"The static generator? Are you sure?" Damon asked after I finished explaining my theory.
I shook my head. "No, not at this stage. But it's worth looking at."
He frowned, his eyes darkening to something near the shade of his slate-blue tie. The tie and the sleek suit he wore suggested he'd been doing something serious before I interrupted him.
I stood. "If this isn't a good time . . ."
He waved me back down. "The analysts can wait. In fact . . . ." He yelled for Cat and she appeared in the doorway. "Reschedule the briefing to Monday. Tell them . . . hell, I don't care what you tell them. You know the drill."
She nodded and disappeared.
"Blowing off the stock analysts. That's bold."
He grinned, and the familiar glow of warmth swept over me. "They love it when I'm unpredictable. Adds to the mystique."
I snorted. "You have mystique?"
"Sure. I buy it the same place as these suits."
"Oh? Is it overpriced too?" I heard the flirt in my voice and told myself to can it. But I got another glow as his grin widened and something purely male flickered in his eyes. He'd heard it too.
"You don't like the suit?" he asked with a rumble that hadn't been there before.
"It's perfectly fine," I said tightly, maligning the brilliant work of whoever had designed the damn suit. It was way more than fine, showcasing every inch of his body beautifully and drawing my eyes to all the places I didn't want to look.
I looked down at my hands. I really needed to find a way to convince myself he was off-limits. Too complicated. Too risky.
I kept things simple with men. Sex. No strings. Rarely any repeat performances. I had the feeling that if I ever got a taste of Damon, I'd want more.
And more wasn't something I could do.
Which meant I needed to lock down the hormones. Or take them out for a run with someone who fit my criteria. Getting all sweaty and boneless with a willing body would drive Damon from my mind.
If I hadn't been so tired the night I’d gone clubbing with Nat, I could've done just that. But now, looking at him, the thought of another one-night stand with a relative stranger didn't seem appealing at all.
So maybe it had to be plan B—bury myself in work and rely on sheer exhaustion to trump lust.
I looked back up to find him studying me with that unsettling something still lurking in his gaze.
"Enough about your fashion choices. Let's talk about this code," I said, tapping my datapad to send the snippet to his screen.
His gaze lingered on me just a second too long before moving to the code. “This stuff is random. It's not going to be the easiest thing to test. The algorithm just generates junk. How do you analyze junk?"
"I haven't figured that out yet."
"I'll get more programmers on it to help you. What do you need to be able brief them?"
"A few more hours poking around."
He frowned. "Then it'll have to be tomorrow morning."
"But it's only lunchtime. We could do it tonight."
"No can do. Didn't the guys tell you? Friday afternoon is playtime."
"Even when you're facing a time crunch and a crisis?" I'd never met a boss who wasn't willing to crack the whip when the chips were down.
"You don't even know if you're right yet. Everyone will work better after they blow off a little steam. Including you."
"Me?" Did he really expect me to play? I wasn't sure I was ready for that. "I told you, I'm not much of a gamer. I'll just watch."
"You've got to try it with the chip. Trust me, you'll be a convert." He looked like a little boy holding up his prized puppy for approval. An irresistible combination of charm and something I hadn't seen in him before—vulnerability.
Damn. I really should get back to nice, safe code.
"C'mon, Maggie," he coaxed. "Haven't you always wanted to fly?"
Not particularly. But something about the way he said it made me wonder exactly what I might’ve been missing.
It was hard to act relaxed lying in a game chair with fifty or sixty people watching me.
"It's chill, Maggie D," Benji said from where he stood beside Nat, right next to the chair. "You're going to love the wings."
Yeah, sure. Just like the last time.
Deep breaths. I closed my eyes as the chip clicked home. When my heart rate slowed a little, I started the game.
:CONTACT:
This time I was confronted with a menu rather than being dumped straight into the game. I chose an avatar—glad to see there was a range of body types available as options, not just the stupendously endowed Amazons many games still defaulted to for women—and selected an easy level.
"Chicken," I heard Nat say from a distance as music slid through my head.
:WELCOME ARCHANGEL:
I stood in the forest again, in bright sunlight, warmth beating down on my shoulders. The rapid transition made me blink. The game world felt solid. Real. Completely real. A tiny bug zipped past my face, buzzing and darting, and a bead of sweat rolled down my cheek.
Sweat I could smell. Along with the old-leaves-and-green-dampness smell of a forest, and something warmer and dustier.
I turned in a circle, taking it slowly. From the clearing where I stood, four paths threaded compass points through the forest, disappearing into the dappled light between the tall trees. Nothing marked the trails to indicate which way I should go.
Then I realized I had another option.
Up.
Even as I thought it, unfamiliar muscles flexed along my back and air fanned my face with a soft rustle.
Wings.
Chill to the max.
