Natural Mage (Magical Mayhem 2)

“I agree. The chase is on. If we can get them to follow us instead of surround us, we’ll be fine.” He clutched her hand, smiling for show and even moving a little to the pounding music blasting out of a nearby bar, fitting in with the group of people in front of them.

“You can dance.” She shook her hand loose before slipping her arm around his middle. His gut tightened in a way that wasn’t appropriate for the situation, and he exhaled at the warm feeling unfolding in his chest. He let his arm fall around her shoulders as she said, “I’ve always liked to dance.”

“I don’t know about dancing, but I can jive to rhythm well enough.”

“Jive?” She smiled at him, and the world around them started to dim. Her effect on him was not helping him focus. “Next you’ll tell me you have fancy feet.”

She chuckled and scanned the area around them. Her hand gripped his waist a little tighter and her face dropped, now looking through her eyelashes.

He followed her gaze. A scarred-faced man stood at the side of the street with cunning eyes and a naturally downturned mouth. He wore scraped-up leather pants, a worse-for-wear leather duster, and a black shirt.

“Someone must’ve told him you were dangerous,” she whispered.

Emery laughed. “Or tricked him into thinking it was a costume party.” He looked away, scanning the other side of the street, then above them, just in case someone hanging out on one of the balconies looked out of place. “He’s a mercenary. They aren’t clever in their fashion choices. The Guild is outsourcing. Unless he’s working for someone else.”

“Is he magical?”

“Maybe. Or else he’s just a thug. He either doesn’t know what he’s up against, or knows exactly what he’s up against. The choice of outfit would be the same for either situation. We’re hoping for the former, obviously.”

“They want us really bad,” she said, that halo of survival light covering her body. This time, it expanded to cover him as well.

Unbelievably, his survival magic kicked in, too, welling up from deep inside of him and rippling into hers like a new current in a tranquil pond. The colors swirled and mixed until they blended, pumping with power and turning a hazy gray.

“Sorry,” he said, spotting a plain woman with a tight bun and a purple sash around her neck. The color signified power level, he remembered, though he didn’t know which tier that specific color was.

“For what?” Penny’s nails dug into his sides. Beyond the woman, who was obviously with the Guild and showing her higher status, leaned another mercenary, this one in somewhat newer leathers. Either that meant he made a good living, or he was a greenie.

Emery hoped for the latter.

“I made your snow-white halo a muddy gray,” he said, not liking the numbers stacked against them.

She shrugged. “You turned me from the color of a blank slate into a drab color. At least I have a little color now.”

He laughed despite himself, remembering their conversation in Seattle about her white survival magic versus his black. He’d always seen his magic as a reflection of his soul—black—but she’d flipped the script, saying she had no color because they’d all fled, but he was full of them.

A crowd of guys stood to the side, looking up at two girls dancing on a balcony, ready to flash their goods.

“Here we go.” Emery pushed Penny in front of him and shoved his way into the group of guys, lifting his hand and pumping his fist. “Take. It. Off,” he chanted. “Take. It. Off.”

Penny lifted her fist and joined in.

The guys weren’t long in jumping on board, and the combined chant drew more onlookers. One of the girls lifted her shirt and the guys jumped and threw up their hands, splashing beer down and dousing the sleeve of Emery’s hoodie. He jumped with them, his hands on Penny’s shoulders to keep her close.

She threaded between the bodies, dragging him with her, until they were at the edge of the group. After taking a quick look around, she led him away from the others. A moment later and they were in a group of ladies staggering down the sidewalk.

“Did you see that guy flash his dick?” Penny asked the girl next to them.

“Oh my gawd.” The girl swerved at Penny, ducking her head into Penny’s face with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. She was clearly drunk off her ass and having a hard time navigating her high heels. “No! Where? Was he packing?”

“Up there. He was really hot.” Penny nudged the girl next to her. “So was his friend. Shirtless.”

“Who?” the other woman said, blinking at Penny.

“No, you guys.” Penny pointed across the street before grabbing the girls to either side of her and pulling them with her. “Over here. Free beer and super-hot guys.”

“I’m…getting married,” one of the leaders of the dozen said with serious attitude. She didn’t follow.

“No, they’re gay,” Penny insisted, stalling on the street so they didn’t spread too far out. “They’re just good to look at. Hello? Free beer.” Her attitude rivaled the bride’s.

“Wait, who are you?” The girl next to Emery looked at him in confusion, and then a smile slid across her face and her eyes half drifted shut. “Hi.”

“He’s one of the dancers! You guys, come on.” Penny motioned everyone forward.

“I’ll buy the first round.” Emery held out his arms for them to grab as they cheered. A girl on either side took hold, and one grabbed his shoulders from behind.

“I want in,” someone said as the others chatted and laughed, following in a tight pack.

Penny worked her new friends to the back, making Emery’s part of the group take the lead. As he neared the next corner, he spotted a man tucked into an alcove on the other side of the street, scanning those who passed. From his vantage point, the man had a view of their street and the one beyond it, not nearly as busy as Bourbon Street, but still going strong as the evening rushed on.

The man’s gaze followed a couple entwined in each other’s arms. Emery ducked down enough to let the heeled height of the women provide him with cover. A moment later, the man was scanning the large group, lingering on exposed skin more than checking out faces. After finishing his halfhearted perusal, he shifted his gaze to another couple heading his way on his side of the street.

“Just up here, ladies,” Emery said, getting them to cross kitty-corner. He met Penny’s eye, and she jerked her head to the right; he nodded. “Okay, have a good night.”

“Wait, what?” One of the girls scowled at him as he disentangled himself.

“No, wait,” another said.

Still another didn’t bother protesting. She just lunged for the goods. “Yes, puh-lease,” she purred with a dopey smile.

He un-cupped a hand from an area it didn’t belong. “Not cool, ladies,” he muttered, slapping another hand away.

“Run,” Penny said urgently, looking back the way they’d come.

He took off at her side, running straight for a space between two houses. Murky brown light filled the gap, only about five feet long before a fence halted their progress.

“Okay,” she said, panting. Her halo dissolved, and his with it. “Do you think there’s any chance we’ll run across a natural?”

He thought it over, guessing what she was thinking—they needed a spell to conceal them, now—and starting the weave. “Doubtful. They won’t have her running around the streets like a footman.”

A few people glanced at Emery and Penny as they passed, stalling and looking at Emery’s hands. They probably thought he was rolling a joint or something.

“Hurry, help,” he said, trying to work as fast as he could.

She closed her eyes, and the electricity he’d grown to expect from working with her sparked across his body. Ducking her head, she began weaving a concealment spell completely different to the one she’d created on the fly in the Guild compound in Seattle.

“Stop,” she said, her fingers stilling and her weave dissipating as she did so. “Start again.”

He followed her direction, immediately seeing what she was doing.