Page 60 of Death's Daughter
I’m going to have to start listening to him more. Assuming I survive this.
Neither spawn moves, not even as I step out from under the motel’s overhang into the parking lot.
The ground at their feet is dry, all the snow and ice evaporated, and now that I’m closer, I can feel the faint shiver of magic crawling up my skin.
Then the kid lurches forward, determination written plainly across his face.
Dread building in me, I brace myself, waiting for that blast of power to wrap itself around me, to drag me down and hold me in its suffocating embrace.
But the woman’s hand snaps forward, latching onto the back of his sweatshirt and jerking him to an abrupt halt.
“Maggie,” he protests as she drags him backward into the bubble.
“Shut up,” she says through clenched teeth. “Do it right, I told you.”
I stare at them both.What is going on?
The woman—Maggie—returns her attention to me. Then she drops her gaze to the ground and moves to a kneeling position, carefully balancing on heels that have no business in weather like this.
The kid does the same, but he moves with more ease and a bit more teenage “this is so stupid” attitude.
Really confused now, I start toward them again.
But when Maggie pulls her bare hand from her pocket, I stop.
Slowly, she reaches forward, holding her hand out, palm facing the slick asphalt.
As I watch, the moisture in my path to her vanishes, evaporating like snowflakes on warm skin but even faster. Her power moves around me, like a breeze ruffling my hair. But it doesn’t touch me,doesn’t pull from me. I don’t even feel thirsty. At least, no more than usual.
It’s nothing like the black hole experience of that other power.
Maggie clearly is Sanguine spawn, at least. The kid is still an unknown.
“It’s possible they’re here to secure an alliance,” Devon points out quietly behind me.
They both remain in that awkward kneeling position, gazes averted.
Possible, yes, but I don’t like the timing or the coincidence of them following me around campus.
Only one way to find out.
“What do you want?” I ask, keeping the ten feet of distance between us. Not that that will help. It just makes me feel better.
Maggie looks up, startled. “Oh. Uh. Am I doing this wrong?” Her uncertain face turns to Devon, a step behind me, then back to me, seeking reassurance. Fear holds her body taut, like her muscles and ligaments have been replaced with steel wire.
“Told you,” Devon murmurs.
I sigh. “Don’t kneel. That’s… that’s weird. I’m not… look, please get up.”
“See?” the boy hisses at Maggie, but she ignores him.
She rises unsteadily, tottering slightly on those sky-high heels. She flicks her overly long black bangs out of her eyes and that’s when I realize why she looks so familiar. Not just because I’ve seen her around campus.
“Holy shit, you’re that meteorologist, the one with the movie quotes,” I say. She’s famous for incorporating movie quotes into her forecasts. “Take your umbrella today, but leave the cannoli.” Or, “On Wednesdays, we might wear pink, but don’t forget thatsunscreen. We don’t want any sunburns when that high reaches in the upper nineties.”
She takes quote suggestions from her followers on social media and posts the results. She’s also got a crazy accurate track record for weather predictions… which makes a lot of sense now. When you have that kind of connection to water, it’s probably not hard to guess what it’s going to do.
She beams at me. “Maggie Chen-Wright, WMBB, Boston,” she says, before remembering that she’s scared of me and dropping her gaze again.
