Hex and the City Read online

  On the third time of him trying to hump me, I acted without thinking. I sent a small jolt of electricity into him. A static shock sizzled between us. He arched away, yelping.

  I wasn’t sure how I had even used my magic so easily. Maybe it was Thatch’s supplement.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Thatch. He chuckled to himself from where he sat. An attractive woman in a skintight halter top strolled past him, trying to catch his attention, but he only had eyes for me. At the end of the song, my dance partner deposited me back at my table, all too pleased to be rid of me. I was surprised he hadn’t stopped dancing with me sooner, but I guessed there was probably some kind of etiquette that you didn’t leave a song midway through.

  Thatch escorted me to the dance floor. “There’s only one thing better than dancing with you, and that’s watching you move.”

  I squeezed his arm. “How voyeuristic of you.”

  “That’s me.”

  The dance floor grew more crowded. The volume of the music steadily increased. People smoked and drank at the tables. More loitered along the perimeter. We made our movements smaller and less showy to avoid twirling an elbow into someone’s face. Even so, someone behind me stomped on my shoeless foot, and a woman bumped her hip into mine.

  A man dirty dancing next to us nodded his head to the beat, his cigarette ash flicking onto my arm. He wore sunglasses, and I couldn’t see his eyes, but he looked familiar.

  “Ouch,” I said, jerking my arm back from the hot ashes.

  Thatch’s eyes narrowed. He led me a step farther away. The man twirled his partner and ended up next to me again. I was certain I’d seen him earlier. Not someone from the dance class, but maybe someone from the restaurant. He might have been the man from the bar. Had he followed us?

  A long string of glowing ashes fell from his cigarette toward me.

  That’s when the world slowed. I faltered in my footwork and attempted to stagger back, but I collided with someone. Thatch turned to the man, glowering. I was so fixated on what I feared my date might do that I didn’t notice the smell right away.

  Heat drew my attention. I glanced down. The skirt of my dress smoked. I grabbed the skirt and shook it. The dark red bottom smoldered and caught fire. In an instant it spread. I was ringed in flames.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Clarissa Lawrence, the Girl on Fire

  I had once told my mom my totem animal was Katniss Everdeen. She didn’t read science fiction, and even if she had, I doubt she would have understood my geeky, fan-girl love of a young woman trying to fight against the oppressive ruling class. At that moment, I felt like Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, namely because I was engulfed in flames.

  The phrase, “May the odds be ever in your favor” echoed loudly in my ears. It faded as a scream filled my ears. I wasn’t sure whether it was my own or someone else’s.

  I choked on the fumes. People around me leapt away and shrieked. Thatch turned back to me, his face a mask of calm.

  “Merlin’s fucking balls,” he said.

  He grabbed the front of my dress, and in one swift movement, ripped it down the middle and tore it off me. A torrent of water fell from somewhere above. I crossed my arms over my chest, wishing I’d worn a bra.

  I coughed and choked on the combination of fumes and water. A sheet of my blonde hair had plastered itself over my face. I was pretty much blind as I fumbled forward. Thatch caught one of my flailing arms. I shoved my hair out of my eyes. People ran away from the dance floor. A brawl started up near the exit to the stairs.

  Thatch circled an arm around me, his navy-blue jacket sliding off him with the kind of sleight of hand that would have made any illusionist proud. He whisked the fabric around my shoulders like a cape and led me away from the crowd. I clutched the jacket to my chest with one hand to keep it closed in the front and tried to push the rest of my matted hair out of my face.

  “How badly are you burned?” he asked.

  My legs shook, and I had trouble walking. “I’m not burned at all.” My legs pulsed and felt hot, but they didn’t hurt.

  He glanced down at me. “Right. You’re in shock.” He found my elbow under the expanse of fabric and steered me through the fleeing patrons. The interior of his jacket was as smooth and soft as silk across my naked shoulders, but the places where the fabric brushed against my thighs zinged. He headed in the opposite direction most people had flocked, toward the sign labeled los banos.

