Mal stared at his phone, the screen showing a picture of Desmond with his wife Tori, both of them beaming and holding the tiny bundle of blankets that was their baby, Ajax, just a couple days after he was born. He was tempted not to take the call, but he’d been doing that too much lately. He swiped to answer.
“Hey Dez.”
“Hey, how’s my favorite beta?” Just the sound of Desmond’s voice was immediately reassuring. Being a werewolf was so weird.
“We know you say that to all of us. That’s not really how favorites work,” Mal grumbled, even though hearing it made him feel warm and easy for the first time in days, possibly weeks.
“Shows what you know,” Desmond said cheerfully. “How’s school going? Learning all kinds of spooky shit?”
“Yeah, you know. It’s good,” Mal lied, hoping Dez wouldn’t really be able to tell over the phone. Better change the subject quick. “How’s Ajax? Doing calculus yet?” Tori was an engineer and had bought a baby book about advanced math as soon as she found out she was pregnant.
Desmond laughed. “Well, he’s graduated to throwing peas across the room, so it’s only a matter of time. I mean, clearly he’s interested in calculating trajectories.”
“Right.” Mal could just picture it, the baby sitting in a high chair in Dez and Tori’s little kitchen, making a giant mess. “What about Brendan?” Brendan was another beta in the pack, another stray that Dez picked up — a born wolf who’d lost his parents, he was just a couple years younger than Mal.
“On the mend,” Desmond sighed. “That wendigo really did a job on him, though. He sleeps a lot. Actually he and Ajax are both napping right now.”
There was a little silence. Mal didn’t know what to say. If he was there — and if he had a handle on his wolf and his magic — he could help them. But up at Penrose, he was so far away that the pack bond was stretched thin, almost to the breaking point.
Finally Desmond cleared his throat, and gave him all the other news — apparently there was an asshole sorcerer playing pranks around town, and they needed a new roof after that thing with the giant bats. Mal promised to research some of the spells the sorcerer was using, see if he could find any counter-spells. With luck, it would be something one of them could cast.
“Listen, Mal, don’t worry about us, okay? We’re fine. You do what you gotta do. And if you need anything — and I mean anything — you call, okay? We gotcha covered. You know that.”
“Yeah,” Mal said, his voice scratchy. “I know. Give my love to everybody.”
“You got it,” Desmond said warmly, and they ended the call.
Mal really needed to pass his classes. But more than that, he needed to get his shit together so he could help his pack instead of being a burden. It was rare for a wolf to develop magical talents. Very rare. Those who did ended up becoming spiritual advisors, shamen, problem solvers. But only if they got a handle on them.
But he just didn’t see how a princess like Cassie could help him. She’d probably never worked a day in her life. What did she know about responsibilities like that?
He worried all the way back to Spenser, where he walked up to his room and found Ash on his way out. Ash was huge, built like a brick wall, with a big red beard and a booming voice. He had his upright bass slung across his back like it was nothing, and when he saw Mal he grinned and wrapped a heavy arm across his shoulders.
“Mal!” he boomed, almost yanking him off his feet. “You look like you could use a distraction.”
Mal tried to sling his arm around Ash for balance, but ended up awkwardly grabbing the carrier for the bass and holding on for dear life. “Well, you’re not wrong. Where you off to?”
“Practice session. Come on, have a drink, jam with us.”
It was exactly what Mal wanted — music. And he’d been listening to his headphones with little problem earlier, so maybe — maybe — he’d even be able to play a little.
“Lemme grab my guitar.”
The Broken Wand was a converted theatre located deep in the sensitive underbelly of Spenser House. The kitchen at the back served cheap beer and coffee, along with whatever food the stoners who worked there felt like making — mostly variations on brownies and sandwiches that included avocado and sprouts. It made Mal, a California boy at heart, feel right at home. They had one sandwich that verged on genius. It had a fried egg atop cheddar cheese and apple slices, topped with sprouts and mustard, served on an onion roll. They called it Elevenses. It was one of Mal’s favorite things about Penrose.
