Lead Demon

Away

“Why are you doing that?” Seven asked as he followed. He wasn’t certain where the words came from. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of the last few days—he was tired of feeling like he was being played with.

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me.” Despite the initial confidence, his words died into nearly a whisper. He expected Jarrett to laugh. Or to say he hadn’t been.

“Because you’re cute,” Jarrett replied. “In a quiet, emo sort of way.”

Seven immediately regretted asking. Not because he didn’t like the honesty, but because it had been years since he’d even considered hitting on someone, let alone having them do it back. He felt the blush rising back on his cheeks. Not just because of what Jarrett said—something in the forwardness reminded him way too much of Tomás.

“Who are you?” Seven asked. He had to stay on the offensive. Couldn’t let himself start asking the questions he hadn’t let himself consider in years.

“I’m Jarrett Townsend, captain commander—”

“Who are you really? I never met anyone named Jarrett. Not at Silveron.”

Jarrett paused and studied him for a moment. They were only inches apart. The way his eyes seemed to bore into him... Seven’s heart couldn’t beat any faster if it tried.

“Before the Resurrection...” Jarrett sighed and looked away. “Before all that s**t, before I became this—” he gestured at himself, still not catching Seven’s eye “—before either of us were what we are...you were called Jeremy. And I was Glenn.”

Seven gasped at hearing his old name. And Glenn...he remembered that name. He couldn’t forget it.

Jarrett smiled at his shock.

“Yeah. I hit on you once before—I’m glad you seem to remember. Surprise.”

“YOU... I DON’T...” I haven’t heard those names in years.

Jarrett’s grin didn’t slip, but it took on a darker cast.

“I know,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I thought I recognized you when we met, but I wasn’t sure. But when you said Silveron... Well, we’ve both changed a lot.”

Seven nodded, thoughts slowly congealing into something he could recognize.

Glenn.

Memories blurred. He’d done so well at hiding the past from himself, he could barely recognize the life that slowly swirled to the surface.

Glenn had been in the year ahead of him. They’d crossed paths a few times. Had taken a world history class together.

Water surged...

“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Glenn asks.

Seven looks up from his homework, his stomach rumbling at the thought.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Glenn replies.

Light rain drifts outside the window, blinking in the lantern light like the butterflies awakening in his stomach. Seven had been able to keep them silent, wrapped up in wars and dates and political figures he knew he’d forget the week after the exam.

His skin tingles as the papers before him flutter and the history book slams shut.

“You’re not supposed to use magic outside the classroom,” Seven says, but he can’t help the smile that fights its way to his lips as he looks at Glenn. The Sphere of Air swirls light blue and yellow in Glenn’s throat, illuminating the planes of his chin and collarbones. Seven goes back to packing up his notes. He doesn’t want Glenn to notice his stare, because then he’d clearly know everything that Seven had been thinking. And wanting.

“I do what I want,” Glenn says. He shoves his own papers sloppily into his bag. “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission.”

Seven keeps his head turned. Damn it, now he’s blushing. But if Glenn notices, he doesn’t say anything as he pulls on his coat.

They head toward the on-campus café. Seven glances at Glenn, then opens to Water. It pulls at him, but he’s getting the hang of it. After two months of sitting by the lake in class and trying to manipulate the waves, even this little bit of magic feels like a victory. He focuses, and arcs the rain around them.

Glenn smiles and pats him on the shoulder. Warmth floods through Seven’s chest.

“See?” Glenn says. “A little magic never hurt anybody.”

Seven stumbled as Water sloshed off. Jarrett’s hands were there, steadying him, keeping him balanced. But his hands couldn’t force away the memory, the roar of Water in Seven’s ears, the after-cries of the thousands of other memories that bubbled alongside that one. He’d hoped that leaving the field and the bloodshed would help, but...

When will it stop?

“What was that?” Jarrett asked.

Seven couldn’t answer at first; he studied Jarrett’s face, compared it to the boy he barely remembered. Three years of fighting and magic had definitely taken their toll—this new incarnation was taller, more muscled, his skin paled by magic and scarred by bloodshed.

“Water,” he finally said. “Sometimes it... Sometimes it dredges up memories.”

Jarrett nodded slowly, studying him, his hands still steadying Seven’s arms.

“Are you okay?”

Dozens had asked Seven that over the last few years, normally during or after battle. Never had he actually felt like the other person wanted an honest answer.

“I don’t know anymore,” Seven replied.

A Hunter walked past them, saluting Jarrett. Jarrett just nodded. His hands didn’t leave Seven. The fact that he wasn’t hiding this closeness sent another wash of heat through Seven.

“How did you know it was me?” Seven asked.

Water and war had changed him, too. He’d watched the transformation in the mirror over the last few years—the new scars, the dark circles under his eyes, the gauntness that never seemed to fade no matter how much he rested or ate. He didn’t think he looked anything like the boy he once was. He sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“You stood out back then,” he said, squeezing Seven’s shoulders. “And you stand out now.” He actually reached up and brushed the side of Seven’s face, tracing a scar with the back of his fingers. Seven nearly collapsed at the softness of that touch. “It takes more than a few scars to hide that.”

Jarrett’s seriousness was replaced with a grin.

“Besides, you’re just as gloomy as you always were.” He took a half step back. “Who’d have thought we’d meet again out here, at the end of the world?”

Seven shook his head. It was still swimming. His skin burned and tingled from Jarrett’s touch, and he wanted nothing more than to close the space between them, if only to be held, if only to connect to a part of his past that wasn’t covered in blood. A part of his past that suddenly, like a flare of light in the dark, felt like it could beckon toward a different future.

But he didn’t.

He doubted he ever could.

“Why’d you change your name?” Jarrett asked.