  “I really am fine. I feel like I could keep dancing if I just had some clothes.” I turned to look at him and collided with a table. Pain flared in my legs.

  “Remind me I need to make you a potion so you can learn to walk.” He took me by the shoulders and steered me in front of him.

  The air smelled like a combination of alcohol, cigarette smoke, and charred human flesh. I suspected the latter came from me.

  I coughed from the smoke. “I thought you said the dress was fine. No spells or hexes.”

  “I didn’t find any Witchkin spells or Fae enchantments. This was a matter of simple chemistry. That dress was coated in something flammable. Formaldehyde. I’d wager someone with a morbid sense of humor thought it would be funny for you to be smoking hot.”

  “Ha ha,” I said dryly.

  Thatched shoved the door to the bathroom open. It was a small one-person facility with a broken mirror above a grimy sink. Thatch removed the jacket from my shoulders and assisted me so I could slip my arms into the sleeves. He circled his arms around my back. The air was sucked from my lungs, and the world swirled around me in black waves. A tide of dizziness washed over me. I would have fallen over if Thatch hadn’t still been holding onto me.

  I blinked the dark fog from my eyes. We stood in the entryway of a small hotel room. The bed was probably a queen, about the same size as his. There was a television on the wall and a desk with a chair all squeezed into the small space. Red rose petals were scattered across white sheets. The room glowed pinkish gold as though candles had been lit, but there were none. It was difficult to determine where the light came from.

  Something small scuttled across the floor out of the open door of the bathroom to our right. Thatch stomped a heel onto the floor.

  “Please say that isn’t what I think it was,” I said.

  “I’m sure it wasn’t a cockroach. It was probably a spider. Miss Kimura would be appalled by my act of destruction.” He flipped on the bathroom light. “Take a shower and make sure you remove any chemical residue from your skin. I’ll do a sweep of our room for more unwanted pests or furniture soaked in kerosene.”

  “Thanks.”

  By the bright light of the bathroom, I could see the full extent of damage to my legs. The throbbing had felt distant before. Now that I saw the red blisters and open sores, I felt woozy. Black char clung to my skin in clusters where my tights had been. I made myself look away, to breathe. My stomach felt yucky.

  Pink dots of inflamed flesh marred my belly, and a few places dotted my arms. I was certain I had smacked at the flames with my hands, but they were free of damage. That didn’t make sense. I hadn’t consciously used any kind of spell to protect myself. The pink marks on my abdomen were arranged in random blotches, like someone who hadn’t spread sunblock on herself very well and these were the places that had gotten sunburned.

  I understood then.

  I was burned where the potion Vega had thrown on me hadn’t touched me—only the places I hadn’t rubbed the liquid over my skin to remove my freckles. My hands were protected because I had wiped the potion off myself with my hands.

  Vega had known. She hadn’t been nasty out of spite. She’d been mean out of necessity. She had wanted me to come with her tonight because she hadn’t wanted something bad to happen to me.

  She might not have been able to come out and say it, but she knew something was going on. The Princess of Lies and Truth hadn’t been able to get into the school to hurt me, but she had still attempted to hurt m
e through a mostly nonmagical means.

  The shower was so grimy, I was afraid it might not be sanitary with open wounds, but I figured cool water would do me some good. The shower came out in a drizzle that made my mom’s water-saving nozzle back in Eugene feel luxurious. I stood on tiptoe to try to adjust the head but couldn’t reach. The cold water stung my burns.

  I called out the shower door. “Could you come here and adjust this?”

  Thatch poked his head into the bathroom. His eyes were tired. I didn’t doubt he was taxing himself with warding our room.

  “Would you turn the head of the shower to see if it comes out any harder?”

  Thatch twisted the head. It popped off, a shower of rust raining down on me. I edged back.

  He stared at the metal in his hand. “Is that better?”

