I stand with one hand leaning on the changing room wall, the other pressed to my brow, feeling dizzy and sick. A nameless ache fills my chest: not the sting of betrayal, or the burn of exhaustion, but a hollow desolation that is somehow worse than both.

In the store beyond the little stall, I hear Lyssa's voice: first, speaking to the shop owner; then, low and urgent as she talks to Marcus on her phone.

"Yes! I've got him here! .... I don't think so. He's alone. .... No, He thinks you're controlling me! He's—"

She opens the door of the changing room and sees the bit of lace in my hand, and her eyes widen with surprise as she lowers the phone from her ear.

"Sylas, you..."

"Broke your spell, yeah."

I turn and lay the crocheted fabric on the bench, like I'm laying a flower on the coffin of a friend. Straightening, I blink against the threat of blackness at the edges of my vision, and realize my exhaustion and raw emotions have pushed me to the edge. I need to get moving before I fall down.

Pushing past Lyssa, I head for the exit; she follows, catching me at the door.

"Sylas, wait! Marcus just wants to help! I want to—"

I shake her off. "I don't need your help, Lyssa. When you need mine, I'll be there, if I can. I'm sorry I've let you down."

"What!? Sylas!" She starts to follow me outside, but stops. She's still wearing the dress, and leaving the store in it would probably count as theft. "Sylas, please! Just trust me!"

I pause at her words and look back. Mascara-tinted tears stain her face, and she looks young and lost. Her words catch at me like sticky fingers, innocent and sweet, and for a moment I hesitate—out of spite. Letting Marcus get his hands on me is a sure-fire way to end her starry-eyed dreams.

Then I really look at her, and the feeling fades, leaving only a weary sorrow in its place.

She looks young because she is young, if no longer quite innocent. I'm not much older, but while Lyssa might tell me to 'grow up' from time to time, she has no idea what 'growing up' really means. She doesn't know the petty things that used to keep me up at night.

Did I pay that bill, or is it due tomorrow? Did I fill out the right form? Can I afford that outfit Lyssa wants for school? How much can I spend on food this week?

Things no amount of Craft can remedy.

She'll find out soon enough, if she gets the chance. I intend to make sure she does, and that means not getting caught. If Marcus is only a few streets over, as she'd said, he could be here in minutes.

I walk back towards my sister and take her hands. I've little magic to spare, but I don't need much: just enough for her to sense my sincerity. Calling on the depleted well of energy at my core, I summon a little tendril and imagine it infusing my words with weight and strength.

"Lyss, if you love me, believe this at least: you don't know everything. Please don't send Marcus after me, and don't tell him what I look like. I'm begging you—this is life or death. Understand?"

She stares at me, teary-eyed and pale, but then—to my immense relief—she nods.

"Okay. Okay, Sylas. I promise."

"Good." I give her what I hope is a believable smile. Then I bite my lip and take a risk. "If things... change... with Marcus—if you need me—contact Aurelio. He can help."

She nods again, and then I let her go, and disappear into the moving, sidewalk crowd.

~

As long as she keeps her word, I should be okay. That's a big if, I know, given she just Spelled me, but something in her voice told me she really meant no harm. She might not be Spelled herself, but she honestly believes what she's been told.

Which I hope to all the gods means Marcus treats her so well she has no reason to doubt him; people manipulate and control one another all the time without magic, after all.

I retrace my steps, heading back towards the busy street market, where I'll be even more difficult to find, but I'm only about halfway there when another wave of dizziness hits me. The pavement dips and rolls beneath my feet, and I lean against the rough brick siding of an old pub to steady myself.

I need Jaxon.

Casting about, I spot a narrow alleyway between two old buildings, barely wide enough for three people to walk abreast. A pile of black trash bags lies heaped against one wall, about halfway down, and I make for this, praying it's not full of cockroaches and rats. For trash, it doesn't smell too bad, and I sit on the far side of it, at the base of a rusty fire escape. Pulling my pack around to my front, I dig out my phone and swear as the screen remains dark except for the red battery of death.

Some Crafters love technology; others seem to curse everything electronic they touch. I'm the latter kind. My phone is cheap, but new, and it's supposed to hold a charge for days.

Then again, it's been days since I charged it.

"Fuck." I snap it shut and let it fall into my bag, then let my head fall against the grimy bricks at my back and close my eyes. "Fuck me."

I'm not far enough from the clothes shop. Even if Lyssa points Marcus in the wrong direction, he could find me easily. Especially if he has Inquisitors at his beck and call. A localized tracking spell will pinpoint my location, and then...

"Jaxon..." His image rises before my eyes, even as his name escapes me with my breath. "Gods, I'm sorry. I fucked up bad."

