Free Pack of Lies by Laura Anne Gilman Page B

knew exactly what she was going to say, especially on matters of such importance. Carl was far too good a planner to bringher smoke and mirrors; something was up. Something that pleased him, and thought it would also please her.
    â€œAll right,” she allowed, leaning back and nodding. “You have my attention.”

four
    By the time we reached the pecan tart, I’d gotten the ground under me, again, and was feeling kind of silly for overreacting. “Dinner was, as always, delightful.” It was—J was a fabulous cook, and an even better conversationalist. “But I should scoot—they’re going to expect us in the office at Oh-god-Early again.”
    J smiled briefly, honestly amused. “The thought of you being a nine-to-fiver…”
    â€œMore like eight-to-eight,” I said, and like that was a trigger, a yawn almost cracked my jaw open, loud enough that I was embarrassed. “It’s not the company, I promise.”
    â€œYou used to run three days without sleep,” he observed, standing to gather plates from the table. “You’re getting old, Bonita.”
    â€œAnd you’re getting younger,” I said, standing to helphim clear the table. A wave of exhaustion hit me, almost knocking me back into my chair.
    â€œBonita?” J moved pretty fast for an old guy. “Are you all right?”
    â€œYeah, just…” I had to double-check to make sure what the problem was. “Wow. My tank sprang a leak somewhere.” I wasn’t about to tell J how much our work took out of me—it would just be another thing for him to worry about.
    There is no sigh like a mentor’s sigh. “When was the last time you sourced, Bonnie? Not merely a hit here or there, either.”
    I couldn’t remember, so I just shrugged, a bit of body language that I knew would drive him crazy. Even as a kid I’d forgotten to recharge regularly…back then, it hadn’t really mattered. I could go months, sometimes, without hitting empty. Now? Two days seemed to be the max.
    There were different ways to recharge, but mostly it came down to choosing between wild current, or man-made. Wild current was exactly that—magic that formed from a natural charge. Current ran alongside electricity, in ways we still didn’t quite understand but were more than happy to use. So thunderstorms, ley lines, any focused electrons we can lay magical hands on, that was how we sourced wild current. Nick claimed he knew someone who could pull current directly from the atmosphere, but I think he was full of shit, because you’d either get so little it would be useless, or overrush your brains out and leave you a twitching, grinning wreck. No thanks.
    Fortunately for us, anything that carried electricity alsocarried some amount of current. That was where man-made current came from—modern generators. The old stories were a crock—modern technology didn’t kill magic, it enhanced it, gave it another burst of always-accessible power in the form of generated electricity. Thank god, because I really hated sourcing wild. A portable computer or phone: that was a small hit. An apartment building’s electrical system: more. A power plant? Smorgasbord. That’s why so many of us lived in cities: 24-hour access where something was always turned on and working.
    And why, every now and again, the entire power grid went dark, because some nitwit Talent had pulled too much, too hard. Bad enough to short out your own electronics. Taking down the grid got you Idiot Hall of Fame status.
    â€œBonnie…”
    I smiled up at him, as innocent a look as I could manage, and he gave up. “I’ll send you home, but you have to promise to recharge, all right?”
    I held up my hand in solemn oath, and he believed me.
    J was a master craftsman: he dropped me neatly into the middle of my living space, with only a slight wooziness that passed with a blink and