“That’s one way to put it.” Anora took another cautious step toward him and away from the doorway to get a better look at him, trying to gauge exactly how angry he was. Looking at him closer, she realized it wasn’t directed exactly—or just—at her.
	She watched as the man raised an arm, her gaze following it. The image of it broken and bloody flashed through her mind. She clenched her teeth and her eyes flicked to the side for a second. She swallowed, trying to dispel the image.
	She looked back to him as he moved to get up. She took another quick step toward him when he stood shakily, ready to help him if his legs gave out. She stood near him, watching, waiting, but he managed to stay on his feet.
	Her brows rose when, instead of an introduction, he [i]demanded[/i] she call him Dorsby. He did not even bother to use [i]her[/i] name. “Want me to add ‘His Majesty’ before that?” she asked lightly, crossing her arms.
	All the same, she watched him worriedly as he stumbled forward. “Maybe you shouldn’t be standing yet,” she suggested, watching him as he searched the room for something. [i]He shouldn’t even be [u]breathing,[/u] let alone standing,[/i] she added silently. “I mean. You just… well. You know.” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly, then cleared her throat.
	She cringed when he stopped to pop his back, the unnerving, unnatural sound making an empathetic ache and a shudder run down her own spine.
	[i]Who [u]is[/u] this guy?[/i] she wondered yet again that day as he straightened. She shook her head in disbelief at his condition. 
	“Yeah, I’d say we have more than just a [i]few[/i] things to talk about.” As glad as she was that she had not killed him, she needed answers. Answers about how he had recovered so quickly.
	She watched him curiously when he lifted his hand in front of him. She took a cautious step back. The tingle of her powers licked at her skin in preparation for use in her uncertainty about him. But he only snapped his fingers. 
	But it was more than that. With that simple action, he had summoned two objects that had definitely not been there before. He had confirmed, at least in part, one of her two suspicions about his condition.
	“You have [i]magic![/i]” she exclaimed as he withdrew a cigarette from the box. Her voice echoed in the room a bit louder than she had intended, and she almost felt like laughing. She closed another step’s worth of space between them in her exuberance.
	At last, she had found someone else with powers. Though she would have preferred a method of discovery that did not include hitting him with her car, her eyes lit up with excitement. Her years of hoping she was not alone had, at last, paid off.
	He excitement faltered when a new thought entered her mind as the unusual smoke rose from the man’s cigarette. He was [i]openly[/i] using his magic in front of her. Which meant either he knew she had abilities of her own, did not care who saw him use magic, or he did not intend to let her spread the word.
	She took a step back, looking him over with a new frame of mind. He did not appear ready to attack, but she remained watchful, nonetheless. She met his gaze when he spoke again.
	Her brows furrowed at the strange names he asked her about. 
	“Only if you count Peter Pan.” She uncrossed her arms and placed her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans. She tried to look relaxed, but suspicion rested in her purple eyes.
	She looked to the smoke, watching its uncharacteristic movements. She gawked as she noticed the ash rising instead of falling from the cherry. Was he trying to show off, or just that uncaring about who might walk in and notice?
	[i]What in the world is he even smoking?[/i] she wondered as the woodsy scent of the smoke filled her nostrils. She glanced to the doorway, wondering if anyone would smell it and come investigate.
	“Who [i]are[/i] you?” she asked, a tinge of awe in her voice as his hair changed to various shades of pink. “How are you…?” She gestured to the spiraling smoke as it danced in its own private breeze and swirled at the tiled ceiling.