Chapter Two
“Is there something wrong, Miss Gollet?” asked Tibbs.
“No,” she replied too quickly. Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. “Shall we leave, gentlemen?”
A piece of her wanted to out the mage, revealing his secret to the FMB, but she had no reason to do such a horrible thing. What had he done to deserve her fate—trapped in an iron and concrete box?
Mr. Sterling smiled, his large teeth showing white past his lips. Though Sam could tell he was a man full of indulgences, he was also a man who would look good in a magazine. Sam fumbled with her snug leather jacket, zipping it up as she led them out of the admin building. She hadn’t exactly dressed for a pricey executive. She was wearing dark-wash jeans tucked into scuffed lace-up boots and her favorite t-shirt. It said, “Free Bates” with a pudgy man’s face plastered across the front. She didn’t know who Bates was or why he needed freeing, but she could relate.
Usually, Sam didn’t worry about her attire, but if Sterling could exchange plastic for iron within the Res then she needed to do her best to make that happen. Outside the brick building, they came to a stop. Sam glanced around, wondering what to show them first.
They had a planned tour route for the basic tourist, but she knew today called for something more. Sam found herself rubbing her forehead again. A headache was forming just behind her eyes. If her morning was anything to go by, she had her work cut out for her to make this tour worthwhile. At her current rate, she half expected one of the fashionable men to get turned into a werewolf while in her care.
Sam cleared her throat. “I have a normal tour route that we use for tourists and the like, but perhaps there is something specific you would like to see?”
“That’s very kind of you, Miss Gollet,” replied Sterling.
“Please, call me Sam,” she said, forcing herself to act politely toward the human.
“I take it that’s short for something.”
“Samantha.”
“What a lovely name! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Samantha,” Sterling said, holding out his hand.
Sam hadn’t met many humans, but what few she had never offered her their hand. She was too alien for most humans to trust. She reached out tentatively, allowing him to close the distance and grip her hand in a firm shake.
“And what sort of faerie are you?” he asked.
Sam tried to keep her expression neutral. She knew he didn’t mean to be offensive. His expression was open and inviting. He simply wanted to learn about her world. She just didn’t much like sharing it with outsiders. The humans had trapped them in the Reservation, and now they wanted to study the mystics as though they were lab rats.
“I’m of the Harcos Clan. I’m a Void.”
“Forgive me, but what exactly is a Void?”
Despite her efforts, Sam began to grind her teeth together. “A Void has no magic of their own. They can only drain others of their magic.”
“I see. And are there a lot of Voids in the Illinois Reservation?”
Sam swallowed the new lump in her throat. “I’m the only one. There is a list of all registered fae, which is available upon request.”
She hoped this last statement would end his catalog of questions.
“What would you like to see first?” she asked, trying to direct them back to their tour.
“What has the most iron in the Reservation?”
“The shipyard. This way,” she said, motioning for them to head south toward the river.
They walked in silence for a few minutes until the other assistant, Martinez, spoke up.
“Are you still in school?”
Sam struggled not to laugh. “No. We stop going to school at age fifteen.”
“What do you do after school?”
“We work.”
“And you give tours?” asked the inquisitive young man.
“I also work for Organic Diapers.”
“And what do you do there?”
“I clean cloth diapers… by hand.”
The men were silent for a moment, no doubt imagining her daily tasks. Before any of them could think up another list of questions, they came into view of the shipyard. Sam stopped, keeping her distance from the iron framework.
“If I’m not mistaken, you ship out what you produce via the shipyard?” asked Sterling.
“Yes, and we receive our monthly food supply through it. The vampires work the night shift and the werewolves work the day shifts, with the occasional mage for help.”
“No fae?” asked Martinez.
Only through sheer force of will was Sam able to keep her eyes off the secret mage. She wanted to know what he thought of his fellow assistant and his ridiculous questions.
Once again her magic awoke, pressing against her defenses. It wanted to taste the mage, to know him and his powers. Sam focused on her tattoo for the third time that morning, working to maintain control.
“No. The shipyard’s crane and infrastructure are made of iron.”
