Ilona Andrews: Magic Burns

It was dark when I finally made it home. As always after the flare, the magic left the world alone for a while, and I had to make the trip in Betsi, which had stalled on me midway for no apparent mechanical reason. When I finally made it to the front door, I was dog tired. I climbed the stairs in the dusk and saw a bouquet of red roses in a crystal vase on my porch. The little card said, “I’m sorry. Saiman.”

I took the flowers and the vase to the dumpster, grumbling under my breath, returned to the door, reached for my key, and realized the door stood slightly ajar.

I pulled Slayer from its sheath and pushed the door open with my fingertips. It swung soundlessly on well-greased hinges. Through the hallway, I saw the living room lamp glowing with soothing yellow light. I smelled coffee.

Who breaks into a house, turns on the lights, and makes coffee?

I padded into the living room on soft feet, Slayer ready.

“Loud and clumsy, like a baby rhino,” said a familiar voice.

I stepped into the living room. Curran sat on my couch, reading my favorite paperback. His hair was back to its normal short length. His face was clean shaven. He looked nothing like the dark, demonic figure who shook a would-be god’s head on a field a month ago.

I thought he had forgotten about me. I had been quite happy to stay forgotten.

“ The Princess Bride ?” he said, flipping the book over.

“What are you doing in my house?” Let himself in, had he? Made himself comfortable, as if he owned the place.

“Did everything go well with Julie?”

“Yes. She didn’t want to stay, but she’ll make friends quickly and the staff seems sensible.”

I watched him, not quite sure where we stood.

“I meant to tell you but haven’t gotten a chance. Sorry about Bran. I didn’t like him, but he died well.”

“Yes, he did. I’m sorry about your people. Many losses?”

A shadow darkened his face. “A third.”

He had taken a hundred with him. At least thirty people had never come back. The weight of their deaths pressed on both of us.

Curran turned the book over in his hands. “You own words of power.”

He knew what a word of power was. Lovely. I shrugged. “Picked up a couple here and there. What happened in the Gap was a one shot deal. I won’t be that powerful again.” At least not until the next flare.

“You’re an interesting woman,” he said.

“Your interest has been duly noted.” I pointed to the door.

He put the book down. “As you wish.” He rose and walked past me. I lowered my sword, expecting him to pass, but suddenly he stepped in dangerously close. “Welcome home. I’m glad you made it. There is coffee in the kitchen for you.”

My mouth gaped open.

He inhaled my scent, bent close, about to kiss me…

I just stood there like an idiot.

Curran smirked and whispered in my ear instead. “Psych.”

And just like that, he was out the door and gone.

Oh boy.