Page 49 of Ember and Ash

“Exactly.” He offers me the card, and that magical rush slides over me again. “The tank is full. Get what you want in the store.”

I accept the card, and our hands collide, the friction between us palpable to the point that I cut my stare and focus on just how much he’s taking care of me. “I have money in the bank. If we can stop by—”

“You won’t need it where we’re going, and I have plenty of money for the both of us. Get what you want, Ember.”

My eyes meet his, and I search the blue irises for answers I know I won’t find. “How do you make money?”

“You know the answer.”

“Magic.”

“Yes. Magic. We have no human limitations.”

“I’m confused by that.”

“You won’t be. Hurry. We need to get out of here.”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want?” His voice deepens in a barely perceivable way, but I notice. “That’s a complicated question,” he says. “I’ll go in with you.”

“Then you take your card.”

“Keep it in case you need it.”

“I can’t—”

“Magic, Ember. You aren’t taking anything from me. Keep the card.” He steps to my side, and he’s facing the store while I am not.

I rotate to realize it’s closed, lights out, not a soul in sight, and at this late hour, this is more logical than not. I cut Micah a sideways look. “I don’t think you’ll be putting that card to use.”

“No?”

“No.”

The stubborn man starts walking and doesn’t stop until he opens the front door of the store. He eyes me over his shoulder. “You coming?”

A mix of curiosity and confusion puckers my brow, and I cross to join him, allowing him to hold the door for me. “What is this?”

“Go inside and find out.”

Okay, then, I think. This is weird. Everything about my life is weird now. I step over the threshold, and magic plays almost like music in the air. Suddenly the lights are on, and there’s an attendant behind the counter. He waves at me and then sips his coffee.

Nephilim, I think, and Micah says, “Can you feel it?”

“Magic,” I say softly.

“Yes. Magic. There are ways to make it undetectable to anyone I don’t want to feel it, but I wanted to see if you picked up on it.”

“The minute I walked in the door.”

“But not outside?”

“No. Not outside.”

He doesn’t comment or clarify if I should have been able to feel it outside, instead motioning to the rear of the store. “We’re going out the back door.”

I glance that direction, and I’m confused all over again. “I don’t see a back door.”