Wheeling and Dealing
Somewhere, though I can’t remember where at the moment, I’ve heard a cliché or an idiom, some platitude about never trusting your tongue when your heart is bitter. If there’s ever been a physical manifestation of that, it looks like Channing does in this particular second. From head to toe, he’s coiled like an overwound spring, with heat radiating off him in a shimmering mirage like the ones that come off hot asphalt in July in the Mojave Desert. I curse myself for showing off at the bunker yesterday before I knew an adequate shielding was in place to prevent Drake from tracking my magic. That question genuinely stumps me. I suppose, Drake might have lured me out then torched this place if he wanted to get to Channing. But if he’s come for me and I’m here with my mate, without knowing t
- Writer