Or it would’ve been if I had any idea at all how to use them. Surely you couldn't just leap into the air and fly?
I beat the wings again slowly. Flexed my knees in preparation for a jump.
Then chickened out and decided to walk. I was so not going to crash and burn with an audience. No wings until there was no one to witness any potential wipeouts.
I considered my options. Maybe I could find the river again, prove to myself there was nothing there but water. The only question was which direction to take. I tried to remember the landscape from the first time I’d been in the game, the position of the river and the trees and the light. The memory was still blurry, but I had a feeling the sun had been setting directly behind me as I'd knelt by the water.
East, then. Assuming the sun in this world followed the same path as in the real one. With no way to know if that were true or not yet, it seemed as good a choice as any.
:SHOW COMPASS:
A display floated in the air in front of my eyes. East was the path to my right, slightly wider than the rest, but it also seemed a little darker, as though the trees crowded closer together in that direction.
Almost as though they didn't want me to go that way. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as I stood and studied the path.
Stop being dumb. It's just a game.
I turned off the display and headed east.
The air cooled as I crossed the tree line and stepped onto the path. I walked slowly, scanning my surroundings with each cautious step. Who knew exactly what was lurking in the bushes? There would be enemies to defeat. Cunning and unexpected enemies. It was, after all, a Righteous game.
I hadn't taken the time to read the player's guide. Nat had given me the basic premise: something about winged humans—descendants of angels—trying to explore and colonize a planet inhabited by dark creatures.
Your standard quest narrative.
A holster rode my right thigh over the black suit, the slick black handle of a high-tech gun protruding from it. A leather sheath held a knife on the other hip. So I should be able to deal with any surprises lurking on the path. And surely “dark” creatures were more likely to attack at night?
I picked my way along the trail, winding around rocks and over small streams, each step taking me deeper into the forest. The light grew dimmer, the air cooler, the dense leaves of the unfamiliar trees creating a thick canopy that provided a constant background song of whispering leaves. The knife came in handy where the undergrowth tangled into barriers of vines and thorns, and the wings gave me a boost as I clambered over dead tree trunks almost as tall as me. It was kind of fun.
And thank God, there was no sign of the wobbles.
After a few minutes, the wind picked up and the sound of the leaves seemed to take on a different pitch. My spine prickled at the eerie rustle. I picked up the pace, telling myself I would be at the river soon.
"Maaaaaaaagieeeeeeeee."
The name was a whisper among the trees. I froze. Spun around.
Nothing. But my pulse pounded and my skin crawled. Every instinct told me I wasn't alone.
Nothing I could see, then. Maybe Damon's dark creatures liked catching some rays after all.
I flicked the top of the holster open and curled my fingers over the gun before starting forward again.
Each crackle of a twig beneath my boot made me flinch, ratcheting up my pulse.
Then the wind called my name again.
My heart leapt into my throat. This was why I didn't game much. I was a big old scaredy-cat when it came to the shoot 'em, hunt 'em, fight 'em types of adventures. Risk-averse in a big way.
Nat and her friends delighted in telling stories of the stupid ways they'd bought it in games. I didn't find it entertaining. Something in my brain was fooled too well by the illusions. I always felt like something was really hunting me. Trying to kill me.
"Not real," I muttered.
Then a nightmare stepped out onto the path in front of me.
"Maggie," it snarled. "I've been looking for you."
My fingers yanked the gun from its holster before I had time to think. My arms trembled as I pointed it at the creature.
It laughed, and the sound sliced at my ears like breaking glass. "Imaginary guns. Do you think that will save you?" It flowed forward a little, dark skin shining greasily in the dappled light.
I took a step back as the breeze carried its odor to me. Despite its appearance, it smelled good. Like baking bread and jasmine perfume and all my favorite scents. Except, as I sucked in a breath through my nose, I caught the faintest hint of something fouler.
I backed up again and fired.
There was an arc of light from the gun, and I expected the creature to burst into flames or fall to the ground smoking.
Instead, it looked completely unharmed. It laughed again, revealing more jagged teeth than should've been possible to fit in its head. Something black and oily dripped from its mouth. "You're mine, Maggie."
"I don't think so." I moved backward faster, trying to replay the path in my head. Shit. There was one of those monster trunks not far back. My retreat was blocked.
"Mine," it repeated. "Or you will be. Again." Its face twisted with something like frustration. The result wasn't pretty. "How did you do it, human?"
"Do what?" I fired again with the same lack of result.
It closed the gap between us with one lightning-fast leap. Fingers wrapped around my throat, my skin burning where it touched me. "You know very well," it said. "Who broke the bond?"
Its breath stank up close. Like rot and mold and something dead left too long in the sun. The fingers squeezed tighter on my throat, and stars of light wheeled in front of my eyes.