They also let you trade meal credits for pints of ice cream, which was one of Ash’s favorite things.
The performance space wasn’t large, but it had pretty decent acoustics. When Ash and Mal arrived, the rest of the band were there — Priya at the bar ordering something, Dylan sitting on the edge of the stage, tuning his guitar, and Charlie kissing her girlfriend near the stage door.
Ash strode down the center aisle, hoisted his bass onto the stage, and then boosted himself up next to it, clapping Dylan on the shoulder in passing. Mal wandered over and leaned against the bar next to Priya, who was one of the few people that Mal thought might actually be his friend at Penrose.
“What’s on today?” he asked.
She gave him a broad smile. Today her bright red lipstick matched her short dyed hair. “Shamrock shakes — little bit of a luck charm in ‘em, too,” she said, holding her fingers up, pinching a few millimeters of space. “Hey, you going to the Perfect Day show?”
Perfect Day was Mal’s absolute favorite band, ever. They were famously reclusive and hadn’t played a show in years. His heart rate sped up and he took a deep breath. “Seriously? I would kill for that, how did you hear about it?”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and tapped in a search. “It was all over twitter this morning, let me see…” She handed him the phone, and there it was — it wasn’t even a tour, they were just randomly playing in Edmonton in two weeks.
“Okay, why are they playing Edmonton?”
“You didn’t know? The drummer’s one of us.”
The way Priya said that, so easily, like of course Mal fit in at Penrose with all the old-blood wizards and mad geniuses, no question — it made him feel like, for the first time, he might want that to be true.
“You mind if I send this to myself?” Mal asked. Priya waved a hand at him — sure, no problem — while she turned to accept her wild green milkshake from the guy behind the counter. Mal quickly texted the show info to himself and handed her phone back. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said around her straw. “Let me know if you need a ride down to the city. We’re organizing a caravan.” She patted him on the arm and sloped down toward the stage.
God, he wanted to go to that show. He needed to. Maybe his senses wouldn’t overload again. Maybe he was getting better.
“Hey man, you want anything?” the guy behind the counter asked.
“Yeah, can I get a shake too?” He could use a little luck.
Shake in hand, he joined the others on stage, feeling a little nervous. The shake did help, although whether it was the luck charm or just the ice cream he didn’t know. But he opened his guitar case and started tuning, listening for the sweet spots in the notes, trying not to care if his werewolf ears told him it was just a little off.
Ever since he turned, music was a problem. It used to be easy, his refuge, his best way to communicate, but now he just couldn’t get it right — every time he nudged a string to the exact tension he wanted and heard that pure note, it would go just the tiniest bit off. He knew no one else could hear the difference, but it drove him crazy. Frustrated, he finally stuffed earplugs into his ears and called up his tuner app, forcing himself to leave each string alone once the app told him it was good.
When he was done, he felt a massive hand land gently on his shoulder and looked up to see Ash watching him with a concerned little frown between his big red eyebrows. “You good?” Ash asked.
&nb
sp; Mal took a deep breath and yanked out his earplugs. “Yeah, ready.”
Priya laid out a beat on the drums, Ash and Dylan joined in on the upright bass and guitar, and Mal found the spaces in between and filled them with a counter-melody. Then Charlie swayed up to the mic and sang, and it all came together in a glorious whole.
They played through a few songs, joking and giving each other notes between takes, and it was nice. Easy. Mal caught some looks happening between the others and wondered if they’d ask him to join them on a more permanent basis.
But then something changed — in the middle of a loud solo section, Dylan wailing on his high notes, something went wrong, Mal’s control slipped, and suddenly it was like knives stabbing into his ears. All his other senses failed — he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel his guitar or anything — there was only the horrible cacophony of every sound in the world shrieking through his brain, tearing him apart.
He gasped for air, and distantly felt hands on him, lifting him up. The motion gave him dizzying vertigo. Oh god, he was going to throw up on whoever was holding him. He made a pathetic little noise that echoed in his overwhelmed mind.
