Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) by Sonya Bateman

against my palm.
    He was dying. Fast.
    I closed my eyes and pushed all of my energy into healing him. It was my weakest skill—I was still new at this stuff, and for the Fae, healing was more art than science. No magic words, no particular gestures, just the will to make someone whole again. And it took a lot of power. I could feel my spark guttering, my magic practically running on fumes.
    Finally, the thief groaned and stirred. I snatched the gun from his hand dropped it into a nearby trash can before he gained full consciousness, just in case he felt like trying to shoot me again. “You all right?” I said.
    He lifted his head slowly. A few blinks, and his eyes got really wide. He drew in a big breath and screamed, “ Help! I’m being assaulted! Somebody call nine-one-one— ”
    “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I muttered, and flicked a gesture at him. “ Beith na cohdal. ”
    He rolled his eyes and slumped over, snoring gently.
    That last spell seriously drained me. It was actually painful to cast, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do anything magical that was more complicated than turning on a light until my spark recharged. I’d get a little back over the course of the day, but I wouldn’t return to full power without exposure to the moon.
    Damn. Not having that pendant was a lot more of a handicap than I thought. I figured I ran out of juice faster because I was only half Fae—the moonstone had let me conserve power by constantly amplifying what I had, and I’d always worn it. I had no idea what my true limits were before now.
    At this moment, David Copperfield was probably more magic than me.
    I left the thief snoozing on the blood-stained floor and made my way back toward the main waiting area, figuring he could have fun explaining that some guy he’d tried to mug had thrown him halfway down the hall without touching him. Hell, maybe I’d done him a favor. He might give up robbing people in favor of a less dangerous occupation, like NASCAR driving or bull fighting.
    Meanwhile, I had more important things to worry about. Like how I was going to keep from impulsively murdering people until these damned hallucinations stopped.

    There was still forty-five minutes of layover left, and none of the Duchenes had returned to the waiting area yet. I found an empty row of seats and sprawled on the middle one, hoping to discourage people from sitting near me in case they turned into Valentines.
    I hadn’t been there long when a pair of them came into the room and headed for me. It was the middle two, dusted in melting snow and carrying a bunch of white plastic bags that read Carson’s . They stopped in front of me, and the girl offered a shy smile. “Hey, Gideon,” she said. “We ain’t been introduced, but…ah…”
    “She’s Isalie, and I’m Bastien.” He held a hand out, then did a double-take when he remembered it was full of shopping bags. “Er. Hold up—”
    “It’s fine. Nice to meet you,” I said. “Where’s everyone else?”
    “All them went down the pharmacy.” Isalie glanced at her brother, then put a handful of bags on the seat next to me. “We thought…well, these for you.”
    I frowned and gave the bags a quick scan. One of them held a big cardboard box, and the rest looked like clothes. “What’s all this for?” I said.
    “ Mais , what all happened last night…” Bastien coughed and looked at the floor. “You said you didn’t have any other clothes. We gon’ be a few days out, you know. Gettin’ pretty bad out there. And it ain’t exactly warm down city, neither. We guessed at the sizes, so them boots might be a little big. Got’ya spare socks, though.”
    “Boots?” I slid the plastic down the side of the box and saw a picture of brown work boots. The other bags held t-shirts, jeans, socks, boxers, a pair of gloves, and a fleece-lined canvas jacket.
    I was absurdly touched.
    “Thank you,” I managed. “You didn’t have to do this.”
    Isalie flashed an unhappy