That frightening sensation—like a sharp tug inside her body, a thumping within her head. She was a swirl of emotions she could not place…emotions that didn’t belong to her. Yet, there they were: a desire, an ugly force that failed description. A dangerous curiosity, the eyes of a beast.

It had been him, that man. She’d seen him today; he had watched her cry in her father’s carriage. Zara was confused. Why…am I feeling this? Wasn’t she just overreacting? Perhaps her nerves were still distraught from everything that happened today. None of this made sense. Even if he’d witnessed her less-than-outstanding moment, he was just a man. A stranger in passing.

Was it an intuition? Did he give off that bad of a vibe? Maybe. But there was still the question of why. Was it the cold look he was giving her, like the demeanor of a man who’d forcibly take what he wanted from a girl? Or was it the atmosphere of this dingy bar causing her paranoia. She found herself wanting to say…something. Anything that acknowledged him and…whatever it was he was doing to her.

This had to have been Zara’s most unusual experience by far.

Cina was still talking, but Zara could hardly listen. She glanced back at him. The man was no longer staring at her. His gaze was locked on the counter’s old wooden surface, vacant and…?

A twitch of the jaw indicated frustration.

Maybe Zara wasn’t just some irrationally anxious fool. But it was still unnerving…the same way seeing not just one, but two random people again within the same day was unnerving.

“So you took my advice seriously then?” Cina said.

“Advice?” Zara asked, blankly.

Seeing Cina here…well, at least she had potentially saved Zara from trouble. The dark man had lost interest.

Thank goodness.

“To try and get out more,” Cina replied. Her aura was different tonight; she had strayed from the sweet day-time cashier’s persona to somewhat of a giggly flirt.

“Oh…yes. I guess I did.” Zara couldn’t help laughing as her mind settled.

Cina was a warm face in the midst of a dozen or so questionable others—besides Rowan and Shia, who had both left her behind for people Zara didn’t know at all, just as she feared they would. Zara had never been in an atmosphere like this before, only having enjoyed drinks at home with a meal whenever permissible. But when she and Rowan snuck out tonight on the back of the horse with Rowan at the reins, riding into the dark, filth-ridden streets leading to Ruvini’s Tavern, she couldn’t calm the thudding of her heart. So much had gone through her head, particularly on what would happen to her if her parents took notice of her absence in their sleep somehow, or if they couldn’t make it back before dawn, or if Rowan drank too much. What kind of people would she be meeting, or did she even want to meet them? What if they bumped in with a wrong crowd, then what? What if she ended up alone the whole night, sticking out like an awkwardly broken bone, getting preyed on by lustful drunks and awful creeps?

Upon arriving, she was hit with a strong stench of booze, tobacco, and sweat. The room was large, dimly lit, and hazy as some of the patrons smoked pipes and hookah. Behind the long counter were barrels and bottles of liquor lined neatly in separated shelves. It was warm inside, thanks to the expansive hearth and the amount of bodies loitering around.

Zara hadn’t been sure if she wanted to sit anywhere. The array of colored cushions looked pretty at first glance, but they were faded and stained with…well, she didn’t really want to know. Zara had not been blind to the drooling, half naked woman being carried out so shamelessly earlier. She’d averted her gaze, having wished she hadn’t seen it at all. And there were still plenty of those types of women around, gathered among the men. One had slunk herself into Rowan’s little group, and Zara had to stop herself from wondering what other…business her brother conducted on these late night outings.

She shivered. No. Pondering the details of her thirteen-year old brother’s love life was for sure a bad idea.

This was all a bit intense for her liking, but it could have been worse. At least now, she had Cina—someone she sort of knew—who was willing to speak with her as though they were friends already. She wasn’t alone anymore, and she was also no longer having to deal with the peculiar presence of that man, who was still sitting just a few stools away.

“Have you been here before?” Cina asked. She looked really pretty tonight in a short, teal blouse, leaving her arms and flat midriff exposed. Her long baggy pants were the same color and cinched at the ankles. It seemed the cold was no match for Cina’s need to show her curves off. Her long yellow hair was smooth—puffed in the front, pinned half-up in the back. She had lined her eyes a dark black, but kept her lips and cheeks light and glossy. A little silver jewel stamped her forehead, one Zara recognized from Nima’s accessory store.

