Page 7 of The Diamond in the Rough

Vulnerable.

His.

I broughtmyself out of that one, still gasping, although not because I felt like my chest was being crushed, but because sucking in air would keep me from vomiting.

What the woman had felt was horrifying, but what the man had felt while planning her death—because that was unquestionably what he’d been doing—left me feeling dirty in a way that I didn’t think I’d be able to clean off with a hundred showers, although I now desperately wanted one.

“What else do you have for me?” Parikh wanted to know.

“Give him a minute, Raj,” Mason snapped.

I shuddered, my body trying to somehow rid itself of the thick, oily feeling left behind by having shared thoughts, however briefly, with the man.

“He was doing magic on it,” I managed, finally, my hands back to pressing against my thighs, the muscles trembling, although I wasn’t sure whether it was from exertion or disgust.

“What kind of magic?” Parikh wanted to know.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“What was he doing?” Mason asked me.

“Chanting. Doing something with his fingers.”

“Were there sigils?”

I frowned. “I—don’t think so? But I mostly just saw his hands.”

“What does—” Parikh began.

“Probably warlock magic, then,” Mason told him. “Which would make sense if?—”

Nobody seemed to want to say it.

“If what?” Parikh asked.

Mason looked at me, clearly not wanting to say it.

I was sick of people trying to avoid saying things they thought I would be sensitive about. I didn’t like thinking about Tranquil Brook—of course I didn’t—but if there were still people doing what had been done to me and everyone else there, then I wanted them to be stopped, whether I enjoyed the process of helping or not.

“If they’re draining magic from people,” I finished for him.

“If they’rewhat?” Parikh sounded shocked.

I frowned. I’d assumed that, since he worked with Hart, and Hart had been at Tranquil Brook, Parikh would know about what had happened there.

“Hart didn’t… tell you?” Mason asked.

Parikh let out a long sigh, long fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell mewhat?”

“About Tranquil Brook,” I said.

Out of the corner of one eye I saw Mason look at me, assessing. He did that a lot when he thought I was likely to be upset by something.

I try not to get upset.

When I get upset, people get hurt. Or die. It doesn’t seem worth it.

That wasn’t a problem with my Arcana-induced psychic ability. That particular ‘gift,’ to borrow Sylvia’s term, I’d been born with.