EMRYS

BEING WITHOUT MAGIC was a different type of hell.

Emrys had been on the couch for an hour, straining to link his consciousness to the Soulbound amulet he'd left with Bobbi, but the darkness behind his lids spoke volumes over the quiet. While he hated to admit it, Mystia was right. He needed rest. In such a weakened state, he wouldn't stand a chance at communing with Bobbi from a world away.

It didn't make it any less defeating.

Opening his eyes, he did a sweep of the room. There hadn't been a peep since Mystia took Eva down the hall—and even when he listened with a keen ear, it seemed he was truly alone.

Just bending to the side long enough to reach his satchel proved difficult. The stiffness ravaging his joints made the simple movement strenuous, and by the time he rolled onto his back once again, a sharp breath hissed from his gritted teeth. He grabbed at the bag, now lying limp on his chest, until his fingers found a small side pocket.

Emrys unclasped the compartment's wooden button to remove two silver necklace chains. Each was attached to their own Runestone: one a light blue and the other solid black. A frown puckered his lips as he untangled their chains and slipped the onyx pendant back into its pocket.

The blue amulet warmed the closer he held it to his chest, gripped so tight that his nails dug into his palm. He let out a relieved sigh at the tingling sensation that emanated from the trinket, strengthening while the seconds ticked by.

It was a good sign. More than he'd had in months.

Shutting his eyes, he concentrated on the stone's power. Its energy transferred to him, soothing the agonizing ache in his body. Soft colors permeated his vision and hazy shapes formed within the darkness.

"Amaya," he whispered. "We need your help."

The colors vanished as soon as they had begun. Even the stone's warmth cooled, cutting the flow of power to his weakened body and bringing pain back to the surface.

She had shut him out. Again.

Emrys couldn't help but think back to all those months prior, as he stood at the edge of the Guardian's Dell. Amaya had pressed the amulet into his hand, while nearby roars had signaled the Corrupted barreling down on them.

"Get through the Barrier," she had told him. "You'll be weak, but you can siphon my power from this. It will be enough to keep you alive."

And, with those words, she had vanished into the trees.

It hadn't lasted more than a day. No matter how many times he tried to commune with her, or how hard he pleaded, Amaya never answered the call. Eventually, he had given up trying.

He should have known that another attempt would be fruitless.

"Dammit, Amaya," he muttered. "Where are you?"

When the sound of pattering feet infiltrated the silence, he winced.

"I told you to rest. Your friend listens better than you do."

Emrys opened his eyes. Mystia leaned against the archway to the hall, thigh holsters dangling from one hand. An amused grin dented her cheeks with playful dimples.

"Is she out?" he asked.

Mystia pushed herself from the wall and walked toward the fireplace, dropping her holsters in one of the empty lounge chairs. "Like a light." She snickered, searching through the decanters on the mantle. "Thought it'd take a lot more coaxing with all that anxious energy. It radiated from her pores before she ever walked into the tavern."

She retrieved an amber-colored Nectar from the shelf, along with a frosted tumbler from a hanging rack beside the fireplace. Emrys smiled. Glowing Hell was one of her more potent brews, and thus, his longtime favorite.

As Mystia turned, her form morphed. It began with her skin, darkening from its sun-kissed complexion to the color of fresh moss, and stretching her ears to a soft, elongated point. Her hair retreated back into her scalp, coming just below her chin in a blunt bob. Starting at a shade darker than Eva's auburn locks, it transitioned to a navy blue that appeared black in the firelight.

Even her well-toned body and furry, goat-like legs transformed into a slender, humanoid build that was not even five feet tall. Her off-the-shoulder dress adjusted to the change, staying securely in place rather than hanging from her petite frame.

Though Emrys had grown used to her satyr disguise over the years, he much preferred when she could be herself. She had taken the best of her goblin and elven ancestries in an exotically beautiful mix. But, as one of the last of her kind, it pained him to know that one foot outside the tavern would have her executed for her goblinoid blood.

"Cut her some slack," said Emrys. "You'd be nervous too if you went from writing books to plunging into an alternate reality. The poor woman's been through hell."

But Eva hadn't been the only one.

Emrys' mind flashed back to Kali's attack on Ambrosia's Brew. The wild fear in Bobbi's eyes as her former friend tried to kill her, and her life's work was reduced to a smoldering pile of ash... all thanks to him. It had been his fire that burned away her home.

His fault. It was always his fault.

The moment he felt his eyes sting, he swallowed hard to keep the emotion under control, but Mystia's softened gaze told him he was too late. Thankfully, she made no remarks while she pulled the cork from her bottle.

"So, that's Evanescence?"

"Eva," he corrected. "She only uses her full name for writing. Doesn't think a 'magical' name like that fits an ordinary librarian."

