His Fairy Share

by Meghan Maslow

  I didn’t roll my eyes, but it was close. Possessive dragon. Probably didn’t even know he’d done it.

  “Oh, you’ll love it.” Cora grinned. “It’s a celebratory feast for two of the Goddesses. Don’t worry, it’s not overtly religious. The feasting takes precedence. Some Goddesses preferred a little revelry. Anyway, the professoras didn’t allow us to attend as students. Full witches only.”

  “Not that we didn’t try,” I said tartly. Twig’s arms tightened for a second before relaxing.

  “Got caught, did you?” he asked.

  Cora cleared her throat. “Maybe once or twice.”

  “A year,” I added. We both snickered. I’d forgotten how badly we’d wanted to see the feast. Supposedly, lots of exotic foods and drinks were prepared and consumed during a raucous night of celebration. Sneaking a peek each time turned into a favorite game, though I don’t think our professoras felt the same.

  “When I told Hallewell that story, she thought you might appreciate taking part. The food is as odd and tasty as they say. Just be careful how much you drink. Some of those concoctions pack a wallop.”

  “That’s . . . a nice idea.” The High Rei proved to be savvy, I’d give her that.

  “It is. So, you’re up for it?”

  Twig and I exchanged looks. I was kind of curious. Was it so wrong to take a little time to enjoy ourselves? Chances of the food being tainted with the Council present were low. At least I hoped so. I didn’t trust Le Torneau, yet would she pull something in front of the High Rei? I didn’t want to encourage the Council, though I would have to play along at least a little if we hoped to sort things out with Zak and find a solution to our mating dilemma.

  “We’d love to.” I even managed to smile.

  “Great! I’ll let the Council know.” She bent and kissed my cheek again, then leaned in and gave Twig a kiss, too. I felt his surprise through our link. She stopped to ruffle Zak’s hair again and collect her familiar, then waved at Pie before disappearing out the door.

  Pie preened his wing. “Do either of ye find it unusual none of the uppity ups be stopping by since yer meeting yestermorn? That seems mighty peculiar to this old bird. Witches don’t like to let things be, if ye take me meaning.”

  Twig proceeded to fill Pie and Zak in on our “discussion” with Rei Le Torneau. By the end of that tale, Zak paled to a shade near Pie’s.

  Pie squawked. “Why blow me down with one of me feathers, these witches be picaroons.”

  “You okay, Zak?” I asked.

  “I can’t believe she wants to sterilize you because you have magic.” Zak picked at his cuticles like they’d done him a grievous wrong. “Like it’s your fault that witches are scheming and want to increase their power. Way to blame the victim.”

  This was the nicest thing he’d said so far. “Don’t worry about it. We’re taking measures to make sure I don’t ingest any love potions, and there’s no way Le Torneau is going anywhere near my, uh, junk.”

  “You can say ‘cock,’ you know.” Zak attempted to smile.

  “Or ‘dick’,” Twig added helpfully.

  “Or ‘kraken’,” Pie chimed in.

  “Kraken?” I asked. Yeah, I know. Twig usually walked into these things. In my defense, I hadn’t fully woken up yet.

  “Now, Mister Quinn, haven’t ye heard the expression ‘release the kraken?’ What did ye think a pirate be referring to?”

  “Uh, a kraken?”

  “Then there be, ‘I sentence ye to walk me plank’ and ‘They don’t call me Long John because of me height.’”

  I groaned. “Stop. Please stop.”

  “And, Pie, don’t forget, ‘Me skull and crossbones aren’t the only thing I plan on raisin’ tonight,’” Zak said in the worst fake pirate accent ever.

  Pie clacked his beak in his version of hysterical laughter. “Lad, ye be a quick study. Ye’d make a good pirate.”

  Zak beamed, his color returning.

  I sighed. “Anyway—pickup lines and metaphors aside—this outing will give Hallewell the chance to work on convincing me to stay.”

  “You don’t want to stay? No, of course you don’t. Stupid question.” Zak’s hand smacked the table, causing Pie to squawk. “Why don’t you go back to the Elder then?”

  We faced each other across the table.

  “Look, I’m being honest. I can’t stay. The memories are too painful. The Hominus isn’t my home anymore.”

