could sense his responses. “I guess,” he murmured, looking away.

“That guy there.” Dane nodded toward a tall young man goofing around with his friends. “He’s

wearing lace-up boots—make him think they’re untied.”

Lindsay watched the man for a moment, and then focused on him, just as he’d focused on Dane. He

imagined his focus a thread that his magic would follow, affecting only the person on the other end. He

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pushed his magic out, and with it, the idea of untied boots, laces dangling and tangling under the man’s

feet.

The young man stumbled, laughing, when his friend shoved him. Then he paused, crouching to tie his

laces, miming it perfectly, making all his friends laugh.

When the boots were tied, Lindsay relaxed, letting his magic go. He looked at Dane for approval. He

hoped he’d done it right. He wanted to please Dane, even if it meant using his magic.

Dane’s usually inscrutable expression showed definite approval. “Nice. You getting a feel for it?”

Lindsay scuffed one foot against the cement, nodding. “I think so.” It wasn’t so hard. One step at a

time, one piece at a time. He wasn’t so stupid he couldn’t manage that, no matter what his father said.

“You need to look after yourself,” Dane said. “Make sure anyone who sees you sees someone else, or

no one at all. How is up to you.”

Lindsay’s eyes widened as he nodded. “I’ll try.” He stood up and tried to get a sense of how many

people there were. But that would change, wouldn’t it? He couldn’t target everyone individually, because

some people would leave the park and some new people would arrive. Eventually, he and Dane would

leave the park too.

Could he send it out like a wave? Maybe. Should he change his features? Or try to look like someone

specific? No, maybe he should just add a sense that he was forgettable, that he looked like no one in

particular. He took a deep breath and pushed his magic out in a circle around himself, wider and wider.

The further he pushed, the harder it got. His head hurt so much, like someone was squeezing his skull

around his brain. Lindsay swallowed hard, trying to hold on. Underneath the pain, there were voices,

images crowding his mind, but then they faded away.

It wasn’t just the voices that were fading. Lindsay gave a whimper as his vision tunneled, blackness

seeping in from the edges.

Everything was perfect right up until Lindsay collapsed with a whimper, slumping as Dane reached

for him. It was so hard to tell the difference between Lindsay’s usual unrelenting distress and something

Dane needed to worry about. Dane caught Lindsay against him and first checked to make sure he was still

breathing.

Poor little bunny. Dane could tell that the little mage felt safe with him, trusted him, for some reason

Dane couldn’t fathom, and Dane had walked him right into this particular disaster. Feeling guilty was

damned inconvenient. He sighed and pulled Lindsay into his lap, resting Lindsay’s head against his

shoulder as though Lindsay had fallen asleep, and snuffled in his hair. Lindsay seemed healthy enough and

his pulse under Dane’s fingers was strong, but the smells of fear and despair were heavy in his hair and on his skin.

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Home. Dane picked Lindsay up easily, gathering the gangly body up in both arms, and made for the

nearest street. A cab stopped for him quite promptly and the cabbie hopped out as Dane was trying to open

the door with Lindsay in his arms. Under his navy turban, the man’s dark face was drawn with concern.

“You need the hospital?” he asked as he opened the door. “He sick?”

“No.” Dane stepped in without letting Lindsay go. “But thanks. He’s got epilepsy. Seizures. He’ll be

fine after a rest.”

The cabbie frowned as he processed this, then he nodded. “Yes, yes. Right. He’s sick in the car, it’s

fifty dollars extra.” He scurried around to the driver’s side and hopped in. “No hard feelings. Just hard to clean.”

“Not a problem.” Dane settled Lindsay’s head against his shoulder. “He won’t be, though.” Lindsay

looked like he was sleeping, except for the twist of pain on his face.

The driver swung out into traffic. “Where to, then?”

“West 129th at Amsterdam.” Dane looked up briefly. “I’ll tell you when to stop.” He settled in the

seat, wondering how the hell he was going to explain this to Cyrus if Lindsay didn’t wake up.

Getting back to the house was easy enough. Dane took the back stairs up and brought Lindsay to bed.

He laid Lindsay down and took off his boots and coat. “Come on, little bunny,” he said, stroking Lindsay’s

face.

He really didn’t want to have to tell Cyrus about this. He tucked Lindsay in and took a moment

longer, stalling and hoping Lindsay would wake. He wet a washcloth in the bathroom and sat on the bed.

“Lindsay,” he murmured, sponging Lindsay’s forehead and cheeks. “Wake up for me. This is enough.

Don’t make me call the healer.” Now, he was worried. He patted Lindsay’s cheek firmly this time, even as

he resigned himself to needing the healer.

Unlike when he was sleeping, Lindsay woke slowly, dragging himself out of unconsciousness. “No

doctors,” he rasped.

“There you are.” Dane was shocked at how relieved he was. “You sound like you need one.” He kept

petting Lindsay, trying to soothe him. “Or a drink.”

“Head hurts,” Lindsay whispered, barely breathing the words out. He closed his eyes again.

“I’ll get you something. I may need to get you the healer—not a doctor. I promise.” He got up slowly,

so as not to rock the bed.

“Why does it hurt?” Lindsay asked, not opening his eyes.

“I don’t know why it hurts. Just don’t move.” Dane knew his fear came through in his voice, but he

didn’t care. “I’ll get you someone. I’ll be right back.”

Cyrus was going to kill him. Dane took the stairs two at a time up to Cyrus’s rooms. He’d never failed

like this before. Things that could hurt him never frightened him. Since he was a child, he’d avoided being responsible for anything small and fragile enough to die because he’d made a mistake. He’d never been

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given another person to care for like this, either. Taking responsibility for Lindsay had been against both his will and his better judgment.

The door was already opening as he reached the hall and Cyrus peered out, his expression dire.

“What has gone wrong?”

Dane slid to a halt. “Something’s wrong with his magic. He collapsed and, when he woke up, he was

in pain. It was fine at first.”

“I’ll call Mona.” Cyrus scowled at Dane. “What did you do to him? She will want to know.”

“Nothing.” Dane felt a fraction of his age, and huge and awkward and ridiculous. “I asked him to do

small things. It worked the first two times, but he collapsed when I asked him to do something more. He

was unconscious for the ride home and now he’s awake and in pain.”

“Go watch him.” Cyrus glared at Dane. “Perhaps you won’t have to look after him, after all.” The

door slammed and Dane was left in the hallway, shut out.

He wanted to punch something. Punching things was what he was good at, beating things, fighting,

but not caring for things. He wanted to snarl at Cyrus to put him back where he belonged. He kept his

hands clenched at his sides as he stalked downstairs.

He was calm, though, when he came back into Lindsay’s room. “You okay?” he murmured, closing