3.Struck Down

3. Struck Down

The coffee shop door jingles when I open it and walk inside. I stop at the back of a long line.

Lifting my phone, the time tells me there's 15 minutes until my morning meeting. Waiting may make me late and Dr. Blossom is only meeting with me as a courtesy since I'm no longer a student…

I really need a caffeine fix. How else will I get through meeting with the head of Primrose University's magical research department?

I'm dreading the part where we go over everything I did wrong and I find out why I didn't get the research job. Nobody gets it right all the time, of course. I still need extra sugary, extra strong coffee to soften the blow.

I shoot a quick email to Dr. Blossom telling him I'll be late while the line moves, and I approach the counter. There's still two people before me and my gaze idly travels across the room—and lands right on the last person I ever expected to see again.

It's him… Isn't it? The same man I ran into four days ago at Airadise. He's there across the store, waiting with other customers who have already placed their orders.

"The line's moving," says a voice from behind me.

"Huh? Oh, sorry."

Distracted by the mystery man, I didn't move forward with the rest of the line. My legs carry me forward while my mind races.

After several days passed, I nearly forgot about my intense encounter with a mysterious stranger. What else could I do after regretting the missed connection and resigning myself to never finding out what could have been? There hadn't been enough to go on to track him down.

Okay, to be honest, the encounter with the sexy mystery man had mostly been forgotten about… except for a few moments when alone at night. When my hand traveled under my pajama pants and I thought about the force of his stare and his muscular outline in the dark.

But it was only a fantasy. I'd resigned myself that it couldn't be more.

Now he's here .

Stunned by the development, I barely manage to give my order to the barista when my turn comes. I end up pointing at a picture on the drink menu with mountains of whipped cream.

"Your total is $8.75." The worker behind the counter holds out a hand expectantly to accept my payment, like maybe this isn't the first time she told me the total.

"Thanks, uh, keep the change."

My eyes are already scanning the crowd as I turn, looking for him.

It was dark last time, but I'm pretty sure it's the same man. That means... my missed connection doesn't have to stay a missed connection.

This second chance is a stroke of luck… or fate? Like the stars aligned just right to ensure we met again. No, that's too sentimental for a man I haven't even said a word to.

But we shared such an intense connection without even a conversation or being within 10 feet of each other. If the chemistry between us was already that strong, what would it be like in person?

I start angling around the other people waiting for orders and head towards him. I feel a smile on my face when I stand in front of him.

"Hey, I can't believe you're here."

"Yeah, ordering coffee in the morning is a bold choice." He speaks without even looking up from his phone. "That's why this place is empty. "

The sarcasm surprises me but doesn't stop me. Guess he isn't a morning person.

"No, you, you're here," I fumble over the words. "I didn't think we'd run into each other again." This time, he looks at me less than a second, expression blank. This isn't going at all how I expected. "Do you, do you recognize me?"

"Nope. Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry.

"We saw each other a few days ago," I explain. All traces of my smile are gone. "At Airdise, during the night? I was flying and you…"

My sentence trails off. He what? Watched me? Gazed at me like I was the center of the universe? Basically, he acted like the total opposite of his cold behavior right now.

"I don't know you," he insists.

"Maybe you'd recognize me better if you looked at me for even a second." Annoyance creeps into my tone. I can't help it. He doesn't need to be such a dismissive jerk.

That's the only reason why I press on. In fact, the apology is already forming on my lips for this bout of mistaken identity. The man is so sure we're strangers and none of my explanations ring a bell to him. So, this man shares a passing resemblance to the man I met but isn't him.

Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. Plus, it was dark and we weren't in front of each other like this .

Oh well. I made a mistake.

Then his eyes finally—finally—swing towards me and stay there.

Yes, this is absolutely the same man from before. His face looks familiar, but those eyes are unmistakable. It's not even the light brown color I remember—it's the stare. His stare, his intensity, they give him away.

"You've got the wrong guy," he says gruffly.

"That's not true," I respond instantly. "You're lying."

What I can't understand is why.

"And you're desperate." The man smirks. "If your date ran from you, he isn't interested."

"It wasn't a date. We, uh… I saw him and…" I falter, and he fills in the blanks.

"Okay, then that sounds like stalking."

"It wasn't stalking!" I exclaim. I force myself to take a deep breath. "Sorry, I overreacted." I raise my hands in a peaceful gesture. "I shouldn't accuse you of lying. If you aren't interested in me anymore, all you have to do is say so. There's no need to pretend."