  The water pressure hadn’t changed, but I didn’t want him to feel useless. “Yeah, thanks.”

  He placed the piece on the counter. “I need you to remove any residue from yourself quickly. We are vulnerable for attack right now.”

  “Do you think this was the Princess of Lies and Truth?” I asked.

  The cold water of the shower burned against my blisters.

  “Or the Raven Queen.” He stood there unspeaking for a long moment.

  Which Fae would want to see me burn alive? Was it a punishment for being a witch, like the witches in the Salem witch trials?

  I peeled off melted nylon from my skin, sending zings of pain up my legs. Thatch sucked in a breath, no doubt absorbing my pain.

  “I need you to understand our situation,” Thatch said. “I am low on my reserve of magic. Between the competency potion that used most of my energy, transporting us, and the wards I’ve constructed in this room, we are both in weakened states. We are vulnerable, and our enemies may use this against us. I will use any means necessary to protect you, but I cannot transport us again at the moment.”

  “I guess you’re stuck here in a romantic hotel room with me,” I said, trying to make light of it.

  “Indeed.”

  When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, I found Thatch dressed down to a white T-shirt and his navy slacks. Perspiration dotted his forehead. I doubted he was able to keep his personal air-conditioner spell working now that he’d used up so much magic.

  I sat on the bed, groaning when the backs of my legs raked over the bedspread. I fidgeted with my towel, my feet tapping against the floor. The vibration of movement pinched my flesh where the angry red blisters stretched across my leg. “I have the worst case of restless leg syndrome. My feet still feel like dancing.”

  “It’s the magic. You have another hour before it dies down.” Thatch kneeled in front of me. He lifted my right heel and placed it on his thigh. “We’ll get you healed up and ready to dance again in no time.”

  “In what? I don’t have a dress.” I didn’t have a coat anymore either. I had left it at the salsa party.

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I don’t mind.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “Are you talking about horizontal salsa?”

  “Just so. It’s a lot like horizontal tango, only you swivel your hips more.” He placed one hand on my ankle, the other on my knee. “It will be good for you. Pleasure will help restore your affinity. I suspect you’ll need it after this.” He pressed his palm against my burn.

  “Ouch! That hurts!” I tried to push his hand away, but he didn’t move.

  “I’m using my affinity to heal you. It isn’t going to feel nice. Not for you, anyway.”

  “Why? There are so many better—ow!”

  He pushed against the burn again. My foot involuntarily jumped. Tears welled up in my eyes.

  “If our enemies discover where we are, they will use our weakness to their advantage. They will capture us or kill us. This is the easiest and quickest way to heal you and renew my strength. I’m killing two birds with one stone.” He readjusted his grip on my ankle.

  I understood this was practical, but I hated pain. It would make him stronger and weaken me.

  His other hand smoothed over my knee. It looked as though his fingers sank underneath my skin. The flare of heat stole my breath.

  “Look at me,” he said.

  I did. He smiled, his expression hopeful and boyish. “I’m sorry.” The glow of warm light made his face look younger and softer.

  “About what? The date?” I asked. That hadn’t been his fault.

  “No. About this.” His fingers hooked underneath the raw, charred skin. He grabbed hold of the burn like it was a piece of fabric and yanked it away from my leg.

  I fell back onto the bed, screaming. Stars danced before my eyes. It felt like he’d pulled off a Band-Aid—times a thousand.

  “Merlin Nimue ball crap stupid shit!” I swore, saying the first curses that came to my mouth. It sounded like a tongue-twister jinx.

  The pain continued to jolt up my leg and into my core. Tears ran down my face. My muscles shook with fatigue, and it took a moment before I managed to sit up. I wiped my eyes. As the pain faded, I realized he was caressing me. His fingers were cool prickles against my flesh, sucking away the misery in my nerves. He was absorbing my pain. I readjusted the towel around myself.

  Thatch leaned his face against my knee, eyes closed. “Was it good for you?”

