by A. H. Lee
She looked at him in confusion. “You’re going to burn it?”
“Yes, it’s part of anchoring it. Come see?”
Azrael had set an empty bronze bowl on the picnic table—presumably something he’d brought with him, since Jessica had never seen it before. Delicate runes were etched all around the rim. The map lay on the table beside the bowl. It had come to look rather strange, almost as though there were a second image of another map superimposed on top of it. Lines of light flickered over the map like electricity. They shimmered and broke in fractal patterns, distorting the names of countries and somehow making the whole thing difficult to look at.
Azrael placed a couple of tiny, dry bones in the bronze bowl. His face was tense with concentration in the fading light. Mal stood across from him, watching closely. Azrael picked up the map, holding it only by the edges, and held it over the bowl. He took a deep breath, said a word, and the bones in the bowl flared. A clear, white-hot flame leapt straight up and through the map.
Azrael let go of the paper in the same instant, and the map disappeared in a rush of blue fire. It burned in midair, so completely consumed that not even ash fell to the table.
Then the fire was gone and, in its place…a map. It looked faintly translucent and three-dimensional with mountains rising in the south and west, points of color in the fields around the Provinces and particularly around Tanisea, blue in the water. The construct hung in the air over the bronze bowl—ethereal and beautiful.
Jessica gave a squeak of delight.
Azrael waved his hand for silence. He examined the map minutely, though without touching it. When he seemed satisfied, Azrael poured a small amount of liquid from a vial into the bowl. Jessica caught that smell again—the fragrance of flowers, the sea, horses, books and ink… It smelled like the Shrouded Isle. Azrael took up a tiny object from the table. Jessica came closer and saw that it was a sewing needle made of bone. He dipped the eyelet into the bronze bowl, and when he raised it, a thin string of silver liquid hung from the needle. “Thread?” whispered Jessica.
Mal nodded without speaking.
Azrael brought the needle up delicately under the map, the string of liquid never breaking, and made a single stitch through Kotos. Mal gave a long exhalation and leaned his hands on the table. Azrael’s fingers stopped moving, and his eyes flicked up to Mal. “Too much?”
Mal shook his head. “It’s fine.”
Jessica guessed that whatever Azrael had just done required a lot of magic. Azrael pulled the needle under the map, still trailing the thread from Kotos, and pushed it up through the Provinces at Tanisea. He kept pulling—the liquid from the bowl rising into thread, through Kotos, under the map, and up through Tanisea. Azrael wound the silver thread round his hand as he pulled. When he finally seemed satisfied, he passed the needle through the thread above the bowl, cutting it, and tied a complex knot. He pulled gently, and the knot came to rest under Kotos.
Mal’s shoulders sagged. “Well, that’s done.”
Azrael was muttering and poking at the map, which flashed and shimmered in response.
“It’s anchored, Boss.”
“Looks like it.” Azrael let the string slide off his fingers to pool on the table.
“Are you just going to leave it like that?” asked Jessica. The sun had set, and the map glowed like a sheet of fireflies in the dusk.
“Yes,” said Azrael, “but I’ll dampen it. Should be safe here for now.” He said a word, and the map and string vanished.
They were all still and quiet for a moment in the sudden darkness. Then Mal yawned hugely and stretched. “Are we all caught up now? Did I do good?”
Jessica could hear Azrael’s smile in the dark. “You did good.”
“Then let’s go party!”
Chapter 36
Jessica
The Electric Octagon was a fashionable restaurant by day and a modern club by night. In the evening, it was patronized mostly by students from the local college, many of whom came to Tanisea from distant lands to study the art and history of the Shattered Sea.
“No waistcoats,” said Mal to Azrael. “Unless you want them to think you’re a magician. No hats. Do you even own a casual shirt? I’d give you one of mine, but it would swallow you.”
“I did manage to get here without advertising my identity,” snapped Azrael. He went into the bathroom and put on one of his white dress shirts and a pair of black trousers. “Happy?”
