Page 21 of Elixir of Strife
His fingers grazed against mine, like they longed to interlock, only if he wasn’t too afraid, too shy to touch. I almost laughed, the pair of us like two blushing idiots on a dark jetty. Only one of them had a secret that didn’t really merit being kept a secret.
What was the point of keeping the dragons from him, anyway? Was it pride? Did some part of me believe I was a lesser mage for calling on other supernatural powers to aid me? That would be ridiculous. Communing with spirits was supposed to be my jam. Witches of all traditions loved that shit, whether it was dragons or demons or deities.
“Oh, my.”
That had come out of me in a gasping breath, very much involuntarily, from the realization that Max had indeed done the thing. He’d tangled our fingers together, the rough of his palm so solid and strong against my skin. I blushed like a schoolboy, feeling my ears burning.
When I first ran into Max back at the Smith house, I truly had no idea that he could be so sentimental, so sweet. His talk of partnership always made me hopeful for something a little less professional, but did I deserve even that?
Weren’t partnerships, regardless of their nature, supposed to be built on trust?
I squeezed his hand. The planks rattled as he stepped even closer, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against me.
“Listen, Max? There’s something I should tell you.”
He looked at me with liquid eyes and an open expression, eager to accept whatever I offered. “I’m listening,” he said, and I knew he meant it.
My heart fluttered, then withered. How often did someone like Max learn to trust others? He had the smallest of circles, but he valued it dearly. He had Tina, Johnny, and Roscoe, strong links in his little chain, and I’d never feel right about belonging unless I told him the truth about the nature of my magic.
Would he fear me for trading with entities, or look down on me for receiving my power from the spirits? I was better off knowing either way. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, the seawater on the pier brisk and bracing, the sea dragon within yearning to break free.
And then I kept breathing in, like my body wanted to wait out the discomfort of having The Talk for as long as possible. Couldn’t blame myself. The air was so nice, just humid enough to help me breathe easy, as if I was standing above the rice cooker in my apartment.
Huh. Wait. Why was it suddenly warmer, too?
Max’s elbow dug into my side. “Um, Leon? Are you seeing this?”
“Seeing what?”
I opened my eyes. My jaw dropped. Instead of ocean and sky, there was only steam.
10
MAX
Awall of steam, so close I could almost breathe in its moisture, and so close I could imagine it cooking me alive. Cooking us both alive. I grew up in the arcane underground, a world where miracles were a daily occurrence, and still this shook me to my core.
Who could transform ocean waves into steam in the blink of an eye? What spell could generate that much heat instantaneously, turn the cold of seawater into deadly vapor? We weren’t up against an aquamancer, if those even existed. Someway, somehow, I was going to punch the pyromancer responsible for this right in their stupid throat.
But he who dares to run away, and all that. Blood pounded in my temples as I lunged blindly for Leon’s arm, somehow only snagging his jacket sleeve. I yanked once, dragged harder, but his feet were rooted to the jetty.
“What are you doing?” I screamed. “We have to get out of here. Now.”
He shrugged me off, like a fool, like a madman. My mouth hung open as I studied the encroaching steam, gauged how long it would take to scald our exposed skin. If I charged in, picked Leon up and threw him over my shoulder, we would make it off the jetty and away from the water in time. I started toward him.
Leon raised his arm at the rolling bank of what only looked like fog, his fingers splayed apart, a fleshy starfish. He shouted a single word.
“Emanate.”
A spiral of water rushed out of his hand, spraying ice-cold seawater in a wide, circular path. I knew it was seawater because of the blowback, the spatter of mist and foam on my skin salty when I licked my lips, a convenient reminder to close my mouth. The spiral whirled faster and faster until it resembled a funnel, a waterspout, the base of a tornado.
Stranger still: Leon’s hand was no longer only a hand, but cloaked in a bizarre, transparent shape. It was as if he’d put on a gauntlet made of glass, or ice. No, it was flowing water, somehow formed into the shape of a dragon’s head. Coiled all the way down his arm was its serpentine body, a miniature form of the dragon he’d once conjured to scare me.
I clenched my teeth. The Masque must have been telling the truth, then. Leon was hiding something about his magic from me. But why? I raced toward him again, this time definitely meaning to fireman’s-carry him all the way to safety.
But the whirlpool of water centered on his hand faded, like his supply had run out. The dragon was gone, too. Even better: the ocean was back to normal, only the soft, gentle rush of waves. No more deadly wall of steam. He’d countered it with his own dose of cold water and mist.
Leon turned toward me panting, his shirt wet from the saltwater of his own making, maybe even some sweat. His chest rose and fell with every strained exhalation, almost tantalizing to look at, how his wet shirt clung to the shape of his muscles.
