Page 10 of Cerulean Truth (Sapere #1)

I sank into my couch staring at him in disbelief.

"We have to report her immediately!" I practically yelled at him.

"She could hurt someone... or worse, kill someone!

Or herself. Fuck, she must be terrified.

" I sprang back to my feet, ready to raise the alarm, but Stephen grabbed me, pulling me back.

"I'm not finished," he said firmly.

"What more could there possibly be?"

Stephen took a deep breath. "She doesn't know about it yet."

I blinked, stunned into silence once again.

"What?" I asked, my voice surprisingly calm, a tone I barely recognized as my own.

"I tried to talk to her, and I think I got her to realize something was up, but she ran out on me after our conversation and I’m not so sure she believed me,” he sighed.

Yup. That’s worse.

“And you don’t want to report this?” I hissed.

"No," he said firmly. "I want you to come with me and talk to her again." He practically ordered me, but I shook my head in absolute refusal before he could finish his sentence.

“No way, Stephen, that’s a recipe for disaster. I struggle enough with emotions and all that human shit as it is, not to mention I have no social skills whatsoever. I’d probably end up confusing or scaring her even more,” I declared with unwavering conviction.

“James, you’re the only one who can,” he insisted. “You’re uniquely qualified considering your own background and you’re being groomed as Leader. This falls right under your jurisdiction so to speak. Or at least it will in the near future.”

I shook my head again. “No, if I go behind the Council’s back on this, there won’t be any Leadership in my future, Stephen. I don’t know how you can even ask this of me. And you’re not helping her by doing this on your own either, you know. She’s in as much danger as her surroundings are.”

Stephen cocked a brow. “I've never known you as a rule follower, James. You're choosing an odd time to change a lifelong habit of breaking rules,” he remarked dryly.

“I kind of have to if I’m the one implementing them,” I said through my teeth.

Stephen leaned back into the chair and smiled humorlessly while eyeing me.

I suppressed a grunt, knowing all too well what was about to follow and so did he.

This was the part where Stephen would try to convince me to do something I didn’t want to do.

As he had done many times before. And we both knew I was going to do exactly what he wanted. As I had done many times before.

After only forty-five fucking minutes—which was a lot faster than I cared to admit—I conceded, of course, and agreed to talk to this new maga of his without informing anyone, all the while risking everything I had worked for in the last twenty-four years.

“So, what did you tell her exactly?” I queried, defeated.

“Not much, I told her she was a maga. I implied she had magic, but before I could get really into it, she made up an excuse and ran out on me.” He shrugged while smiling, amused at the memory. I failed to see any humor in it.

“Fine, we’ll go tomorrow,” I decided. “But if we’re doing this, without anyone knowing, we have to make sure she understands how dangerous she is.”

Stephen agreed and assured me he would let me do most of the talking.

“And if I feel the situation escalating, I will take the necessary precautions,” I threatened.

I didn’t look at him but I could feel him rolling his eyes at me. I chose to ignore him, as well as all the memories rushing back, in which I was the one breaking the rules and he was the one “taking necessary precautions.”

“We’ll meet at dawn tomorrow. She goes into work rather early, so we can catch her before,” he concluded and stood up.

He created a portal and waved me a short goodbye, before disappearing into thin air.

I fell back on my bed and closed my eyes, left with nothing but a daunting feeling about what was to come.

The next morning, I woke up with a rare sense of anticipation, increasingly very curious what this girl would be like. I met up with Stephen at six a.m., opened up a portal to Boston, and found myself on Main Street a few seconds later.

"There she is!" he exclaimed almost immediately on arrival and rushed up to her. "Emma!"

As he reached her, he tried to grab her arm, quickly flashing a comforting smile.

She turned around when they made contact, but her eyes widened in fear, and without a second thought, she bolted. She fled the scene so quickly, she nearly left skid marks on the pavement that spelled out "Get the fuck away from me" in bold letters.

Stephen blinked, taken aback, and I raised a brow.

This was utterly absurd. Stephen, one of the most respected magi of our time, a war hero even, who people usually chased after for an autograph or a picture, was now chasing after a young woman who was fleeing from him as though he were a threat to her life.

