by K W Quinn
“Andronicus Ravi. Miyana’s son.”
“Flame and smoke,” Amel said, running down the steps of the porch to pull Andy up. “Bonded?” he asked while turning Andy’s head this way and that to look at the collar. He reached to touch it, then drew his hand back sharply, shaking his fingers as though shocked.
“Blood and oak, this is exactly why we—”
“Stop manhandling the boy, Amel,” Charly said, descending the steps slowly.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Cass said, moving to hold on to Andy’s arm protectively. Andy shook them both off.
“I’m fine,” he said shakily.
“Bonded is not fine,” Amel complained, pushing his glasses up with his knuckles.
“What a charming understatement. And we can discuss it in detail, but there’s no need to be out here.” Charly rested his hands on his hips. His eyes flicked over Andy’s face. “Go inside. Then you can explain how you managed to undo decades of Spellwork.”
Charly waved them inside, herding them like a sheepdog.
History
Cass sipped his tea delicately. He had no idea what was in it, but it would be rude to refuse. Witches could do worse than tea, so he tried to smile politely and ingest as little as possible.
Amel was bouncing around the kitchen, muttering under his breath as he touched herbs and salt and jars of water labeled with pictures of the moon. Cass expected Andy’s witches to be women. He knew it was a dumb stereotype, but when Andy said “witches” and directed him to the coast, Cass had pictured hags and crones and cats.
There was none of that here. Not even cats. Could you call yourself a witch without a cat or two? Cass watched them, mentally adjusting his image of witchery.
Amel looked like a rumpled, middle-aged professor, red hair slightly askew and freckles up and down his forearms. A pair of deep dimples appeared as he grinned with satisfaction.
Charly could easily pass for an off-duty model with his tightly curled, dark hair, chiseled jawline, and smooth skin the color of a polished pecan. His face belonged on glossy pages advertising posh cologne or watches that cost an entire month’s rent. They were hardly the outcast dregs of society that the media had taught him to fear and respect.
The kitchen, however, made up for that and more. The theme of the room was “stuff in jars” or perhaps “zombie garden.” The window over the sink was open, letting a crisp breeze off the ocean ruffle through hanging herbs and crystals. Cass had to remind himself not to gape all slack-jawed like an idiot.
“Stop eyeballing your glass and drink your tea,” Charly said, pulling out a chair to sit between Andy and Cass. “It’s better when it’s hot. Cold tea is an abomination for southerners.”
Cass took a hurried sip, slurping and sputtering.
“Don’t mind Charly. Still hasn’t acclimated to life outside of civilization,” Amel said over his shoulder.
“We wouldn’t have to live outside of civilization if you had a more compatible field of interest, Dr. Haskell,” Charly said tartly.
“Fields of interest compatible with large cities are boring and well studied. Don’t need another all-purpose witch. Specialization is more important. But Charly is right. You should drink. Helps restore some energy. You both are tapped out. First aid kit is—”
“Under the mortar and pestle,” Charly answered. “Please get me some witch hazel and lavender too. The last thing I need is any of these getting infected.” Charly was dabbing at Andy’s many cuts and scrapes with a dish towel.
“So, how do you know Andy?” Cass asked. Andy shot him a warning look, but Cass smiled innocently and pressed on. “I mean, we’ve got history, lots of it, and he’s never mentioned you before.”
“Good. That means at least some part of the Spell managed to work as intended,” Charly said, taking a sip of his own tea. His mug was light blue and had #1 Witch printed in bubbly, yellow letters on it.
“Long story. Complicated. Not important right now,” Amel said over his shoulder. He was making a pile of things on a counter already crowded with stuff.
“Whatever it is, it got us here, and they can help us, Cass. That’s important.” Andy, ever the peacemaker, widened his eyes and tried to stare manners right into Cass’s head. His mom had tried the same thing endlessly, and it never worked then, either.
“So, you’ve been protecting Andy from here? With magic?”
