Chapter 4 #2
I cautiously peer over the side into the well of the safe to find the inside completely bare—except for an old-fashioned silver pocket watch resting dead center. It’s latched shut. No chain. But in terms of magic, it blazes like a small, cold sun.
Bingo.
Okay. Time to be smart about this. The thing is clearly crazy powerful, so there’s no way I’m going to touch it with my bare hand.
I go and tear a page from one of the random books on the floor—it’s written in a language I don’t understand, even the alphabet is weird, but there’s no magic—and then gingerly pick up the watch with it.
I give the artifact, resting in the crumpled paper, a quick look over.
Engraved in gold on its front is a tree with a thick trunk and an expansive canopy of highly rendered leaves.
Surrounding the tree, along the edges, is an intricate design of raised, interwoven silver lines and loops that looked vaguely familiar to me but I can’t exactly place.
Even through the page, I can feel some kind of pull, like it wants me to learn all its secrets.
Like I could stare at it for hours.
…
Okay! Yep, that’s dangerous!
I shake off the bizarre compulsion, wrap the watch up in the torn page as best I can, shove it into the back pocket of my jeans, and turn for the door, ready to book it out of there.
It. Is. Time. To. Go!
Then two things happen.
The bright, blaring magic that hurt my brain collapses to the barest whisper.
And I hear a voice. Small, dry, and raspy.
“Please… Please stop… I’ll tell you what you want to know… Just please… No more… No more…”
It’s someone sobbing. Someone in the room. It’s coming from behind the desk.
I freeze, still halfway in the corner alcove, kneeling in front of the safe.
Crap! There couldn’t be anyone else here! I checked!
(Did I check? I think I checked! Crap!)
As slow as I can, trying to make zero noise, I peer around the open door of the closet and behind the desk. And there, sprawled prone on the floor, is a young man, close to my age, tears streaming down his face.
He’s got wavy blond hair. Medieval-style clothes—we’re talking a cloak, soft gray wool trousers, and a woven green shepherd shirt that goes down halfway to his knees.
Bare feet. His face is covered with bruises, his nose is bleeding, and every inch of bare skin looks scratched up. Raw red nicks and cuts everywhere.
There’s no way in hell I would have missed him! He simply wasn’t there before.
At the sight of me, he immediately cringes away, scooting back, shoulders hunched up to his ears, like I might come at him at any moment.
But then he stops. His eyes—a striking bright blue I can see from halfway across the room—scrunch with recognition.
“Alvin? What are you doing here?!”
My breath catches mid-inhale, while my brain tries to process that bizarre question. (This is the second complete stranger who seems to know who I am today. Is this guy in cahoots with the elf? But then why would he be surprised? And why does he look like he’s been rolled through broken glass?)
The boy reaches up and grips the edge of the desk, trying to get to his feet. But not halfway up, he winces in sharp pain and his legs buckle. And since my brain is still in some kind of overflow loop, before I even think about it, I’m lunging forward, down onto my knees, to keep him from falling.
“Oh! Crap! Here, let me, uh…!” I blurt out, like I’m helping a sweet old lady with a bag of groceries that’s slipping from her hands.
I get my hands under his armpits, and just like that, my arms totally wrap around the guy.
Before, I was freaking out over the smallest thing. Now, I’m rushing in close to someone who literally appeared out of nowhere—because he knows my name? (Or is it because he looks cute and vulnerable?) I mean, what for the love of all that is holy is wrong with me?!
I get that I don’t have any real training as a paranormal PI, but I don’t even have words to tell you how stupid I’m being right now.
A “hot guy in distress” suddenly appears out of nowhere and acts like he knows who I am while I’m in the middle of stealing a powerful magic artifact from someone’s house.
(Someone who, for all I know, is a wizard as dangerous as Ms. Stryker.) This could be a trap.
This guy could be a monster in disguise.
Hell, why choose?! He could be both a trap and a monster in disguise!
But here I am! Pressed up next to him, like a total idiot.
All my tender vitals right within easy claw-scooping distance.
He grips both hands around my shoulders as we rise together.
He’s only, like, an inch taller than me, so we’re basically face-to-face.
I mean, he’s close enough for me to smell him!
(Cloves and campfire? Not unpleasant at all, to be honest.) (Oh, for Pete’s sake, can I please focus? !)
This should be about when the fangs come out. You know, right before he swallows my head. But all he does is smile, new tears forming in his eyes.
“Jaysus. It really is you! Thank the Gods!”
Even through the blood and scratches, he has the most gentle face.
Handsome in a sweet, boy-next-door kind of way.
And he folds himself against my chest and belly like hugging me is the most natural thing in the world.
Like he couldn’t be happier. Like no one else has ever done with me before. And it feels—
Oh. My. God!
I really need to get it together!
I peel myself off his body and try to look stern. (Or, at the very least, not like an easy meal!) “Look. How do you know me? Who are you?” Actually, let’s not beat around the bush! “What are you?!”
His eyes widen. “Right! Of course, you wouldn’t—” He glances up and off to the left, and his eyes shimmer.
(Accessing some kind of clairvoyance, maybe?) “Oh. Oh. I see! You were sent to find the watch. Ah, shite! My name is Collin. And I promise I’ll tell you everything, but you need to get out of here before—”
A loud creak sounds out from the lower floor, and the boy immediately tenses. But you don’t need to be some kind of psychic to know exactly what made that noise.
It’s the front door opening. Someone’s home.
“Oh, no,” he says. “It’s too late.”