Sprout knew from the slamming of the door that the date had gone badly.
Although their coworkers assumed Sprout was the ladykiller, fuckboy lesbian of the duo, she didn’t go out on many dates. Magni fuming as he came in with a pan of something, though, definitely made her thankful for that.
She had been expecting a few more hours of solitude. Magni rarely stayed the night with any of his dates, but he tended not to come home this early. Especially when he’d headed out happily with a bag of groceries and that same metal pan he toted in now.
“Oh. Leftovers?” Sprout asked, closing her book.
“Yeah. There’s plenty,” he said, voice cold as steel. When Magni turned back to face her, he had a deep frown on his face. “Remind me why I keep hooking up with gym bros?”
She shrugged. “Listen, I don’t even understand why you do it,” Sprout said. “What was wrong with this one?”
He came over to the couch, plopping down beside her. As he did, he pulled his dreads free from the low pony he’d pulled them in. “Joshua let me come over to make him dinner and didn’t point out he was keto until I’d finished making a whole ass lasagna. He didn’t even touch it! All that work put in and he didn’t think to ask if I was using - keto-friendly lasagna noodles or something.”
“Do they make keto-friendly lasagna noodles?”
“Do I look like I would know that?” Magni asked her, distress creeping into his voice. “And then it gets worse.”
Sprout groaned. “Oh, boy.”
“He said, ‘Forget the lasagna. I’ll give you your dessert right now.’” He rolled his eyes. “Guess what that suggestion was.”
Grimacing, she asked, “Was it a cannoli?”
Magni turned to shove his face into the back of the couch. “Yes,” he answered, voice muffled.
Sprout shut her eyes. “This is why I don’t date guys,” she said. “You need to find someone who gets that food is your love language not - giving blowjobs.”
“And I hate blowjobs,” he mumbled.
She patted him consolingly. “Can I have some of your lasagna?”
“Please. There’s so much.” He lifted his head. “When we were talking last, he told me he was bulking. So I made a lot.”
“Maggie.” Sprout stood. “I’m surprised you didn’t make garlic bread.”
“I did. But I stormed out so quickly I forgot it,” he admitted.
She sighed heavily. “Did you get to eat any of your lasagna that you slaved so hard over?”
“No.”
She flicked him behind the ear. Gently, but it was still enough to make him hiss and pull back. Sometimes, he really pisses her off. “Why do you keep going on dates with such assholes?”
“He was nice when we met. And hot,” Magni told her. “I don’t know why I thought this guy would be different. I think every guy is gonna be different, but they’re all the same.”
“You can be self-deprecating after you get some lasagna,” Sprout told him.
Striding off to the kitchen, she took down plates and served them both a slice. She hadn’t gotten around to ordering dinner yet; with Magni gone, she would have had full dominion over the kitchen without him acting like she’d slice her thumb off. And sure, she wouldn’t be making anything more complicated than eggs or ramen, but it would have been enough.
Yeah, she would take his cooking.
The lasagna had cooled during the drive, so she nuked the first slice in the microwave and set it in front of him. “Eat.”
He sighed, taking a forkful of pasta. Sprout knew that tasted better than his face justified. When her own slice was warmed up again (and almost too hot to eat), she joined him on the couch.
“First off, let me say I get your type. You like sporty, outdoorsy guys because you’re- kinda jocky and don’t like being stuck inside with a whole load of technochatter,” she told him. “But you act like there’s gonna be the one guy to sweep you off your feet and save you. Then it’s just a guy you flirted with at the gym while getting smoothies once.”
As Magni sliced off another piece of lasagna, he muttered, “Actually, it was while I was at the pool.”
“Either way,” Sprout said. “You need a break from guys who treat you like shit.”
He still had a sulky look on his face as his eyes met hers. But he sighed, bringing his plate closer to him. “I do. But- I don’t know. I’m worried if I wait too long I’m gonna end up alone.”
“Hey. You got me,” she reminded him. “I’ll always be here to nag you to eat while finishing your delicious lasagna. Is this a new recipe? It’s great.”
“It is. It’s higher in protein,” Magni said.
