A Guiding Light Read online

  “I won’t. I’ll hide until someone I know picks me up. It’ll probably be Dad. He gets cranky when I run off.”

  “Just how many times have you run off?”

  “This year?”

  “You know what? I don’t want to know.”

  It took me a few minutes to find a quiet spot near the park to let him out. I put the truck in park, hoping I wasn’t making a bad decision letting him go off on his own. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten really good at hiding. You’re the one who needs to be careful. Dump the truck somewhere. They’ll look for it to find you in a few days. But they’re looking for the old you, not the new you. They also don’t know you’ve become a giant.”

  “Great.” Before I could question him, he darted out of the truck, slammed the door, and ran across the street into the park, disappearing into the hedge separating the grass from the street. His confidence someone would be looking for my truck bothered me enough I drove off, considering what I’d do.

  Ditching the vehicle made sense, especially if I wanted to cover my tracks.

  At fifteen, I’d wanted a small, old truck just like it, something that had driven my parents insane. If they narrowed their search down to people named Adam who owned small, old trucks, they’d get a hit on two Adams in Hettinger, and the other Adam was in his late fifties.

  A new truck to go with my new property would work. If I wanted to play an elite’s game, I needed to look the part. Old, worn jeans would make way for suits, the kind I hadn’t worn since I’d been fifteen. The truck would be a good one, expensive but functional. I’d have to compromise on some aspects; I wouldn’t buy a truck I couldn’t use, but it needed to have some shine.

  Chrome would work, and I’d have it jacked up to make reaching my new property easier. If I did decide to work in construction again come the spring, I’d have a good vehicle for the work, too.

  While I got a good chuckle out of taking the advice of a twelve-year-old, I searched the internet until I found a shady junkyard specialized in scrapping old vehicles. Instead of letting him pay me for the parts and metal, I paid him five hundred to make it—and its tags—disappear without a trace.

  He didn’t ask for my name, I didn’t give it, and he was hard at work stripping the vehicle for parts within an hour of my arrival.

  By dawn, it would be a metal cube and a memory.

  Making the truck disappear without a trace would be a lot easier than making me disappear. No matter what hope Prince Marshal wanted to offer me, I’d already sacrificed too much to duty. Hate and love were the opposite faces of the same coin, and mine stood on its edge. When it fell, I couldn’t guess which way it’d land.

  I couldn’t afford to hope for anything other than the reality of my present. I hadn’t been the one to give up on us first, and I’d been ready to be freed from my talent for years. While I’d never hated Veronica for the sins of her parents, I’d come to accept love was a double-edged sword, and it’d cut into me too deep.

  I couldn’t love her. I couldn’t not love her. I’d always remain standing on the edge, trapped because of the choices our parents had made. I supposed some of the fault belonged to me.

  I hadn’t fought against their choice hard enough, although there was nothing I could’ve done. The royal family’s first edict banned me from the castle grounds indefinitely. Their second shredded the betrothal agreement on which my entire life had been founded.

  I’d been too stunned and hurt to fight.

  Not much had changed.

  Two wrongs would never make a right, which left me with my promise to the young prince. Saving the kingdom she loved would be enough to satisfy my idiotic need to do something despite it not being my responsibility. Even if it meant I had to start my treatment cycle from the beginning, I’d find a doctor in Fargo willing to move forward with nullifying my talent.

  Never once had I promised I’d give anyone infinite time. I’d give Marshal’s sister another chance, but I’d already given her a chance for forever. I couldn’t afford to hope for a happy ending.

  The disappointment would hurt too much. It already hurt too much. All I wanted was an escape, but I’d learned my lesson.

  Marshal meant well, but the royal family couldn’t be trusted. My family couldn’t be trusted. If Veronica did show up, I would listen.

  That was all I could afford to give, no matter what my broken heart wanted to believe.

  Chapter Four

  I called Dr. Berriner in Hettinger for a referral, and he recommended a Dr. Stanton, a physician and therapist specialized in making magic and medicine work together. If anyone could help me, he believed it was her—and he promised she could continue my treatments.

  Becoming her client would require a full talent evaluation, but he thought I could get the twenty thousand dollar price tag covered as part of medical treatments.

  He had no idea I could—and would—pay for the bill in cash without dancing around with my insurance company.

  With Dr. Berriner’s help, I was able to get an appointment with Dr. Stanton, although I’d have to wait two weeks. I didn’t mind.

  I had too much to do and not enough time to do it in. There was only one problem: to keep my word to Prince Marshal, I’d need to postpone having my talent nullified until after the impending financial crisis settled. When I was honest with myself, fear played a major role in my decision to wait.

  Princess Veronica reentering my life hadn’t been part of any of my plans.

  She was North Dakota’s heir.

  If the stock market crashed as I thought it would, if I could buy at the rate I thought I would, I’d own North Dakota. For however long I reigned over the kingdom’s financial interests, I’d have more power than even the king. I’d learned the laws. I’d set up my tangled web of corporations obeying those laws to the letter.

  I’d made a mess of the spirit of the laws, but that didn’t matter to me.

