Chapter 2
TIPPY
Of course I notice Jax leave the diner.
There is nothing about Jax Summers that ever escapes my notice.
It’s been like this since the first time I saw him.
Back then, he was a programmed human working on the edge of the Labyrinth.
A peripheral, they’re known as, because they work in the twilight zone between the human and monster worlds.
Their sole purpose is to move products that we monsters manufacture onto portal elevators and send them up to the humans in Sparkle City.
And even though they’re programmed to barely interact with us, to just do their job, we monsters distrust peripherals.
Because they’re still humans, even if they are controlled by the authorities. And who are the authorities? A bunch of cruel people who’ve kept us monsters imprisoned underground for the past four centuries.
It’s the worst kind of irony, because when the apocalypse polluted Earth, it was monsters who helped the few surviving humans build the domes they now live under. A dozen domes scatter Earth’s landscape, the most beautiful being Sparkle City, which sits right above our section of the Labyrinth.
Twenty thousand humans live in Sparkle City, insulated from the air they polluted with their weapons of destruction.
Air that they can’t breathe, but that we monsters can. A fact that really pisses off their leaders.
So they keep us underground, enslaved to a covenant we signed under duress after our rebellion failed a hundred years ago. It is impossible for monsters to move above ground without fear of reprisal and, no doubt, death.
So nope, we don’t have time for humans.
Or their peripheral minions.
Except… Jax Summers—he seemed different from the other peripherals in a way I couldn’t fathom. He was hauntingly handsome, in a lean and hungry way, with the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen. Deep-set, and vivid green like emeralds.
I watched him for months, until one day he looked up from the crates of goods he was loading into a portal elevator.
Our gazes locked, and in that moment, something flared between us.
A spark of connection. Then, just as quickly, it disappeared, His face became a blank mask as he turned away and started to load more cargo.
I stood there, hoping he’d turn around and look at me again with that light in his eyes. But he didn’t. He just disappeared into the portal elevator and the doors closed behind him.
After that, I hung around the portals just to catch sight of him. He was there most days, barking orders at other peripherals, so I guessed he was in charge. Often, he’d slink off and smoke a cigarette in a dark alleyway. He had a bad cough.
He smoked way too much, and that worried me. Kept me awake at night.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I marched up to him and said boldly, “What’s your name?”
“Peripheral 101,” he replied in a monotone.
“No, your real name,” I demanded.
He passed a hand over his brow, frowning.
I waited. And waited.
Finally, he said, “Jax—S-Sum—Summers.”
“Well, Jax,” I said briskly, “you need to quit smoking, or it will kill you.”
He just stared at me. Up close, he had the thickest, darkest lashes, and his skin was almost translucent over his high cheekbones. His mouth, framed by a short dark scruff, was full, sensual, almost sulky.
And then his eyes flared with something like recognition.
My knees went weak, and a strange syrupy warmth spread low in my belly.
Almost immediately though, his face blanked. “I don’t care,” he said in a flat voice and turned away.
A sharp pain churned in my chest. I felt his hurt, his pain, even if he couldn’t. Without a word, I turned and headed back the way I’d come.
After that, I spent days working on quit-smoking elixirs, wondering why I should care about a stupid peripheral’s health. Why the heck I wanted to save him so badly.
I mean, he was a human, one of our enemies.
It made no sense. But still, I kept going.
I took those little bottles to the demountable office outside the portal elevators where he worked.
I left them by the door.
He ignored them.
I came the next day and took them away.
Sometimes he would stare at me blankly, sometimes his gaze would rest on me for a moment longer and I imagined I saw that spark once more in his green eyes. A spark that set my soul on fire in a way I couldn’t explain.
And then one day, he just disappeared.
I didn’t see him for weeks.
When he finally returned, he was covered in scars. On his arms, his neck. It looked like he’d been savaged by some huge beast.
But there was something else that was different. Jax Summers looked at me—really looked at me. As if he finally saw me, Tippy Honeywell.
A few days later, we started to talk. And I don’t mean the monosyllables I’d gotten out of him before. This was a real interaction. Okay, it wasn’t much, just jokes and banter, but it was light, it was fun…
I’m ashamed to say, I was smitten.
It was ridiculous how Jax Summers inhabited my thoughts. My dreams, even.
And most of them were X-rated.
Jax Summers chasing me through dark alleys. Jax Summers catching me. Jax Summers pressing me against the wall and kissing me, pushing up my skirt and stroking between my legs.
When I woke, I placed a finger in the sacred place between my thighs and felt the wetness of arousal. I knew this was what females felt in heat. Sure, I’d had stirrings before, but nothing remotely like this.
I had no personal knowledge of carnal pursuits because… well, confession time…
I’m a virgin. A prerequisite for wixens in the first year of our training.
During this time, a wixen does not indulge in sexual relations. It’s not a moral thing, we’re not prudes. It’s just best not to waste our energy on carnal pursuits while we study the runes and devote ourselves to inventing elixirs and potions.
Eventually, to further our species, we’ll mate with a fox shifter. Or we can choose to stay un-mated, like my Aunt Felicia, to not have pups at all, but immerse ourselves in the pursuit of the magic that remains elusive for our kind.
There is another story…. Nothing but a fairy tale, quite nonsensical really.
There’s this legend that says our wixen powers originated from mate bonds with werewolf mages, and thus, there were many more wixens in the early days of the Labyrinth. Some say the reason the magic weakened in us is because we no longer mate with wolves.
Of course, it’s make-believe. The truth is, our magic came from a mate bond with a wizard, not a wolf.
I mean, yuck. Wolves are so… so… uncouth.
All that brawny muscle and fur and those huge fangs.
They’re feral beasts, who apparently take a mate and rut them senseless.
What self-respecting female would accept that kind of behavior?
Which is why, when I heard that Jax Summers—my Jax—had shifted into a werewolf two weeks ago, I never wanted to see or talk to him again.
Except suddenly, a whole heap of things about him make sense.
Those scars on his body, especially the two fang-sized ones on his neck—I should have guessed. The fact that he’d never talk to me about them should have been a big red flag.
Grrrr. I am so angry at him—and at myself. At the fact that I let myself fantasize about us getting together some day… Oh goddess, if I had full witch powers, I’d turn Jax Summers into a… a… toad or something equally vile.
A glass cracks as I wipe it.
“Hey Tip, I’m still here.” It’s Larry the centaur, grinning at me from the other side of the bar, his big teeth gleaming. I’d been so lost in my thoughts as I cleared up, I hadn’t heard him.
“Sorry Larry, I didn’t see you there.” I turn off the tap, wipe my hands on a towel and turn to him, all smiles.
“I was wondering…” Larry blushes up to his horns, “whether you’d—y’know, like to go out with me. On a date.”
My eyes stray wistfully to the door I saw Jax walk out of. I wish he’d walk back in and say, “You’re going on a date with me, Tippy.”
Gah. It’s impossible to let myself dream of anything happening between me and Jax.
Not now that I know he’s wolfen.
I plaster on a super-bright smile and say to Larry, “Sure. I’d love to.”