A shiver courses through me, and my mind begins to drift.

This is just great, I think. The Lovecraft siblings: a study in opposites. My sister is dripping diamonds, and I'm waiting to be taken out with the trash.

Another shiver wracks my frame, and I curse my weakness.

It's not just the magical exhaustion; if it was just that, I'm pretty sure I could get up and keep walking; I could get myself somewhere safe—back to campus, even.

It's the fear that steals my strength, and I'd thought I was over it.

The first time I had a panic attack, I didn't know what was wrong with me. It was a few months after Mom and Dad died, and I'd finally slowed down enough to contemplate my new life—what I'd lost, and all the responsibilities that were now mine. It started with a weird, crawling sensation beneath my skin; my body flushing hot, then cold. I thought maybe someone had cursed me, like my parents, and then my heart began to race. Sweat broke out everywhere, darkness edged my vision, and my left arm tingled to my fingertips. I thought I was dying.

Luckily, Lyssa was at school that day, and somehow I got myself to the ER. After a few tests and an inventory of my symptoms, I was diagnosed with acute anxiety. They gave me pills and sent me home.

When I explained the meds to Lyssa—what they were and why I had them—she asked me why I didn't just ask a Crafter for a calming charm, or an herbal tincture. She could make me one herself, she said.

I tried to make her understand. After what happened to Mom and Dad, I didn't want anyone's magic touching me.

Not even hers.

It had taken years to get over that fear, and I could still barely get myself to take Aurelio's tincture, even knowing it was safe.

And it made what Lyssa had done to me just a little worse.

I hadn't needed those pills in months, and I'd hoped I never would again. I didn't even carry them with me anymore.

These thoughts pass through my mind like drifting clouds as my consciousness wavers and wanes. Maybe if I just rest a bit, I tell myself, maybe...

Someone grips my arm, and I just about die of fright. A hand closes over my mouth and stifles my startles scream, and I blink up at a tall figure silhouetted against the light. For a heartbeat, I see Jaxon; then my vision clears and I recognize the man kneeling in front of me.

"Sylas? Dear gods, are you alright?"

Aurelio's brows pinch with concern, and he lifts his hand from my mouth to let me breathe.

My words come in quick, weird little gasps. "Au...relio! What...? How...?

"What am I doing here, and how did I find you?" he says, filling in the blanks. "Jaxon's gone a bit berserker—says he can sense you're in some kind of peril or distress, which seems true enough," he adds, glancing at the piled garbage with distaste. "As for how I found you, that was mere luck. Jaxon called me, and I... took the liberty of tracing my own Craft—the tincture I gave you. To my surprise, I... happened to be nearby, and it led me right to you. But again—are you quite alright?"

"Yes, I... Yes, I think so."

"What happened?"

I shake my head. Now's not the time for explanations.

"The danger's not yet passed, I take it?"

"No. Marcus... and Inquisitors, maybe."

"Ah. Well, then."

He pulls me to my feet and slips an arm around my shoulders.

"Let's get you somewhere more... comfortable, and see if we can restore dear Jaxon to his rightful mind. He's ready to tear the city apart to find you. Does he do this often?"

"No," I gasp, as Aurelio half-drags me down the narrow alley, in the opposite direction from which I'd entered it. "Just once."

I recall the morning Yumi had first informed me of Marcus and Lyssa's impending nuptials, and how Jaxon had somehow sensed my distress.

"Well, it's rather unseemly, isn't it?" Aurelio says, and leads me out into a nearly deserted street at the back of the buildings, where employees and delivery people park. His shiny silver Jaguar stands out like... well, like a really fancy car in a junkyard.

He unlocks it and opens the door for me, and I fall into the passenger seat as gracefully as I can. He circles around to the other side and slides in behind the wheel. 

"Alright, then?"

I nod.

"Good. Best keep your head down for a bit."

I slouch in my seat, sinking beneath the level of the window.

Aurelio pulls out his phone and taps the screen, then holds it to his ear.

"Jaxon ... Yes, I've got him ... No, he's fine ... No, I don't think so. Hold on." He turns to me. "You're not hurt, are you?"

I shake my head. He returns his attention to his phone.

"No, he's not hurt ... No. Look, I'll meet you at home ... No, your home ... Yes, I know where it is ... See you there."

He ends the call and sighs, then starts the engine and pulls out onto the street.

"You know, this 'Ink & Quill' business seems like more trouble than it's worth, honestly. Don't know what Marcus wants with it," he says.

I hug myself as another shiver lances through my heart. When he hears what I've been up to, I can't help but wonder if Jaxon won't agree.