  I’d own North Dakota legally, and for a time, New York would believe their scheming would work.

  A better man would’ve issued a quiet threat to coerce New York into quietly abandoning its plan. I waited, gathered information, and dug deeper into how I could turn disaster into triumph. Beating New York wasn’t enough.

  I needed New York to lick North Dakota’s boots in front of the entire world.

  Instead of preventing disaster, I counted on it. I courted it. I prepared for revenge. I gathered the names and email addresses of investors I believed would take a stance against New York.

  I wrote a guide on how anyone could buy a single share of New York’s stock using software that wouldn’t charge them any fees unless they spent over a thousand dollars. I prepared letters to send to New York investors who valued fair play more than money.

  I picked an expensive hotel in the heart of Fargo, the type of place royalty might go, to remember what luxury felt like.

  It left a sour taste in my mouth.

  The day before my appointment with Dr. Stanton, the finalized papers for my new lot, fully zoned for residential development including the all-important access road, arrived in a plain manila envelope. Around the documents, I’d build more goals and plans, the one thing that kept me going when I had nothing else to work for.

  Maybe if I turned my past into my once-dreamed picture of the future, I could finally find peace and move on. For a while, I’d pretend I had a future instead of making plans to throw it all away so I could escape the relentless ache in my chest.

  The truth hurt me most of all, and it was what held me back. I didn’t want Veronica to be like me, trapped by magic and duty, and she was as caged as I was. Freedom had eluded us for too long.

  I wondered what Veronica would do when her brother spoke to her. I wondered what he would say.

  I wondered if it would make any difference at all.

  Worse, I feared what would happen if everything Marshal had told me of his sister proved to be the truth. I could stage a hostile ta
keover of an entire kingdom’s banking sector, but I had no idea what I’d do if I had to become the king I’d once been groomed to be.

  Without the right magic, how could I win that war?

  I didn’t know, I didn’t want to find out, but I had the sickening feeling I would, like it or not.

  As I liked to do whenever I had an appointment for anything, I arrived early. Expecting a long wait, I took a folder of research material and my laptop to the clinic. I couldn’t afford to delve into stock market affairs in public, so I looked through Fargo’s selection of architects. Considering the type of home I planned to build, I needed a firm or someone with experience to handle the design.

  However, I couldn’t risk using the top firms in the area. They had royal connections.

  Once I filtered out those who had worked on royal projects, I was left with two individuals and a mid-sized firm to choose from, a less than ideal situation.

  It took me less than ten minutes to eliminate the firm as an option; after some digging, I discovered a few too many reviews citing shoddy workmanship, a death blow to a good design. What set them as a firm no in my book was their policy barring clients from selecting the construction crews.

  That left me with an unproven man, his architect’s ring so new it likely smelled of the cleaners from its first polishing. My other choice was a woman who’d been in the business for five years without taking on a large project.

  The man’s portfolio went to the bottom of my folder. If I was going to deviate from the elite norms and defy the royal family by building on the equivalent of their backyard, why not give the underdog a chance to prove herself?

  “Mr. Smith?” the receptionist asked.

  I closed the folder, shoved it and my laptop into my bag, and checked to make certain I had my wallet, keys, and phone before I stood. “I’m Mr. Smith.”

  I was one of eight-hundred and six Adam Smiths in North Dakota, which had been why I’d picked the name. Even if someone did look for me, I wished them luck. Over four hundred other Adam Smiths lived in the area.

  It made hiding a lot easier.

  “Come with me, please. Dr. Stanton will see you now.”

  I followed the woman to a nearby examination room, where an older woman in a doctor’s coat waited, her graying hair trapped into a neat bun secured with a pair of wooden sticks. She smiled and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith. I just got off the phone with Dr. Berriner about your file. Please have a seat. Before we discuss your talent, I’d like to do a physical examination. Dr. Berriner expressed concerns about your heart.”

  I set my bag and jacket on the chair by the door and hopped up on the examination table. “I’m one missed dose away from a heart attack. I’m aware.”

  “Yes, that’s what Dr. Berriner told me. While I normally prefer to do my own evaluations without any outside factors influencing my diagnosis, I’m taking this concern seriously. The first step is to do a basic evaluation of your health, which will be followed with a full evaluation of your talent. Once I have a better idea of what I’m working with, I’ll propose a proper treatment plan for you.”

  I worried. A full evaluation would expose the truth; I’d gotten away with what I had because Dr. Berriner believed the meds were working when they weren’t.

  Inhaling deep and slow, I nodded. “All right, Dr. Stanton.”

  “I’ll also be doing a blood test along with your vaccinations. You’re due, and Dr. Berriner requested I handle it.”

  Damn it. I hated needles so much. “He just knows I’ll skip appointments involving needles.”

  She smiled. “While I can’t promise it’ll be painless, you’ll survive. If it makes you feel better, I’ll blindfold you. Some patients find it easier when they can’t watch me work.”

  “That’s a first.”

  “Dr. Berriner warned me you have a tendency to bolt at the sight of needles. I’ll leave it up to you how we handle that portion of the examination. Would you prefer to get it out of the way or wait until the end?”

