Chapter 20 Nes #2
Then she was running, heading away from the Siren’s Hair and the Valley. She heard Toran behind her, his footsteps crunching in the frozen dirt. They turned the corner just as the sun hit the horizon. A gentle game of cat and mouse, the dark carefully creeping up on the light.
Ahead, hordes of seagulls squawked, their droppings painting the blue roofs of the Wharf white.
But there, at the edge of the Ditch, stood a warehouse.
Phineas’s magic distillery. She had always been able to smell it blocks away—like a bakery erupted in frosting or a field of wildflowers in full bloom—and if she could, then surely so could Damari.
They were quiet as they slipped inside.
By now, the dark was winning its game, and the sun had all but vanished, the soft light left behind filtering unevenly through the windows overhead. It was just enough to see the destruction.
On a normal day, the warehouse was open and airy, with rows of young saplings filling the center of the space. Only when she listened closely, beyond the hammer of metal and the shick of mesh sliding together and the whoosh of water down a slope, could she make out the chatter of the seagulls.
It was not a normal day.
The floor was littered with torn cheesecloths and empty barrels. Long rafters cut across the dying light like thunderclouds. But it was the lack of saplings that made Nes pause.
She crept forward, stepping around copper stills and stopping in the center of the room.
She turned in a slow circle, taking a small whiff each time she faced a new wall.
It smelled of nothing but decay. No magic in a place that, only a week ago, had been filled with so much magic there were nights she could have sworn the building glowed green.
She shivered when Toran came up behind her and whispered in her ear, “Why are we here?”
She saw no point in lying to him. There was more than enough evidence scattered about to charge the building owner with distribution of magic. Not that the charges would stick. Not on Phineas.
“I had to make sure I was right.”
Toran hummed. “And were you?”
She nodded. There were too many thoughts in her head to speak.
Toran turned just enough so she could see his expression out of the corner of her eye. “Since you’re being so forthcoming, care to elaborate and tell me where we are?”
She sucked in some air to clear her head. “A magic distillery.”
Behind her, she felt Toran stiffen.
“A magic distillery,” he repeated.
She nodded again and turned to face him. The shock on his face was delicious. “A now defunct magic distillery,” she amended.
“And you brought me here because…”
“Because I know what she’s doing.”
“Don’t leave me in the dark.”
She wanted to quip back that they’d be better off in the dark. That there were some things better left unsaid. “Damari’s not just a murderer, she’s a thief, too,” she said. “There’s magic inside the trees.”
Toran turned about, taking in the remains of the distillery. “She’s stealing the magic in the trees. But why?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it—”
She raised a brow. Toran chuckled, and she couldn’t keep the corners of her lips from quirking at the sound. It had become a knee-jerk reaction for her. He laughed, and she smiled.
“It doesn’t matter,” he breathed. “Because if it’s magic she’s after, then we’ll give her magic.”
She smirked. “I do enjoy playing the cat.”
“As long as I’m not the mouse.”
“Captain, you’ve been the mouse since the day we met.” She put her back to him, heading for the door.
“Have you already forgotten?”
His lips were so close to the back of her ear, she heard it when he stuck his tongue out, running it between his top and bottom lip. Her heartbeat quickened.
Fingers, so much larger and rougher than her own, were at her elbow. He gently pulled her back around to face him. His pure eyes had turned to boulders. Solid and heavy, they rolled down her.
Her voice had gotten lost somewhere, distracted and turned around by the drumbeat that had become her heart.
“I’m the one who caught you, Nes,” he said, his voice husky now, like that of a dying flame.
“That’s—that’s not true.” She’d meant for her words to come out with confidence, with enough conviction to make him remember the girl who’d pushed him into that brawlhouse pit. Instead, her voice was small, her breath scarce.
“Isn’t it?” The heat from his breath tickled her cheeks.
He reached a hand up to cup her cheek. And then the other.
His hands were warm, his palms slightly slick with sweat as he pressed them against the curve of her jaw.
He could have been dripping for all she cared.
As long as he didn’t take his hands away, as long as he didn’t stop holding her close.
With their gazes locked and her face between his hands, the distillery, with its high ceilings and large windows, shrank to the size of just two people.
A soft groan reverberated through the warehouse.
An ache poured into her veins, his every exhale spurring her heart to beat faster. He leaned down until his nose stroked the freckles off hers. His lips were so close. Close enough to catch.
She should deny him. There was no point in pursuing her feelings when she wasn’t going to stay here in Gadore, stay here with him.
She should erect that wall she was so accustomed to building between herself and everyone around her.
She should push him away. She should, but Goddess damn the world, she didn’t want to do any of that.
What she wanted was to give in.
She turned her head and he followed, as if their lips were on either end of a short string. All she had to do was pull the string—pull the string and his lips would meet hers.
The groan grew louder, accompanied by an odd shuffling sound.
That string between them snapped. They both froze.
She’d checked for magic and found no trace. But even knowing she’d been followed before, she hadn’t considered they might not be the only ones here—that a ransacked magic distillery might be empty but not abandoned.
Nes waited, trying to calm her breath enough for her ears to confirm what her brain already knew.
The groan, low and wet, crept toward them. In front of her, Toran’s body was stiff. The sound hadn’t come from him.
And she knew they were not alone.