  “Shut up! You know it wasn’t good for me.” I tried to scoot away, but I was so weak, I didn’t manage to move back much.

  He kissed my knee. His face was flushed pink. The blisters on my legs were gone. No trace of blood or black char remained. My skin was shiny and new. He dropped the gory piece of skin on the floor and ran a finger over my quad. I jumped at the sensation. The skin was overly sensitive.

  He shifted and placed my left foot on his thigh.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t want your pain magic.”

  “You know how to shield pain from your awareness. You could have done so the first time.” He started to move his hand toward my leg.

  I pushed his hand away. “You didn’t warn me.”

  “Yes, I did. I said, ‘This isn’t going to feel nice.’”

  “No, you didn’t say, ‘Block my pain magic.’”

  His eyes were cool, unsympathetic. “I don’t want you to block my magic. I want you to block your body’s response to stimuli. Use the skills I taught you.”

  He moved his hand toward me again, but I grabbed onto his wrist, using both hands now. I tried to remove my foot from his thigh, but he held it firmly in place.

  “You’re being stubborn,” he said.

  Was it my imagination, or were his pupil’s unusually large? I couldn’t tell whether it was a trick of the dim lighting or the craving for pain magic was taking its hold on him.

  “You’re being sadistic,” I said. “I don’t want you to use your pain affinity on me to gain power.”

  “As I said before, it is the most pragmatic solution for the problem at hand.” He sandwiched my foot between his thighs and grabbed onto my hands. He pinned them at my sides. “You know what I think? I think you haven’t been doing your homework. If you had, you wouldn’t need me to warn you. Pain is your weakness, and you refuse to follow the lessons I gave you because it’s unpleasant. Pain is an unforgiving teacher. If you can master this, you can make sure no one ever hurts you. Myself included.”

  “I don’t want a textbook lesson right now.”

  “Too bad.” His lips twisted into a smile. “You have heard of the adage: no pain, no gain. Perhaps you should give it more thought.”

  “What happened to my normal, romantic evening? This isn’t romantic.” Prickles of sweat gathered on my forehead.

  “Concentrate. Block the sensation.” He released my hands.

  I focused on the nerves under the skin of my left leg. They throbbed from the burns. I wasn’t good at blocking pain when I already was in pain. Always there was something that kept me from practicing this lesson: papers to grade, dates
to go on, or nicer magic to study.

  Thatch pushed his palm against an oozing blister on top of my leg. I gasped at the sharpness of the sensation.

  He frowned. “You aren’t even trying.”

  “Please. Just give me a minute longer to focus.”

  He waited. His expression was stern. I didn’t like him when he was like this. I calmed my breathing and imagined my affinity like a fortress. I imagined light made of ice and anesthesia washing over my skin. The pain faded.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Careful with your gratitude. I might make you repay me with a favor.”

  Only the Fae did that. And hardcore Witchkin.

  He reached his fingers under my wounds and tore the fabric of flesh away. The pain exploded against my leg and radiated up into my core. I screamed and tried to jerk away, but he held tightly to my leg. It was only a fraction less horrible than before—more like five hundred Band-Aids being torn from my flesh instead of a thousand. He smoothed his fingers across my thigh. I flinched at the simultaneous pleasantness and overwhelming newness. I curled away from him, catching my breath.

  “You really are hopeless.” The melancholy gray of his eyes had turned completely black. His eyelids were heavy, like an opium addict’s. The bed creaked as he sat down beside me. He rolled me onto my stomach and placed a hand behind my knee. “Let’s get the rest of you.”

  “No. I don’t want any more right now. I need a minute.”

  He placed a hand on my back. “Do you know why I’m doing this?”

  I tried to sit up, but he wouldn’t let me. “I don’t care why.” I reached behind me and punched him in the knee. “Use pain magic on yourself to recharge.”

  “If you want me to gather strength from my own pain, you’re going to have to hit harder than that.”