“And what precisely does that do to you?” Martinez asked, his eyes aglow with sadistic pleasure.
“Enough,” ordered Sterling.
With the swift injunction, Sterling marched to the shipyard, entering the maze of small, metal shipping crates. Sam forced her feet to move forward, knowing full well what to expect. She followed them into the maze, barely able to keep up.
Her skin crawled, the sensation swiftly shifting to pain the longer she stayed within reach of the crates. Without thinking about it, she glanced up at Hunt. His dark eyes were on her, tracking a bead of sweat rolling down her temple. Sam jerked her eyes off of him. He held too much temptation for her, and she was slowly realizing it wasn’t just his powers she wanted.
Mr. Hunt was not like the other two men, and not just because he was a mage. While he wore a suit made by the same high-priced tailor as the others, subtle signs suggested he did not live a pampered life. His large hands were calloused, and small scars enhanced his attractive face on his lower lip and his left eyebrow. The knuckles on his right hand looked to be healing, as though he had recently punched something harder than his own fist. Whatever Hunt did for Mr. Sterling, Sam was sure it wasn’t in the financial department.
“Take from me,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
Sam glared up at him.
“Take my power. You’re in pain.”
She rolled her eyes and marched forward. He may be a powerful mage, but he was clearly also an idiot. If she started taking his powers, as weak as she was, she wouldn’t stop until she had drained him. Though she had never done it, Sam had heard of Voids killing mystics by draining them of all their magic. Either Mr. Hunt thought a lot of himself and his ability to stop her, or he thought a lot of her and her ability to control her gift. Either way, he was wrong.
Sam walked away, following the humans until they made it through the maze of crates and stood gazing on the enormous crane, currently lifting crates onto a flat river boat. Sam spotted a row of heavy-duty plastic barrels. Slowly, she shifted to them and leaned against one. Despite her efforts, Hunt followed her movements, shifting his feet to keep her within his line of sight. She didn’t like the protective look in his eyes.
Sam wasn’t used to someone looking out for her well-being. Even her best friends, Amber and Carl, knew better than to try.
Sterling and Martinez continued to gaze over the shipyard for a number of minutes before finally turning back to look at her.
“What does all this iron do to you?” asked Sterling with only the barest glimpse of compassion for her suffering.
“It weakens me,” Sam whispered just loud enough for him to hear her. “It hurts.”
Sterling looked to Hunt, as though silently asking for more information. “Iron is poison to a fae. Just like Dart Frog venom or cobra’s venom. The longer a fae stays near iron the weaker they get.”
“Yes, I know all that, Roman,” snapped Sterling.
Strangely, th
e executive balked at his own statement before swallowing a lump from his throat as though he thought Hunt might retaliate. Whatever their relationship, Sterling knew Hunt was a mage.
Annoyed at their scholarly discussion of her agony, Sam pushed herself to her feet and stomped over to the nearest metal crate. She didn’t hesitate before firmly pressing her hand against the iron. The air snapped and sizzled, as though a lightning storm was brewing within their midst. Sterling and Martinez covered their noses as the cloying smell of burning flesh filled the air, while Hunt glared at her as if he were angry.
When Sam couldn’t take the pain anymore, she peeled her hand away from the iron and presented it to Sterling, absently noticing that a thick layer of skin remained on the crate in the perfect shape of her small hand.
“This is what iron does to us!” she snapped, only half aware of how stupid she was being.
If Sterling complained to Tibbs, Sam would lose her job, and might even be put into solitary confinement as punishment. Sam bit down on her tongue, willing herself to not say anything else that might offend him.
“I see,” Sterling said, his eyes flicking from her to his two assistants.
“Shall we continue the tour?” asked Hunt.
Sterling nodded, shaken by Sam’s display.
Sam stumbled back into the maze of crates. She felt Hunt’s hand grip her elbow, his touch sending shocks of pleasure and desire through her body, masking the agony she felt in her hand. When they reached the clear street, Sam jerked her arm free. If he kept touching her she was going to do something even more idiotic than pressing her bare hand against an iron crate—like drain him or kiss him.