Chapter 7 #2
He must’ve used that damn knife on himself. Again. Fucking asshole. He told me he would stop doing that!
Resisting the urge to massage my oncoming migraine, I looked around at the untouched surfaces around him, which said everything. No glass or plates, just a few small plastic bags scattered on the floor like he had thrown them over his shoulder.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“If it’s not just DNA…” he said more to himself than anything else. “Then the magic needs a focus. A trigger point… which means…”
His eyes flickered briefly, widening as something had clicked.
“Oooor it was a fucking prototype. Something to be tested!”
The stylus moved faster.
I stepped up beside him, setting the glass down on the table with a soft but deliberate sound. The liquid inside shifted, catching the light.
“You need to drink this.” I pointed at the glass even though his eyes never left the screen in front of him.
“It can’t just be tied to the blood,” he continued, leaning closer to the tablet like I hadn’t spoken a word. “There has to be a layer beneath it… some kind of embedded command or directive.”
I clasped my hands behind my back, letting him go on for a few more minutes to finish his thought. The sound of the stylus filled the room again, quick and uneven, as his mind raced ahead.
Then I reached forward and nudged the glass closer.
“Calix.” The name landed heavier. “You need to drink this. Now.”
He gave a small nod, barely there, more reflex than response, but his eyes never left the screen.
“If it’s targeted…” he said, voice sharpening slightly, “then they’re not trying to eliminate all supes in one swoop. Just specific ones, which means—”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The stylus moved faster, almost frantic now.
I inhaled slowly as I watched him slip further into problem-solving mode, and I knew I had to stop him. I had to make him come up for air.
With a lift of my hand, the air shifted, wrapping around his wrist before he could react, tightening just enough to stop the movement mid-motion. The stylus froze inches above the screen, suspended in place as his hand refused to move forward.
“Now, we can do this the easy way… or the hard way.”
I didn’t raise my voice. Didn’t need to. The air still held his wrist in place, the stylus frozen inches above the screen. The only movement in the room came from the slow rise and fall of his shoulders.
“But you’re drinking this,” I added, nudging the glass slightly closer with two fingers. “Right now.”
I tilted my head just enough to meet his line of sight.
“Or do you want me to lift you off that stool and pour it down your throat myself?”
His neck turned, slow, deliberate. Eyes locked onto mine, sharp and burning, his mouth pressed into a flat, unamused line. It was the kind of look that would’ve made most people step back, but it simply reminded me of when we were kids and I beat him at basketball.
“Let go of me, Rack,” he said, each word clipped. “I was about to get somewhere.”
The stylus twitched faintly against the hold of my air magic, his fingers trying to push through it with pure strength alone. Normally, I was too powerful for anyone to even twitch when I had them in my air hold, but the Desmonds were different. They came from the strongest stock, and they knew it.
Instead, I shifted my weight and shrugged lightly, as if we were discussing something trivial.
“You’ve been ‘about to get somewhere’ for three days now, saying the same things over and over,” I said. “You need a break.”
I pointed at the glass again.
“And you need to drink that.”
His eyes cut to the glass, then back to me. I could see it, the moment he lined up his next argument. The shift in his posture, the inhale that came just before he opened his mouth—but my magic was faster.
Air slid up under his jaw, pressing just enough to lock it in place. His lips parted, but no sound came out, his words cut off before they even formed.
His throat vibrated with the growl that didn't leave his lips. If looks could kill, I would’ve dropped on the spot, but it didn’t matter. It was my mission in life to keep Calix on task.
I held his gaze, letting the silence stretch between us. The only sound left was the faint hum of the lab equipment and the creak of the stool he was sitting on.
Seconds dragged into minutes. He didn’t look away. Didn’t relax. Stubborn asshole.
The tension stayed coiled tight in his shoulders, his fingers still curled around the stylus even though it hadn’t moved.
Five minutes passed, then a sharp, defeated exhale went through his nose. His eyes flicked once toward the glass, then back to me with a short, sharp nod.
I let the air drop away.
The moment it did, his hand jerked free. The stylus clattered against the table, and he reached for the glass, fingers wrapping around it hard enough to leave faint impressions.
He didn’t hesitate, tipping the glass all the way back until the liquid was gone in seconds. His throat worked as he swallowed, the tension in his body shifting just slightly as the last of it disappeared.
