about.
So it would just be this time: one last time to do the right thing and square an old debt. Once this was finished, I would really straighten out my life, get a paycheck job and bore myself stupid with a big-screen TV.
And this next spell wouldn't be so bad. It was only pain. I hoped.
I picked up the pen and covered design number one with my other hand. I practiced the second design a couple times to be sure I'd get it right.
Then I looked at design number one, at the straight lines, hard corners and curving squiggles. Slowly, it began to make sense.
CHAPTER TEN
The fire filled me. I was a living furnace. But the steeled glass spell was simpler than the ghost knife, and the fire less intense. I finished the spell, then held it up. It didn't look like much, but neither did Annalise or Callin.
The pain receded. I grabbed another piece of paper. If I waited too long, I might lose my nerve. I called up the design again and started drawing, pouring my pain and energy into it. When I finished, I felt dizzy and nauseated. Weak. What was the use of arming myself with spells if I was going to be too wasted to use them?
Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.
I grabbed a third sheet of paper. My world had become very small--it was just my pain and the design I was drawing. It was as if I'd erased everything else, and when the last of the fire poured into the third design, the flames vanished and the design faded from my consciousness. There was nothing to take its place.
I returned to consciousness slowly. My hands and feet were cold. My shirt was damp with sweat. A man bent over me, holding my elbow. He wanted me to move. I realized I was lying on the floor.
"Are you all right, sir?" the man said.
I pulled my legs underneath me and stood with all the vigor I could manage. It wasn't much. "I'm okay," I lied. "Rough day."
"Would you come with me?"
I was finally being thrown out. I stuffed the blue pages into the bottom of my backpack, then put the practice drawings in there, too. It wasn't safe to leave them lying around but I was too fuzzyheaded to figure out what to do with them. Finally, I picked up the ghost knife and the three steeled glass spells. They seemed too precious to pocket.
"Let's go for a stroll," I said, trying to be jaunty and failing miserably. My whole body tingled. Casting these spells hurt.
The man leading me through the bookshelves was a short, dumpy guy with a sloppy black beard. His longish hair lay across his forehead in wavy clumps. His shirt was stretched tight over a wide, soft gut. I immediately thought Victim , then quashed it. I didn't look for victims anymore.
He led me to the ground floor, through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY then down a short hallway into a small room. In the center of the room was a cheap metal table and plastic cafeteria chairs. Against one wall was a peeling counter with a sink and microwave. This was a break room. I'd only ever seen them on TV before.
"I'm Hank," the man said. "Won't you sit down?"
I did. The table was cold against my arms. "Thanks. I'm Payton."
"Are you feeling okay, Payton?"
"I looked pretty bad, I guess. I'm fine. Tough day."
"Have you eaten?"
I wasn't sure what to make of all the concern the guy was showing me, but I couldn't see what his angle was. "I'm fine." I hoped that would end it.
"I'll be back with some food." Hank started toward the door.
Just then I noticed a phone and a clock on the wall behind me. "Is that the right time?"
Hank checked the clock against his watch. "Yes, it is."
He left. I slumped forward and let my head strike the table. According to the clock, it was 6:45. I should have been at work nearly three hours ago.
Shit. I couldn't even make it for my second day.
I was tempted to blow it off, clear up this mess with Jon and then, when things were really straightened out, find a new one. But I couldn't. Being a citizen wasn't something I could keep putting off; once I started, I'd never stop.
In my
So it would just be this time: one last time to do the right thing and square an old debt. Once this was finished, I would really straighten out my life, get a paycheck job and bore myself stupid with a big-screen TV.
And this next spell wouldn't be so bad. It was only pain. I hoped.
I picked up the pen and covered design number one with my other hand. I practiced the second design a couple times to be sure I'd get it right.
Then I looked at design number one, at the straight lines, hard corners and curving squiggles. Slowly, it began to make sense.
CHAPTER TEN
The fire filled me. I was a living furnace. But the steeled glass spell was simpler than the ghost knife, and the fire less intense. I finished the spell, then held it up. It didn't look like much, but neither did Annalise or Callin.
The pain receded. I grabbed another piece of paper. If I waited too long, I might lose my nerve. I called up the design again and started drawing, pouring my pain and energy into it. When I finished, I felt dizzy and nauseated. Weak. What was the use of arming myself with spells if I was going to be too wasted to use them?
Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop.
I grabbed a third sheet of paper. My world had become very small--it was just my pain and the design I was drawing. It was as if I'd erased everything else, and when the last of the fire poured into the third design, the flames vanished and the design faded from my consciousness. There was nothing to take its place.
I returned to consciousness slowly. My hands and feet were cold. My shirt was damp with sweat. A man bent over me, holding my elbow. He wanted me to move. I realized I was lying on the floor.
"Are you all right, sir?" the man said.
I pulled my legs underneath me and stood with all the vigor I could manage. It wasn't much. "I'm okay," I lied. "Rough day."
"Would you come with me?"
I was finally being thrown out. I stuffed the blue pages into the bottom of my backpack, then put the practice drawings in there, too. It wasn't safe to leave them lying around but I was too fuzzyheaded to figure out what to do with them. Finally, I picked up the ghost knife and the three steeled glass spells. They seemed too precious to pocket.
"Let's go for a stroll," I said, trying to be jaunty and failing miserably. My whole body tingled. Casting these spells hurt.
The man leading me through the bookshelves was a short, dumpy guy with a sloppy black beard. His longish hair lay across his forehead in wavy clumps. His shirt was stretched tight over a wide, soft gut. I immediately thought Victim , then quashed it. I didn't look for victims anymore.
He led me to the ground floor, through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY then down a short hallway into a small room. In the center of the room was a cheap metal table and plastic cafeteria chairs. Against one wall was a peeling counter with a sink and microwave. This was a break room. I'd only ever seen them on TV before.
"I'm Hank," the man said. "Won't you sit down?"
I did. The table was cold against my arms. "Thanks. I'm Payton."
"Are you feeling okay, Payton?"
"I looked pretty bad, I guess. I'm fine. Tough day."
"Have you eaten?"
I wasn't sure what to make of all the concern the guy was showing me, but I couldn't see what his angle was. "I'm fine." I hoped that would end it.
"I'll be back with some food." Hank started toward the door.
Just then I noticed a phone and a clock on the wall behind me. "Is that the right time?"
Hank checked the clock against his watch. "Yes, it is."
He left. I slumped forward and let my head strike the table. According to the clock, it was 6:45. I should have been at work nearly three hours ago.
Shit. I couldn't even make it for my second day.
I was tempted to blow it off, clear up this mess with Jon and then, when things were really straightened out, find a new one. But I couldn't. Being a citizen wasn't something I could keep putting off; once I started, I'd never stop.
In my
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