Page 36 of Contested Crown

“We have some of their magic on us.” Rolling his wrist, Cade twisted out a fine line of magic. I recognized it from when he’d checked the Jennings’ house for spells and felt it trace over me, sliding quickly across my whole body.

He shook his head and tugged the magic back to himself, letting it run over his own skin. When it got to his ankle, it began spinning tighter and tighter, winding around itself like a spiral.

Cade crouched, yanking up his pant leg, and there, attached to his sock, was a flicker of gray magic, a bur that would give away our position no matter where we went.

Something slammed into the exit, but it was a solid door, meant to withstand riots. It shook but didn’t give.

Purple feathers slid between the cracks. We didn’t have any time. The employee who had opened the door looked between us with wide eyes, and his mouth worked for a moment before he shook his head.

“I’m out,” he said, throwing up his hands. When he ran away, I heard him shouting at his coworkers about “mage nonsense.”

“Can you destroy it?” I asked. The door shook again, more feathers yanking at it.

“Maybe,” Cade said. “If I had all my magic, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

He pursed his lips. Something hit the door, and it halfway caved in, the metal shrieking and giving under the weight of their spells.

I shook out my hand and reached down without thinking about it too hard, grabbing at the magic. My heart began racing when my fingers made contact, actually touching the small bur of power. I squeezed my fist shut, and it sparkled, snapping, burning my hand.

Then nothing. When I opened my hand, the magic was gone, crushed to nothing but ash. The door screamed, taking another pounding. Feathers streamed in, surrounding us in a vortex.

Cade’s hand was in mine, and I raised my free arm, pushing through the feathers, ignoring the slices of pain and running into the store. We almost crashed into racks of clothing, but I pulled us into an aisle, sprinting for the front door.

Two cashiers stared at us with wide eyes, one raising her phone to take a video, but then we were out the open doors and on the street. Feathers followed us, and Cade reached up, pulling his hand free from mine and throwing his own tattoos forward sharply.

A gust of wind blew the feathers off course, so they embedded themselves in the slender trunk of a tree growing on the sidewalk. We kept running, making it to the corner and then sprinting out into traffic and across the street.

One look at the street signs and I knew where we were. Grillo and Lucia, which meant we’d hit Highland next and then Cortez.

“Where are we going?” Cade panted. He licked his lips, the pink of his tongue accenting how gray he looked.

He had been using magic nonstop for two days, and even though he’d somehow gotten more magic from me, he’d explained that reusing magic like that in quick succession was like running a marathon and then turning around and doing wind sprints. A person could do it, but it was punishing.

“I have an idea,” I said. We needed somewhere they couldn’t find us, somewhere that we could blend in.

At Cortez, I turned right, grabbing Cade’s arm when he stumbled at the change in direction. His shirt was damp, and he leaned into me for a second before straightening. I released him, and he raised his chin, following me into the flow of tourists.

The Plaza Central was a holdover from when the city was a Spanish mission, surrounded by some of the last original buildings. The Spanish-style architecture was accented by vendors selling key chains and bobbleheads, a few buskers spread around the enormous plaza.

“Tourists have two benefits,” I murmured, pulling us closer to a walking tour group, the leader dressed like he was about to appear in a Clint Eastwood western, poncho and all. I didn’t let us get too close. Tour guides were notorious for demanding money from freeloaders. “There’s enough of them that we won’t stand out, and they’re hypervigilant.”

Cade raised an eyebrow at me. “Hypervigilant?”

“Absolutely convinced that everyone is trying to mug them, pickpocket them, or sell them the Los Santos bridge.”

“There is no Los Santos bridge,” Cade said.

“I know.” I grinned.

Moving with the flow of people, we ended up near the large pavilion in the center of the plaza. Music played from a speaker, and a few couples danced rhumba to the cheers of the surrounding crowds.

“It’s good you didn’t change your hair,” I said, jerking my chin.

“Oh, like anyone is going to be checking myID,” Cade snapped.

“I mean that if you want to be noticed, appearing like the most recognizable heir in the country is a great way to do that.” I watched one of the couples dancing execute a complicated series of turns. “Those mages didn’t even recognize you.”

Snorting, Cade slouched down on a nearby bench, and I took the seat next to him, my eyes scanning the crowd.