This statement, along with the intense seriousness adding weight to his voice, startles me so that I flinch back slightly. For a moment, I can’t look anywhere but his darkened gaze. Something I can only read as either desperation or sincerity wrinkles his forehead. I curl my hand tightly around my chopsticks and take a slow breath.
“How can I know that for sure?”
Max bites the corner of his lip, then tilts toward me. A wave of pleasant energy washes over my body. As it does, Max’s features shift before my eyes, smoothing out to near perfection. Desire boils out from my chest, warming my gut and everything down below, and drawing me to him with such power I find myself leaning in.
Then, all at once, it dies out.
Again, Max looks as he always has. My brain clears and I drop my chopsticks into the soup. “Wow. That was...” I fan myself as the heat cools. “Obvious. Very obvious. Is there a way to defend against it?”
Max hugs one of his knees to his chest. “Most magic can’t block it, though I have no idea why, but pain can. So, if we ever do find my mom and she uses it on you, I promise to pinch you, or something like that.”
“Gee, thanks.” I snicker. “Does it always feel so intense?”
“Only when I’m concentrating,” Max says, rocking back against the headboard again. “Like I said, it’s always kind of on — generally making me a little more persuasive than I might otherwise be — but I have to actively use it for that level of influence. It also takes a lot out of me. Though not quite as much as traveling does.”
I take another bite of noodles, chewing over this information. This magic is terrifying. A powerful water spirit could topple countries, which makes me wonder about some politicians I’ve seen in this world along with its history. How certain individuals have won their seats is baffling unless you take magic into consideration.
“If you practiced, would it be as exhausting?”
Max shakes his head, then tilts it side to side. “Yes and no. If a water spirit does it a lot — like my mom — they get better and better at sustaining it. But this is also one reason why they ... suck the life force out of their victims. It’s basically the only way they can keep going if they want to play the long game.”
I shiver and Max hums.
“Yeah, it’s not great.”
“Can...” I trail to chew the inside of my cheek before finding the right words. “Can you take life the way a vampire sucks blood? In small amounts without hurting the victim?”
“Oh sure.” Max waves his chopsticks, then takes another bite. “There are even similar donors out there who work at Healing Centers. They just have to rest for a few days, then they’re back to normal.”
Absently, I trace the pointed tip of my ear, realizing how little I know about water spirits. Yaritza taught me a little when I first arrived in the human realm, but only things that might help me hunt them better. As with everything, she gave me simple, easy to remember rules: Do not listen to them and keep your distance.
Which is probably why she wouldn’t let Max speak when he was with her.
In spite of his display, worry still eats at me. If his magic is a constant, it might still be influencing me. I remind myself that this doesn’t change the facts about his mom. Max is still innocent in terms of what happened to Joel and the bounty on him is still wrong. My propensity to distrust, however, won’t shut up.
Hopefully, we’ll be able to speak to Joel, and he can add a little confirmation.
We end the evening in relative quiet. I bounce back and forth between researching Max’s mom and my own curse on my phone. Though the internet connection isn’t too terribly slow, Google is really only good for human mythology, clickbait, and political drama. All stories related to Joel are limited to his disappearance. Most barely even touch on his cooking career, and none mention his sister.
Humans have no concept of our Tribunal, of any world beyond the one they can see beyond the ends of their noses.
Even the PNN app is a dead end. Most of the stories surrounding Joel’s’ disappearance are, at bare minimum, three years old. After that, none of the paranormal news outlets mention him. Iris still makes headlines, but these are all focused on her political contributions. Even these are bland as she takes a middle of the road stance on most policies. Including the current debates on whether or not our community should reveal ourselves to the humans.
When Max almost falls asleep in his soup, I toss our trash, shut off my cell, and — leaving him curled up on the bed — spend a moment in the shower, hoping to clear my head and lamenting the fact that we’re all out of liquor.
A small voice in my mind suggests asking Max to charm me again. Like an addict, I crave the experience even after a single hit. That feeling far surpassed any alcoholic buzz or drug induced high I’ve ever had. If I could have bottled it up to sell, I’d make a fortune, but would probably hoard it all for myself.
I crank the water temperature to cold, shivering under the downpour until I trust myself to walk back out there and not beg Max for another dose of his magic. Sharing a bed after that is going to be complicated.
Stay professional. Whether or not you broke the contract doesn’t make it less stupid to get tangled up with Max.
As I throw on a clean t-shirt and a pair of cloth shorts, I repeat
