by K W Quinn
Dealing with the Sharks was bad enough. A necessary evil of his business. You couldn’t make money if you couldn’t catch your debtors. But the Dragons. No one else could collect a soul intact the way the Dragons could.
Min needed this soul. He wasn’t sure the full reason why yet, but he’d lived through enough to know not to ignore his instincts. This soul was special. Something important lay in the balance.
Souls outside the body were rare enough these days to be ridiculously expensive. Folks paid top coin for a nice, clean soul. And then did horrible, awful things with them. Min wasn’t above collecting some less-than-clean ones. Not as lucrative but easier on his tattered conscience.
The kid had run. The Dragon would catch him, and Min would have the soul for whatever came next. It was enough to balance dealing with the Sharks. And Tarone.
“You can’t do this, Andy. You just can’t,” Cass hissed. He’d pulled Andy out on the porch, but he wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as real privacy with witches around. What if the plants were extra ears recording the whole conversation?
“Come on, Cass. We’ve been going round and round about this for almost an hour. We’re wasting time now. You don’t want me to do this. I get it. I do. But it’s not your choice. It’s not your neck. It’s not your life.”
“It’s my soul, though, which is kinda the same thing, or so he told me. I don’t want to see that wasted. Sulfur and smoke, after all I’ve done, you wanna just throw it away?”
“No one asked you to do it!” Andy shouted. “Bloody ashes, Cass, what were you thinking?” Andy grabbed Cass’s elbow and pulled him close to hiss in his face. “A muse? No one gets a fair deal with them. What flaming good is it to free me if you have to go be a slave yourself?”
“I—” Cass swallowed hard. He should have expected Andy’s temper. “I thought you’d be grateful,” he whispered, voice thick.
“Grateful? Yeah. Of course. Thank you for ruining your life to save mine. What I always wanted was an eternity without you and a guilty conscience.”
“What was I supposed to do? Let you die? In there?”
“Yes. I mean, no. But not this. Anything but this. You could have worked to buy me back. You could have—”
“On a barista’s salary? No way. Even if I had a decent job, a really cushy office job with benefits and regular hours—assuming someone would hire an Air for something that actually paid enough to get by—how many years would it have taken to save up enough to buy a Bonded?” Cass’s hands waved around wildly.
“I don’t know, but lost time is better than selling your soul.”
“I didn’t have time. That fight was gonna be a bloodbath. You didn’t see that witch’s face. She was going to make sure you died out there.”
“You can’t know that. I was doing fine.”
“Fine?” Cass spat. “Is this fine?” he asked, pushing his fingers against Andy’s ribs.
Andy winced and turned away.
“Is this?” Cass rested his fingers against the fast-healing gash on Andy’s eyebrow. Even with witchy assistance, Andy was still in rough shape less than a day later.
“But your soul—”
“Doesn’t mean anything without you. After everything we’ve been through, don’t you realize that?”
“You don’t need me like that. You’d move on and make the best of it.” Andy scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I was ready to die. I’d made my peace and was glad to be getting out. The Dome was almost a relief because at least there, I didn’t have to wonder if there was anything I could do to prevent getting beaten. It wasn’t personal. It was better that way and—”
“Do you know me at all?” Cass’s voice was cold and hard. “Move on? Make the best of it? Do you hear yourself? Being a slave was better? Andy, that’s not life, and I couldn’t leave you there. I just couldn’t. Not if there was any way to stop it.”
Cass stopped and drew a deep breath. His eyes were wide and wet, but his voice was steady now. “I’m worthless in that town. Just another filthy Air spreading lies and disease and trouble. How long could I make it alone before I wound up Bonded too?”
Andy’s face crumpled. Cass held in a deep sigh.
“So I made a deal. Because I knew that together, we’d figure out a way around it. We’d find the loophole. We always do. You and me. But I can’t do it without you.” A tear found its way down Cass’s cheek.
