Del paused, weighing her options before proceeding. "You're aware that the majority of my formative years were spent in captivity."
"Of course," Mac said politely, though her expression grew sharper.
"Given that, I'm sure you understand why I have a hard time blindly following your directions, your plans, your…" Del held up a swath of fabric, "…your dress code."
"If the garments aren't to your liking…" Mac trailed off, giving Delilah a pointed once-over.
"It's not about the clothes, Mac. I won't be traded like—" Del paused, reading Mac's hardening expression and changing her tactic on the fly. "Have you ever wanted something with all your might, only to discover upon receiving it that it wasn't anything like you'd imagined? That it was closer to a nightmare than a dream come true?"
Mac went impossibly still, a trick Del had yet to see from the shade. Several moments passed before she responded. "Go on," she said through tight lips.
"For so long, my magic acted like a chastity belt. I dreamt of the day I'd be free of it and now the day is here, but—"
"It's nothing like you envisioned."
Del nodded. "I won't be made to feel like a broodmare whose only purpose, only reason for being lies between her legs."
Mac gave her a single nod. "And what do you propose should be done?"
"Let me be in charge of meeting new clans and forging bonds. Your help, while appreciated, feels like pimping."
Mac bristled but didn't interrupt.
"I can give you regular updates if you wish, but I need to be the sole and deciding factor of who comes to my bed. Period."
Another single nod. "What else?" Mac asked.
"Your attempt to make us comfortable in the fae world hasn't gone unnoticed, but fake Castle Hayne doesn't work for anyone and we'll be relocating shortly."
Mac went statue-still once more.
"Lastly, I want Joxen released from whatever role he holds in your clan. He won't be doing your bidding, reporting to you, or running errands between worlds any longer." Delilah expected resistance on her last point. She received none.
"Agreed," Mac said quickly. "Providing you still attend the fire festival. We'll meet bi-monthly to discuss your progress and plans. You'll have one week before our first tête-à-tête."
5
Joxen
His hands trembled, legs leaden weights as the magic that had always been suddenly wasn't.
Joxen slid down the wall, grateful he was still tucked in the depths of the east wing and out of sight.
She'd done it so easily…without a thought really. She couldn't have known, not even after ransacking his mind—the binding magic wouldn't allow itself to be detected. And yet, Delilah Cross had set him free.
Free of the Imperial Regent's call, free of her mercurial nature, of her grip around his mind and power.
Joxen of Clan Shade found drawing air into his lungs a task too great. And though his rear was firmly planted on the tile, he had the distinct sensation of free-falling. Without magic linking him to the regent, Joxen felt as if he weren't substantial enough, weren't heavy enough to remain.
He floated, weightless and formless, his mind calm, accepting.
Floating away seemed a fine idea. Noble, even. Past the strife and hardship of this world to whatever lay beyond.
Joxen? Delilah's light voice beckoned at the edge of his mind, pulling him back.
That's right.
He wasn't weightless.
He wasn't made of nothing.
He got to his feet, brushed himself off, and met Delilah in the atrium.
"Jox, would you be willing to—" Delilah stopped short as she took in his appearance. He didn't imagine he appeared any different, but Delilah did have a way of seeing through to his very core. "Are you all right?"
"I am."
"Fae don't get sick, do they? I mean, besides…"
Joxen managed a weak smile. "We do not. We enjoy a considerably longer lifespan than do humans as well. We aren't immortal, though," he added, anticipating her next question. "We do die."
"Mm. You sure you're okay?"
"I am," he said again, this time with a genuine smile.
Her gaze traveled over him, raising pleasant gooseflesh in the wake of her inspection. Her face made it clear that she did not believe his words, but if Joxen knew her, and he'd like to think he'd grown to know a small part of Delilah Cross during their short time together, she wouldn't press him further.
She'd wait until he was ready.
"Well, in that case I hoped you would accompany me to Clan Ember's Fire Festival."