Come to think of it, perhaps that’s exactly how she felt.

Realizing this girl, or woman, was leading a life she wanted, a life she believed was real, I figured, maybe she didn’t want to hear the truth out of fear of having to give it up. Well, she would simply have to, not just for her sake but for all of our sakes.

I watched as Stephen caught up with her and I hastily joined his side. “Hi,” I said quickly, before she ran again. “I’m James. James Walker.” I tried using my most seductive voice. Considering my success rate with women, I figured my chances were pretty good.

“I don’t care,” she said angrily, as she pulled her arm from Stephen’s grip and backed away from us. Okay, so maybe my seductive voice wasn’t completely failsafe.

I squared my shoulders and attempted to stare her into submission, shooting a fierce, narrowed gaze her way to assert my dominance.

But she didn't seem taken aback by it. Instead, her lips tightened, and her nostrils flared a bit, making me wonder if anger was her go-to response whenever she felt out of control.

Which struck a chord with me; I understood all too well how that worked.

"We don’t want to hurt you, but we really need to talk to you. Please just give us ten minutes, and we’ll be on our way," I said, my voice steady as I tried to mask the lie.

She simply raised an eyebrow, as if to say, "Yeah, right."

"Please, talk to us,” Stephen almost pleaded.

She turned to him and sighed, probably realizing we wouldn’t leave until she caved. “All right, you have five minutes,” she agreed reluctantly. “But we return to the coffeehouse over there.” She pointed.

I wasn’t entirely sure, but I could swear she muttered “publicly” under her breath. I had to bite my lip to keep me from snorting derisively. It all seemed kind of insane—us, risking everything to retrieve someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with us.

As we strolled towards the coffeehouse, I prodded her about her typical coffee order, aiming to ease her obvious anxiety with mundane conversation. Talk about epic fail.

Arriving at the coffeehouse, I stepped in ahead of Stephen and Emma to order our coffees. As Emma entered, I turned around and finally took a moment to study her more closely.

She appeared to be in her early twenties, with a rather conventional appearance—no tattoos, no piercings, straight brown hair, big blue eyes, a few freckles gracing her nose, and notably voluptuous curves.

Round hips, well-formed breasts, everything regular men supposedly want in a woman.

With every stride, she exuded an air of self-confidence, but more importantly, as she walked toward me, her bosom rose and fell gently with each step.

She displayed a very inviting cleavage, which was not an entirely unpleasant sight.

I felt my “manhood” twitch and I realized irregular men, like us magi, also appreciated the sight of her. However, considering the way she was glaring at us, she was clearly not appreciating the sight of us, at all.

Putting down the three black coffees, I had her sit down near the window, hoping it would make her feel more at ease. Stephen nodded at me to begin saying what needed to be said. I sat up a little straighter and tried to smile, so as not to frighten her with my regularly scheduled scowl.

"Ahem." I cleared my throat discreetly, trying to hide the fact I had no idea how to start off the conversation.

Unlike my typical indifference around women, adrenaline was now pumping through my veins; every part of me was on high alert and I felt strangely inadequate.

Not like there was a manual on how to tell a twenty-something year old human—without any magi belief system—she might not be human at all and would probably blow up her entire city if she didn’t follow us home.

She kept those piercing eyes on me, as if she was sizing me up and I detected a red mark in her right eye. It was small, almost invisible, but I noticed it because it resembled a hunter’s mark.

“So Emma,” I started off slowly and she flinched at the mentioning of her name. “I know this must be all very confusing for you but it’s crucial you understand the situation you’re in.”

I took a deep breath. “I know you’re probably thinking?”

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her. I cocked a brow in surprise. Damn, that woman had some walls up.

“Okay, so tell me,” I murmured soothingly, trying to shift the conversation's tone, not fazed by her hostility one bit. However, she continued to stay silent, her angry gaze still locked onto us without a single blink.

Taking a sip of my coffee, I studied her face. Her expression hardened under my assessing stare, which struck me as both absurd and kind of refreshing. Absurd because we were there solely for her benefit, yet secretly I admired her determination to make us work for it.