“Ugh. Keto Josh should’ve eaten it anyways,” Sprout said. “But not really. Because now I can.”
He kicked her leg. But when she glanced over to pout at him, he was grinning. “You’ll probably appreciate it much more.”
She leaned back against the couch, smiling. “Gladly.”
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Magni has gone through many iterations over the years, but he's worked his way up to protagonist status. While he plays a more minor role in the first book, he will get his time to shine in the second book, Arrington Acres, investigating a murder that may not be as clear-cut as it seems on the surface.
“Just be honest. How bad does it look?” Hugo dropped his hand from where it was pressed against his face.
Haley knew that Hugo’s burnout was… unusual. She’d seen glimpses of the injuries to his leg, the gnarly mass of metal and scar tissue. She had figured it was maybe a fluke. Burnout could wipe a person’s Talent, and she figured his regenerative flame had spent itself trying to try and undo the damage.
But on his face, a metal gash glinted against dull brown skin. It was embedded in there, the hint of silver poking out from the mark.
“Oh, God,” Haley said. “What happened?”
“So it’s bad.” He sighed, sitting back down on the bench. Hugo had insisted they needed to talk, coming around the back gate. Before, he’d climb into her bedroom window, though her parents didn’t care if he came over. That was harder with his leg now.
“It’s- not as bad as it could be,” she told him. Which was her being honest. “Tell me, Hugo.”
“My dad threw a glass at me.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “We were arguing and so he - threw it at me. But he felt terrible about it.” When he finally did look up, his eyes were pleading. “He patched me up with the first-aid kit and bandaged it all up. It just - when I took it off to see how it was healing, I found this.”
Haley didn’t believe for a moment that Hugh Gardner actually felt terrible about it. He’d come down to drag Hugo back to their house after he’d shot him in the leg, for God’s sake. She hadn’t been supposed to hear that conversation, but she’d crept down the stairs anyway. Her father had been in a hushed argument with Hugh, a dangerous game to play with the fucking sheriff.
“I’m telling my parents,” she declared.
“No, Haley.” He took her wrist, squeezing it gently. “If this is what he does to me after an argument, imagine if they call CPS. And his cop buddies aren’t going to be sympathetic to his pathetic, burnout of a son.”
She hated hearing him talk about himself like that. Haley hated his father’s guts for treating his son like a punching bag who ought to regret his whole existence. But she knew it was true of the Nye County Sheriff’s Department. That was what you got when you had a prick like Hugh Gardner at its head.
“Do you think he’s going to stop?” she argued.
Hugo closed his eyes and shook his head. “The thing about my regen powers was that no one had to know he beat his kid. Bruises didn’t last. Everything bounced back.” His hand went out to clasp his face. “This doesn’t seem like it’ll be going away.”
She sighed. “Can you at least let my mom take a look at it?” Her mom had been the first he’d turned to after his burnout, when the pain in his leg had been so bad he’d had to hobble across the street to their house.
“I’m not going to the clinic,” he said in a surly voice.
Haley knew that had been a stretch. Knowing her mom, she’d ask questions. But if her mother chose to do something about it, that wouldn’t be on her.
“Just a look,” she conceded. “And then my dad will probably make you stay for dinner.”
She waited to see if he’d drag his feet. If Hugh was going to make him head home for a plain dinner of baked chicken breast and salad. But Hugo dropped his hand. “What’s he making?”
Maybe if this went well, Haley could convince him to stay. But that was a far-fetched hope.
Red knew it was far beyond bad form to be drinking with fighters.
Other than wellness checks for Ms. Eld, they didn’t patronize with them outside of the Silver Ring. Afternoon tea with Sarah Kimura was one thing, though now her daughter knew that when “Mx. Vanya” was over, she was to let the adults talk. Taking Emery to their old haunt was entirely different.
Cynthia had eyed them when the two of them rolled into 32°, but she hadn’t made a comment aside from the employee discount she still slipped them. In a snug corner, where the unnatural chill gave them an excuse to sit thigh to thigh, Emery sipped his Irish coffee next to them and their Polar Bear.