A clink echoed as he set the glass down harder than necessary. I watched him for a second longer before shaking my head.
“You need to get out of here,” I said, gesturing vaguely around the lab. “Go upstairs. Get some air. Get laid. Do something that doesn’t involve staring at that thing.”
The blade sat between us, silent and untouched.
“You’ve been at this all week,” I added. “Your brain’s going to start working against you if you don’t step away.”
He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then rolled his eyes, angling himself toward the table.
“So that’s the solution?” he shot back. “A distraction magically fixes my brain, and I’ll begin to understand ancient fae magic?” The sarcasm was thick enough to taste.
With a raised brow, I folded my arms across my chest, letting the silence answer him.
He knew that wasn’t what I meant. The asshole just wanted to hear me say it, but I wouldn’t play into his game. If I did, he would never stop. I wasn't going to fall for that ever again.
A short laugh slipped out of him as he fully turned away, dismissing me with a flick of his hand.
“Thanks for the drink,” he absently, already reaching for the tablet again.
I didn’t move. Just stood there, watching his back as he leaned forward again, the pull of the work dragging him right back under.
Glancing to the side, I saw papers stacked unevenly across the desk. A thin layer of neglect had settled over everything that wasn’t the blade. Pens and markers scattered all around. Chicken scratched theories lined the walls.
He’d stay here. Another hour, another ten, until he burned himself out completely. I wasn't about to let that happen.
I exhaled slowly.
Fine. If that didn’t work…
I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Guess I’ll call Ezra.”
The stylus stopped.
“Let her know you’ve decided FangTech can run itself without you. You have better things to do than work for the future of the Syndicate, right?”
The stool scraped loudly against the floor, the only warning I had before he was in my face.
My phone vanished from my hand, his fingers tightening around it as his eyes snapped to mine.
“Why would you do that?” he snapped, the words coming out sharp and fast. “You know she’s just going to—”
He cut himself off, biting down on his lip as his gaze flicked off to the side, then back again.
“—start with the lectures,” he muttered, pacing half a step before stopping again. “About responsibility. Time management. Like I don’t already know all that!”
Then why don't you do it? It was a rhetorical question I kept to myself, knowing that he was truly incapable of doing what he was supposed to do instead of what he wanted to do.
I watched him grip my phone so tightly it creaked, but I really did not want to replace it again this month, so I quickly snatched it back as his attention drifted, remembering the last time Ezra had a talk with him.
“Then I guess that means you’re going to go shower,” I said, slipping it back into my pocket, “and get out of this lab for a few hours.”
“Take a break,” I gestured around us, “from all this.”
His eyes blinked, and this time, the focus had shifted and he actually looked around.
His gaze moved over the cluttered desk, the scattered notes, the empty plastic bags on the floor. His hand dragged through his hair, catching on the uneven strands before dropping again.
Then his eyes dipped to his shirt, seeing the dried stain, and he grimaced.
“Okay,” he grumbled, turning away just to snap back around, pointing a finger straight at me. “But I’m not going alone.”
The shift was immediate. A second ago, he’d been glued to that table, lost in whatever spiral the blade had dragged him into. Now, he was standing upright, body buzzing with energy as he tapped the face of his watch.
“I’ll use a disguise,” he went on, already pacing a step, his free hand gesturing as he talked. “No Syndicate tables. No recognition. I don’t have it in me to be ‘Boss Winstale’ tonight.”
“Sure,” I said, nodding easily, more interested in keeping him moving and out of this lab than arguing the details. “I’ll use mine too.”
The tension in his posture loosened just a fraction, and a small, satisfied smile pulled at his mouth. Approval of the plan or relief that I wasn’t going to fight him on it? Maybe both.
Both of us tapped on our watches, feeling the magic flow over my face and hair. Our watches weren’t there to look pretty, they were complex tools Calix and I had made, layered with spells, defensive measures, and offensive triggers. Just for the bosses and myself.
The first five buttons were standard for all of us. A magical barrier, sleeping powder, poison spray, cloaking spell, and schematic map of whatever building was within a hundred feet of you. The second set of five buttons were customized, tailored to whoever wore it.
They were the first products Calix and I made at FangTech.