Zara mentally kicked herself for not thinking of an accessorizing jewel, or any jewels; she hadn’t even put on earrings, and she didn’t do much with her hair besides combing her fingers through it. She was rushed to get ready, and her nervous stomach hadn’t helped matters. Looking at Cina’s gorgeous smile and healthy complexion made Zara more aware of her own worn out appearance.

“No, this is my first time, actually. What about you?” Zara immediately regretted asking such a stupid question. Of course this wasn’t Cina’s first time here, not when she lived in the area and knew that gangly barkeeper by his first name. She’d been here before, and who knows where else in her carefree life.

It must be nice. Zara could only imagine such a life.

“Oh, no no,” was Cina’s predictable reply. “I come here every week with my friends. They’re over there.” She pointed her chin to a group of five in the corner, two of them women and three men. The women were smoking pipes, and the men were watching them with amused expressions. “Who did you come with?”

“My brother and his friend.”

“Where are they?”

“With their friends…somewhere.” Zara gulped down the remaining wine and poured herself more from the pitcher.

Rowan and Shia had taken seats with their posse at the farthest end of the room, sharing a platter of deep-fried potatoes. Rowan was talking up one of the girls who seemed like her jaw would break if she kept smiling that wide.

“Wow, that’s mean of them to ditch you like that!”

“Oh it’s fine.” Zara chuckled bitterly. “I don’t mind being alone.”

“No, it’s inexcusable to leave a girl alone in this dump.”

The barkeeper scowled at Cina.

Cina smiled sweetly for him, putting her palms together as an apology. “But don’t get me wrong, I love this place very much still. Sorry Taq!”

Barkeeper Taq, a tall, intimidating man with thin limbs, simply turned away without saying anything back. He went over to tend to a barmaid who was asking him a question about snack tickets.

“But still,” Cina went on, “it could be dangerous. I’m glad I came to you when I did.” She leaned in close and whispered, “The man sitting behind me wouldn’t take his eyes off of you.”

Zara’s gut dipped. Again she found herself not knowing what to make of Cina. Here she was, providing Zara company and even going as far as to keep her safe from a potential predator. But instead of being nothing but grateful and accepting Cina’s bright-as-light desire for friendship, Zara couldn’t. She kept remembering Yohid.

She’d had her eyes peeled for him—the best she could with how dark it was—on the way here, but there had been no sight of his small figure huddled up anywhere, not even in the backstreets. It would be unlikely, though, that the boy would have found some sort of shelter in these parts, where the only shops open for business were bars and inns.

Zara let herself be engulfed in the tavern’s warmth and its voices. She had a home to return to by the end of all this. Zara couldn’t imagine what she would have done if her family had kicked her out the way Yohid’s family had done to him. The thought of it scared her beyond belief and it made her want to cry, even thank her father for not having done so already. Mentally placing herself in the boy’s position now…

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It was scary.

And this was the problem Zara faced now. Here she was worrying over Yohid and Cina likely never gave him a second thought, hadn’t even so much as mentioned him tonight. She’d dragged and thrown him along the cobblestones, inflicted an injury, and then went on her merry way. Because to her, Yohid wasn’t a child confused about a power he had no understanding of, and never even asked for. He was just a wicked freak and deserved to die.

“He’s still behind me, isn’t he?” Cina said. “It might not be safe here. Did you want to come sit with us instead?”

Zara wasn’t sure she had the right stomach for encountering a brand new group of people right now.

“Oh…are you sure?” Zara said. Her eyes lingered on the mysterious man. His body was still, and his eyes faced downward at the counter in deep concentration. She didn’t know if she should leave. Something was telling her not to.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure? We’re friends now, aren’t we?” Cina flashed Zara a grin and grabbed her wrist, abandoning the counter and their half-finished drinks, leaving that dark man behind.

Friends. Cina already considered Zara a friend, even though they had just met. Could Zara be that likable? This feels nice though, she thought, letting herself be yanked away until a man with wild brown hair slammed into them.