“You wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t done it in the first place,” Andy grumbled, but there was no heat in it. He rolled his eyes and pulled Cass into a tight hug, slipping underneath Cass’s bony chin. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, you know. You take care of me. But right now? Cass, you gotta let me take care of myself.”
Cass sniffed but didn’t reply. He just squeezed tighter.
“Besides, they’re witches. If they mess this up, you can ask them to off you too. All star-crossed-lovers style.”
Cass huffed out a short laugh. “You’re always running late, but I swear to the Zephyrs, if you spend too long dead, I’ll kill you.”
“If you two are quite finished, we should do this before Amel breaks something else,” Charly said from the doorway.
“Hey. Not my fault. The cat was in the way,” Amel squawked from the kitchen.
Cass smiled. So there were cats somewhere. Maybe these witches could be what they needed.
Dying
Cass was banished to the living room while Amel talked Andy through the whole process, but he listened to it all anyway. Andy could see him leaning on the couch to get enough of a view of the kitchen table to make it worth it.
“Repeat it to me. Gotta know that you understand it all.” Amel swiped at his glasses, blinking rapidly.
“I stand in the circle.” Andy rubbed his hands together, then clapped. “You say your stuff. Charly says stuff. You, uh, put the crystal in the water and cut my arm. Blood goes in the water. I stop breathing. You say more stuff, then my heart stops. The collar unlocks, and you restart my heart.” Andy tried to make his voice calm. He was calm. This was just a conversation. About dying.
“You know, you might make an effort to sound a little less bored. This is highly complicated and technical Spellwork. Your very literal life and death are in our hands, and you sound like you’re reciting multiplication tables,” Charly groused. He gathered bowls and jars.
“Sunset or midnight?” Charly tipped his chin toward Amel.
“Tough call. Probably sunset, though. Resurrect with the new day.”
“My thought as well.” Charly nodded.
“Use stormwater,” Amel said. He rubbed salt between his fingers.
“Have you lost your mind? I will not. I’m using rainwater.”
“Storm is stronger.”
“And also quite a bit harder to control. I won’t have him slipping away. I don’t want to do this in the first place. We have spent so long keeping him alive, and now I have to unwind the layers we put on, which certainly pisses me off, and then—then do the exact opposite of what I vowed to do.”
“You can’t break that vow. Which is why I’m doing it. You make him live, which is what you promised.” Amel’s face was grim as he unwound strips of cloth and placed them next to vials and jars.
“You’re still going to kill him. And I’m going to help. So it’s the same thing. I’ll be paying for this for so long, you know. My poor joints will ache every gibbous moon for the rest of the year, and every time I get up to take a midnight piss, I will curse your name, Andronicus Ravi.”
“Thank you.” Andy shook his head. “I mean, I’m sorry. I mean, thank you? I guess. My mom would be grateful. Is grateful. Even if she doesn’t know it.”
Andy ran a hand through his hair. He wanted a shower, a nap, and a hot meal. Charly said it was better to die hungry because it gave him more reason to live afterward.
“Miyana would birth a thunderstorm if she knew you were here. She’s the one who made me promise to wrap your memori
es so tight,” Amel said. He was leaning against the doorway now, skin pale beneath his freckles.
“I still think all of this is a bad idea, and I want it noted for the record that I am against it!” Cass hollered from the other room.
“Duly noted,” Charly said with a pointed eye roll.
Andy smiled. Cass was stubborn and vehement in his opinions, but Andy didn’t see any other way. The collar was death. He felt it every moment. He didn’t want to live on the water. He didn’t want to go home, either. The thought chilled and sickened him. He should go back. Be better than his ashy brother. Take care of his mom. First, he had to take care of himself.
“Cass, my mom trusted them. We can trust them too.”
“Your mom’s judgment of character isn’t that great,” Cass said.
“She likes you!” Andy shouted back to the living room. “Will you just be here?”
Andy’s voice wasn’t confident now. Small and tired, just like him. He leaned out to look at Cass, who stared at him, unblinking.