  Zak stared at his lap. “Yeah, right.”

  “Please, Zak, I’m trying. I want to get to know you better. I want to help you.”

  “Not enough to stay.”

  I swallowed. “I . . .”

  “No, not enough to stay, kid.” Twig’s voice held firm. “You think you know so much about Quinn, but you don’t. He has a good life with me in the Elder. He couldn’t have that here. No matter what they say, or what they offer.”

  Zak frowned. “You don’t know that—”

  “I do,” Twig insisted. “But things are different now. If you choose to stay here, Quinn can still see you. Or we’ll see about getting you permission to come to the Elder, too.”

  “The Elder? How would that work?”

  “We haven’t figured out the details.” I raked a hand through my hair, and then tugged for the pain it brought. I hadn’t expected to have this conversation so soon. I had hoped to smooth things over with my brother before broaching this subject. “If a red fury can stay, I don’t see why you couldn’t.”

  “Nonmagicals aren’t allowed.” Zak scoffed.

  “I know, but maybe Twig’s dad could help. Or since you’re a minor, you might be able to stay until adulthood. We’re not certain yet.”

  “And you won’t consider staying here?” He picked at a hangnail like his life depended on it.

  Pie whistled. “Lad, ye don’t know what ye be asking of yer brother. He be a good, honest man, though ye be treating him like a scallywag. This realm ain’t no good fer him. Betrayal don’t sit well in an empty stomach. Ye be blaming the wrong person fer yer troubles.”

  “It’s okay, Pie. He has his reasons.” I squared my shoulders. “No, Zak, I can’t see it happening. I’m sorry.”

  My little brother looked away. “Fine. Good to know.”

  I expected him to run. He didn’t. Instead, he sank further into his chair, pulled his knees to his chest.

  I made myself stay in place so he wouldn’t bolt. “I want us to be a family.”

  A tense silence ensued.

  “I don’t know if I believe you,” he finally said.

  “Fair enough. You don’t have any reason to, I know. All I can say is I’ll keep showing you I mean what I say.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Not an easy sell to an angry teen. But what did I expect? If this was all Zak could offer, I’d take it. “Yes, we will.”

  Twig huffed. “Okay, now that you’ve both had your say, I’d like to get our day started.”

  “My plan is to go back to the archives. More work to be done.” My stomach lurched just saying the words, then settled. What if . . . No, I’d find a solution so we could get this mating on the road. I had to believe it remained possible.

  It had to be.

  Zak deflated. “Oh, I guess that means I don’t get to show Twig around town.”

  “Why not?” I said. “I’m sure he’d enjoy hanging out with you. He’s not interested in the archives.”

  “That’s not a hundred percent true, wizard. It just takes so long, and the books are, well, boring. No one ever gets to the point.”

  “So go and have a good time in town, and you can meet me before we go to the feast. Zak, I’d like to talk more about what the future holds for us.” I held up a hand before he could protest. “I know you’re angry and don’t trust me. I really do want a place in your life and I’m willing to earn it, if you’ll give me a chance.”

  Zak eyes darted around the room before settling on me. “Fine. But I’ll be late. Once Twig comes back here, I n
eed to go see the parents. I haven’t contributed this month and I don’t want Mortimer stopping by work again.”

  A knife couldn’t have carved deeper into my chest. “I’ll give you the dyparis. At least until I make it clear to them that they don’t get to treat you this way.”

  “White knighting me again? No, thanks. I have the coin and can take care of myself.”

  He might as well have held a sign above his head flashing I need you. He wouldn’t say those words. Not yet. Twig slowly rubbed my back, showing his support, though I could feel his anger through our link. I’m sure he’d love for Mortimer to show up while he caroused with Zak. Nice fantasy. However, I needed a long-term plan to deal with my family.

  “If you need me, wizard . . .”

  “No, go have fun. Besides, I wouldn’t mind having time with Cora. We’d bore you with most of our stories anyway.”

  Twig’s eyes narrowed. I elbowed him. Jealous dragon.

  “Fine. I’ll walk you to the archives so no one tries to bespell you.”

