Page 8 of Seared Fates

Quickly, I wash my sleepless night down the drain and get out as the spray turns tepid. Once dried, I shove on a comfy pair of black sweats, a grey hoodie and my leather jacket.

“Today is going to be a good day,” I assure myself as I organise my tablet, to-do list with unicorn pencil and backup charger into their proper places in my messenger bag.

It’s before I leave, when I glance at my reflection in the fingerprint-smeared mirror, that I pause.

‘I refuse to have a mate who looks like you.’

How long have I been tugging at the braids covering the left side of my face, I wonder. Long enough to irritate the skin into a glowing red.

My shoulders drop.

‘Today will be a good day,’ I remind myself, gaze turning away from my reflection as if it betrayed me. Away from the nervous tic I wish I could stop, but can’t. ‘Today will be… a good day.’

And I keep repeating it even as my shoulders continue to lower.

***

It’s still dark when I arrive at the tattoo studio. The lights might be off, but even in the dim I can make out the grinning skeleton King of Hearts on the front window.King’s Tattoo Studiowritten in a red flourish at the top.

My little Mini Cooper’s headlights eye me sadly as I turn my back on it, and I resist the part of me that wants to cover it in ablanket against the bitter Winter winds, even as I shy away from looking it directly head-on; she might give me panic attacks, but I love my girl. I bounce on the balls of my feet as I unlock the front door with a click. The belldingsas I slip in from the cold, and I’m faster to turn the heating on and start boiling the kettle before I even consider the lights.

While I wait for my first cuppa of the day, I step into my little slice of heaven—my office.

A collage of band and art posters are jigsawed together on my walls. A pinned twenty-pound note for the first-ever tattoo I got paid for. My backless swivel stool covered in stickers from the many punk concerts Apollo’s dragged me to. My obnoxiously purple hydraulic treatment chair was a gift from Luuk when I became a fully qualified artist.

It’s when I plant myself at my desk—curse words and dicks carved into the wood top, a cartoon dude flipping me off with both hands (my little brother Teagan’s masterpiece, front and centre)—that I finally feel like my truest self. It doesn’t matter what I don’t have; just look at what I do.

Quickly shooting a ‘good morning’ to my family group chat, I light a scentless candle. The smell of warmed wax is more comforting than any perfume. When the kettle pops, I get up with my head bent to read the texts beginning to roll in.

Thomas replying ‘Ohayo’, which is Japanese for good morning, apparently.

Teagan asking why the fuck I’m up so early.

Dad tells him not to swear.

I snicker when Mum agrees that the ass crack of dawn is ridiculous.

But as I head towards the kitchen, I run straight into something solid and my phone nearly slips from my fingers as a high-pitched cry—not mine this time—pierces the air.

“Jesus, Kai! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Summer?” I gasp, pressing my phone to my thumping heart. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Babe.” She cocks her overall-covered hip and rests her hand there, every finger decorated with black rings. “I told you yesterday, I’ll be down here every morning this week painting the basement. Ya know, the job Apollo is paying me for.”

After a beat, I let out the breath I’d swallowed. “Right. Sorry, mate. My head’s been all over the place. Want a cuppa?”

Summer’s quick to smile, hazel eyes sparkling as she nods in the direction of the kitchen. “Sounds good, lead the way.”

Summer’s 5’3 with a tight ponytail that sways as we make it into the kitchen, and from her unlined white skin, you’d sooner guess she was an art student than an eighty-year-old powerful shadow mage.

We round the corner into the rectangular space. The floor, cabinets, and ceiling are stained smoker-yellow; it’s been this way since Apollo bought the building, and he doesn’t seem to have any desire to change it.

I grab two tea bags. “You don’t need to get the painting done immediately. Especially after blood mages tried to kill us and everything.”

She shrugs as if that's a common occurrence for her. Well, maybe it is, because…“Kai, I might be the coolest shadow mage you know—”

“The only one I know.”