He’d swapped his fighting ensemble for a bulky navy hoodie and jeans, keeping his right hand tucked away in the warm pocket. The cool lights were unforgiving on the bruise healing quickly on the left side of his face. Against them and their constant chill, he was still hot, hot, hot from the rush of a closing fight.
Even if he’d lost.
Red brushed their arm against his to get his attention. “You’ll get him next time, tiger.”
With a chuckle, Emery turned to them. “Yeah, right. Kent would rather kill me in the ring than let me win.”
“Well, then he’d be barred from fighting. And arrested. So you’re safe for now,” Red told him.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” he retorted. “I thought this was supposed to be a ‘sorry you got your ass kicked for the fifth time against Brasher’ drink.”
“It is.” They shrugged. “But really, you don’t seem so upset.”
“I still get my pay for the night,” Emery said.
“Aw, but we both know you don’t just do it for the money.” Red lifted the straw out of their drink, licking ice cream off of it. Most of the actual drink was gone, but the ice cream would refuse to really melt as long as they were holding the glass. They should’ve asked Cynthia for a spoon. “So, really, does this help you? Getting your ass kicked in front of hundreds of people every other week?”
He frowned at them. “What do you mean, help me?”
“I don’t know. With your Talent. Or whatever else fucked you up,” Red said.
Emery shook his head. “I see. You’re waiting for me to tell you, yes, I’m uber-traumatized and getting beat up helps me cope with all that.”
“So, am I right?” they asked.
“You’re such a dick, you know.” He took a sip of his drink. “You’re also cooling down my Irish coffee.”
“You’ll survive.” Red leaned in. “And me being a dick is common knowledge. That ain’t an answer, Gori.”
“You got me. Uber-traumatized,” Emery deadpanned.
Red knew they shouldn’t push. Because, okay, it was kinda rude. But also it was so crossing the lines between manager and fighter. They weren’t supposed to be friends. They weren’t supposed to be sharing the same side of a booth with the flimsy excuse of staying warm in a place designed to be the exact opposite.
“You into humiliation? Or something else?” they asked, voice low.
He bit his lip, the sharp gleam of metal intersecting it reflecting the light as he did. “Not humiliation. That’s not my game.”
“It’s being thrown around, then,” Red offered.
“I’m not popping a boner in the Ring, if that’s what you’re suggesting. But when your whole existence is that nothing really hurts you, pain isn’t as scary. It’s a part of life,” Emery explained. He took another sip of lukewarm Irish coffee, despite his complaining. “It’s like this place.”
When they tilted their head in confusion, he grinned. Taking his free hand out of his pocket, he tucked back a few long strands of their red hair. His fingertips nearly burned against their cheek as he brushed it slightly.
“You hate the cold. I’ve seen you wear sweaters when it’s the dead of a Bright City summer. But you took me here to a place where it’s colder than a meat locker.” He flexed his fingers. “My hand is killing me right now, Red.”
“Why?” they asked.
“I smashed it with a hammer when I was seventeen. On purpose.” Emery tucked it away. “I used to be mostly right-handed. Now the most action it sees is the Ring.”
Red couldn’t help themself. “So, I guess that means you jack off with your left hand.”
“Yeah,” he answered casually. “But don’t worry. I’m ambidextrous.”
“Good to know,” they said.
Emery set his drink down and cupped their cheek. It was like hot brick on a warm day, before he pulled them into a kiss. Now that felt like an inferno.
Red’s only regret is that they were still holding their drink, the frost forming under their fingers spreading to their glass. They tried to set it down, but it stayed stuck to their hand.
“Fuck, Emery, hold on.”
He broke the kiss, looking at them in confusion. “I thought- we should’ve waited, I’m sorry-”
They turned their attention to the glass frozen to their hand. “Can you just-”
Emery glanced over to their hand, then cackled. “Oh, that’s why.”
“Shut up and help me!”
He grabbed a napkin and wrapped it around the glass. While their cyrokinesis didn’t exactly ease up, it was enough that he could pry it free.
Red was so glad they didn’t blush, closing their eyes. Way to ruin a very inappropriate kiss.