Mal rolled his eyes.
“What? Do I not look presentable?”
“You look like a fucking sorcerer.”
“Do you have a black shirt, Ren?” asked Jessica. She’d changed into a tight blue turtleneck sweater with a colorful pendant necklace, a full blue, and red plaid skirt with knee-high boots.
Azrael thought about it. “Yes.”
“Try that. All black is a little boring, but you won’t be the only one wearing it.”
Mal agreed that the black dress shirt would do. “It needs something, though,” said Jessica. In a moment of mischief, she reached up and flipped the clasp on Mal’s silver necklace—his collar—and tossed it to Azrael. “That will make you look like the kids at the club.”
Jessica expected one or both of them to protest. Mal had gone very still. Azrael hesitated, then reached up and fastened the necklace. Azrael’s neck and shoulders were smaller than Mal’s, and it looked bigger and heavier on him. It also looked good with the black shirt and his pale skin—correct for the venue.
He looked at Mal and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Mal swallowed. “You’re wearing my collar.”
“It’s as much mine as it is yours. It’s my focus for gods’ sakes.”
“But you never wear it.”
“I’m wearing it now. Yes or no?”
“Yes,” said Mal, a little too softly, a little too fast.
Jessica glanced at him sidelong. I did not realize this was a fantasy of yours. Please don’t tear his clothes off just yet. “Mal, are you going to change?”
He had several long-sleeved button-down shirts he liked to wear on these outings. Mal selected a dark blue one. It was pleasingly tight in all the right places, as were the trousers he wore with it. Jessica caught Azrael shooting little glances at him as they put on their coats. Oh, you two.
They walked the mile into town through brisk fall air, with night birds calling in the fields. The stars were very bright, and Azrael kept tilting his head to look up at them. His pale throat and the necklace gleamed in the starlight. Jessica was proud of Mal for not leaving bruises on him. Azrael had the kind of skin that bruised. You were very gentle; good job.
Mal was walking on his right. Jessica had not realized they were holding hands until Mal said, “You have calluses on this side.”
Azrael was still looking at the stars. “I am right-handed.”
“Hey, you also have two hands!” said Jessica brightly.
Azrael reached out for her, laughing. “I feel like the pair of you are going to pull me apart.”
“No, silly,” said Jessica. “We’re going to pull you together.” She proceeded to tell him what to expect at the Electric Octagon. “The food and drinks are both very good, although they only serve snacks and alcohol at night. If you get hungry, the eel rolls are my favorite. It will be crowded and noisy, but the restaurant is usually quiet enough to talk. There are table games and pool upstairs. There’s table tennis. Sometimes people have sex in the bathrooms up there. If you don’t want to run into that, use the bathrooms on the ground floor. The best dancing is in the basement. It doesn’t open until nine, and it doesn’t really hit its stride until one. The club closes around three.”
“I am not staying out until three in the morning,” said Azrael.
“No one said you had to.”
“Should I call Lucy?”
“It’s not Lucy’s scene,” rumbled Mal.
Jessica suspected that Lucy could make any scene hers if she so desired, but Jessica had to agr
ee that an older woman in a mink cape would look out of place at the Octagon, at least after nine.
It was only seven o’clock when they arrived. The restaurant was still serving dinner, so they took a table. Azrael did not order a drink, and when Mal’s came, he slid it under Azrael’s hand. “Try that.”
Azrael took a sip.
“Well?”
“It tastes fine.”
“Can I order you one?”
Azrael pursed his lips. “I cannot remember the last time I had a mixed drink.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed my wits about me.” His voice edged into sarcasm. “I had a very dangerous pet, you see.”
“Well I’m holding my own leash now. Here.” Mal passed Azrael his drink and hopped up to get another.
Azrael examined it critically. “Is he trying to get me drunk?”
“He’s trying to get you to relax,” said Jessica.
“I am already more relaxed than I should be.”
“Have a drink,” said Jessica. “Have two. Just don’t have seven.”
“I think I should probably not have two.”