"I'm not interested or pretending. I don't know you."

This man is not into me, and at this point, I'm not too interested in him either. He's an ass. Only the principle of the thing bothers me and urges me on. I don't want him to think he's fooled me .

Flustered by this whole interaction, I don't even register the name that's called. I only know it's his order when he weaves past me and heads to the counter without another glance.

Against my will, my eyes linger as he walks away. Admittedly, he's even sexier up close and in the daylight with his muscular body and bronze skin. His ass—everything about him—is phenomenal.

But there's no need to embarrass myself further. Let it go, Marty. I resolve to drop this and save myself the headache.

He's a weirdo anyway. Who wears all black and a leather jacket in the summer?

Then he turns around. There's no doubt it's the same man. He still wears the same distinctive item.

"You aren't fooling me," I declare. "You're wearing the same damn thing around your neck."

His mouth tightens and his hand clutches it protectively as if to hide it from my sight.

"I couldn't see it clearly enough to tell what it was in the darkness, but it's about the same color and shape. Not everyone walks around with a, whatever that is, around their neck." I try to take a closer look, but he's covering the object. "What is it anyway? A talon?"

He tucks it under his shirt. "None of your business. "

"Well, where did you get it? Why do you carry that around? Did you take it from a dragon or something? Did you kill them?"

His thin smile is sharper than the talon hidden under his shirt. "Dragons and shifters are people too. So if I killed a dragon, then I killed a person. That makes me a murderer. Do you really wanna bother me if I'm a murderer?"

I take a step back without being able to help it. "Are-are you threatening me?"

"Just pointing out that your priorities are messed up." He shrugs, carefree. "I suppose it's only a threat if I'm really a murderer."

"Are you?"

"Why would I tell that to someone I just met? Wouldn't be a very good murderer if I got caught so easily." He smirks. "Maybe if we met each other beforehand and I felt like I knew you, then I'd share all my dark secrets, but since we didn't meet before and I don't know you..."

"Very funny." I cross my arms and remind myself not to talk to strangers ever again.

"Order for Marty!"

I react to my name when my order is called. Of course, he notices and jumps on this.

"Go get your coffee, Marty." His superior grin nearly made me growl. "Try not to cry when I'm not here when you get back. "

"Oh my God," I huff. "Clearly, I dodged a bullet here since you're an arrogant psycho. I'd rather get far away and forget all about you."

"I've already forgotten you." He pops his black shades on triumphantly and strolls away.

Glaring at his back, I'm so furious that I don't even stop to check out his ass this time.

"Marty, order for Marty!"

Oops. I quickly head to claim my drink. As soon as I do, I lean down and take a lick of whipped cream without shame. It's that kind of day.

So much for that missed connection.

~

I sit in Dr. Blossom's cluttered office, surrounded by dusty books, plants, and mystical tools. My coffee cup warms my hands while I try my best to pay attention to his story about his participation in a recent study.

"Did you know," the elderly professor chuckles, "that those who cast spells while dressed up as classic wizards and witches, complete with pointy hats and broomsticks, exhibited a 17% increase in magical power?"

Blossom leans back in his creaking leather chair, his bushy, dark gray beard nearly reaching his navel. The earthbrand literally grew his beard for the study in order to look the part of a stereotypical wizard. He created special seeds with hair follicles and magic and coaxed the hair to rapidly grow on his face. "Getting into character seems to enhance one's magical abilities. Like method acting, but for spellcasting!"

He plucks up a pointy black hat from his desk and places it lopsidedly on his head. When I stare skeptically at the hat, his eyes follow, pupils trying to rise high enough to see the top of his head. He huffs and throws the pointy hat back over the magical plant it hid. A lightshade plant that thrives in the dark and shadows.

Guess we should get down to business.

"Professor, I wanted to ask you about the recent research opportunity that involved a prolific electric curse."

"Yes, I remember the study," Dr. Blossom's bushy eyebrows lift, and he must see my disappointment. "No need to worry. Other opportunities will arise for a talented young wizard like yourself."

"Do you have any idea why I wasn't selected? I'd like to make my application stronger before I apply for other opportunities."

He debates telling me something… and the treat I brought for him seems to make the decision for him. "This is a very good apple fritter." He munches happily on the flaky pastry, crumbs getting into his be ard. "You should have picked one up for yourself." He makes an appreciative noise before setting the treat on his desk. "If the study went forward, the job would be yours. But the project was canceled at the last minute."