And then — nothing. Beautiful, silent nothingness. He came back to himself and found that he was curled up on the stage, his face smashed against the floorboards. Cautiously he lifted his head and looked around. He was in some kind of bubble that shimmered around him, and he couldn’t hear anything at all. Beyond the bubble, the band stared at him worriedly. Priya was making a ball shape with her hands and concentrating fiercely — she must have been the one making the bubble.
Mal saw that Ash was holding his guitar, and was trying to talk to him — but Mal couldn’t hear anything. He gestured to his ears and shook his head. Ash frowned in frustration, but then Charlie came up with a notebook and a sharpie, and Ash scribbled a message and held it up.
“U OK?”
Mal nodded. Then shrugged. He didn’t feel like throwing up anymore, but what would happen when Priya took the bubble down?
“Want out?”
Mal glanced at Priya, wondering how long she could keep up the spell. Her eyes were closed and her fingers were starting to tremble with the strain of holding position.
It was a nice reprieve, but he couldn’t stay in here forever. He turned back to Ash and nodded. Ash looked skeptical but nodded at the others, and Dylan touched Priya’s shoulder, shaking her gently.
The bubble popped and sound came rushing back in. It was a shock, but it wasn’t stabbing his ears anymore — back to normal. Still, he felt scraped raw, embarrassed, shaky.
“Hey, thanks,” he said, as Priya opened her eyes again.
She nodded, looking a little woozy. “Any time.” And then she sat down hard on the floor. “Ow. That was — not as easy as I was expecting, making that.”
“What was it?”
She shrugged. “Quiet bubble. It’s something my roommate does sometimes when she’s studying, and yeah, she makes it look easy. Not really my thing, I guess.”
“Yeah, you don’t really like quiet,” Charlie put in, nudging her with her toe.
Priya nodded solemnly. “True.”
Ash offered a hand to both Mal and Priya and hauled them up off the floor. “You wanna play some more?” he asked Mal.
“No, thanks man, I better head back. I got a thing later anyway.”
“All right,” Ash said, giving him a bro-hug with an extra serving of manly back-slaps. He handed Mal his guitar — the strings were all shredded and a deep crack ran through the neck. “You want me to walk with you?”
“Nah, I’m good. Thanks.” Mal looked around at the others, all still looking concerned. “Thanks for letting me jam with you guys.” God, he felt like a jackass. Pretty sure they weren’t going to ask him to join the band now.
But—
“You’re always welcome,” Priya said, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.
“Yeah,” said Charlie, and punched him lightly in the shoulder.
Dylan gave him an ironic little salute. “Later, man.”
Still feeling shaky and sort of sick, Mal shuffled off toward his first meeting with Cassie. He drank the rest of his good-luck shake on the way. He tried to imagine going to the show in Edmonton, standing before those amps, letting the music blast against him. But no matter how he ran the numbers, it ended with him losing control.
5
Malcolm was waiting for her outside the library when she arrived, slouching against the columns with a sneer. She’d managed to only insult three people by telling them exactly what she thought of them on the way there. How long did Brownies of Truth last, anyway?
Calling off the meeting would have been a good idea. With Maddie’s curse rattling around inside her, there was no telling what she’d say or do. But she couldn’t. It was impossible. One look at Mal and she knew that if she bailed on him, he’d never forgive her. For an Afflicted he had a wounded sort of pride about him.
“Hey,” Cassie said as she walked up the steps. “Did you bring the pennies?” She held up two pennies, as if Mal had never heard of money before.
“Yeah, yeah. I brought the damn money,” he snapped. “Let’s get this over with. You can pretend to help me and impress your mommy, and she’ll give you a gold star for giving a fuck.” In his hand he held a roll of pennies.
“That’s not why I’m doing this,” Cassie blurted out. Was it the honesty curse? Or her own pride?
“Then why are you?” A glint of fire danced in the werewolf’s eyes. He might look like a pretty boy from the wrong side of the tracks, but inside he was a monster. She had to keep that in mind.