Emrys smiled as his thoughts drifted back to his old workspace and the numerous times he had used her full name, called her Coffee Bean, or poked fun at her written romance about himself. Anything to make her face turn red.

The more he recalled their playful banter, he couldn't help but compare the bubbly woman he'd always known to the current Eva—a terror-stricken mess, cracking under pressure he'd never wanted upon her shoulders.

His smile faltered.

Mystia stepped closer, pouring the glowing amber liquid into her tumbler. Her eyes—now a blood red shade—flicked between the glass and his somber demeanor. After brief hesitation, she handed him the remainder of her nearly-full bottle.

"Eva isn't the only one having a rough night." Her words half-echoed into her glass as she took a measured sip. "Want to talk about it?"

He paused with the bottle grazing his bottom lip. The offer was tempting, and her talks were often helpful, but the emotion constricting his throat kept him quiet.

Instead, he took a long swig. It was a welcome sensation, with honey and fig coating his tongue in sweetness while undertones of apricot and herbal syrups warmed him from the inside. It was a wonderful change from the bitter, asphalt-tasting Earthly alcohol. A second sip enhanced its effects and tripped pleasure within his brain.

"You can't keep it in, Em," Mystia interrupted, tapping her long fingers against her glass. "You'll combust again—and from the looks of it, you can't risk that kind of power expulsion."

She nodded to his gray hand, still resting across his chest with the blue Runestone firmly within its grasp. Sighing, she made her way over to the nearest lounge chair and took a seat.

"Has Amaya found a cure?" she asked.

Emrys took another long drink, unsure if he wanted to answer. As he swallowed, he could already feel the Nectar's intoxication spreading throughout his body. It numbed the pain and created a haze around his muddled thoughts. Glancing down at the bottle, he wondered how a trivial amount had brought a buzz that wouldn't normally invade his mind until his third glass. His tolerance must have decreased in the time he'd been gone.

Had it really been that long?

"I'm not sure," he told her. "Communication has never been her strong suit."

It never changed. Amaya had been known for dropping by unannounced, throwing him and Thana into a mission, and disappearing for weeks at a time. Every time the cycle repeated, they had rushed to assist her, but Emrys wondered if she would ever do the same for him.

Still, Amaya always had answers to questions that no one else could solve—so, when Mystia dismissed his words with a roll of her eyes, Emrys hurried to speak first.

"Amaya promised to be in touch when she got a lead. Obviously, she doesn't have one yet."

"If she's trying at all." Mystia swirled the Nectar in her glass. "I've never trusted that woman. Think about how many of her missions went awry. She nearly got you both killed, and then she had the audacity to send you off to some other world—"

"What choice did I have?"

"I could've helped you." She choked on her words, the whites of her eyes carrying the same crimson shade as her irises. "You and I would have had this solved long ago if you hadn't been foolish enough to go along with her 'plan.' Instead, I've spent the last six months grieving a man who was still alive."

The following silence dropped an anchor on Emrys' shoulders, sinking him with guilt that had haunted him since Thana went down in battle so long before.

The other necromancers had warned him to leave her, assuring him they would find some way to bring her back without exposing themselves to her deadly power. He had refused to listen. Instead, he'd lifted Thana into his arms and carried her back to the tavern for a proper burial.

While her Touch hadn't killed him instantly, the drain on his life force had been immediate. Enough that Mystia had sensed it from deep within the Sanctum and met them before they reached the tavern door, face awash with dread. But the pain in her eyes then had been nothing compared to what they both had assumed would be their final goodbye: the day Amaya sent him through the Barrier to live his remaining days on Earth.

"I thought you were dead."

Emrys let another gulp of Nectar slide down his throat. "I should be."

"How long do you have?"

"I don't know. Being away from magic slowed my progression just like Amaya said it would. My powers were getting weaker on Earth, too, but the second I stepped foot back here..." Emrys held up his hand, void of color to the base of his wrist. "It gets worse when I call on the hellfire."

"You have to be more careful. We've already lost Thana... and I can't lose you again, too."

"About that..." Emrys rubbed the side of his face. "Eva's visions stopped the moment Thana died, until the other night."

Mystia's complexion gave way to a paler green. She pulled the glass from her lips and leaned forward on her elbows. "What are you saying?"

"Thana has been trying to communicate with her. I don't know how, but—"

He paused when Mystia stood, swiping at bleary eyes with one hand and tapping her glass to her chin with the other.

"A curse like the Touch usually leaves its inhabitant's skin upon death," she said, pacing the floor with purpose. "If she's alive, that would explain why touching her is killing you." She took a swig and swished it around her mouth in thought. "But if she isn't dead, where is she?"

Just the possibility made Emrys' brain hurt. He downed another absent-minded swallow to ease his throbbing head. It was then that he peeked down into the bottle and noticed just how much Nectar was gone.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's the million dollar question, ain't it?"