I really thought the study suited me perfectly until I received a rejection email. Apparently, I was right. The problem wasn't me? I wasn't rejected at all.

The whole study was scrapped. What went wrong?

"I'm not sure about all the details," the professor continues. "I've heard whispers that the facilitator is quite a difficult individual. He keeps his team small and still always clashes with others." He scratches his beard thoughtfully as he thinks, and I wonder if he's enjoying his new facial accessory too much. "This might be a blessing in disguise for you. The curse itself is tricky enough and has resisted multiple attempts at lifting. Dealing with a combative leader on top of that? Not the best project to bet on for a new magical researcher. It's best to build up a few successes before taking on what might be a lost cause."

Honestly, the difficult nature of the curse is part of the appeal. The longstanding magical mystery will require wits and problem-solving skills along with my airbrand. Success will help me make a name for myself in research circles. I'd be sought out instead of one applicant among dozens in future studies.

And the cause is worthy. Nobody should have to suffer the effects of an invasive curse for years without any resolution.

"You're not ready to give up on this so easily, are you?" Dr. Blossom questions.

"No, not yet." Especially since I wasn't rejected at all.

"Hold on, refresh my memory on what we're dealing with. This electric curse responds to physical contact, correct?"

"Right, any skin to skin contact triggers the curse and causes an electric discharge, anything from a small shock to a stronger, more severe jolt. The curse lasting for several years has turned it from an inconvenience to an invasive, detrimental affliction. Recent attempts have turned away from lifting the curse and towards mitigation."

"Ah yes. The more earthy elements face little risk from lightning. Researchers tried adding rock magic to counteract the lightning magic. A promising theory, but the elements were too opposite and resistant to each other. The new approach hoped to try using an element that electrical energy is naturally reactive to—like water or air."

The risks of exposing an air or water wizard to volatile lightning magic are manageable enough in a controlled, academic setting, and so the study received funding. Which is where I'd come in. Or would have.

The job would involve finding a way to lessen the effects of the curse so the cursed man could find some relief.

"Is it even possible to start the project again?" Moment of truth. I hold my breath...

"It's not too late," Dr. Blossom says. Yes! This is the chance I need. "Curses, especially lasting ones, are exceedingly uncommon, but research like this is always quick to find funding."

"Curses freak people out," I agree.

He chuckles. "Not a very scientific hypothesis, but a truthful one."

The thought of magic just bam! instantly ruining someone's life unsettles people. They feel better knowing that curses have solutions.

Truthfully, it isn't that simple. Curses are tricky to create. Plus, swift action occurs whenever magic is used for serious violence and harm. Clear violations of governmental or magical laws are easiest to handle.

A nuisance curse, however, can be less of a priority. Most curses are temporary annoyances that a cursed person is capable of lifting, even if it isn't easy. Smaller issues like this can fall through the cracks .

"You could try convincing the man leading the study to reconsider. Actually," Dr. Blossom says, glancing at his watch, "the man you need to talk to is here today to sign some paperwork."

Excellent. This meeting went even better than I hoped. I rise from my seat and promise, "I'll do everything I can to get the project back on track."

And at the end, I'll publish my results. With a little luck and a lot of determination, hopefully I'll have done enough to make a name for myself in research circles. The curse is already a source of intrigue since it's gone on so long without a solution.

All I need to do is move things in the right direction and learn something useful. Of course, making a major breakthrough and mitigating or even lifting the curse are the best options.

But there's no point getting ahead of myself. First, I need to get the research project back on.

Stepping out of Dr. Blossom's office and into the corridor, we walk past bulletin boards and rows of identical doors. I prepare myself as we walk.

This is the opportunity that called to me, my path to finding purpose. One difficult individual won't stand in my way.

Dr. Blossom scans the small crowd that moves to and from classes, searching for our target. He points and—oh no.

Then I see him .

I feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Blossom points to the same jerk I had encountered earlier. My eyes narrow as I take in the sight of him, so out of place among the studious crowd with his leather jacket and lethal scowl.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he belongs in a seedy bar ready to fight, not a classroom setting. Then he sees me and the stay away vibes he broadcasts shift, an arrogant smirk playing on his lips. Great. Just great.

No, don't get discouraged. I've come this far. No backing down now. I can do this.

For the sake of the research, and the poor cursed soul, I will convince him to reconsider.

Somehow.