Chapter 7
seven
Kit
The mage burst into the room, his blood red eyes zeroing in on Gentry’s friend.
He was tall and angry and so clearly inebriated that, for a single second, Kit felt some sympathy for the poor man.
He’d overheard the girls and knew that they had drugged him.
Witch bodies didn’t process medical drugs well because the magic mucked stuff up.
But he had no time to feel bad for anyone else.
He had enough of his own problems to solve, starting with the girl who’d trapped him and dislocated his shoulder.
As his shoulder throbbed and waves of pain ran from his fingertips back up to his shoulder, he didn’t take her eyes off her, nor she him.
His eyes darted to the Favors in her grasp.
If he could just levitate the papers away from her —
Riiiiip. His target tore the first sheet of pink paper clean down the middle and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
“Get us to a safe place,” Gentry demanded.
The breath escaped Kit’s lungs in a rush of air as soon as she finished speaking. He grasped his throat with his good hand and tried to breathe, but failed. It was only when he stumbled a foot towards the government mage and the pressure around his throat lessened that he understood.
He had to obey Gentry’s word when a Favor was claimed, or else he’d suffocate to death. He suspected it’d be a similar experience if he so much as touched a hair on her evil head. Fuck. That was annoying.
“Who are you?” the mage barked, noticing him at last. His face was red in anger, and his eyes hazy. He curled his hand in Kit’s direction.
But not fast enough. Kit knocked him back with the fastest telekinetic shove he’d ever magicked. The mage flew back into the hallway wall with a thud. Kit curled his fist, heart thudding as he realized the move had left him with a meager amount of magic.
Both girls ogled him, their eyes wide, as he stalked towards the one person he could take his frustration out on. To the mage’s credit, he was already stumbling back onto his feet, ready for a fight.
“Don’t hurt him,” Gentry’s high friend murmured, “he’s just mad I drugged him.”
“Oh, he’s a jerk who uses you, Myk,” Gentry snapped. “Do what you want, Kit.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Kit groaned, fed up with the know-it-all girl who’d outsmarted him at every turn. He didn’t want to think about his new situation, about how drastically he’d just failed on a job for a Weaver.
Visha would soon be hunted by Clea because he was an absolute fucking idiot.
The mage sent a nasty puncture spell right at his eyes. It was a nifty, skillful piece of work for a government mage. But far too slow and complicated for a duel.
Kit dissipated the spell with a flare of his own magic and knocked the guy’s head against the wall with another telepathic shove. Hard. His opponent slumped over like a ragdoll.
“Oh no…” Gentry’s friend slurred as she ran to the mage and touched his cheek. “You killed him.” She sounded really sad at the idea.
Kit felt more than a little annoyance, particularly as patients started filtering from the hallways at the ruckus. Some ducked back into their rooms when they saw him. Some discreet, skilled assassin he made. “No, he’s just unconscious, but we need to get out of here.”
His former target already had a bag hoisted over her shoulder. She looked wholly unimpressed with him, instead beelining to stand at the door to block his retreat from all the staring eyes. “Mykel, pack some stuff up. You have to leave with us now.”
Mykel looked up from where she was still checking on the mage, a sad frown marring her face. “No, that wasn’t the plan. I need to stay here.”
Gentry frowned like this wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear.
“Yeah well, I don’t think that it’s safe for you here.
Not until it’s over, at least. Lucinda will interrogate you, and something tells me those assholes they’re paying won’t ask you nicely.
Not now that the entire ward knows you’re involved. ”
“I won’t talk!” the other girl protested.
“Magic,” both Kit and Gentry said at once, and Kit returned the glare she sent his way. None of my business, he thought, shutting up, as Gentry kept talking, “They’ll use magic to get information out of you, Mykel. Please pack.”
“Actually,” Kit interrupted as the girl swayed to her feet to do just that, “no time. The wards have activated. More mages should be here soon.” He could already feel the Favor closing his throat as they weren’t moving.
He had to get them somewhere safe unless he wanted to be choking on the floor soon.
As if his words summoned trouble, the door differentiating the patients’ rooms from the labs burst open and three government mages, suited up as if they were a SWAT team, ran towards them. Patients screamed and were pushed out of the way with fits of magic.
