Page 84 of Junk Magic

“No.” Jake jerked out of my grip. “He’s dead. Five years now.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked away, hiding tears. “It was natural. Heart attack.”

Which made it exactly no better at all.

“Mom took over after he died. And she’s done a good job.” His gaze came back to me, and it was fierce. “But she can’t fight the whole world, and neither can I—and now we’re stuck here, in a freaking massacre. I was in school; I’d just joined the softball team—”

“You went to a human school?” I asked, surprised.

He gave me a jerky nod, caught mid-sentence. “All the kids do, at least in our clan. Mom said we have to live in this world, so we might as well start early. It’s worked out okay, except a couple of the guys accused me of having a period—” He stopped abruptly, and flushed. “Sorry. It’s just, I get a little snippy around that time of month, and they noticed—”

“It’s okay,” I told him. “You know, I went to a regular school, too.”

He blinked at that. “Really?”

“Lettered in track and softball.”

His eyes lit up. “You played?”

“All four years. I was the star hitter in my last.”

That actually won me a small smile. “I can hit, but coach said I have a better arm. He was thinking of making me a backup pitcher . . .” The brief joy in his face faded, when he remembered that that wasn’t going to happen now.

“What grade are you in?” I asked.

“Tenth. Or I was. We’re homeschooled now.”

“Then you can still try out next year.”

He abruptly looked away again. I didn’t blame him. To someone of his age, leaving his school and friends behind had probably felt like losing the whole world.

He dashed an angry hand across his eyes after a moment. “You really think this’ll be over next year?”

“Maybe. It has to end sometime, right? But in the meantime, Sebastian is strong and smart. He isn’t going to just ignore this, or sweep it under the rug.”

“That’s what Mom’s afraid of. She said that’s what politicians do.”

“Not Sebastian. He’ll fight for you. And so will I.”

He looked at me in surprise, as if he’d expected a different response. “That’s . . . you’re nice to say that.” He looked me over and then realized what he was doing and blushed again. “You’re . . . they said you’re that Were war mage. Lia something?”

“De Croissets.”

“And you’re really a rogue?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “You already said it. I wanted to be a war mage and they don’t take Weres. Not even a Were with magic.”

“Well, they should!” The copper-colored cheeks flushed again, this time with anger. “We’d be better for a lot of things than the damned mages—” he stopped, maybe realizing that he was talking to someone in that category. “Uh, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. Some of them are damned mages.” I smiled at him, and got another smile in return, a bigger one this time. “So, you went to the arena to test out your gift. And got a surprise.”

“Yeah.”

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