Fourteen continued, “Except my name. Before they took that too, I hid it away, deep inside. I never think about it. Ever. They can’t take what they don’t know about.”

Cym had forgotten about his feet entirely. The cool and collected man who had shuffled them from crisis to crisis all night had cracked open and shown Cym that, on the inside, he was burning alive.

Cym’s hand found its way to Fourteen’s leg in a silent gesture of comfort, and he gave the man an awkward pat before snatching back. Whatever had been driving Cym’s words had wandered off, leaving him with no idea of what to say next.

Fourteen gave Cym an almost smile, and something about it made Cym’s heart ache. “I hid it too well because even I don’t know it now. I can feel it though, like a spark inside my chest. If I wanted it, I believe I could have it again.” Faint lines creased the corners of Fourteen’s eyes, and the purple shadows underneath drew Cym’s attention to how tired he looked.

How old was Fourteen? A job like his would age a person quickly, so he could be younger than the thirty-ish man he seemed to be.

Fourteen closed his eyes, breaking contact. Cym noticed Fourteen’s aura no longer had the pleasant buzz from when they first met, and it made him feel restless and confused. Cym’s hand reached out and stroked the air next to the man, and it was like touching a tangible thing. He smoothed it down on reflex, like he was petting an anxious animal, and was pleased to note Fourteen’s aura smoothed out as well.

Fourteen’s eyes popped open, empty of all emotion once more, and he continued working on Cym in silence as though nothing important had happened, his hands gentle but efficient as he finished cleaning and wrapping his feet. Fourteen left both hands on Cym’s feet once he was done, as if as hesitant to let go as he had been to start. Finally, he took his hands away and began tucking the supplies into a backpack he pulled out from the bottom shelf.

Without his touch, the feeling in Cym’s chest dissipated. What had just happened? Such an emotional experience should have left them both feeling raw, but he felt calm, like he was surrounded in a warm, pink cloud.

He watched Fourteen move around the room, continuing to load the backpack with a random assortment of items, seemingly unaffected by the strange incident that had just occurred. Maybe, as a norm, he hadn’t noticed? Magic didn’t always affect them the same way it did the magical community.

“Thank you.” Cym wiggled his toes experimentally. “My feet feel much better now.” Whatever his magic was up to now, he didn’t have time to investigate further. “I guess I’ll be on my way.”

Fourteen zipped up the backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then he walked over to the door and picked up his equipment bag as well. “Where to next?” It was obvious he was planning on going with Cym.

Maybe this would be harder than he thought. “I need to go alone. You’ll only get caught up in something you aren’t prepared to deal with.” Cym bit his lip and readied himself for an argument.

Fourteen studied him for a moment, his expression calm. “I adapt quickly to new situations. Until tonight, I didn’t know people routinely hang out inside floating holes trying to kill kids. I think I managed well enough.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Sure.”

“Whatever,” Cym said in irritation. “Next time they’ll send more than my cousin Astin after me.”

“Which is why you should take me with you.”

“Why… why do you want to come? What’s in this for you? I don’t have any money. Well,” he amended as he thought of the fifty in his stash bag, “almost no money, but I’m going to need that to get out of here.”

For the first time, Cym saw a flash of real anger on Fourteen’s face, but it vanished as quickly as it came. The man’s voice was steady as he said, “I don’t need your money.”

“What do you want, then?”

Fourteen paused, but it wasn’t the way a normal person would do it. It was like watching a machine shut down non-essential functions in order to pour more of its resources into solving a difficult problem. Cym struggled to read his non-expression but failed.

Maybe he wanted to kill Cym. Maybe he wanted breakfast. Only time would tell.

Finally, Fourteen said, “Information. I want to understand what happened last night, and the questions I have will take more than a few minutes to answer, so I’m coming with you.”

Cym bit his lip in indecision. Maybe Fourteen had noticed what just happened after all.

“If you don’t let me come, I’ll just follow you again. I do this for a living, so you won’t shake me.” Fourteen presented it like a fact proven too many times to count.

The cold confidence Fourteen exuded was hard to dispute. It couldn’t hurt to fill him in on what had been going on.

Fourteen might be a norm, but in his line of work, there was a chance he would run into the magical community again. Telling him what little Cym knew about his world would be a good way to repay Fourteen for his help. When he realized Cym didn’t know very much, most likely he would be happy to send him on his way. Hopefully, Cym could stay under his family’s radar until they parted ways.

Cym’s chin rose defiantly. “Okay, but I’m in charge.”

Chapter 4Fourteen

As he followed the kid—Cym, he corrected himself—down the stairs leading from Fourteen’s apartment into the open space of the warehouse he owned, he kept a close eye on the kid’s gait, noting Cym no longer looked as vulnerable as a week-old kitten.

Cym didn’t appear to be limping, but then Fourteen wouldn’t have appeared so if he’d been damaged. Showing off weakness to a stranger was likely to get him killed, so he powered through minor injuries until they healed. Cym might not operate that way, but Fourteen wouldn’t discount it. If they had to run, Fourteen would be ready to carry him again if necessary, but it would be his last resort.

The first time he’d touched Cym had overloaded Fourteen’s senses. Carrying Cym to his SUV had been disorienting and difficult—he’d had to stop and put the guy down several times to regain his equilibrium. Otherwise, he couldn’t have guaranteed no one had followed them.

While working on the mess Cym had made of his feet, Fourteen had drifted in and out of lucidity. He remembered talking with the boy, but he couldn’t have told anyone what it had been about. It should have bothered him more than it did. Was he so used to what The Company had done to him that missing time was a normal thing?

Unexpected emotion roused itself, but not toward Cym. It started in his chest, hot, bright, and sharp. It raced through Fourteen’s body, making the tips of his fingers tingle and his face burn. After being trapped so long in the cold of his mind, the heat of emotion was a shock to his system. It was all-consuming and powerful—but so was the cold. In seconds, his conditioning kicked in and swallowed the feeling, assimilating it into nothingness.

What the⁠—?

The hole in his mind throbbed, fighting for Fourteen’s attention. Did the feeling have something to do with The Company and their tinkering?

Again, the feeling flared in his chest, and again, his conditioning swallowed it down. It seemed like it took longer the second time, giving him a chance to give it a name.

Rage.

Something about being with Cym or, more specifically, touching him, called out to something important Fourteen had lost. Fourteen wasn’t sure he wanted his conditioning to win.

“Who are you?” Fourteen kept his tone quiet, but it still caused Cym to flinch.

“Starting with the hard stuff first, huh?” Cym paused on the stairs and looked back at him.

“It wastes less time,” Fourteen said pointedly.

“Fine.” Fishing around in his pockets, Cym pulled out a hair tie, gathered his hair into a messy knot, and continued his descent. Several shorter strands escaped imprisonment to frame his pale face. “I’m a less-than popular-member of the Blaike family—a fusty but prominent family of witches in the magical community, or as we call it, the Other.” He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face Fourteen, clearly waiting for something.

“And?”

“I’m waiting for you to tell me I’m crazy.” Cym pulled his hood up to cover his hair. Fourteen nodded at the precaution in approval, Cym’s hair was an unusual shade and likely to draw attention.

“And I’m waiting for you to answer my question. When you finish telling your story, I’ll draw my own conclusions.”

Cym shook his head in bemusement. “I will, but, um, where are we?” His hand gestured to the cavernous warehouse they were in.

“South Boston. I own this warehouse. Technically it’s supposed to be used for storage, but I use it when I have a job in the area. Or, I did. Now that you’ve seen it, I’ll have to sell it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”