I really didn't like this game. "I don't know anything about bonds, but I'm out of here." My mind groped for the correct command as I struggled to breathe.
The creature roared, and I felt myself losing the struggle, stars wheeling before my eyes.
"I will find you," it snarled. The pressure on my throat eased a little and I gasped. "You will not escape me."
:DISENGAGE: I thought frantically as I saw it draw back its hand. Too slow. Claws raked the side of my face and I flew backward, hitting the dirt with a thump that knocked the breath from me. Warm dampness covered my face, and I tasted the coppery tang of blood as pain suddenly bloomed like fire along my jaw.
The creature came toward me again, claws extended.
"Disengage," I screamed as it drew closer and darkness took me.
I woke up with no sensation in my left arm and a mouth that felt like I'd been sucking on cotton wool for a week.
"Welcome back."
Damon.
I turned my head toward his voice. Dr. Barnard stood beside him with another woman I didn't recognize. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, and her clear gray eyes looked concerned. She wore a white coat like Barnard, but no other medical paraphernalia hung from her pockets or neck.
I tried to remember what was going on.
Nothing. I remembered going to work. Then . . . nothing.
There was a dead spot in my memory. Why? And why was my arm numb? I glanced down and froze as I registered the neat strip of pale green surgical seal running down my wrist. Right over my chip. Fear gripped my throat. "Where am I? What happened?"
"Back at the hospital," Dr. Barnard said. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but we had to remove your chip."
My chip? I choked back a flare of panic. Without the chip, I couldn't work for Damon. "Can I get another one?"
Damon and Dr. Barnard looked at each other, avoiding eye contact with me. Bad sign.
"We're not recommending it at this point," Dr. Barnard said in I’ve-got-bad-news tone.
"Damon?" I asked, searching his face as the fear sank deeper into my gut.
"You need to listen to the doctor," he said, moving closer. His hand closed over mine.
I pulled free. "What happened? Did I have an accident?"
"You don't remember?" Damon asked. He looked back at Barnard. "Is this normal?"
The doctor shrugged. "Nothing about this is normal." He moved closer, pointing a scanner at me. "There's nothing to indicate she suffered any lasting damage. Memory loss could just be the anesthesia."
Lasting damage? I struggled to sit up. "Someone tell me what the fuck happened!"
Damon captured my hand again. This time I didn't fight him. If I didn't hold on to something, I might just start screaming.
"You were playing Archangel," Damon said. "We were all watching. Nat was betting you were going to try to fly."
None of it triggered anything at all in my head, but I could worry about that later. I swallowed, desperately wanting water. "And then?"
"You were walking through the forest in the game, and the picture started getting messed up. Your feedback readings went through the roof. You started shooting at something, and we couldn't see what. Then you—"
"You went into a convulsion, Maggie," Dr. Barnard interrupted. "Your nervous system seems to have had an abnormal reaction to the chip. We couldn't control the seizures with medication. That's why we had to remove it."
They'd taken the chip.
My fingers curled reflexively. "I don't understand. Was the chip faulty?"
"We're testing it," Dr. Barnard replied. "But we tested it before installation. It was perfect then. I've never seen anything like this."
Oh lucky me, I was unique. "So you don't know what caused this?" I looked at Damon. "What if it was the game?"
His grip tightened. "It was the clean version. It's been played hundreds of times with no incidents."
I tasted bile. There was something wrong with me. There had to be. Why else would I be the only one to react like this? And why couldn't I remember?
"Will I get my memory back?" I asked.
Dr. Barnard looked down at his scanner for a moment. "I'm going to introduce you to my colleague, Dr. Dempsey. She can tell you more."
The dark-haired woman stepped closer, and I suddenly smelled her. Green somehow, with a hint of smoke. Eerily familiar. A smell I'd grown up with.
She smelled like Sara.
My stomach tightened.
"You're a witch," I blurted, yanking my hand free from Damon's.
She nodded. "Call me Meredith."
My stomach flipped, and for a moment, the room swam. I was going to throw up.
I sucked in a breath. "Get her out of here. I don't need a witch."
Meredith reached out and laid her hand over mine. The nausea flowed away.
A healer, then. That made me a little easier. Healers didn't do any of the stuff Sara was into. They took oaths.
Or at least that's what they told everyone.
A shiver racked me. "I don't need a witch," I repeated. I twitched my hand away.
She drew back calmly. "Maggie, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you do. I think your reaction may be due to something magical."
Magical? I stared at her, not understanding. "How can something magical interfere with an interface chip?"
"I'm not sure. But I think someone put a binding on you."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. "Don't be ridiculous. Bindings don't work without consent."
Damon's eyebrows shot up. But I didn't have time—or the inclination—to explain how I knew about bindings. I wanted the explanation of why Meredith thought I could be under one.
