The Smoke-Scented Girl by Melissa McShane

on his arm as
if she were exhausted. Evon stopped to pick up her belongings and
overheard a man say, “Probably just as well, her going like
that.”
    “Never did find out what happened to her
son,” his neighbor said.
    Evon half-dragged the magician down the
street past the last houses and out of sight behind a dune, then
released her. She made no effort to keep his coat closed over her
body, and Evon, embarrassed for both of them, turned his back on
her and held out her cloak and satchel. “Thank you,” she said. Her
voice was husky, almost raw-sounding. He heard her rummage in her
bag, and after a few minutes she said, “You can turn around now,”
with what almost might have been humor.
    Evon turned and found her fastening the last
few buttons on her dress. She bent and picked up his coat and
handed it to him, gingerly, as if she expected him to take hold of
her again. “You’re not dead,” she said. “You should have
burned.”
    “Did you want me to?” he asked.
    She reacted as though he’d slapped her. “Of
course not,” she said. “But everyone burns. There’s never been a
single survivor. So I want to know, why you.”
    Her directness, and the calmness with which
she spoke, unnerved Evon more than if she’d screamed at him or
threatened him. “It’s a new kind of shield,” he said. “It almost
didn’t work. I think your spell is a good deal more potent than any
fire I expected it to defend against.”
    She wrapped her cloak more securely around
herself and shivered, then lifted her bag to her shoulder. “What do
you want from me?” she asked.
    Evon was again unnerved. “I want to
understand that spell,” he said. “It’s what I’ve been researching,
fire spells and protecting against fire. I think we can use it in
the war. Will you—I can teach you the shield spell in return, if
you like. I don’t mean you any harm,” he insisted.
    “I’m not a magician,” she said. “And you
don’t want this spell.” She turned and began to walk away. Evon
grabbed her wrist, realizing how stupid that was only after he’d
already taken hold of her. She stopped and looked down at his hand.
“Let go of me.”
    “Look,” Evon said, feeling desperate, “I’ve
been trying to find you for weeks. I just want to talk to you. Come
with me. Just an hour. Maybe two. Then...I don’t know. But—” She
looked up at him, and her face was so empty of emotion, her eyes so
dead, that he was seized with a wrenching sympathy for her. “I
think you need help. My name is Evon Lorantis. I want to help you.
What’s your name?”
    Confusion, and some other emotion he had no
name for, flickered across her face. “Kerensa,” she said. “Kerensa
Haylter.”

Chapter Five
    It was Evon’s turn to lead the way, retracing
their steps toward the heart of the city and the inn where he and
Piercy were staying. He had to resist the urge to take Miss Haylter
by the hand and tow her along after him. Every time they turned a
corner he expected her to take off running in the opposite
direction. But she stayed close by his side, not speaking, not even
looking at him in the brief moments when he glanced over to
reassure himself that she was, indeed, still with him. The scent of
smoke that drifted from her wasn’t as pungent as he’d imagined it
might be, this close to her, more of a memory of a smell than the
smell itself. He wondered what she was thinking. She hadn’t sounded
insane, but that haunted look in her eyes suggested that whatever
grasp she had on reality was tenuous. And nothing she’d said, from
the moment he’d confronted her, fit the picture he and Piercy had
drawn from the evidence. How could she not be a magician, with
magic like that at her disposal? And yet she’d seemed reluctant—no,
that was far too tame a word for the way her whole body had gone
rigid as she’d screamed at the victim to get out. It was as if the
spell was under someone else’s control, and that was simply
impossible. He