“No, child, with spit and vinegar,” Charly snarked. “That magic brought you here, so try to show a little respect.”
Andy grimaced as Charly worked a poultice or tincture or magic potion into his skin. Charly straightened a little and glared at Cass.
“This house is a sanctuary. Our wards offer some protection, but that collar’s magic is stronger. Earth magic is the hardest.”
Charly rubbed his knuckles. They were long and slender but twisted slightly. “Honestly, I’m amazed you made it out of wherever you were with that thing on. I’m going to take credit. Some residual protection is still fighting the Bonding.” Charly sneered the word like it tasted bad in his mouth.
“We made it out because I traded my soul for an escape plan, so don’t pat yourself on the back too hard.” Amel raised an eyebrow at Cass’s flippant tone. “I mean, I’m sure you helped. With your mystery magic that almost let Andy be killed.”
Cass glanced from Charly to Amel, lifting his chin. Andy’s gaze flicked back and forth, too, unable to decide who to watch.
“That magic was the strongest kind, I’ll have you know. Very expensive too. Miyana was serious.” Charly poked a saturated cotton ball in Cass’s direction.
Cass rolled his eyes and sighed at Andy.
“Don’t look at me. I’m still trying to figure this out. I’ve always known that we knew witches, Mom and me, but I never thought about it. Like, I know bees make honey and sharks can’t stop swimming, but everyone knows that stuff, and I don’t remember learning it. It’s a basic thing. You drop stuff, and it falls, but I don’t understand all the quirks of gravity.”
“Blood magic to protect your life is a bit more elegant than making honey,” Charly said. He closed the vials and tubes of things he’d been using with short, sharp motions.
“And you never mentioned this protection because the magic made you keep quiet?” Cass asked. He wouldn’t give the witches the satisfaction of being impressed. Not visually anyway.
Andy nodded. “I think so. I haven’t thought about it in forever. But recently, they’ve been on my mind a bunch.” Andy gestured to the witches with his freshly cleaned hands.
“Like a homing beacon. Protected your life. When you were in danger, it drew you back to us. Aha!” Amel waved a sprig of something triumphantly.
“Again, I say all this would have been helpful to know before I tried to rescue you,” Cass said.
“Not try. You did rescue me,” Andy said, reaching across the table to pat Cass’s hand.
“He couldn’t have told you before. Not the way it works. Mortal danger is different than being worried. Where did I put the . . . oh, here. Perfect. Charly, do you know where the—”
“On the windowsill, next to the dill,” Charly replied, wrapping those long, crooked fingers around his mug.
“Maybe you need to look up the definition of mortal danger, because there have been plenty of times—” Cass stopped when Andy rested a hand on his arm. Fine. The words clogged his throat, and he wanted to spit them out, but Andy was right.
He would save his rant. For now. But these witches had better have something good up their sleeves because, tea and tinctures aside, this was a long way to come for first aid.
“You will give me your phones and wallets in a minute. House wards will keep the Earth from tracking those at least, but better to obscure them while you’re here than risk being found later.” Charly looked over Cass, huffing out of his nose.
“Think I got everything.” Amel wiped his hands on his shirt and gestured to Charly.
“Well then,” Charly si
ghed. “Now, Andy, the thing is that collar is a death sentence. Once it’s on, only two things can take it off. Death and—”
“And you,” Andy interrupted excitedly. “Witches. They put it on, so you can take it off.”
Charly’s smile was thin. “No. Only the specific witch who put it on can take it off. We can’t even touch the cursed thing,” Charly said, gesturing to Amel, who held up his fingers. The tips were blackened. Charred.
Andy’s face was slack. “But I made it here. I’m here. You’re here. You’re witches,” he sputtered.
“And fantastically talented ones, too, but there are still rules to things. There is no magic wand to wave. That isn’t the way it works, Andy.” Charly pinched his forehead. “Being a witch isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. The universe is a delicately balanced thing, and it takes rules to keep chaos from ruining life and everything else.”