“Wanna get out of here?” Emery asked them, taking their hand between his.
“God, yeah.” They pulled him out of the booth with a grin. “As long as we agree to never talk about that ever again.”
He laughed. “I don’t know. It’ll be kinda hard to forget.”
This was probably going to get them fired. But it’d be worth it.
Hugo adjusted his tie in the bathroom mirror. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t be dressed up tonight. He would be staying home, or going to the Coello-Sterlings to read over Haley’s latest story.
Instead, he was forced to go to another event with his father.
Hugh Gardner’s bid for re-election as sheriff meant that somehow he had to be the perfect son. If he couldn’t raise a good, respectable man, how was he supposed to protect his town?
He sneered into the mirror. The fluorescents caught the glint of his metal tooth, still sensitive to the gum. That was a new development. It was another long list of scars and mishaps that his burnout had bestowed on him.
“No smiling tonight. You went and got your tooth knocked out right before this event - are you trying to fucking spite me? Do you know how it looks that my son is getting into fights?”
Really, he hadn’t gotten into a fight. Some guys had been giving Haley a hard time, and fists had been thrown. He’d lost a tooth, but the other guy looked worse off than he did.
After all, that was what happened when metal met flesh.
Hugo turned off the bathroom light and stepped out into the living room. His father was waiting impatiently, already dressed up. The dark brown suit flattered his tall, lean frame. Much to his chagrin, Hugo had taken after his mother. His own suit pinched, purposefully too small. Motivation, his father said.
“Finally. What took you so long?” he asked.
“I was fixing my tie.” Smashing his hand made him have to relearn his muscle memory for some things. He still couldn’t pick up a pencil without his grip being too loose - thank God he was ambidextrous. “Are you ready to go?”
“I have been,” his father said. “We’re going to be late.”
“Sorry, sir,” Hugo mumbled.
“What was that?”
“I said sorry, sir,” he said louder. Ever since his burnout, his father had been more strict, more authoritative. He thought it might be the reminder of what was so abnormal about his son right on his face.
He could avoid smiling all night, hide his teeth, but it was hard to do anything about the split scar that showed metal inside of scar tissue on his cheek. That had been inflicted by Hugh himself.
“That’s what I thought.” His father stepped up to him. “You’ll have to try harder than this at the gala. My position is on the line if you can’t shape up, Hugo.”
“Then why do I have to go?” he asked.
Before he could brace himself for it, his father backhanded him. He reeled, but kept his footing. In actuality, it was Hugh who said, “Aw, shit, fuck.”
He cradled his hand as he stepped back, blood trickling from the gaps of his fingers. He’d gone for the side with the scar, he realized. Had he done that?
Hugo raised a hand to his face. The skin was tender, but the bruise would heal quickly. The metal of his scar had never felt sharp to him. Maybe it was the impact?
“What the hell are you standing there for? Get the first aid kid!” his father barked at him.
“Yes, sir,” Hugo said, before running back off to the bathroom. His leg hurt as he forced himself not to limp down the hall.
But as he dug through the cabinet under the sink, the darkness underneath hid his smug grin.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Sprout laid on the couch, staring at the TV playing another episode of Murder She Wrote. With her hands bandaged up, there wasn’t much else she could do.
Under different circumstances, getting to miss months of school might be kinda fun. But three weeks in, she was fucking bored. She couldn’t read or play video games. Magni was too busy with actually being in class to keep her company. Murder She Wrote was the only thing keeping her from losing her mind. Maybe if she watched it enough, she’d have dreams of Angela Lansbury instead of thorny vines piercing her hands and Kent’s throat.
Over in the dining room, Primrose sighed heavily. “Can we watch something else? This is annoying.”
She lifted her head to look at her sister. Primrose had taken over the dining room to do her schoolwork when she’d moved back in. She supposed she should have been lucky that she didn’t take up any more of their room.
That really made this whole thing worse. She was stuck being babysat by her older sister like she wasn’t basically a fucking adult.
“How can you find cozy mystery annoying? You’re just lucky I’m not watching Degrassi,” Sprout said. “I know you want to know what’s going on with Clare and Eli.”