He might say no. He might stay on the couch with his arms crossed and his eyebrows scrunched down.
But Cass nodded and licked his lips. He stood, taking time to adjust his clothes.
“I’m a bit underdressed for this sort of thing. Or overdressed. I’m not sure,” Cass said, trying to smile. His toothy grin wasn’t quite right, but Andy didn’t feel much like smiling, either. Cass took his hand, and they sat in silence while Amel and Charly prepared things.
Eventually they were ushered out of the kitchen and forced to nap. The day grew warm with humid, salty air moving through the rooms. Finally, the witches emerged from the kitchen. Though they were like night and day in coloring and features, they looked eerily similar, with determined glares across their faces. Pinkish light leaked through the windows as the sun crept below the waves.
“Come on now. No time to waste.” Amel waved them over.
Cass gave Andy’s hand a final squeeze, then walked back to the couch. Andy stepped next to Amel. In the circle, four flowers floated in glass bowls, forming a square.
Andy almost cracked a joke about Amel having his shapes confused, but the humor stuck in his throat as his eye caught the shine of the knife. It had an antler handle and rested next to four candles.
Charly reached out and grabbed Andy’s hands. “Do you go willingly?”
“Yes,” Andy sighed. A fluttering in his belly and a burning in his throat kept him distracted from thinking about what came next.
As he stood in the circle, listening to the rhythmic cadence of Amel’s gruff voice, it was hard to believe that anything bad could happen here. The sun was setting outside in a splash of color that made the windows glow.
Andy tried to make sense of the poetic language—the parts that weren’t in some obscure, dead language that only witches used—but he quickly got lost. There were lots of pleas for help from the four Elements and the cardinal directions, from earth and sky, and then it all became a buzz.
Waiting all day for the sun to reach the right part of its path had been maddening, but now that the brilliant sunset was here, it seemed all too soon.
He stared at the flowers floating in their bowls of rainwater. Charly had explained them all in great detail, but only the basics stuck with Andy. Something white for protection, a long spike of flowers for strength of will, a nettle for death, and a lotus for rebirth.
The candles glowed white, black, purple, and red. It was almost cozy. A little romantic if he didn’t think about the fact that they were going to kill him.
Lots of people had tried to kill him. A lifetime of trying to anticipate the fickle rages of his father had prepared him surprisingly well for the brutality of captivity to the Earth Conglomerate. His whole life had been spent trying to prove his worth. Turned out he was very valuable. Just one Andy was enough to erase decades of gambling debt. Hundreds of thousands of dollars accumulated in folly and desperate hope. Andy had laughed bitterly at that. He was worth something to his father after all.
“Audeamus,” Amel said softly.
“Audeamus,” Charly repeated louder. Then they spoke together, and Amel grabbed the knife.
Andy’s breath caught in his throat. The word echoed around him. “Audeamus.”
Andy searched for Cass, for the comfort of his face even if he couldn’t reach out to hold his hand anymore, but beyond the circle, everything was dim and blurry. How long had it been like that? How long had he been standing there?
Andy’s breath came quicker, and his heart sounded loud in his ears. Amel reached for his arm, and Andy tensed, fist coming up instinctively. Amel met his eyes and reached for his arm again. Andy let out a slow breath and forced himself to relax.
Amel held the blade high, and the edge glimmered in the flickering light of the candles. The room was full of the smell of flowers and incense and something dark and fecund that Andy couldn’t quite place.
The blade was unexpectedly warm against his skin, so sharp that he didn’t feel more than the slightest pressure as Amel cut a thin line along the inside of his bicep. He didn’t want to watch, but he couldn’t look away. Amel pressed the flat of the blade against Andy’s arm, gathering blood from tip to hilt.
There was no sound anymore, though Andy could see Amel’s lips moving, could feel the vibrations from the words. Everything was silent. Amel moved the knife to the bowl and held it suspended for a moment. The crystal inside glimmered. The blood touched the water.