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Cass said. Andy’s shoulders slumped, and he curled over his cup of tea. Cass had failed again. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “So, we came all this way for nothing.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“No. Not nothing. There’s still a way to get it off,” Amel said, rubbing his fingers on his shirt again. “This is nothing. It’ll be gone in a month. Not a problem. Just a warning.” He waggled his fingers in the air.
“Yeah, so what’s the second way? Death and what?” Cass asked.
“Oh. Well, Andy was sort of right. Death and magic. But only the original witch’s magic. Like a key. We can’t pick the lock.”
“So that leaves death? Sorry, guys, but I didn’t risk everything to bring Andy here to die.” Cass pushed his chair back from the table.
“Sit yourself right back down and relax,” Charly said, hooking a foot into the bottom rungs of the chair and hauling it back toward the table. Cass stumbled and landed on his tailbone. “Death can be flexible if you do it right, and I make a living out of doing it right.”
Charly’s smile was wider now but far from encouraging.
Andy lifted his head, running a hand through his hair. “You want to kill me?”
Cass tried to stare at everyone in the room simultaneously, but it gave him a headache and made him look like a chicken.
“Yep. And soon,” Amel said into a cupboard. “Don’t know how long we’ve got before the Earths tire of the chase and decide to detonate the thing remotely.”
“Detonate?” Cass sputtered. “What kind of sick—”
“It won’t come to that, because we’re going to work in the gray area between life and death and straighten it all out,” Charly said before sipping his own tea calmly.
“No. No way. Not happening. Flexible is not an option. Ash and blood and bloody ash. This is all flaming crazy.” Cass shook his head.
“You want to be free? You want Andy to be free? Then we do this. We’ll bring him back. It’s a short death,” Amel said. He grabbed a jar and handed it to Charly.
“A short death. Easy for you to say,” Cass muttered. Andy was back to staring at his cup of tea. “Andy, come on. Let’s get out of here. We can find a boat, get out on the water like Marv said.”
Andy shook his head. “No.” His dark eyes were deep and cold. “I had so much time to think in the Dome. Crammed into a tiny room with no light, there’s not much else to do. I’m not gonna live like that, and we can’t run forever. I’m not like Karlos.”
“Your brother had his own problems and his own reasons,” Cass said. “And we have to run. There’s still a Dragon or something coming to take my soul.”
Behind him, metal clattered oddly, and Amel swore under his breath, but Cass couldn’t take his eyes off Andy.
“You have so much explaining to do about that, but I still need this thing off. Either way, this has to go.”
Cass shot him a confused look but shook his head. “You have to live. I need you to.”
“No, Cass. I’m sorry, but it’s my life, and if I’m dead either way, let’s get it over with.”
Favor
Min stared at the phone and sighed. The kid had run. They always ran. He knew the kid was going to run. He knew it, and yet Min did it anyway.
He was a sucker for an epic story, and the kid only knew the tip of the iceberg. This story was too good to pass up, but it still meant he had to make the call.
He hated making this call. The Sharks weren’t pleasant at the best of times, and calling in a favor only made them crankier. Especially this early in the morning.
Min had lots of favors to spare, which perhaps made them angriest of all. Usually twisting the tails of the big, bad mercenaries made Min smile, but not this time.
The phone was taunting him. He was going to have to talk to Tarone. He hated talking to Tarone. Fae might be fading from the world, becoming a legend like unicorns and Mistwalkers, but that didn’t mean Min liked dealing with other Fae. At all.
Nothing spooked him like the charm of that Dragon. Tarone pulled out truth and promises like he was sipping honeysuckle from a vine. Min wasn’t a vine. He was a muse. He was powerful and important and ancient.
Min sighed again. He wasn’t getting any younger. To be fair, he wasn’t getting any older, either, but motivation had to be found wherever it would come. He dialed and held his breath while it rang.
“What do you want, Minos?” a rough voice rasped on the other end of the line.