Primrose frowned at her. “You know I don’t. Can you at least - do something more quiet?”
Raising her hand, she said, “Kinda hard now. I’m stuck being a couch potato. Unless you want to play soccer?” She grinned. “You know. No hands.”
She turned back to her laptop. “You need to rest.”
Sprout laid back down on the couch. “I think I’ve rested enough.”
She heard another heavy sigh, then the laptop closing. “Fine. Wanna go on a drive?”
That got her attention. “You’re going to let me drive?”
“No,” Primrose said firmly. She came around to the living room, turning off the TV. Damnit. Sprout had thought she’d figured out the murderer for this episode. Now she’d never know.
Or maybe she’d catch it in another rerun. That was always a possibility
“You need to get out of the house.”
“Hasn’t really been my choice to stay in the house,” Sprout muttered. “But I’ll take the chance to drive. One thing though, we’re taking my truck.”
Primrose put her hand on her hips. “Do you really want me to adjust everything in your truck so I can reach things?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Okay, nevermind.” She missed her girl, but she considered herself lucky that her parents hadn’t sold her truck for the trouble she’d gotten herself in.
Sprout stood up, suddenly feeling more self-conscious of the sweats and old Marotto Nursery tee she’d been hanging around the house in. Hopefully, this wasn’t a trick by Primrose to get her to go to that burnout recovery group her talantologist had told her to check out.
“Where are we going?” she asked dubiously, trying to figure out what shoes to wear. There wasn’t much choice of things that didn’t have straps or laces, leaving her to slip on a pair of flip flops. Great. As if she wasn’t already atrociously dressed.
“I could do with a coffee,” Primrose said. “You can stay in the car.”
“Gee, thanks.”
She followed her sister out to her car. The short walk brought her past their well-manicured lawn and with that, silence. Sure, she could hear the sounds of the neighborhood - cars driving past, dogs barking, the hits of a baseball game from the radio on their neighbor’s porch as she smoked on the front step. But the familiar greeting of her mom’s rose bushes was no longer audible to her. She’d forgotten how eerie that silence was.
Sprout had tried to open the passenger side door herself, but Primrose just huffed and opened it for her. The worn out sedan was achingly familiar, its floral air freshener the closest she’d gotten to nature in weeks.
She closed her eyes, trying to keep back the prick of tears. If her sister caught her crying, it would be over for her. She had spent the last few weeks not letting anything slip.
“Buckle your seatbelt, Daisy.”
Sniffling quietly, she did.
Primrose reached over and brushed something off her shirt. “I’ll get you a pastry or something if you promise not to make a mess in my car.”
Sprout gave her a small smile. “I’ll try my best.”
She patted her wrist. It was the closest thing to sisterly affection she’d give her. But right now, that was all she needed.
original fiction (power payback) (continuation of this fic)
word count: 1837
tw: general medical stuff
“Your friend is a botanokinetic, right?”
Magni turned in his chair to see Hillson hovering over the edge of his cubicle. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
“Odd call just came in. There was a guy found half-dead in his apartment by his coworker. BCPD suspect foul play, but the guy is a burnt out botanokinetic.” Hillson rested his arms over the top of his cubicle wall. “I told them I’d send a guy for a second opinion.”
“Yeah, I can do that.” He saved what he had been working on and stood. “I’ll head down to the station now.”
“Oh, no. You’re going to Bright City General.”
Damnit. Magni hated hospitals. Although, he hadn’t met many with a perverse love for them, so maybe that was just the general opinion on them.
“Fine.”
“I’ll tell Detective Pallas that you’re on your way. She’ll be happy to see you.” Hillson gave him a grin that didn’t reassure him.
As Magni drove from the office to the hospital, he wondered what exactly his boss thought it meant that his friend was a botanokinetic. He guessed it was fair; he’d spent enough time with the Marottos to learn how botanokinesis could manifest. But he was far from an expert.
Detective Pallas, a tall, Black woman with lots of curly hair, was waiting for him when he came in. She seemed impatient, foot tapping as he walked up. He could guess her cooperation was not voluntary today.