"I'd be delighted, but I believe they're expecting you to arrive unescorted. Failing to do so might send a mixed message."
"They'd better prepare themselves then, because I'm bringing all four of you."
Joxen smiled, her brazen adherence to her own moral compass confounding him once again.
Delilah Cross was everything the fae needed.
Everything he needed. He sank into that feeling, allowing it to fill the spaces the binding magic had vacated. Nature abhorred a vacuum, after all. Why not fill the void with one who truly deserved it?
Though she drew no closer, the scent of burning embers and sunviolets rose within him. As if she'd…
Joxen stared at the woman before him, shocked by her willingness to…no. It couldn't be. Had she truly given him a piece of herself, not merely a bit of her magic?
As the firstborn male of a noble family, Joxen could have been tapped as one of the Imperial Regent's consorts. In fact, at just age ten, his mother and Mackinshale's mother, the former regent, performed a blood spell linking the children together. They'd hoped binding the two together would influence Mackinshale into choosing Joxen as her prime.
Both families were furious when she chose Addax, and Joxen was left with a strange mixture of gratitude and envy, and binding magic that he could never sate. Never ignore.
Joxen strived to be what Mackinshale wanted. Not because he wanted to, but because the binding magic drove him to. He'd lost himself for many years, waiting to be tapped.
Sometime after, when the magic waned and the regent made it clear he was not to be part of her enclave, Joxen devoted himself to the study of magic. He’d hoped to undo the magic linking them, and although his time spent in the clan's libraries had honed his skill and mind, he never uncovered the key to his unchaining.
Delilah had done so with a mere request and instead of placing her own spell or magic in the void, she'd placed a part of herself.
Joxen met her dark gaze, searching. Did she know?
"Only that you needed something. So I gave it."
A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "Were you in my head just now? Without my knowledge? Should we bury the Buffalo Witch moniker?"
Delilah's dark eyes captured him. They flared with light, with the embers that he scented on her, as a smile pulled on her lips. "No, Joxen. I felt a part of me sliding into you. I'm still a Buffalo, don't worry."
Joxen allowed himself a moment to bask as he drew her near. She nestled against his chest, her small, human heart beating steadily against the wild thumping of his. His hands slid through her hair, down her shoulders to the dip in her back. How he longed to let them wander further, without the company of the others in the enclave.
"Soon," she whispered into his shirt. "We've got to prepare for the Fire—"
"The festival doesn't begin until sundown. We have plenty of time," he whispered back, voice gruff.
Delilah pulled away, gaze locked on his. "I'm not ready yet, Jox. But I will be. Soon. Now, which of these ridiculous things should I wear tonight?"
Joxen understood her hesitance to lie with him and only him.
Group activities tended to have a momentum of their own. One-on-one interactions had to rely on their own chemistry, their own need for each other. While she would never admit it, Joxen suspected Delilah Cross wanted him just a little less than he wanted her.
&n
bsp; It mattered little to him. He'd happily take lopsided chemistry over—
"None," he said with a wave and sent the rows of overstated dresses back to wherever they came. "You need something better, something you're comfortable in that's neither a distraction or detraction. Something like this."
Joxen performed a basic dressmaking spell, relishing the sounds of Delilah's ooohs and aaaahs as he worked.
She gasped as delicate deep red fabric draped itself across a dress form Joxen conjured, allowing her to see how the garment would lay. Joxen adjusted the length of the hem with a wrist flick and the layers floated behind the form. He added a sheer panel between the V neckline, and another down the back, elevating the simple halter design.
"Oh Jox, it's—"
Before she could finish, Joxen finished the design with three different spells. One for perfect fit, one adding twinkling light to the sheer panels, and the last spell…
That was a surprise for later.
"Wow. I had no idea. You wear such muted tones. I would never guess you had an eye for design."
He smiled at her remark, if only because she'd yet to take her eyes off his creation. "I wear muted neutrals because they suit my complexion. You have much hardier coloring, and as such can wear hardy colors. Now, what, if anything, has Mac told you of Clan Ember?"