  “If ye don’t mind, Mister Twig, I’ll tag along with ye. There be a tavern I discovered—”

  “I’d like you to come with me, Pie,” I said. “I want you to meet the archivist. She’s amazing, and I think with her help we can figure out your dilemma.”

  For a second Pie looked forlorn but then he perked up. “T’would be so good to see me Captain again. Ye really think the witch be able to help me?”

  “I do.”

  “Then it be me pleasure to forgo the ale fer the time being. Do ye think there be ale in the afterlife, Mister Quinn?”

  “I don’t know, Pie, but I’m sure if there is, Captain Blackstone Yardley would be the one to discover it.”

  “Right ye be, Mister Quinn.”

  15

  Damn witches! Our trip to the archives was even more harrowing today. Twig had to bodily block the overeager witches. One even lobbed a weak-level love pellet at me. If Pie hadn’t snatched it from the air and swallowed it, I’d be pining after a witch I’d never even seen before.

  We’d had to make a run for it in the morning heat, our boots clacking over the multi-hued flagstones as we retreated. Talk about ridiculous. I itched to use my magic to protect us but didn’t want to offer any clues to my abilities.

  Throughout the trip, Zak gaped at all the attention, though he had some choice words to say to the witch who threw the pellet. With a mouth like that? He definitely hung out at the docks.

  Pie and Twig approved of his approach. I bit my tongue.

  Twig scanned the lobby, locating Beckett. Then he and Zak waved goodbye in the doorway and made a hasty retreat. What were they afraid of? Book cooties? Pie’s feathers drooped when they disappeared.

  “Good morning, Beckett,” I called as I approached the desk. I was sweaty after our mad dash, my tunic sticking uncomfortably, though now I shivered from the abundance of chill sticks in the library, that dropped the temperature to just above frosty.

  Beckett knelt half inside a large crate, pulling out books one by one. She heaved herself to standing and brushed her dreadlocks off her forehead, her face red. Trash Panda lay on the desk looking even worse for the wear than yesterday. No sign of breathing, her body limp.

  “Hey, Quinn. I’m glad you came back. I stayed late last night to check a few things for you.” She gave me a meaningful look. “I may have positive news.”

  “On which dilemma?”

  “Both.” She squinted at Pie on my shoulder, only now noticing him. “And who might you be?”

  “Oh, sorry.” I stroked an affectionate finger down Pie’s chest. “This is Pirate McPiratestein.”

  “That be me proper name, Miss Beckett, but ye can call me Pie.”

  She tilted her head. Seemed to be automatic when she took in an interesting piece of information. I’d become accustomed to that gesture yesterday as we scanned through tome after tome. “That’s quite the tip of the hat to Captain Blackstone Yardley. You are named after his parrot, right?”

  “I don’t be named after me Captain’s bird, I be his bird.” Pie’s chest puffed up.

  Beckett’s gaze shot to mine, so I nodded. “He’s the ghost I told you about.”

  Her eyes widened. Then they rolled back, and she collapsed.

  What in hydra’s hundred hexes? I hurtled the counter, dislodging Pie and barely missing the raccoon, and then crouched over her unconscious form.

  I felt for a pulse at her neck. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “W-What happened?”

  “Barnacles and blowhards, ye fainted, Miss Beckett.” Pie fluttered down next to her. She took one look at him and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Pie, she might be afraid of ghosts. Maybe you should—”

  “Mmfph,” she said, her voice muffled and her head shaking vigorously.

  “You’re not scared of him?”

  She removed her hand, her breath coming in gasps. “Blackstone Yardley was my great, great, great, great, great—well, you get the idea—grandfather.”

  Pie whistled. “Then ye be named after him. Beckett be his middle name.”

  “Oh, Goddess, you really are his parrot. I don’t believe it.” She sat up. “I have so many questions for you.”

  “Be interested to know how a descendant of me captain ended up a witch. Pirates and witches don’t exactly mesh, unless things be changed more than this old parrot realized.”

  Beckett frowned. “No, you aren’t wrong. I’m a bit of a . . . freak.”

  I couldn’t help it. I sniggered. “Join the club.”

  She blinked, then gifted me with a brilliant smile. “I’d be honored to be in your club, Quinn. I haven’t run into so many interesting, uh, creatures or situations before.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” I stood and offered her a hand, which she hesitated before grasping. Pulling her to her feet, I said, “So, I’m guessing Pie’s story moved to the top of the priority list.”

