Free Smoke and Mirrors by Jess Haines

might be the only road she saw out of her problems all because he managed to yank off her mask. The deepening scent of her shame, like some sour fruit, was clinging to her even stronger than lingering scents from her job—sugar, coffee, and bread—and the cheap lavender detergent she used on her clothes. He was used to people fearing and sometimes even loathing him, but he had never so carelessly shredded someone’s pride before. It didn’t sit well with him.
    “Please, don’t leave,” he said, thinking fast to come up with some excuse to make her stay. Why, why did he want her to stay? “Your company—and your honesty—is more important to me than the clothes you wear. And I still have questions for you.”
    He took a slow, measured step closer. She stayed where she was instead of inching her way toward the exit. Progress.
    Taking care not to startle her into flight, he tugged his neatly folded cream-colored handkerchief out of his breast pocket and held out his other hand. He waved off her weak protests about the inevitable stains, and she didn’t pull away as he dabbed at the mess. The Swiss cotton soaked up the coffee like a sponge. Once he sopped up as much of the spilled coffee as he could, he took her arm and led her back into his store.
    Blood still running close to the surface of her skin from her blushing was hot against his fingertips, and that teasing scent of some Other leaving its mark on her was distracting him. Then she jerked and shivered as they moved back into range of the glyph he had installed late the night before. Her muscles tensed like she was getting ready to bolt again, so he slid his hand down to the small of her back to keep her moving, then urged her to take a seat on the footstool so he could settle into a crouch before her.
    It took a little time before she stopped looking anywhere but at him, her wandering gaze eventually settling on her shoes. Her fingers kept fiddling with a loose string on one of her shirt cuffs.
    “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
    “Sorry? Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be apologizing.”
    She shook her head. “I overreacted. I’m never like this. I’ve just been so nervous all day. That spell—the naga—”
    Cormac clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles cracked. That explained the Other scent. “What naga?”
    She pulled back, just a little. He took a breath and let the tension ease out of his shoulders and arms, then another to ensure his tone stayed even. He repeated his question, this time without the possessive growl.
    “What naga, Kimberly? Tell me what happened.”
    “Professor Reed invited another mage to class today. We were supposed to practice comportment with his familiar—the naga—but one of my classmates hurt it during my turn and it would have killed me if I didn’t see it coming and use a simulacrum.” Cormac opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to forestall him. She bit her lip, then took a hitching breath and continued. “After what I saw today… After I saw how the mage treated Sam, I’ve been wracking my brains all day trying to think of any reason for a dragon to ever agree to let me put it in that position. You know what I came up with?”
    Cormac took one of her shaking hands in both of his, stilling her nervous fidgeting. “Not a damned thing. Am I right? Because I was intending to ask you about that very thing from the moment you told me what you were looking for. That’s what the glyph was for.”
    “I can’t do this,” she said, voice gone dull. “I need to, but I can’t. I can’t think of anything I could offer a rational, thinking being to convince them I would never treat them like I saw James treat Sam today.”

CHAPTER TEN
     
     
    “I don’t think things are quite as dire as you believe,” Cormac said. “Though I certainly won’t lie. Dragons are proud, fickle beasts. A mountain of jewels would never be enough to buy their servitude. Though some may be more inclined to help a