Lucky me had an all-access pass.
I flicked through an array of options. Only one stood out as the obvious choice. The mage stood in a dining room, surrounded by others, presumably his family. He rose at the head of the table and leaned forward to carve a turkey. His gaze snagged on me, seated at the opposite end of the table.
“You? How?”
I waved a hand airily. “Don’t mind me. Carry on with the festivities.”
“That’s Mom’s seat.”
“Not today.”
His eyes scanned the dining area. “Where is she?”
I threaded my fingers on the table. “Do you really want her to see what happens next? It would scar her for life.”
His head bowed in acquiescence. As he touched the carving knife, his skin reddened. He dropped the utensil and jumped back from the table. I was sorely tempted by the sight of sweet potato muffins, but I resisted the urge to partake. It was best to remain an observer if I could help it.
“I just want to carve the freakin’ turkey,” he complained. “I never get to finish.”
His shirt disintegrated as his body grew too hot for the material. The people around the table scattered like roaches in the light. The mage remained frozen in place. Flames licked his ears and pushed their way through his eye sockets. The mage’s worst nightmare was burning alive from the inside out—he feared his own magic.
Now I needed him to fear mine.
His piercing scream told me I was right; his subsequent silence told me I was successful.
The mage slumped to the floor. His head was last to reach the wood, slamming against it with a thud that promised to leave a mark, and possibly dent the floor.
I observed the unconscious mage and debated my options. I wasn’t calling Kane. I’d only feel beholden to him, and I didn’t want that. Otto wouldn’t be useful in a situation like this, and the chief of police wouldn’t understand.
I pulled out my phone and hit the contacts button. “Hey, Gun. I have a situation. Would you mind stopping by at your earliest convenience? By which I mean, immediately. I have an unwelcome visitor.”
I hung up the phone without giving him a chance to object. While I waited, I checked the mage’s pulse. Weak but steady. Good enough.
“You’re lucky it’s my day off,” Gunther said, once he arrived. He took one look at the body on the floor, and his shoulders sagged. “You’re a real magnet for trouble, aren’t you?”
“Now you sound like my grandfather.”
“I pity the man. He must’ve had his hands full with you.”
There was too much truth in that statement to comment. “This guy seemed to think there was no one home.”
“His mistake, clearly.” Sighing, Gunther shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Too bad. I was hoping The Corporation acted like an actual company.”
I shot him a quizzical look.
“Slow to make decisions, and inept when they do.”
“Got it.” I hesitated. “How do you know about The Corporation?”
“I overheard Kane talking to Josie at the club. He sounded concerned, so I listened. It isn’t often Sullivan expresses concern about anything other than whether his drink was mixed properly.”
“Do you know about the house on Thoreau Street?”