“Whoa,” he said, stumbling back and laughing. This man was young, looking to be around the same age as Zara, or a couple years older. His shoulder length hair was a mess, but it didn’t take away from his appeal, not at all. Zara’s stomach fluttered. He was tall; her head reached his chest, and his shoulders were broad in his long, sleeveless emerald shirt—the color did wonders for those golden eyes and light tan skin.

He ran a hand along his bearded mouth, still laughing obnoxiously, but Zara didn’t mind because he had a nice smile.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Cina growled, once again throwing Zara off with the uncharacteristic attitude that seemed to appear out of thin air.

“Sorry doll,” the man slurred out. “Did I scare you?”

“Are you so drunk that you can’t even see straight? You idiot,” Cina snapped back.

Zara looked between them. Does she know this man? Why is she talking to him like that?

Then the man’s beautiful eyes fell on Zara, and everything was forgotten.

“Who’s this? Friend of yours, Cina?”

So they were familiar with each other. Zara cleared her throat, but said nothing. A simple “Hello” would have sufficed, but even that seemed impossible.

Cina rolled her eyes, facing Zara while extending an arm toward the man. “Zara, this is Emran, my cousin.”

“Cousin?” was Zara’s immediate response. These two were pretty people, but they did not look like they came from the same family. “Oh. Pleasure meeting you.”

“Heh,” Emran said with a chuckle. “She’s funny. Doesn’t she act funny?”

At this, Zara’s face grew hot. She was sure it was the wine making her act funny, and not just her poor social skills.

Cina smacked his chest with an open palm. “You are so rude. Zara, don’t listen to him. His stomach’s made of alcohol, and his head’s full of that smoked shit. I’m ashamed to call him family sometimes.”

“Ow,” Emran said, wincing. “I didn’t say anything bad, did I?” He smiled back at Zara and added in a mockingly formal voice, “It’s a pleasure meeting you too. I hope to make a good acquaintance of you someday—” He dissolved into giggles.

Before Cina could hit him again, a woman in a pink, skimpy blouse and skirt snagged his shoulders with a shimmery shawl. Her sensuous red lips revealed her desire to lead him to an inn—and this was proven further when she asked, “How much, darling?”

Emran grinned, following as she began tugging him away with her shawl.

“No,” Cina stressed. “Emran, you don’t have the money for this bitch.”

Zara gaped as Cina left to deal with her handsome wayward cousin. Alone and uncomfortable standing in the middle of the room, Zara quietly went back to the counter, ignoring the leery stares her way.

It was then the dark man stood and walked right to where she sat. This sudden move sent Zara’s heart plummeting out of her chest.

“Relax,” he said.

Zara’s breathing slowed, her anxiety lessened, and she was able to look at the man without sensing ill intent.

Which was alarming in and of itself. That horrible feeling from earlier had hit again, but as soon as he’d spoken that order, Zara found no reason to be afraid of him.

He took the seat next to her and closed in, like they were intimate.

“Did you feel it?” he said. The gentle tone of his voice soothed her. He meant no harm. “Zara, look.”

She immediately looked down at his open palm. There wasn’t anything there.

“Closer,” he said.

Zara leaned in, and after a minute of squinting, she noticed was a single strand of long shiny yellow hair.

“Huh?”

“It’s from her.” He turned his head to where Cina was still arguing with Emran, and the tipsy whore beside him grimaced, losing her patience as the clutch around her glass tightened.

Zara didn’t understand. Why was he showing her something so pointlessly weird? She wanted to scoot away—no, perhaps just grab Rowan and Shia and leave the bar altogether. This man’s head was clearly out of sorts and Zara didn’t want to engage with him any further.

But before she could make a move, he brought his palm to his mouth and mumbled in a language unfamiliar to her. Then he placed the strand into his glass.

Upon doing this, a shocking screech emanated across the room.

Zara’s jaw hung open. The entirety of Cina’s hair had suddenly splashed in red, the liquid staining down her skin, her clothes, and the floor beneath her.

The room stilled in confused silence. The only sounds came from the crackling fireplace and the squeak of a stool as someone stood to get a closer look.

Eventually, Emran’s whore began to cackle.

“Did I do that?” she asked dumbly. She was still holding the glass in her hand, but seemed unaware that most of her drink was still in it, and that it was the color of piss, not the maroon-red dripping down Cina. “Did I do that?”

