“Max, where was that place?” I pressed oncemore.
He put a hand up to his head. “I can’tremember what you’re talking about,” he answered in a flattone.
How convenient.
I stared at him, trying togauge if Max really had forgotten – an apparentconsequence of using his magic to heal me.
He simply held my gaze.
He still hadn’t explained how his so-calledforgetting worked. What exactly did he forget if he practicedmagic, the immediate past? Or did it randomly take chunks out ofhis memory like a bird pecking at scattered grain?
“How's your hand?” Max asked after aconsiderable pause where it was clear he was catching his cool oncemore.
I wouldn’t be distracted. “I could hearhorse hooves, someone shouting. They sounded angry,” I continued,not willing to let this go.
Max cleared his throat, and by god did he clear it. It soundedlike he was trying to cough himself a hole right through histrachea. “You're healed now. Go and have a shower. You smell,” hesaid, without pulling punches.
On any other day, I would haveretorted that he smelled worse. Instead, I cast mymind back to that strange scene. “That was your home. It wasScotland, wasn’t it? Why do I get the impression it's from thepast, though?”
His expression – which had only justbecome controlled – practically shattered. For the shortestfraction of a second, I thought I saw somebody. Somebody I'd neverseen before. The Max who wasn't a fairy, the Max who wasn'ta friggin’nuisance.
For the shortest, shortest fraction of time, Ithought I saw the real Max.
And maybe the real Max appreciated what Iwas doing,because he suddenly turned sohard, he dislodged a great clod of mud from the tread of his shoesright onto the carpet. He strode towards the kitchen door withoutanother word.
I twisted around on the couch, locking ahand on the back and rising to myfeet. I was steady. In fact, I felt great. Though my hand stillkind of smartedand was a little burnt, therest of me felt fantastic. It was as if I was fresh from a sunnyholiday.
I pushed up to follow him into the kitchen,incapable of letting go of this conversation.
I heard his gruff growl from somewherenear the kitchen door that led out onto the patio. “Go and have ashower. I have things to do. You'll be safe here,” he added after athoughtful pause. Then he closed the door. No, okay, he slammed thedoor, loud enough that it echoed right through thehouse.
I placed a hand on the door frame andcraned my head into the kitchen.
It was just in time to see his departingform striding across the backyard.
… What the hell had just happened?
Again I brought up my burnt hand,but this time,I didn't focus on the burn. Ifocused on the barely discernible charge of magic that still pulsedthrough my veins. That magic – its fiery embrace – had been themost thrilling experience of my life.
I kind of waited there, lingering by thedoor, hoping he would come back and reveal to me exactly what hadhappened.
He didn't. In fact, it was soon clear thathe would be out for the night.
I let my hand drop, and that's when Inoticed just how dirty and torn my clothes were. “Crap, I look likea mess.” I made the mistake of leaning forward and smelling myblouse experimentally. I jerked my head back and winced. “I smellworse.” Which made sense, as I’d been dragged through thegutter.
Still, Max was right. It was time for ashower, a change of clothes, time for a snack. And then? I wouldjust have to wait and see.
Chapter 8
It was when I was in the bath thatsomething happened.
I was relaxing under the bubbles – ofwhich there wasa mountain, as I’d accidentallytipped in half of the bubble bath.
I sighed and reached for the glass ofwater I’d rested on the ledge. I wasn’t looking where I was reaching, and insteadof clutching the glass, my fingers brushed against somethingelse.
I frowned as I picked it up.
… It was a photo of a body bag, a tousle ofblood-caked hair visible through a gap in the zip.
My stomach kicked as I threw the photo ontothe floor.
I jerked back, water sloshing around me asmy eyes pulsed wide with fear.
And that’s when the sparks started.
I brought a hand up and wavedit in front of my face. Itdidn't stop the sparks. Another one appeared just above my eyes,then one down near my lips.
“Ah, what the hell is going on?”I stuttered.
There was no one to tell me.
The sparks kept bursting into life, coveringmy field of view until the bath disappeared.
I screamed, still capable of feeling thebath beneath me, still capable of feeling the water sloshing aroundmy body. But that? That was starting to wane.
As the sparks converged, everythingchanged. I wasn't in the bath anymore. Instead, I was in a field.It was dusk, or maybe it was dawn – it was hard to tell. It washard to tell,because my body was aching asif I'd just run a marathon. My breath was choppy, my heart peltingso hard I was just waiting for it to pop.
The field I was in was adjacent to asparse forest – spruces, birches, closely knit pines.
I… I was running. Desperately. I felt myhead twist over my shoulder as I tried to spy something behindme.
But there was nothing.
Nothing….
Suddenly, I saw a shadow.Flitting towards me, fast, sogoddamn fast.
My heart sped up, pumping so hard, it feltas if the muscle would tear.
No time.
No time.
Nowhere to escape to.
God, there was nowhere to escapeto!
“Help, help!” I screamed. There was no one to hearme.
Whoever was behind me, he chased me deepinto the forest. The further I ran, the thicker it became. Thesparse pine trees and spruces that had been dotted aroundthe fieldbecame dense. I could feel theknotted roots beneath me, feel the pine needles as they scratchedacross my face and arms.
God, no, he was going to find me. I had toescape, had to escape!
I was no longer aware of the bath beneathme. Hell, I was no longer aware of who I was. The only thing thatconsumed me was the drive to get the hell out of here while I
