Free Turning Tides by Mia Marshall Page A

exactly as he was.
    As if guessing my thoughts, he blinked, and when he looked at me again, his pupils were elongated and considerably more Simon-esque.
    “Not that I’m not thrilled to see you, but where’s Mac?” He was a difficult man to miss, as he took up at least twice the space of an average man and towered above most people. Even without his impressive size, I knew my eyes would have gone directly to him if he’d been there. They always did.
    “We need to go to him. Did you bring cash?”
    I nodded slowly. I’d hoped I’d get answers as soon as I found Simon, but he was only raising more questions. “Why?”
    “We need a cab. We weren’t able to find a parking spot, so we’re in an industrial area a couple of miles to the south. I’d rather not walk.” He cast one last, longing look at the soaring salmon, then headed toward First Avenue, leaving me to wonder just how bad traffic had become in downtown Seattle that a single vehicle couldn’t find parking.
    It was a short ride, no more than ten minutes. I spent most of that time trying to pry information out of Simon, but he only offered responses that ranged from non-committal to downright evasive.
    “You will understand in a minute,” he said, peering out the window. “Turn right up here.”
    We were in a new neighborhood south of downtown. I’d visited the area long ago, during summer break. Then, it had been a rundown neighborhood, as so often happens near the shipping centers of major cities, but artists were already discovering the cheap rent and huge loft spaces unavailable in the rest of the city. A decade was more than enough time for gentrification to run its course. Now, it was a mix of posh coffee shops and galleries, once derelict buildings rebuilt as condominiums.
    Still, even real estate-hungry computer money needs more than a decade to completely claim a neighborhood. Simon guided the cab driver to a graffiti-covered brick building with boarded up windows. There was an empty lot attached to it, the pavement pockmarked and worn. The parking lot was surrounded by a chain link fence with a broken padlock hanging from the gate. Considering there were only two vehicles in the lot, I suspected the lock was only recently broken.
    I also saw why they’d had difficulty parking. It was one thing to find an underground parking lot for an SUV. Even Seattle, a notoriously difficult city for parking, would offer some options.
    The Airstream trailer it pulled was another story.
    No one was visible through the car windows. It was a Bronco, much like the one recently demolished, though this one was newer and dark blue. If Mac was here, he was in the trailer. Part of me itched to run toward him. The other part was growing more certain by the minute that something was terribly wrong, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to face that reality.
    “Simon, what haven’t you told me?” I kept my eyes on the trailer, willing the Airstream door to open and for Mac to come bounding out, healthy and smiling and claiming he simply couldn’t wait another day to see me.
    “Pay the man.” He opened his door and stepped out, waiting.
    I shoved a twenty at the driver without looking at the meter, then joined Simon. The driver pulled away, leaving us alone in the abandoned parking lot.
    Simon turned to me, and the sadness in his eyes made my stomach turn to lead. “Mac is sick. It is as bad as anything I have ever seen, and it is getting worse. The shifter doctor in Tahoe could not help. You can. You have done it before.”
    “No. God, no. For fuck’s sake, Simon. That was an extreme situation. He was dead , if you recall.” My voice rose with each sentence.
    I hated healing. I hated moving my magic around in another person’s body, controlling the blood and organs by controlling the water that makes up a large portion of the physical body. It felt too intimate, and it was more control than I ever wanted.
    Most elementals can kill with their magic. I’d seen too