Mystia turned, clearly puzzled by the reference, but made no comment as she resumed pacing. "If anything, the best clue we have is sleeping down the hall. But there's something off about that girl."

Even through the fog in his mind, her words made Emrys perk up his head. "What?"

"Oh, don't get all hot under the collar." Mystia dismissed his defensive expression with a wave of her glass. "I put my knife to her throat after she botched our phrase. Thought she was a spy, but when she started begging me to look for you... her eyes went black."

Emrys paused mid-sip.

"I thought I was seeing things," she continued, "but I wasn't about to take that risk. There's only one person I know whose eyes have done that."

Emrys' mouth turned to sandpaper. "Thana."

There was no other explanation. Any time Thana used her natural abilities, her emotions ran high, or she concentrated too hard on a ritual, her eyes darkened to inky wells.

Eva had always had a connection to her through dreams, but her eyes? That was new. In all the time he'd known her, not once had her irises been anything but pale green—and with all the times he'd picked on her until she nearly snapped, she would've had plenty of opportunities to show it.

"You always did have a thing for demonic eyes."

The words halted Emrys' swimming thoughts. He tilted his head, unsure if it was the Nectar or the weakness making him slow to understand Mystia's statement.

"Don't try to fool me." She made her way closer to him. "I see the way you look at her."

Emrys gulped. "You think Eva and I...?"

"A lot can happen in six months," she said, sitting on the arm of the couch so that he had to crane his neck to see her. "Care to elaborate?"

His deer-in-the-headlights expression wouldn't help his case, no matter how much he tried to defend himself. It was simple.

A lot had happened in six months.

When he had first arrived on Earth, he spent his first week recovering in his new apartment, waiting—hoping—for Amaya to be wrong. That Earth's deprivation of magic would drain him even faster and his body would crumble back to ash. After losing Thana, he had wanted nothing more. He wouldn't have to fight again for another thousand years when he was reborn with no memory. No pain.

But when he grew stronger instead, he had thrown himself into his mission to protect Eva—his final connection to the woman he loved. It had taken herculean effort to bring himself to the library for a job application, hidden behind his second form and a new name, but he had done it.

And Eva changed everything.

Not only had she given him a friend when he had no one else to lean on, but seeing her warm smile day after day, even when he could only provide a cup of her favorite coffee in return, gave him a new appreciation for the time he had left. For his newfound freedom. Eva had become the reason he got out of bed every morning.

Though, as time passed, her presence brought old emotions to the surface that he had sworn to never let himself feel again. Ones that warmed his insides and struck him with terror at the same time. Emotions he knew were painfully mutual even before she invited him out for a drink, judging by the glimmer in her eyes any time he got a little too close or said just the right words.

Turning her down had been much harder than he'd wished, but accepting her offer would've meant giving her hope—and that hope would've only brought her more heartache when he met his inevitable end. No matter how much it killed him inside, he wouldn't allow her to feel the same grief he battled over Thana.

It was a pain she didn't deserve.

A sharp pang zapped his chest as he forced himself to look at Mystia, who watched him with an expectant smirk.

"There's nothing to tell." Unable to hold her stare for more than a moment, he brought the bottle to his lips yet again. Nectar would wash down the guilt sooner or later.

Mystia tapped the neck of his bottle. "Get a few more of these into you and we'll see how fast your story changes. You've always been an honest drunk."

Emrys glanced inside the bottle. Weighing his options, he wondered if the numbing he craved was worth the risk of spilling his guts to the friend who would never let him hear the end of it. Before he could make his decision, a set of long fingers plucked the drink from his hand.

"But not tonight." Mystia nudged his shoulder with the bottle playfully. "I'll need you on your game tomorrow... or as much as you can be."

With that, she stood from the arm of the couch and returned the Nectar to its resting place upon the mantle.

"You know," she said, "even after you left for Earth, I kept tinkering with that telepathic spell we'd been formulating. Thought it would come in handy for reading my patrons' minds when they're too sloshed to tell me what they want."

A heavy sigh left his lips. Of course she hadn't given up on the one project she had threatened him with after the first time he tried hiding something from her—and, with the devilish smirk she flashed over her shoulder, he knew she had succeeded in her attempts.

Emrys threw his head back against the pillow. "I can't believe you."

Her laugh echoed in his ears.

"You really are an honest drunk," she said. "Especially with a more potent brew to bring out your most rambling thoughts."

Emrys flicked a gray middle finger in her direction.

Mystia only laughed harder. "Good night, my lovesick fire child."

The snap of her fingers snuffed out the lights floating above their heads. Long shadows fell across the common room, bathing them in the fireplace's orange glow. Mystia's footsteps padded softly on the carpet as she headed off for bed, leaving Emrys with only the crackling hearth to keep him company.

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