Instinctually, Kit grabbed Mykel and shoved her back into the room. They hopped over the dresser and then he levitated against the dresser against the door. Gentry had already retreated to the edge of the wall.
His bad arm tingling in pain from the sudden motion, he practically threw her friend in that direction before levitating the bunkbed against the door as well. Then, with as much magic as he could muster with his good hand, he held the door shut.
Shit, shit, shit. The combined magic of three mages were already rattling the door as it opened an inch. A quick assessment of the room showed no windows. This place really is a fucking prison. His mind raced through the possibilities. The very dangerous answer came a second later.
“I need my shoulder popped back into place,” he decided aloud before looking at Gentry, “you do it. I can’t let go of the door or we’re toast.”
Wordlessly, his former target walked up to him. “On the count of three,” she murmured, almost gently, but he reminded himself that she most likely didn’t want him to release the door in surprise. Three seconds passed far too quickly.
What happened next was a sharp bloom of pain, followed by a huge sense of relief as everything reconnected.
Experimentally, he squeezed his finger into a fist. They obeyed.
“Thank you,” he said and then regretted his manners.
He wasn’t thankful for the absolute disaster this girl had made of his life.
He was already exhausted, and magic came sluggishly to his regained hand. Nonetheless, he needed the next bit of magic to be explosive. Both palms grew hot, almost scalding, from how much magic he compelled into them.
“Go to that corner. Brace for cover like a tornado is coming,” he told the girls before kneeling down in his awkward janitor suit, which crinkled.
He placed a hand on the filthy laminate flooring.
He grit his teeth in pain as the nerves from his wrist to his fingertips screamed for him to release the built-up magic.
Just like you’re venting, he lied to himself. Only the inorganic material wouldn’t draw all the magic out like he needed it to. Each bit of magic released would take a monumental amount of effort; magic liked life far more than cold, boring, inanimate things.
Gritting his teeth in preparation, he forced the reluctant magic out of his palms.
Boom! The resulting explosion made his ears ring as the tiles, nails, and floorboards supporting his weight rocketed in all directions.
Some cut his skin, but the resulting crater was enough for him to tumble down ten feet below onto the floor below.
He bent his knees and rolled the momentum out, nearly skewering his stomach on a gurney full of medical supplies.
Winded, his head pounding from the strain, Kit forced himself to his feet before the adrenaline could go away. He looked up.
Gentry and Mykel looked back down at him. Gentry’s long, pretty black hair hid her expression. “What next?!” she whisper-shouted at him. In the background, he could hear the splintering of the door as the mages broke through.
“Jump,” he hissed. Mykel went first without question, and he floated her down. Gentry he let land a little harder. She stumbled a few feet from the impact and growled, the sound far scarier than it should’ve been for such a short girl.
There wasn’t enough time for him to relish in her discomfort.
Focusing, he guessed where the dresser was on the floor above and slid it over to cover their escape route.
Then he looked around. They were in an operating room of sorts, the table comically close to where he’d landed on the floor. Creepy, but no time to analyze.
Gentry ran ahead and already had the door open.
She waved them through and they ran. Kit easily slipped ahead and ripped through the wards attempting to slow them down.
This sucks. It took far too much energy to utilize his magic.
It came far too slow at his beckoning, and he knew if a mage caught them at this point they were screwed.
Thankfully, they went past a few more rooms before Gentry stopped at a window.
Its black bars glittered underneath the moonlight.
“Can you do the same with us here?” she asked, looking him over like a chess master would a pawn.
He wanted so desperately to shake his head, to deny that was the fastest way to get Gentry and the other girl to safety. But the Favor wouldn’t let him. “Yeah, but it’ll be rough.” Damn near suicidal if his magic failed at any point.
“Well hurry,” she muttered, her eyes wide as she looked on both sides of the empty hallway. For a moment, she looked scared, but masked it into her usual arrogant expression when Mykel whispered something to her.
Kit went to work before the Favor could steal the breath from his lungs once again.
He shattered the window, and bent the steel bars with a herculean effort that made his vision swim.
Then he looked down. The concrete of a cracked sidewalk awaited them, no bushes or other greenery that could soften their fall in sight.
“We’re out of time,” Gentry’s friend said, “I can feel the other witches. They’re almost here.”
In the distance, Kit could hear the doors to the stairway burst open.