  “Let’s get it over with. I’ll just close my eyes, if that’s all right.”

  “That will work. Would you like to be warned?”

  I shook my head, rolled up my sleeve, closed my eyes, and just to make sure I wouldn’t catch a glimpse, I refused to face her at all, which made her chuckle. “It’s not as bad when I can’t see it coming.”

  “It’s common, Mr. Smith. I prefer to keep my patients comfortable, as I’ve found it minimizes problems. Dr. Berriner claims you’re not a fainter, so I don’t anticipate any issues. Many doctors prefer to have the nurses handle blood drawing, but I prefer to work with my patients directly. This won’t take long.”

  True to her word, she wasted no time jabbing me with several needles and stealing my blood. Keeping my eyes closed didn’t prevent my heart rate from skyrocketing, but it beat the long, stressful wait Dr. Berriner subjected me to.

  Checking my heart rate and blood pressure right after torturing me with needles was so clever and underhanded I was forced to admire her. “That was slick, Dr. Stanton.”

  “It’s a good way to check your health. I’m going to monitor you until your heart has resumed its resting rate. So far, I’m not concerned. You may want therapy to address your aversion to needles.”

  I sorted. “Can I pass on the therapy?”

  “It’s optional, unlike your medication for your talent. Dr. Berriner expressed several concerns he wanted me to look into. You’re on the maximum allowed dose, and you’re not making the sort of progress he expects. He believes your talent is continuing to develop despite the prescription. He admits he hasn’t been willing to revoke your prescription due to your potential heart condition. I have a theory.”

  So much for hiding the reality of my situation from Dr. Berriner or Dr. Stanton. “I requested nullification.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to approve your request, but I simply can’t. If your file is at all accurate, there will be a serious concern about finding someone with a talent strong enough to nullify your talent. Ever since Dr. Berriner initially contacted me, I’ve been researching your condition. At max dose, you’re automatically at the talent level where an elite leech or nullifier is required to perform the nullification. A concentrated talent like yours is harder to eliminate. It’s probable the procedure would either kill you or strengthen your talent. I find neither risk acceptable.”

  I sighed. “It’s more likely to kill me, isn’t it?”

  Another day, another setback.

  “That’s my thought on the matter. Looking over your dosage history, I estimate it’ll be two to four months before your medication loses its effectiveness.”

  “If it loses its effectiveness, I’m dead either way I look at it.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Smith. You have other options. It’s no fault of Dr. Berriner’s that he wasn’t able to offer it to you, but I can. It’s a bit of a process to get the approval for it, but if your talent evaluation goes as I anticipate, you’ll qualify. I think you’ll find the results ideal.”

  “What option?”

  “You no longer have a weak talent. I’ll do a full evaluation of your talent and have you re-ranked. If your talent is of sufficient strength, which I suspect is the case, I can have a suppressor made for you. While there are still risks, as long as we properly tune the suppressor to your needs, it’s your best—and safest—option. As they’re expensive, you’ll need the appropriate rank to receive one paid for by the kingdom.”

  “Could I just buy one?”

  “If you happen to have a million or more dollars lying around, you can. On the private market, they take several months to make, but the manufacturers have models available for those who have qualified through medical evaluations, and new orders resulting from these evaluations are filled first. Depending on what your new rank is, you might have a custom suppressor within one to two weeks.”

  The cost of peace and quiet, an
escape from the constant pressure in my chest, was only a million dollars? “I’d pay far more than a million to be rid of this.”

  Dr. Stanton brought her stool over and sat beside me. “Let’s talk about why. This conversation is completely confidential, and it’ll help me determine if there might be other ways I can help you.”

  “There’s only one person for my talent, and that bridge was burned long ago. I’m tired of wanting what I can’t have, and I can’t afford to believe that might change.”

  Her smile was a sad, bitter thing. “You’re one of the most honest men I’ve ever met. Direct, too. I’m a leech as well, Mr. Smith. I’m bonded to my husband. It’s not easy when your partner isn’t interested. Our bond isn’t strong. It never was. It took him a long time to accept what I offered. Your talent isn’t as kind as mine. You need your partner, don’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It gets worse by the day.”

  “Will you authorize me to profile and evaluate your talent?”

  Dr. Berriner had attempted to make sense of me but hadn’t come close. Intrigued by the doctor’s interest and what she might learn because of her talent, I nodded. “It can’t hurt at this point.”

  “Good. You’re more open to discussion than Dr. Berriner thought you’d be.”

  “You’re also open to other options,” I pointed out.

  “Don’t blame Dr. Berriner for his shortcomings. He isn’t a leech, so it’s impossible for him to understand what it’s like to wake up every morning with a broken heart not even time can heal.”

  To profile my talent, Dr. Stanton needed to use the equipment at the main hospital down the street. There, she could demonstrate how talents could be rated through alternative fashions and introduce me to the suppressors the hospital used to contain talents—or mitigate the side effects of strong abilities.

  I was mostly interested in the suppressors. I’d given up on caring about my actual rank long ago. I’d bypassed the system using loopholes and backdoors in the economic system.