She laughed louder, and soon everyone erupted into chuckles, assuming in their hazy minds that this was nothing more than the usual tossing of wine over a petty bar fight. The only ones not amused were the barkeeper and his maids, as now this would be their mess to mop.

And then there was Zara, too stupefied to move.

“Wha—?!” Cina looked horribly confused, but anger was quickly overtaking that.

Emran blinked.

“Um…wow. What did I really smoke?” he muttered.

The whore was still giggling until Cina leaped at her, grasping her hands around her throat. The glass from the whore’s hand shattered on the floor as the she fought to get Cina off of her. It took Emran and two other men to break up the fight as Cina spewed curses. The whore —purple in the face and splotched with red fluid—knelt on the ground, struggling to breathe while Emran checked on her.

As one of Cina’s girl friends led her out the back doors, trailing behind maroon droplets, the man next to Zara turned back to her and said, “It was just the wine.” He lifted his mug where he had placed the strand of hair.

Cina’s hair.

Bewildered, Zara leaped out of her chair. Her breath was shallow.

What was that?! Is he…?

His smile confirmed it for her.

“…Oh,” she whispered.

This man—or rather, this wizard— stood calmly in front of her.

“I assume we’ll cross paths again. Until next time, Zara.”

He walked past her and out the doors, letting the chilly air blow in.

Zara was frozen in disbelief for several minutes.

Another one?…I met another one. He’s like…me?

Except he wasn’t truly like her. Or Yohid for that matter. He was so much more. This man was experienced, well-versed in the arts of enchantment. Zara’s heart beat at a rapid pace and she tried to steady her breathing again. She couldn’t differentiate between fear and excitement. Because this powerful being had sought her out, it was damn well clear now. The look he’d given her outside the carriage, confronting her here, going as far to show her proof without a worry of consequence…it made sense. And as strong as her curiosity about him was…the fact that he had looked for her, well, she didn’t know how if she should be thrilled or concerned.

This man was no Yohid. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had artfully performed a spell upon an unknowing woman in a crowded space without raising any alarms. His expressions were entirely purposeful, as though he had enticed the exact reaction he had wanted from Zara. This man was…more than a bit unsettling to say the least.

But he had magic. He was another mage in a world where they barely existed, and if they did, everyone hated them. Once again, Zara wasn’t alone. If that wizard was able to learn how to wield his power long enough to become good at it without being caught all this time then…maybe there was hope for her.

Maybe there would be hope for Yohid too. If the wizard knew about her, surely he knew of the boy’s plight?

Zara scanned the room. Cina was not back yet—or perhaps she wasn’t coming back at all. The throbbing in her head increased. Something felt wrong, still. Why did such an interaction with this mage worry her? Did it have to do with their difference in skill? The fact that he knew how to use his magic? But why would that be a bad thing, if he didn’t intend to harm her with it?

Or…would he attempt to harm her?

“Zara,” Shia said, shaking her out of her daze.

Zara startled. “What?”

“Shit,” she heard a gruff voice behind her.

Zara whirled around to see a much older man—bald, muscled, and deeply brown— stepping back from her, his wrinkled face further creased from irritation. His bloodshot eyes snapped up at Shia before he backed away and left them alone.

Shia glared at the retreating man. “Close call. Are you okay?” he asked Zara.

No. “Um—yes?”

Shia shook his head. “You should come sit with us. Actually, I’m not sure why you’re sitting all the way over here, by yourself, in the first place.”

Zara lifted a brow. “Because you guys left me here, by myself.”

Shia’s lips curved, the sconce light making his pretty hazel eyes shine. “How ungentlemanly of us. Especially me, screw your brother. He’s hopeless.”

Zara chuckled, at ease. As long as she pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened, she would be fine for the rest of the night.

“Come on, I have a seat for you.”

Taking her coat, Zara followed him. She was grateful to be around company, even with the ones she didn’t know, as long as Rowan and Shia were there. They busied themselves over snacks and jokes about the wine-dumping incident, and there it was again—the uncomfortable tightening of her throat as Zara pretended to laugh.

The image replayed in Zara’s mind again and again. Her blood ran cold at the sudden realization that she knew nothing of the dark man, yet he had called her by her name.