Chapter 4 #2
"Funny." He steps closer. Too close. My magic starts building under my skin, warmth turning to heat. "Here's what's going to happen. You're coming with us. Quietly. Or we make this unpleasant."
"I should mention I'm terrible at following directions. Ask anyone. Consistently disappointing."
His hand moves toward me. My magic decides that's quite enough, thank you.
Light explodes from my skin. Not gentle healing light or soft warming light - this is furious, protective light that wants everyone to step back right now.
It floods the alley, brilliant and burning.
The magic pulls from somewhere deep, leaving me gasping.
My skin tingles like I've been struck by lightning, and there's a smell like heated metal and sunshine.
The attackers scream. Their hands fly to their eyes, and they stumble backward, crashing into walls and each other.
I stand frozen, watching them flail. My magic pulses, ready to do it again. Eager, even. Since when is my magic eager for violence? My whole body trembles, whether from magical drain or fear, I can't tell.
"Close your eyes."
The voice comes from above. Familiar. Tired. Slightly exasperated.
I squeeze my eyes shut just as the alley fills with darkness so complete it has weight. Cold wraps around me, but carefully.
There are sounds. Wet sounds. Painful sounds. The kind of sounds that will probably visit my dreams later.
Then silence.
"You can look now."
I open my eyes. The attackers are gone. Just... gone. Like they never existed. The only evidence is a dark stain on the cobblestones that I'm not going to think about too hard. My legs shake so badly I have to lean against the alley wall. The brick is rough against my palms, grounding me.
He's standing there in his expensive coat, shadows still curling around his fingers. There's blood on his collar. Not much, but enough to make my magic reach out without permission.
"Don't." He steps back, but I'm already moving.
"You're hurt." My hand touches his sleeve. The magic flows before I can stop it, warm golden light seeking the damage. Finding the cuts along his ribs, the bruised knuckles, the old injury in his shoulder that never healed right.
The healing happens in seconds. His injuries close, bruises fade, and suddenly he's grabbing my wrist. Not hard, but firm.
"What did you just do?"
"Helped?" It comes out like a question because his face is doing something complicated. "You were bleeding. I fix bleeding. It's kind of my thing. Secret thing. Very secret. Please don't tell the Registration Bureau."
"You—" He stops. Stares at where my hand still rests against his coat. "You can't just heal people without asking."
"You can't just save people without warning either, but here we are." I pull my hand back. The tingling from the healing is already fading, leaving me exhausted. "Would you prefer to be bleeding? I can probably unstitch something if you're really attached to your injuries."
His laugh sounds rusty. "You're impossible."
"I've been told. Were those your people?"
"No." The word comes out sharp. "River Guild. They've been pushing boundaries lately. It won't happen again."
"Oh good. I was running out of bread."
He stares at me. Just stares, like I've said something impossible.
"This is why you need protection." He says it slowly, like he's explaining to a child. "You just offered banana bread to people trying to kidnap you."
"I didn't offer them anything. They were very rude.
Interrupting my evening, making threats.
No bread for them." I brush at my skirts, trying to look unaffected.
My hands shake visibly, betraying me. "Your people, on the other hand, have been lovely.
Lurking respectfully. Maintaining appropriate stalking distance. Very professional."
"They're not supposed to take food from marks."
"Then they shouldn't look so hungry." The words tumble out before I can stop them. "The young one especially. He's all knees and elbows. Someone needs to feed that boy properly. Does your guild not have meal plans? Cafeteria options? At least a snack budget?"
He runs a hand through his hair, messing the perfect style. "Are you seriously critiquing my guild's nutritional support system?"
"Someone has to. You're all wandering around looking underfed and overtired. It's inefficient. Hungry people make mistakes. Tired people miss details. You should implement mandatory lunch breaks. Maybe a soup program."
"A soup program." His voice has gone flat. "For my guild of assassins and thieves."
"Everyone needs soup."
He makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be a death rattle. Hard to tell with him.
"Go home," he finally says. "Lock your doors. Try not to heal anyone else without permission. And stop feeding my surveillance team."
"I make no promises about the last part."
His shadows start to gather, preparing to swallow him again. But he pauses, looking back.
"The healing. How long have you—"
"Always." The admission tastes like fear. "But I'm very careful. Usually. When people aren't bleeding on me."
Something flickers across his face. Understanding, maybe. Or calculation. With him, they might be the same thing.
Then he's gone, swallowed by shadows. I'm alone in an alley that definitely had more people in it five minutes ago.
I walk home on shaking legs. Have to stop twice to rest, leaning against shop windows. My shadows follow, less subtle now. More protective. The young one actually walks beside me for the last block, trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.
"Thank you," I tell him as I reach my door. My voice sounds thin, used up.
He shifts, uncomfortable. "Boss's orders."
"Still. Thank you." I dig in my basket with trembling fingers. "Last of the apple slices. Only slightly more brown than before."
He takes them with a mumbled thanks and disappears into the evening shadows.
Inside, I collapse into my chair, not even bothering to remove my corset first. Everything hurts. My bones feel hollow, like the magic took more than it should have. I sit there until the shaking stops. Until I can think past the sound of bodies hitting stone.
River Guild. Territory disputes. My magic going defensive. Him, saving me. Me, healing him without permission.
His face when the golden light touched him. Like I'd offered him something impossible.
He must be Shadow Guild - has to be, with that kind of magic.
No registered magic user would show up like that, walking through shadows like breathing.
The Registration Bureau tracks shadow users obsessively.
They'd never let one powerful enough to dissolve into darkness walk free.
Which means he's underground, unregistered, probably high up given how the others defer to him.
Shadow Guild. The name alone used to make me check my locks twice. Now I'm baking for them.
"This is getting complicated," I tell my painting supplies.
They don't argue.
Eventually, when my hands stop shaking enough to hold a knife, I start planning tomorrow's baking. Maybe something with protein. These shadow types need proper nutrition if they're going to be lurking full-time. Meat pies? Too ambitious. Sandwiches? Too ordinary.
Soup. Definitely soup. With vegetables cut small and meat cooked tender. The kind of soup that fixes things.
My magic hums agreement, still running warm from the healing. From touching him. From fixing old wounds he'd been carrying too long.
"Just soup," I tell myself firmly. "Not getting involved. Just providing meals for the nice people stalking me. Perfectly reasonable."
Outside my window, shadows gather like protective walls. My new reality, apparently. Being watched by people who think banana bread might be poisoned but eat it anyway.
I should be terrified. I am terrified. My hands start shaking again when I think about those wet sounds in the alley.
But I'm mentally calculating how many potatoes I'll need for tomorrow's soup.
Maybe I'm the one who needs healing. The mental kind. The kind that explains why I want to feed people who follow me through dark alleys.
But that's tomorrow's problem. Tonight, I have soup to plan and shadows to feed and absolutely no regrets about healing someone who didn't ask for it.
His ribs were bruised. Old bruising, layered over new. How long has he been collecting injuries like that? Does anyone check? Does anyone notice?
"Stop it," I tell myself. "He's not a stray cat. You can't adopt him."
But my hands are already reaching for my recipe book, looking for something hearty. Something that sticks to your ribs and makes you feel less alone.
Something that might make him stay long enough to eat it.
This is definitely getting complicated.