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going to suffer, too.
    “You know what I mean,” I said, trying for composed while a thrumming instinct urged hurry with every beat of my heart. “After you release me.”
    “Which I haven’t done. And won’t, for at least another two weeks.”
    “Two weeks!”
    “You almost died, mage, not even a month ago!” he snapped. “Or did I imagine the puddle of blood in the hallway, and the five hours I spent in surgery patching you up after that son-of-a-bitch shot you?”
    “I’ve been shot before,” I reminded him. Although not at point-blank range. I’d uncovered a traitor in the Corps and almost gotten killed taking him down. I was better now, except for my magic, which had yet to completely stabilize. But it would have to do. “And I’m not going to be doing anything strenuous—”
    “I know you’re not, because you’re going to be here.”
    “Sedgewick!”
    “That’s doctor to you. And you can whine all you like, but I will not sign a release for anyone whose magic is acting as unpredictably as yours!”
    “You said that would even out!”
    “And so it will, once you’re fully healed.” I started to speak, but he cut me off. “Let me put this in very simple terms. Your body had too many assaults on its magic at one time. Now it is stuck on high alert, very similar to a person’s immune system revving up to combat a serious infection. With the exception that your magic is attacking anything it perceives as a threat—whether it actually is or not! That makes it erratic and dangerous and therefore restricted to base !”
    “But—”
    “Although if you think you can convince Dick otherwise after almost decapitating him this morning, be my guest,” he finished, with the smug expression that was factory standard for assholes.
    I left before I was tempted to put Sedgewick in one of his own hospital beds. I slammed out into the corridor, furious but already planning how to get around his prohibition. He might not have a problem saying no to me, but the leader of the Clan Council was another matter. I’d let Sebastian talk to—
    Something hit me with enough force to slam my head back against a row of lockers. I saw stars, and my lip split, spraying blood across my chin. I could taste it—hot and metallic-sweet as I grabbed for a weapon, before I belatedly remembered that I wasn’t currently authorized to carry one.
    I threw myself around the side of the lockers, trying to prepare a rough-and-ready spell that might carve through my assailant’s shields without taking out half the corridor along with them. I expected another attack, one more serious than a crack to the jaw, but there was no follow-up. I peered out through the small clear space under the lockers, looking for feet, but there weren’t any. That didn’t necessarily mean there was no one there. But if someone was hiding behind a cloaking spell, the distinct lack of pummeling was odd.
    After a breathless moment, I emerged to see the same white tile, the same pale walls, the same water fountain that no one had ever bothered to hook up. I put a hand to my face, expecting to feel the pain of a split lip if not a broken cheekbone, but only soft skin met my fingers. There was no wound, even though the ache was still there.
    It wasn’t helped by the shock of icy water that came out of nowhere and hit me square in the face. I coughed, wiped my eyes, and looked up to find that the corridor was gone. In its place was a hot summer day, with the sun glaring down from a vivid blue sky.
    It gleamed off the chrome fender of a beat-up motorcycle and the dark brown hair of the guy washing it. The hair tickled his neck because he didn’t get it cut as often as he should, like he remembered to shave maybe twice a week . Whiskey brown eyes that were the same shade in either form met mine, sparkling with challenge.
    I blinked, but it was definitely Cyrus. He had the stripe of sunburn across his shoulders he got in the spring, after last year’s tan wore