Page 6 of The Sorcerer's Thief
“So be it.”
I expect him to lunge for me. My muscles are coiled, ready to spring. I’ve decided on climbing, so I’m looking at the rickety door, signaling a false move. When I make a break for the stone wall on the other side, Julian won’t be expecting it. I’ll get the head start I need.
But he doesn’t move. At least not much. He lifts one hand, slow and casual, the same one he offered in greeting earlier.
His palm fills with orange, sparkling light. The heat of it travels like an explosion, warming my cheeks.
Right. So that’s not normal.
Rather than stick around to find out what the light is meant to do, I make my move. It’s high time for me to be leaving.
I dart for the wall. Rooftops have often been the reason I’ve escaped rather than gotten caught. I have a great long jump, the agility to keep my footing where others falter, and no fear of heights to hold me back.
Scrambling up the uneven stones presents no challenge. They might as well be a ladder for how easily I climb them. The coin vibrates against the cotton of my shirt, comforting, but the utter silence behind me nags at my gut.
Julian isn’t going to chase me? What a letdown.
“Thought you were gonna steal my coin?” I haul myself onto the roof. The rough tiles scrape my palms.
I dare a glance over my shoulder. His smirk has turned into a scowl. He’s orange all over and glowering at me like I stole his last piece of candied ginger. The light brightens and expands.
I’m far enough away and a few short steps from being out of his line of sight—or his line of fire, if that’s what he’s planning on doing with that orange stuff—so I stop to watch.
My curiosity will get the better of me someday.
But not today, it turns out. His orange aura blinks off with apop, leaving him staring with a bewildered expression. “Why didn’t that work?”
“Are you asking me? Or is that meant to be rhetorical?” I’m teasing him a little, but the low, angry growl rumbling from his chest says he doesn’t think I’m very funny. Good thing I’m out of striking distance because the glare he flashes is positively murderous.
He tries again, lifting both hands this time, the eerie orange glow returning twofold.
His left hand is also missing a finger, the pointer finger, though the nub suggests he was born with the normal amount.
So what happened?
As I’m pondering, Julian handles the two fiery balls of false light. They roll in on themselves, swirling and raging as they double in size. He aims, sneers, and flings them at me.
I should duck.
Or run away.
I do neither.
I’m too mesmerized by him to move. The silhouette he makes, standing with his feet braced shoulder width apart, his back straight as an arrow, shoulders rigid, eyes gleaming with intent. His long black cloak billows behind him, though there’s no breeze tonight.
He’d be hot even without the fireballs of doom.
The orange light roars in my direction, but it fizzles out before reaching me. All the while, the coin vibrates.
Laughter bubbles in my throat. He’s going to be so pissed.
And pissed he is. He’s pacing and spitting like a caged panther. “That coin is meant for me!”
Arrogant son of a— “Oh, really? Then why didn’t I seeyoucreeping through cobwebs and nearly getting your guts pokedout with a dagger? Oh, right. Because that was me.Idid that. And thus, the coin is mine.”
Against my better judgment, I climb back down the wall and, once I’ve made it halfway, jump to the ground.
I can still run if I need to, if it comes to a fight, but instinct tells me he won’t lower himself to hand-to-hand combat. Not when he’s used to being a powerful sorcerer. Accustomed to getting his way. That sort of attitude drives me crazy. Serves him right his magic won’t work on me.