“I’m helping you so I can get a second chance in my advanced thaumaturgy class. If I fail the midterm, my parents will make me drop all my hard classes and switch to blow-offs.” The words just kept tumbling out. Two witches in pastel robes exited the library. They were pale and frightened. The library did that to some people.
Malcolm looked at her with a thoughtful expression, his forehead crinkling with the effort. “For one class? Why the hell would they do that?”
Cassie dropped her bag and clasped both hands over her mouth to avoid saying anything.
“Seriously, girl, what the hell is going on with you?”
Cassie let go of her mouth and took a deep breath. “Truth spell,” she said quickly, trying to open and close her mouth so that just the right words got out and none of the wrong ones.
Malcolm’s eyes went wide. “A truth spell? That sounds dangerous.” Then a sly expression took over his handsome face. “Does that mean you have to answer any question I ask, honestly?”
“Yes!” Cassie yelped. Oh no, oh no. This was a terrible idea.
A shuddering growl slipped from the library doors. It was eight p.m. The building would close in one hour.
“I could ask you lots of things, couldn’t I? I could ask about your secret crushes. I could ask if you’re a virgin. I could ask why you basic witches seem to hate us shifters so much.” Malcolm stepped closer, taking the granite steps with light padding footsteps. “But that would be pretty rude, wouldn’t it? I don’t know who cursed you, but it’s a pretty shitty thing to do.”
Cassie trembled with the urge to answer his questions, but they weren’t real questions, and so she fought it down. “Thank you,” she said, in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “That’s kind of you.”
“I know all about not being in control of yourself,” Mal said with a shrug. “I fight with that every day.”
Cassie walked past him, brushing him slightly with her fingertips. The library doors loomed before them like the lids to two coffins. “And for the record, my friend Maddie was the one who cursed me. She thought she was doing me a favor.”
Mal walked behind her up to the immense doors. “How’s that?”
“She thought it’d help me talk about my feelings. Get—I don’t know—less repressed?” The curse slipped away from her in a rush of coldness, like someone yanking off your blankets befo
re you awoke. It was a brief one, mercifully brief. “Oh,” Cassie said brightly. “It’s gone now.”
“Maybe next time your roomie wants you to loosen up she can just try vodka, like the rest of us.” Malcolm yanked on the doors and stumbled backwards as they easily swung open.
Gloom welcomed them. The library was a dim place, cool and clean. Vaulted ceilings arced overhead, held up by thick columns that had been repurposed into spiraling book shelves years ago.
A librarian glided up. She was a beautiful woman wrapped in dark black cloth. A golden circlet around her neck marked her as a ward of the library.
“Payment?” She rasped, her voice like old paper tearing. The librarian held out a hand that was as thin as a skeleton’s.
“Here you go,” Cassie said, pressing two pennies into the woman’s palm.
“You can keep the change,” Mal said, handing over a roll of pennies to the woman.
The librarian looked down at the offering in her palm and teared up. “Thank you, thank you, kind sir,” she whispered.
Cassie was no stranger to the library. It may have rearranged itself every fortnight. It may have scared first-year students senseless when they saw the stacks of books that seemed to stretch down endless looping corridors. It may have been the second most dangerous place on campus, but she loved it.
“So where—” Mal started before being shushed by Cassie. He didn’t know any better, didn’t know the punishment for breaking the quiet in the library.
She grabbed his hand and pulled him deeper into stacks, hoping no rogue librarians discovered them. His hand was dry in hers and very warm. She’d heard that shifters ran warmer than normal people and it was true. He felt almost feverishly warm.
Once they were safely deep in the stacks, with vertiginous shelves rising around them, Cassie whispered, “Are you out of your mind?”
Malcolm gave her a hurt look. “What?”
“You can’t talk in the library. The librarians punish offenders seriously. Super seriously.” Cassie slipped her wand out of her sock and pronounced a silencing spell. She tapped the wand against her lips and Malcolm’s ears, and then repeated it with his lips and her ears. “There, now only we can hear each other.”
Light Up The Night: a Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Romance (Lick of Fire Book 2) Page 28