Andy’s lungs froze. He knew it was supposed to happen and that everything was going according to the plan he’d agreed to, but suddenly it was too real. Too very real.
He couldn’t breathe. Not through his nose or his mouth. He struggled, hands clutching his chest, but it was useless. Amel’s hands lifted, his mouth moving, but Andy remained swaddled in silence.
Amel’s eyes met Andy’s again. They were cold and hard. Andy’s heart stopped.
Dragon
The bell above the door squawked out its awful warning. Min’s mouth tightened. The Dragon slipped in, the sunset leaking around her. A dark figure, backlit with orange-red light, she was almost a menacing silhouette, but Min wasn’t spooked that easy.
The door shut behind her, and Min blinked twice. Blue skin, black hair, scales. Blood and ash.
“How long has it been since the Dragon was an actual dragon?” Min mused with a smile.
“Generations upon generations. But I’m not the Dragon. Only Tarone gets that honor. I’m just a regular Dragon, graduated with honors. And I’m not a dragon. I’m dragonkin,” the Dragon grumbled. Her dark eyes rolled, and she had a tight smile on her full lips. Even in disdain, she was stunning.
“Sure. Bet you get asked that all the time, but you’re still young yet. You’ll get used to it.” Min stared at her impassive face. Dragonkin were rare these days. “So, what do I call you, Madam Dragon?”
“Reyah Doryu. May I examine the contract, Master Muse?” She tossed a long black braid over her shoulder, lifting her chin.
Min shook his head. “All business. Right then. To work. And, uh, call me Min if you like.” Min wheeled himself to the edge of the counter, waving Reyah over. He admired the graceful sway of her hips and long, strong legs.
She wore the same soft canvas uniform all the Sharks wore, in the deep, muted colors reserved for Dragons. Bound with strips of cloth along her arms and legs, tucked into her tall boots, the uniform was perfect for hiding knives, among other things. She looked bored.
Reyah placed her hands on the edge of the counter. Her talons were filed short, a darker blue than her skin. “How much of a head start does the target have?”
“The kid’s been gone about sixteen hours, give or take,” Min said. He adjusted himself in his chair. From this close, he could see the subtle outline of scales across patches of her bluish skin. Her eyes had the telltale vertical pupils, and her nose was gently blunted. With her hair pulled back, the ridges along her ears were visible. Whatever her dragon ancestry, it w
as recent and strong. He half wondered if she had a tail. Or wings.
“Give or take can make all the difference in a successful capture, Min. The more specific you can be, the easier for both of us.”
“If you want the nitty-gritty, go to the Dome and get the scoop from them. The fights started about twenty-four hours ago,” he said, waving at a clock. “I’m guessing it took them some time to make their escape. The Dome guards will know. They keep much better records than I do.” Min smiled.
Reyah’s eyes widened briefly. “But Min,” she said with forced sweetness, “you have so many records.”
She gestured around the shop, where the shelves were heavy with records, tapes, CDs, and other precious media.
“You’re very funny,” Min said flatly.
“The contract?”
“Here.” Min tapped the glass. “Put your hands right here, and you should be able to feel it.”
Reyah nodded and stretched her scaled fingers out wide. She closed her eyes, dark lashes against her pale-blue cheeks. She was quite lovely. A pretty face was just another tool to the Dragons, though. Min signed his name against the glass with his bony finger.
Reyah took a deep breath. The glass beneath her hands glowed slightly with an echo of the kid’s signature. Min cocked his head to the side, biting the nail of his thumb. He hadn’t seen that happen in a while. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
She should just read the psychic contract, get the kid’s soulprint, and then go find him. No glowing necessary. First the kid, now the Dragon? The glow traveled across her hands, up her arms, and stretched around her like an aura. Was bioluminescence infectious? It was all he could do not to gasp.
Reyah’s eyes opened. Her vertical pupils stretched so wide that only a thin line of cobalt showed around them. Min was impressed at her composure, but biology was harder to control. She was spooked, too, and she stared hard at Min.