She looked grave. "You have the signs. I can feel it on you."
I just stared at her. Then pinched myself. None of them vanished, and I didn't wake up safe in my own bed. I was really here. Really having this conversation.
I tried to remember anything Sara had ever told me about binding. There wasn't much, but I knew you had to agree to be bound. "How could I be bound? I've never even seen a binding ritual, let alone consented to participate in one."
"That's what we need to find out."
I curled my hands into the blanket covering me. "That's why you're here?"
She shook her head and a long tendril of hair came loose from the pile, snaking down her face. She brushed it away. "I just made the initial diagnosis. This is not my area of expertise."
"Is it anyone's?" Were there really that many cases of involuntary binding—which, if I was remembering right, could be anything from a suggestion to outright magical possession of another's will—that people could specialize in assisting the victims?
I shivered again as I realized that was a big assumption on my part. What if no one could help me? I had no idea what had actually been done to me. Or what the effects might be if it were undone. Collapse and convulsions weren't promising symptoms.
"There's one person in town I can send you to," Meredith said. "Her name's Cassandra. Cassandra Tallant."
I sank back into the pillows. Cassandra Tallant. Even I knew that name, and I knew next to nothing about the magical community. Cassandra was a power. I could even remember Sara talking about her.
If I needed Cassandra's help, then I really was in trouble.
Tears prickled my eyes and I closed them, suddenly exhausted. "I want to sleep."
Meredith cleared her throat. "The sooner you do this, the better."
"She just had surgery." Damon's voice. Good. He could use his master-of-the-universe powers to get everyone to just leave me the hell alone for a while.
Like forever.
"The chip surgery isn't a big thing," Dr. Barnard said. "Her scans are clear. If she feels well enough, she could go home."
"She needs to see Cassandra," Meredith repeated.
"Yes, I'm sure she'll be impressed if I toss my cookies all over her," I muttered, not opening my eyes.
A hand pressed against my forehead, soft and cool. Meredith, then. "I can help you with the nausea and do something about the soreness from the convulsions. But until you see Cassandra, you're vulnerable."
That made me look at her as fear rose again. "Vulnerable to what?"
"All sorts of things. Your aura is half-shredded. You're wide open."
Whatever that meant. I didn't want to know. I wound my hands into the cotton blanket covering me.
"Nothing's going to get to her here," Damon said. "You can stay and watch over her."
Like I wanted a witch watching over me when I slept. Especially one who thought I was vulnerable. Oath or no oath, the thought made me want to scream. The look on Damon's face told me he wasn't overly happy with the idea either.
"Can't I just go home?" I said, hating the whine in my voice.
"It's here or Cassandra." Meredith's tone suggested resistance might just be futile.
The thought of climbing out of bed, getting dressed, and going to talk to another witch made me feel drained. "I need to sleep."
"Then sleep. But then you're going to see Cassandra, or else we won't discharge you."
"I'll come with you," Damon said.
Oh no, he wouldn't. If I was mixed up in something magical, then I wanted it fixed pronto, but I didn't need anyone else knowing the details. Especially not Damon. His world was tech, like mine. He'd been relieved when I'd told him TechWitch was just a name. I didn't want him thinking I was mixed up with magic.
"I don't think so."
He stared down at me, mouth thinning. "Doctors, can I have a word with Maggie alone please?"
They looked at me, then at him. Apparently he won, because they both filed from the room.
"You're not coming," I said before he could get started.
"This happened to you because of me." Anger crackled in his tone. Master of the universe didn't like what was happening. Well, he could join the club on that one. But as I was the founding member, I got to call the shots.
"Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it still happened to me. And I'm the only one who needs all the gory details."
"What if it's—"
I hiked up my chin. "If I hear anything that I think affects you or Righteous, I'll tell you. But I'm doing this alone." I stared at him, ready to fight.
His eyes were that laser-bright shade again, but he eventually looked away. "I'll organize a car for you."
"Thank you."
"You need to rest."
"That's what I said. And yet all of you keep talking to me." I folded my arms across my chest, trying to look tough. Hard in a hospital gown. And when I had to fight not to wince because I felt like I’d gone several rounds with a bulldozer.
"We're worried about you. If you'd seen yourself today—" He broke off for a moment, and I caught my breath at the edge of concern in his voice and the fleeting look of fear on his face.
Was he really worried about me?
Because worried implied caring.
And caring implied possibilities that I really wasn't prepared to think about right now.
My mouth went dry again. "You going to finish that sentence?" I managed.
He hesitated. "Let's just say you'd be worried too."
"Believe me, I'm plenty worried. But right now, I'm even more tired." I let my eyes drift closed, hoping he'd take the hint and leave.
He did.
But not before I thought I felt a hand brush ever so softly across my head.