“Mako. Wonderful. Hi. How are you? Need to talk to the Dragon,” Min said in a rush.
Mako snorted. “You sure? He’s real busy right now.”
“I’m sure. Thanks. Good to talk to you.” Min cleared his throat and tried to count to ten slowly. He had been around for millennia. There was no reason to be all flustered like a schoolboy. He’d never been a schoolboy.
Tarone was just the head of the Dragons. Just the latest in a long line of Dragons, and Min would get through this like he always did.
“So,” Tarone purred, “you finally called.”
“Yes. Hi. Tarone. Hi. Good to hear your voice. Nice to . . . you know.”
“I do know. How’s the market for relics these days?”
“Good. Slow but good. Between that and the other, I’m making it.”
“The other,” Tarone said. “Aiding misfits and vagabonds?”
“Right. And music, of course. I do actually sell music.” Min coughed to cover the squeak in his voice.
“It’s what brought us together in the first place. How could I forget? I’m sure I’m not lucky enough for a social call, so what dirty deed do you need done?”
Min swallowed and closed his eyes. Don’t picture dirty deeds. Don’t think about his voice. Just answer the question. Damn Siren.
“Soul collection. Got a runner.”
“Min, honey, no. You didn’t. You know better. They always run.”
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Min swiped it away with a short laugh. “Yeah. They do. You’re right. I know they do. But this was a . . . I mean, there were, you know, circumstances, and well . . . anyway, I don’t want to bother you. If you can do it, I can get you the signature so you can track him down. He’s with a Bonded, so I’m sure they haven’t gotten far.”
“A Bonded? Oh, this is interesting. Min, you always have the best stories for me. Can’t wait to hear all the details. Must be extra juicy to entice you back into business with us.”
“I’d love to, you know, tell you, but the phone is—”
“So impersonal, I know. I do know that. Now, I’m happy to come collect. This sounds like an exquisite job, and I don’t do fieldwork for much less than the extraordinary. But Min, honey, I’m so busy these days. Even for a story like this, I just can’t. The price I pay for being so damn good at my job.”
“Oh, of course. Sure. Right. I didn’t mean to assume. I mean, I could come to you,” Min squeaked, trying not to sound too eager.
“No, honey, no need for all that,” Tarone said with a deep chuckle. Min’s stomach flipped over at
the sound. “No, I’ll send someone around.”
“Oh? Really? You have enough for that?” Min was disappointed but knew this was all part of it. Part of the game. He had to play along.
“Enough? More than enough, these days. The dormitory is practically full to bursting,” Tarone boasted.
“Even with your exacting standards? That’s good.”
“Thank you. It is, but it’s so much work. I can afford to be very picky about the kind of work we do now. Don’t you worry. I’m sending you a good one. Real fast learner. I think you’ll get along fine. She won’t bite.”
“Great. Yes, thank you. Of course. Sure will. Sure you will. She will. Yeah, that sounds great. You can send her here to the shop, and I’ll—”
“Now, Min, a soul and a Bonded is a pretty big task. You and I both know that I owe you, but this might balance the books, don’t you think?”
Min bit his lip and scrunched his eyes tighter. “Tarone, that sounds great, but, uh, I have to . . .” Min swallowed hard. “I can’t. I gotta—”
“Keep your options open. I know, honey. But you think about it, all right? Think about me and let me know.”
Min nodded furiously, then realized he had to actually say words. “Yes. Of course. I will. Yeah. I definitely will. Looking forward to it. OK. Gotta go. See you soon. I mean, your girl. Dragon. See her soon. Later. Bye.”
Min ended the call and rested his head in his hands. It had gone better than he expected, though he’d behaved like an idiot. He shook his shoulders and rolled himself away to make a stiff drink. He needed time to prepare his nerves before some young Dragon-in-training came knocking at his door.
Damn Tarone and his smooth voice. Min shook himself again. Part Siren, part Incubus, all trouble. He was persuasive without trying. Charismatic and irresistible.