“Mr. Quinn,” she said. “I thought this case might be a bit too organic for you.”
“I have experience with botanokinetics,” he told her.
“Mm.” As he signed in as a visitor, Pallas gave him the run down. “Our victim, for the moment, is Chester Holt. 25, male, works as a sales rep for a dentistry equipment company. His coworker, Fernando Diaz, stopped by to check up on him and found him unconscious.”
“So you think it’s foul play.” He stuck the badge to his chest.
“Might be. The paramedics on the scene gave me the run-down. Strangest thing I ever heard.” As they walked to the elevator, she explained, “The obstruction in his throat was a bunch of flowers. Loads. Fully rooted down his airway. They had to operate on his airway to try and remove them.”
Magni winced. “Sounds painful.”
“Yeah. Vic’s still recovering, can’t really speak. The coworker who found him offered to talk to us, but he has a different story.”
“Okay, let’s hear him out.”
As they went up to the third floor, Magni recognized where they were heading - the Talent ward. It’d been about a decade since Sprout had been admitted for her burnout, when he’d spent hours here trying to cheer her up.
The hospital room Detective Pallas led him to similarly held no life. He wondered if they’d enforced the same “no live flowers” rule or if it was just too soon.
The man in the bed - presumably Chester - was hooked up to a ventilator, his eyes opening slightly as they walked in. He was pale, black curls played out on the pillow under him. The glimpse of his eyes that he got revealed multicolored irises - one bright emerald, the other warm brown.
Beside him, another man sat with an anxious look. There were bags under his dark brown eyes, his chestnut hair rumpled. He stood with wide eyes when he saw Detective Pallas.
“Am I being arrested?” he asked.
“No. I just want you to give your testimony again.” Pallas seemed to remember that Magni was standing there. “This is Mr. Quinn, one of our consultants for Talent-based crimes. Mr. Quinn, Fernando Diaz.”
Fernando sat back down. “Right. Okay. I don’t know much about Talents, but I heard what his talantologist said. They don’t think it was someone else.”
Magni was inclined to believe him, but Pallas asked, “Mr. Diaz, if you can just tell us what happened again?”
“Yeah. So, I was coming by Chester’s place to bring him soup. He was feeling under the weather the day before. I thought it was just a bad cold. But when I knocked, he didn’t answer. I was worried. He had sounded awful, and I thought- I don’t know what I thought.” He started to wring his hands. “The door wasn’t locked, so I came in.” At this, he glanced at Pallas, like he was ready to be reprimanded.
“You were just trying to see if he was alright,” Magni said, only to receive daggers from Pallas. “What did you see?”
“Blood.” Fernando laid his hands out on his knees. “The bathroom door was open and the sink was covered in it. That, and flowers. Little purple ones?”
“Geraniums?”
“What was the state of the victim when you arrived?” Detective Pallas asked, ignoring him.
“He was laid out of the couch. I didn’t see anything in the throat, but I could tell he was having trouble breathing. And he wasn’t conscious, I couldn’t wake him up, so I called 911.”
She glanced over at Magni. The testimony wasn’t helpful, but he asked, “Were you aware that Mr. Holt was a Talent?”
“No. I never suspected.”
He looked over at Chester, who had closed his eyes. But he could tell he was still awake. That information wasn’t a surprise.
“Did you think he was keeping any secrets?” Detective Pallas asked.
“No, Chester would never. He wasn’t that type of guy. I guess aside from being a Talent, but-” Fernando sighed.
Chester’s eyebrows furrowed. Magni wondered what he was thinking about. It must have sucked to be talked about when you couldn’t even respond.
“You said you talked to his talantologist. Do you remember their name?”
“Dr. Merlo. I think.”
Now that was a familiar name.
“Thank you, Mr. Diaz.” Magni turned to Detective Pallas. “I’ll talk to her.”
“Alright. I have a few more questions for Mr. Diaz here,” she said.
Magni nodded and stepped out into the hall. He was ready to go to the nurse’s station when he caught the doctor stepping out of another room. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her; Dr. Merlo wasn’t his doctor, but he’d had to ensure Sprout didn’t skip out on her appointments enough that he saw her around.