Delilah's gaze jerked to his. "Did you just…?"
Joxen only managed a nod. The change felt so natural, he almost hadn't noticed.
"How'd it feel?" she asked.
Joxen shook off his disbelief. "Strangely easy."
That single syllable rolled off his tongue as if he'd always used it.
But he hadn't. Until today, Joxen had never once called Mac anything other than her title.
"Thank you," he whispered as he pulled Delilah close.
6
Delilah
She'd added it on a whim, expecting Mac to refuse, or at the very most, honor her request only in part. Delilah never expected Mac to let go of the hold she had on Joxen so easily. She also hadn't known how deep Mac's claws were embedded in her shade fae mate. But wrapped in Joxen's lithe embrace, she allowed herself to get lost in his wild, untamed magic, and hoped one day he'd share with her his story.
Until then, they had clans to win over.
"Right, so," Joxen began, ending their embrace. "The only thing you have to worry about with Clan Ember is imbibing more than your metabolism can handle."
"Ah, Clan Ember is the party college of the fae world, got it."
Joxen smiled at her, and like Mac, his features shifted with emotion. Symmetry perfected, angles more acute, her shade's attractiveness surged from devastating to impossible.
Delilah had to fight to keep her pants on.
It certainly wasn't a lack of desire keeping her from going solo with Joxen.
He continued. "You might have guessed that Clan Ember favors fire magic, and you'd be right. But it's not as simple as that."
"How do you mean?"
Delilah's shade gave her a devious grin. "I think it's best if you experience it for yourself. For now, know that it's a great honor to be invited to one of their festivals, but you'll likely be stepping out of line by bringing four of us along."
Delilah considered his words. Toeing lines wasn't a new experience for her. "I won't go without all of my guys."
"Understood," Joxen said, moving on. "As I've never been to a Fire Festival, I'm afraid I don't have much else to offer."
"You have plenty to offer," Delilah said reassuringly as she laced her fingers in his and led him out of fake Castle Hayne. "What can you tell me about the research Mac has done on the imbalance between the worlds?"
Jox blew out a long breath. "She's spent decades searching for answers."
"And did she keep notes on her findings?"
Joxen's eyebrow rose as he intuited Delilah's next question. "She did."
"Would you be able to get a copy for me? If I'm the key to balance then fine, but I need to make sure she didn't overlook anything."
"Certainly. Though she won't be happy if she finds out."
Del smiled at her shade. "Then you’d best be sneaky."
Jox nodded and translocated, leaving Delilah on the grounds with nothing but her thoughts.
Double-checking Mac's work wasn't the only reason Delilah wanted the shade's notes. Her sudden streak of amicability didn't sit well with Delilah and she wanted as much information on the regent as she could get her hands on. She also hoped to discover the reason behind Mac's well-buried secret.
Joxen hadn't even known he held that particular memory until Delilah yanked it from his mind. His paternal grandfather had given Mac her true names. The last of which Mac had wiped from the minds of everyone in attendance at her ceremony, including the Name Keeper. Even at age eleven, Mackinshale had been ruthless.
But she hadn't noticed the boy waiting in the vestry for his grandfather. Hadn't known the boy heard and filed away every one of her names, albeit only with the smallest bit of his conscious mind, as he was mostly focused on how absurdly long-winded his grandfather was and that every word the man spoke was time he could be spending with his books.
Delilah sank into the lush blue-tinged grass of the fae world, her back toward the fake castle, and waited for Joxen's return.
She didn't wait long. Within moments of settling, her shade had returned.
And Delilah's stomach sank to the ground with her.
He collapsed in her lap, skin and clothes torn to gruesome ribbons.
"Joxen!"
He tried to speak, his tongue working furiously between his teeth, visible through the missing portion of his cheek.
Delilah choked back a sob. "Shhhh. Don't talk. I've got you. You're okay." Delilah did an adequate job of covering her panic with sweet lies.
