Free Witch Eyes by Scott Tracey Page A

would never have sacrificed comfort for couture.
    But otherwise the resemblance was unmistakable.
    “That will be all, Lucien,” he said, his voice reverberating through the room. Lucien dipped his head in a nod and closed the door from the outside.
    Alone, I stared at the man who could only have been Jason Thorpe. Lucien’s boss.
    My father.

Eleven
    “Hello, Braden,” Jason Thorpe said.
    I took another step backwards, my legs smacking against Lucien’s desk. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Lunch was hours ago, but between the growing pulse in my head, and now the rebellion in my stomach, it was only a matter of time.
    Thi s is some sort of joke. A test. My father was in the room with me. “What are you doing here?” I whispered, as if someone was listening .
    Jason kept his distance, crossing to the far side of the room and looking out the window. There was a clear shot to the door—if nothing else, I knew I could be out the door and out into the offices before he could catch up. His stuffy leather shoes couldn’t keep up with tennis shoes.
    The headache was growing in intensity, threatening to split my brain right down the middle. “Lucien’s been treating you well? He hasn’t given you any trouble?”
    He was so casual, like this was any ordinary conversation. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dust. “No, Jason. No trouble.”
    “I was surprised when he told me you’d be returning to Belle Dam, but I learned long ago never to doubt his counsel.” He turned and strode behind the desk, taking the seat Lucien had so recently abandoned. “Have a seat, Braden.”
    “I’ll stand.” It was stupid, because my head was starting to throb so much that sitting would have been so much better. Actually, curling into a ball on the floor would have been the best, but I’d have to wait until I could get b ack to the hotel for that.
    Jason’s mouth moved upwards, proving he was capable of smiling, but the expression didn’t look quite right. “Yes, you are headstrong, aren’t you?” he murmured. Apparently it pleased him. And just as quickly his voice got sharp … and concerned? “What’s wrong?”
    My legs had started shaking, the mere idea of sitting enough to throw them into rebellion. And so I sank into one of the chairs, as much as I didn’t want to. Jason, the room, all of it vanished as I focused inward. It took everything in me to hold my stomach down and not sink into unconsciousness.
    I couldn’t even reach for the pills in my book bag. Why hadn’t I taken them earlier, at the first sign of the headac he? What was wrong with me?
    My hands were cupped around my eyes, blocking out as much of the light as they could. I focused on my breathing, the way my uncle had taught me. When Jason laid his hands on me, like he was some sort of priest, I flinched in surprise.
    His palms were on either side of my face, his fingers pressing against my temples. My face was flush, but his hands were a balming ice against my skin. At the edges of my awareness I could feel him gathering the magic around him. Slowly the ice began to seep into my skin, crackling and spreading its way inside and soothing away the pain.
    It was several minutes of breathing before I realized just what was happening. It was like I zoned out for a time, and when I came back to myself, the pain was gone. Completely.
    I started to lift my head, only to realize that Jason was still holding my head. He let go and rose to his feet, and I looked down at my hands. There wasn’t any trace of the scrapes or scratches I’d suffered on the street.
    Jason healed me? How is that even possible? Uncle John had never even mentioned magic that could heal or take away pain.
    “I wouldn’t get used to it,” Jason announced, clearing his throat. He seemed shaken.
    “How … did you do that?”
    He walked back across the room and stared down at the city. “The powers at your disposal, they have more costs than you know. You can heal the symptoms once