Free Lives of Magic (Seven Wanderers Trilogy) by Lucy Leiderman Page B

total loss. So much for seeing the city.
    Kian seized my arm again, his favourite spot where he liked to hold me as he saved my life, and I winced as the bruises deepened.
    “Let’s go,” he said grimly.
    A cold wind had swept over me, and I was suddenly glad to be wearing the long sleeves as I shivered like a wet cat. When the smell of salt touched my nostrils, it was sickening. I should not smell salt. Not here, not among the concrete and hot-dog vendors and cars. The magicians, if they were doing this, for the first time since I had allowed myself to believe, seemed wholly real.
    Dripping with sweat, we eventually made it back to the hotel. I didn’t know how Kian remembered the way, but my side ached and the heat and dirt of the city pricked at my skin. He seemed unfazed. The streets we had passed were loaded with people gawking and whispering in the direction of the pier. We stopped outside the big doors of the hotel, where life seemed to be business as usual.
    Kian gave me a look I hadn’t seen before. Was it meant to be reassuring? He took my hand and led me inside.
    The screens in the lobby were all playing the same footage of the horror we had come from. Underneath the images of a rolling pier, a headline read, “Fifty-four dead in latest natural disaster to hit east coast.”
    Kian was saying something. When I didn’t answer, he said, “Gwen?”
    “Hm?”
    I was embarrassed to be caught with my gaze lingering on our intertwined fingers. He ignored the red that quickly spread over my cheeks and led the way to the elevators. Luckily, our horrid appearance didn’t attract any attention as each face was turned either to a TV screen or a window.
    I was refusing to look outside. I felt exposed and unsafe, as if the sea was about to surge and swallow Manhattan. The force had seemed so huge. The power to control that would have to be enormous. How did I ever stand a chance?
    “What was that?” I asked in the elevator. My voice shook.
    “In ancient times, people believed they were a product of the earth,” Kian said, pressing the button for our floor. “So to control the people, one must control the earth. That is what they did to our home, and now they are doing it to this land. They think if they cause enough confusion and fear, they will have enough power to take control.”
    “How?”
    Kian gave me a look that made it clear I did not want to know, but I would not back down.
    “They campaign on fear. They believe to lead this country is the most powerful position in the world, and they want it.”
    “Oh.”
    The answer seemed obvious but I was still shocked an ancient magician would want to be president. To destroy the country seemed extreme.
    “That’s why they need me,” I said. It was a statement. My power to control the earth meant political power to the magicians.
    “Yes.”
    Once in our room, I bolted for the shower. I could nearly feel the day’s events clinging to my skin like the heat and dirt. My cheeks and nose were sunburnt. I climbed into the shower and stood under the cold water.
    My body and mind felt disconnected but not in the magical past-life kind of way. A thought slowly emerged: I was in shock. Stoically, with precision, I examined my emotions to determine if I was actually in a state of shock.
    The headlines repeated in my mind. Fifty-four dead. The ache in my chest began anew, and I realized what the mysterious feeling tugging at me had been. All my energy left me and I sat in the shower, hugging my knees to my chest. Guilt.
    It washed over me like the water from the showerhead. It was heavier, though, and caused me to struggle for air while tears rolled down my face. The barriers of protections that the shock had created were crumbling around me as the gravity of the situation wore in.
    If I am all-powerful, why didn’t I do something? I scolded myself. Then another thought interrupted. If that was an indication of the magicians’ power, how am I ever going to survive?
    Fear