  She shot me an apologetic look, scooping up a limp Trash Panda. “If you have time, we can tackle both.”

  We moved to the small conference room, Pie showing off by flitting through the solid wall.

  “I can’t believe I met Pirate McPiratestein. This is a dream come true.” Beckett sank into a chair, set Trash Panda down on her lap. Stacks of books littered the conference table. Someone had been busy. “What happened to you all? What was Blackstone like? Was he as fearsome as the books said? They said you fought a kraken, but no one ever found your ship. One minute here, the next gone.”

  “Slow down there, Miss Beckett. I be willing to answer all yer questions, but ye need to give me the chance.”

  Beckett blushed. It was sweet, actually. “Sorry. I just can’t believe . . . go on, please.”

  “We made the mistake of going after a poorly defended galleon fer their booty, unaware there be a witch on board. Thought t’would be easy pickins.”

  Beckett gasped. “Witches are bad luck on ships.”

  Pie clacked his beak a few times. “Perhaps for us, but that old yarn be nonsense. Though it be true yer granddad didn’t have no love of witches. Especially after that.”

  “So what happened?” Beckett leaned forward, breathless.

  “Me best guess? The ship took on a rogue witch. Instead of warning us away, she called forth a demon. Don’t know much after that. Suddenly the crew, me captain, and yers truly be ghosts in the Expanse. That be an infernal desert in the Elder Realm. We spent a few centuries there, afore the crew one day began to fade away. Skinny Pete, Peg-Leg Louie. All of ’em. Finally, me captain—” Pie drooped, a big tear forming in his one good eye, “—he left me, too. I be alone for an eternity before Mister Quinn and Mister Twig found me and said they’d help me return to me captain. So far, we’ve had no luck at all, Miss Beckett. I be hoping ye can help.”

  “I swear, I’ll do my best, uh, Pie.” She held up her pinky finger. He reached out and wrapped his talons around her finger.

  “I believe ye, Miss.
Now, why don’t ye tell us yer story. What’s a nice pirate like ye doing in a witchy place like this?”

  Beckett’s shoulders slumped. “My dad lived a pirate’s life, and while in port, he met my mom. They fell in love, and soon after I was born. They couldn’t let anyone know that a witch and pirate were together. They planned to train me to be a pirate with the rest of the kids once I hit eight. But before that I tested positive for magic, and they didn’t have any choice except to let me be tutored. I never wanted to be a witch.”

  “Really? You don’t love having magic?” I gaped at her. I couldn’t imagine wishing my magic away. I’d had the opposite problem, wanting it so badly to be true, then failing my final test.

  “It’s okay, sure. But I love being on or near ships. Now that I’m a witch I’m banned from the deck for being bad luck. Even when I came home on holidays, I wasn’t allowed back onboard. When my dad died in a raid—though I suspect a mutiny—my mom wasted away. Soon, it was just me. My dad’s first mate, Trevor Karn, took over his ship, the Disreputable Prince, and the rest is sad family history. I finished my training, passed my tests, and took a job at the archives.”

  “The Disreputable Prince, you say?” Pie hopped up and down on the table, clearly excited. “Captain Yardley would be so pleased to hear that name, except . . .” Pie’s one eye squinted, “me captain wouldn’t like that someone not a Yardley descendant be captaining that thar ship. It be rightfully yours.”

  “I can’t exactly stake a legal claim. And besides, what pirate would follow a witch-pirate captain? That’s ridiculous. Imagine the laughter if I tried.” She drooped, her shoulders hunching. “Besides, I can be of use here—”

  “Did yer sire teach ye to fight? Did he teach ye the pirate code?” Pie hopped closer to Beckett and cocked his head to look her in the eye.

  “Even though Dad hadn’t allowed me onboard, he didn’t leave me defenseless. We used to train on my vacations. I couldn’t bring a real sword back to school, though I had a stick and snuck off to practice whenever I had a free moment.” Beckett’s eyes lit up, then dimmed again. “I didn’t want to disappoint the Yardley name. Not any more than I already have.”