“Dr. Merlo?” he asked, stopping her.
“Oh. Hello.” Behind her round glasses, she blinked, before recognition set in. “Yes. Magni Sempers. I remember you.”
“It’s Quinn, now, actually.” Magni cleared his throat. “I’m with Hillson and his consulting agency now, helping the BCPD look into what happened with Chester Holt. I know you can’t say much on his Talent and his previous burnout, but-”
Dr. Merlo straightened her coat. “I understand. Can we step into my office?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He followed her into her office - a small space that seemed more like a closet, with just enough space for them both to sit. But it provided a nice bit of privacy.
“Just like with Ms. Marotto, I was Chester’s talantologist at the time he had his burnout. It was a few years after hers. It was an odd case - the flowers had began germinating inside his lungs and started to choke him out.” Dr. Merlo folded her hands on top of her desk. “You know how kinetics’ abilities can be triggered by emotions, even without their realizing.”
“I know.”
“That was what his mother had suspected. Whereas sometimes it can be anger, or fear, grief can be just as strong of an emotion. The reasons Talents often experience burnout in their teenage years isn’t just because they don’t have as much experience with their abilities, it’s because their emotions can be so much more intense. Add hormones, and-” She mimed an explosion.
“So what happened?”
“Burnout by broken heart,” Dr. Merlo answered. “And it manifested just like this.”
“You never thought there was any foul play,” Magni said.
She shrugged. “That’s what I told the detective. I’m just not sure what could have triggered a flare up.”
He thought of Fernando, the slight pain in Chester’s expression when he talked about if he had any secrets. “I think I might know.”
When he headed back to Chester’s room, he went up to Detective Pallas. “Can I have the room to talk to Mr. Holt alone?”
She looked at him skeptically. “You’re not gonna get much out of him.”
“I’ll get what I need.”
“Alright.” Detective Pallas sighed. “Mr. Diaz. Mr. Quinn needs the room.”
“Okay.” With a wary glance, he followed the detective out of the room.
As Magni took Fernando’s seat, Chester opened his eyes again and looked over at him.
“Relax. I’m not here to shake you down.” He crossed his legs. “I talked to your doctor.”
Chester closed his eyes again and leaned his head back into the pillow.
“That Fernando’s a good guy. He sat here with you this whole time?”
He nodded, or as much as he could with the ventilator. But he didn’t meet Magni’s eyes.
“My friend says I can be a little too saccarhine for my own good. I love a love story, you know? And Dr. Merlo told me that your burnout, the one that planted those seeds, was set off by a broken heart.”
This time, he looked back over at him, eyes more aware than they’d been the whole time he’d been here. But there was no anger, only sadness.
“You love him, don’t you?”
Chester raised his hand, gesturing towards the pen and paper on the table. Magni handed the pen to him, holding the paper steady as he wrote: DON’T TELL HIM.
He sighed, leaning against the edge of his bed. “I’m a terrible liar, so I’ll just be honest with you. I can’t keep your secret. Unless you want the police to keep chasing an attacker that doesn’t exist. But if we’re being real…” Magni glanced out the door. “I don’t think you’re such the fool that you think you were. If your choice of flower means anything.”
Again, he beckoned him to bring the paper close. THANK YOU.
“You’re welcome.” Magni stood back up.
As he left the room, Fernando came up to him. “Did you get anything out of him? What happened?”
“Ask him yourself,” he told him.
Detective Pallas narrowed her eyes, walking beside him to watch Fernando go back inside. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. Just confirmed that it wasn’t foul play. And maybe played Cupid.”
“Damn. Who knew a techno-geek like you was so soft-hearted?” she asked.
“Rude.” He stepped back. “I’m going back to Hillson. I’ll send you a detailed report and the invoice for my excellent matchmaking skills.”
“Jesus.”
Once he was out of the hospital and back in his car, Magni took out his earplugs and opened his phone. He ignored the technochatter of a dozen notifications and called Sprout.
“Hey. Remember those fanfics you read in high school?” he asked her.
“How do I know you’re about to tell me a wild ass story?” Sprout replied.
