The Consumption of Magic (Tales From Verania 3)

His eyes flashed. “How can you be so sure?”

“You’re not that kind of person.”

“Is that right?”

“And Mama would have killed you.”

He grinned. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “She would have. She loves you so. She sees you for what you are, more than the others, I think. But that is what she does. She has a keen eye for those who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. Those of us who will play dirty if it means winning.”

“What do you want, Moishe?”

“When you were kissing me, when you were… playing dirty, if you will, my hand was on your chest, against your skin. Do you remember?”

I did. It hadn’t gotten far, what happened between Moishe and me, and hadn’t lasted long, but his tongue had been in my mouth and his hand was underneath my shirt, and I remembered thinking, This isn’t what I want, this isn’t who I want. I’d pushed Moishe away, telling him I couldn’t do this, that this wasn’t who I was, thinking, Ryan, Ryan, Ryan, you fucking asshole. You bastard.

“What about it?” I asked Moishe slowly.

“I tasted your magic,” he said, taking a slinking step toward me, gaze just crawling all over me. “However briefly. It was strong, Sam. Very strong. But it was nothing like it is now. It doesn’t just waft from you. Not anymore. Now it explodes.”

“People grow,” I said, voice even. “It’s been a while. I learned new tricks. I’m sure you’re probably aware there’s a stupid prophecy involved. That tends to change people.”

“Is there? Because my hand was on your skin, Sam. I rubbed my fingertips against your chest, and I memorized the way it felt. It took one touch and I knew what you felt like. It’s not like you are now.”

And—oh. This… made a bit more sense now. Mostly. “These old things?” I said, waving my hands toward the tree-root-like welts that crossed my chest, raised and reddened. They’d stung in the shower at first, the hot water running over them and causing me to hiss. But I’d gotten used to the sensation soon enough and had been able to ignore it, for the most part.

But they were more noticeable now, especially after the shower. They stuck out like a brand. They were unsightly, sure, but there was a strange beauty to them, like something was growing just underneath my skin. I’d only had them for a few days, and with everything else that had been going on, I hadn’t even had time to think about how I felt about them.

And now that Moishe was staring… hungrily at them, I didn’t like them very much. “Dude,” I said. “Stop staring at my boobs. You’re acting creepy.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look chagrined. He merely met my gaze with that knowing smile of his. “It’s not every day that you see signs of a wizard’s magic etched such as yours. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it before.”

I snorted, trying to edge my way past him to the bed to get the clothes. “Because you know so many wizards, right?”

“I’ve met my fair share,” he said, not looking away from me as I moved around him. “I am far older than I look.”

I rolled my eyes. “Elves usually are. And you’re all also enigmatic jerks. Seriously, it’s like no one can just fucking come out and be forthright anymore.”

His smile only widened. “But you can?”

“I’m always forthright. Here’s an example: stop looking at me like you’re two seconds from jizzing all over me.”

“I like magic,” he said.

“I know. You’ve told me many times. Fun fact: so does my boyfriend.”

The distaste on his face was obvious. “Yes. That one. He’s certainly… breathing.”

“I like that about him,” I said. “Now, if you could just—”

“Would you like me to be forthright with you, Sam?”

“I’d actually like you to go away, if I’m being honest.” I picked up the shirt. It was as soft as it looked.

Mama provided only the best for her working boys and girls.

But before I could put it over my head, Moishe was right in front of me, moving quicker than I expected. He wasn’t… touching, exactly, but I could feel the heat of him. He said, “Prophecies have a way of being manipulated, Sam. Those who deal in the art of prophecy have a tendency to twist what they see for whatever suits them best. I say this as your… friend.”

“We’re not friends,” I said, not unkindly. “We’re acquaintances at best. Lecherous acquaintances.”