Joxen was not okay.
And Delilah had no idea what to do.
His injuries were far too great for the simple healing spell he'd taught her and she hadn't thought to take any of the aunts' healing potions with her when she went on the run. Instead, Delilah went inward, cycling through her various elemental magics, none of which were helpful. Why didn't she have some kind of healing magic instead of stupid shade magic?
Joxen's eyes rolled, limbs twisting inward as he convulsed against her.
Delilah slipped into his mind as gently as she was able and searched through his powerbase for some kind of hidden healing power.
But he was a shade. He had the same power as she did.
Del dove further into his mind, finding his memories. The ones he held dearest were bright, centered in the hall of his memory. Others tucked themselves behind the bright ones, hidden behind layers of fog. One in a far corner pulled at Del. She summoned it forward and watched as Joxen's grandfather gave him an ancient book. Young Joxen's eyes lit with excitement as he settled the book in his crossed legs, and slowly paged through it.
Delilah didn't think about it. She didn't wonder if it was something she could do. She just did it.
Expanding the memory until it was as large and bright as the others, she filled Joxen's conscious mind with it, allowing no space for anything else.
She locked him in his own distant memory. Deadening the pain was the least she could do.
His lids lowered, quaking subsided, and breathing evened as he lived only in that memory.
She held him tight, squeezed her eyes shut, and focused on her destination.
Delilah hadn't yet successfully translocated, but she’d be damned if she was going to sit by and do nothing while one of hers suffered. She saw the place in her mind, felt the arid air, heard the hushed whispers, the astringent scent of healing magic pricking her nostrils.
Every time she'd tried before, Delilah had followed Joxen's instructions to the letter, but slicing through reality with the mental image of where she wanted to be had yet to work.
Delilah was done fucking around.
She threw herself and Joxen into the shopping square, usi
ng her power like the blunt instrument everyone kept accusing her of doing anyway. She landed on the pavement, face down, forehead and cheekbone cracking on the cement. Joxen landed across her back and knocked the air from her lungs.
And it was still better than when Mac ripped her through that afternoon. Delilah groaned from beneath her shade fae, hoping their undignified entrance caught someone's attention because she was quite certain the knock to the head was going to make her lose consciousness.
"Ninehva, clear two beds." The disembodied female voice felt sharp in Delilah's ears. The weight pressing into her back disappeared and the world went dark.
She had no concept of how long she'd been unconscious but eventually, Delilah woke inch by inch, one muscle at a time, to find the bright-eyed girl staring down at her. "Hello," Del said when the girl continued to stare without speaking.
"You're pretty," said the girl with a wide grin.
Delilah smiled, wincing against the sting on her forehead and cheek. "Oh, thank you. You're pretty, too."
"I know. But everyone here looks like me. You look like no one I've ever seen before."
"Majel! Stay away from my patients, please," the sharp-voiced woman barked, and the girl scampered off. In her place, the shade woman scowled down at her. "What were you thinking?"
Delilah sat up, surprised at the woman's tone and that she was still a touch woozy. "I was thinking that I had to get my mate medical attention."
The shade snorted. "For self-inflicted incursion disfigurement?"
"Self-inflicted? Joxen didn't do that to himself."
"No, he just went somewhere he shouldn't have, didn't he?"
Delilah didn't have anything to say to that. Pain rose in her face and head once more as she tried to make sense of Nurse Ratched's words. "He didn't go anywhere he hadn't been before."
"Something has changed, because from the depth of his wounds, I'd say he was most unwelcome."
Delilah dared a glance at the bed next to hers, relieved to see Joxen's wounds already mending themselves.
"The curse is quite a nasty one, but the effects aren't lasting. And I assume if you'd known, you wouldn't have hurtled yourself in here and disrupted my ward." The shade's gaze softened. "I'm sorry I can't offer you anything for your injuries. Once your mate wakes, you can leave and heal him on your own."
Witch's Four Page 3