He did, though. And then they went upstairs and played table tennis. Azrael had points of color in his cheeks. He was laughing easily, moving less stiffly. He was actually rather good at table tennis.
The houselights came down, and the club lights came up. Murals not visible during the day appeared on the walls in black light. A band started playing downstairs, and the bass vibrated through the whole building.
Jessica could feel sexual energy soaking into her, producing a different kind of intoxication. Mal was perking up. After a while, he said, “I’m going to have a walk about. I’ll be back.”
By a “walk about,” Jessica knew he meant he was going to find the highest concentration of sexual energy in the building, stir it up even more, and feed off the results. He could feed faster and more easily if he had sex with a partner, and he could certainly find willing partners who wouldn’t expect him to stick around all night. The basement dance floor would probably have people grinding against each other to climax, and that would do just fine.
Jessica glanced at Azrael. “I want to dance with you before he comes back.”
Azrael put down his tennis paddle. “Alright. I warn you, I’ve never done modern dancing. Although I’m probably tipsy enough to try.”
Jessica giggled. “They dance sometimes beside the bar in the restaurant—more old-fashioned, the way you were dancing with Mal at the tavern. You said you can do the boy parts.”
“I can.”
The area was practically empty, with one middle-aged couple spinning their way around the floor. The thump of the club made conversation difficult, and Azrael didn’t try to talk. He danced well, never stepped on her toes. After a while, he let Jessica put her head against his shoulder. “Are you alright?” she asked.
He’d been laughing and joking during the table tennis game, but now he seemed a little sad. “I’m fine.”
Jessica was suddenly distracted by a familiar mop of platinum blond curls. The waitress from the tavern was sitting at the bar. She was wearing black velvet trousers, a dark purple shirt with shiny buttons, and a fitted black velvet jacket. She tucked her hair behind one ear as she talked, and Jessica glimpsed a crescent of glittery piercings.
The girl turned towards her, and Jessica realized she was staring. She jerked her eyes away and put her head back down against Azrael’s shoulder. The girl had been talking to a tall, broad-shouldered man, but they weren’t actually sitting very close together. Not exactly cozy. Mind on your business, Jessica, she told herself. Make sure Ren has a good evening.
She stole another glance. They definitely didn’t look cozy. The girl was half-sitting on the stool and tapping one stylish shoe against the floor. They were boy’s dancing shoes, but they suited her.
Jessica felt Azrael shift and turned to see Mal standing on the sidelines, holding a drink and grinning. His shirt was half unbuttoned, his hair a little wild. He looked like sex and danger. You are really stirring up this party. Even I’m feeling it. He waved, and Jessica and Azrael started towards him, weaving their way through the increasing number of dancers.
Mal slid into a booth and patted the cushion beside him. Azrael sat down and Jessica took a seat opposite. “You look like you’re thinking too much,” said Mal to Azrael and handed him his drink.
Azrael shook his head. “You’re going to make me sick.”
“Nonsense! Those other two drinks have already worn off. You’re barely even tipsy now. I can tell by the look on your face. Drink that.”
To Jessica’s surprise, Azrael did. He practically gulped it.
Mal raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we were doing shots. Waiter!”
Azrael tried to hush him, but Mal had already ordered. He put an arm around Azrael and pulled him close on the bench. “What is it? You want to tell us something; what?”
Azrael cradled the empty glass. “You asked about the dancing…how I learned.”
“Yeah, how?”
“My friend…the one who called me Ren. She taught me. She worked in the stables.”
Jessica leaned forward. “Is that how you learned so much about horses, too?”
Azrael nodded. His eyes were fixed on his empty glass. “I spent a good bit of time in the stables, since I liked horses and feral cats more than people. Tabitha—Tabs, we called her—she was a stable hand and she liked me. Not liked, but we were friends. She had a girlfriend in town, was crazy about her. She wanted to go dancing with her, and it was easier if she dressed as a boy. She needed someone to practice with.”
“To dance the girl parts,” said Jessica softly.
Azrael nodded. “So we’d dance in the stable on nights when nobody was around.”
The shots came and Azrael downed one without being prompted. Mal still had an arm around him. Jessica reached out and took one of Azrael’s hands in both of hers. “What happened to Tabs when the school was attacked? Do you know?”
He nodded. “She ran into the stable to let the horses out. It was on fire. The roof fell.”
There was a moment’s silence and then Azrael lifted his chin and gave a mechanical smile. “I think I’m being a cliché.”
“No, you’re not,” said Jessica. “How could you go dancing and not think about her? Not talk about her? Have you ever told anyone that story?”
Azrael shook his head.
“Well, thank you for telling us.”
“I don’t know what to do when you’re sad,” muttered Mal. “I think I should be a panther now.”
Azrael snorted. “I think the patrons here would find that very alarming. They’d also know exactly who I am.”
Mal looked surprised. “How?”
“Because, when Lord Azrael publicly leaves the Shrouded Isle, nobody pays close attention to what he looks like. They only notice that he always has a gigantic black cat with him.”
Mal looked pleased. “I’m your disguise?”
“You are a piece of Lord Azrael. So am I.” He drank another shot.
Mal put a hand over his. “I think that’s enough for now.”
“I thought you wanted me drunk.”
“We’ve achieved that.”
Azrael leaned into him and gave him a smile that was almost coy. “You like it when I wear your collar.”
Mal swallowed. “Yes?”
Jessica could tell that Mal was a little unnerved by this unfamiliar version of his master. If he didn’t know what to do with Azrael sad, he was doubly uncertain of what to do with Azrael overtly flirting with him. She hoped Azrael wasn’t about to say, do, or promise something he would later regret. “Why don’t you two dance?”
Mal looked at the dance floor. “They’re slow dancing now.”
Azrael was already clambering out of the booth. Mal looked at Jessica and mouthed, “Is he alright?”
Jessica bit her lip. He doesn’t know how to open up just a little, so
when he lets down his walls, it’s messy. “He’s fine,” she whispered back. “If he wants to talk, let him talk. Otherwise, just don’t take advantage.”
“I can do that,” said Mal, although he sounded uncertain.
I know you can, thought Jessica. You were very good in the garden.
Mal followed Azrael onto the dance floor and took his hand. Azrael folded into his arms. A moment later, they were kissing. Jessica sat and watched, feeling a sense of accomplishment and trying not to feel left out. I’ll get my turn.
She jumped when someone spoke near her ear. “How did you get stuck chaperoning those two?”
Jessica turned to see the waitress from the tavern grinning at her. She hadn’t tried to cover her freckles with makeup, but she was wearing smoky eyeshadow and mascara. It made her eyes look large and very bright.
Jessica could feel herself blushing.
The waitress did not break eye contact. “You know I’m a girl, right?”
Jessica nodded.
“My name’s Ania. Are you allowed to have company while you’re chaperoning?”
“I’m not chaperoning…exactly.”
“Oh, good! Off the clock then.” Ania slid in beside her.
Chapter 37
Mal
They were slow dancing and kissing. Mal had thought Azrael was relaxed in the garden, but he was practically melting in Mal’s arms now. “You’re cute when you’re drunk,” Mal said against his cheek.
Azrael smiled without opening his eyes. “The room is spinning a little.”
“I’m sorry about your friend,” whispered Mal.
Azrael tucked his face against Mal’s shoulder. “To me, it seems like that boy—Laurence, Ren—he died in the fire. Along with Tabs and the horses, along with everyone. He died, and Lord Azrael was born, and he is part you and part me. I haven’t felt like Ren in a long time.”
“You feel like him tonight?” ventured Mal.
Azrael didn’t answer. “I was so young when I summoned you, Mal. And you seemed so much older. You don’t remember, but you were. You were older then than you are now.”
Mal laughed. “Have we met in the middle?”
Azrael tilted his face up, and Mal kissed him again.