High Steaks (Freelance Familiars Book 3)

by Daniel Potter

  The oddest thing about having become a two hundred-pound apex predator is the inversion of my disgust reflexes. Gore never freaks me out anymore. It makes me hungry.

  Forgetting all about Feather, I charged forward and leapt over the gates.

  The sudden appearance of an apex predator amid the scent of blood created a chorus of startled cries.

  “Thomas!" Jet dashed under the legs of a nearby horse and jumped over a fluttering chicken to reach me. "Alice is hurt!"

  "I can smell that! Where is she?" I scanned the area.

  "Over there." Jet lifted a foreleg and pointed, but he needn't have bothered. The circle of anxious ungulates outside Alice's stall perfectly indicated where the trouble was. The spreading blood was also a hint. A sheep and a donkey parted to give me a wide berth, Jet right on my tail.

  Cows contain a lot of blood. Alice was an island in a growing lake of it. Towels, bandages, and anything absorbent had been piled on her right foreleg. All of it had been soaked through. A sheep, her wool soaked with blood, had managed to get a belt around the upper portion of the limb. Bracing the limb with her hooves and holding the belt in her mouth, she'd cinched it tight around the leg, trying to make a tourniquet. O'Meara slipped behind my eyes as she opened her anchor. Cauterize that wound.

  There was no time to approach this gently. I walked into the pool of blood and knocked the sodden mess aside to reveal a bone erupting through a wound in Alice's leg. Nothing spurted, but Alice's life was exiting her body fast enough that I could see the eddies. There was no time to set the bone. O'Meara poured heat into me, and I brought a flaming paw down on that leg.

  Alice's eyes burst open. She released a bellow of pain as her flesh sizzled. I thanked the great unknowns that she was still alive. I tried not to think about how much I wanted a hamburger as the scent of cooked cow burst from the wound.

  Lifting my paw away, I found a mass of charred flesh, but no more blood swelled up in the wound. Carefully, the sheep let the tourniquet slacken, watching the wound for any sign of a leak. When there was none, her body relaxed, and I finally sorted her scent from the blood: Doris, a school nurse. We'd met, but not much more than that. It's hard for me to talk to many of the Stables residents; the fear stink is... distracting.

  "What happened?" I asked Doris. In the back of my head, O'Meara's mind was ablaze with healing spells as she first ran, then trotted briskly toward the Ranch.

  Doris shivered, and her eyes focused on me. "I don't know. I heard Alice scream and then smelled the blood." She looked down and gave a little bleat of shock. "So much blood," she whispered.

  A black goat appeared at her less bloody side. "Vet's on his way. Why don't you go hose off, or get some blankets?" Jet prodded her gently. Doris, still dazed, stepped away.

  I stooped down until Alice's breath tickled my whiskers, confirming that she still drew breath. Her partially parted eyelids showed nothing but white. We'd stopped the bleeding, but she was still in shock. I'm coming as fast as I can, O'Meara thought at me, as she considered purchasing a bike for tunnel transit. Among her many talents, running was not one of them.

  "She fell," Jet volunteered. "Was walking with me, complaining about coding or something, and then she trailed off. Started mumbling about Trevor. I thought she was having a stroke! Then she rears up, see?" Jet popped up on his hind legs, flailing his front hooves around. "And then she comes down and I hear this SNAP! And all this blood comes gushing out of her."

  The feeding, O'Meara thought. When you snapped the connection with the vampire, it could have drawn double from her.

  What sort of freaked-up vampire feeds off the friends of the people it eats? I thought back.

  Nasty ones. She was still searching for that memory, and I resolved to go have a talk with Rex once we fixed up Alice. The vet arrived first and O'Meara shortly afterwards. The vet took one look at the limb and wanted to amputate. O'Meara told him to set the leg. I stayed out of the ensuing argument.

  The vet set the leg, his bushy eyebrows only smoking a little bit. Then it was time for a bit of magic.

  Together we placed our hands (well, her hands and my paws) on either side of the wound, forming a circle with our forelimbs. Not a formal circle by any means, but healing magic isn't dangerous if it leaks. We crafted a simple spell, little more than a funnel, strengthened with a tiny sliver of tass. Then I served as an anchor for O'Meara to sort through infinite alternate planes of existence for a plane that contained the concept of health. My own mind retreated towards my own anchor in the planes that were more similar to ours, that hold minds and things instead of rolling existences of pure energy.

  With a trembling echo of effort, energy came flooding down through O'Meara's soul. A deluge of hot wetness slammed down into me and gibbered in my ears in a rush of frenzied life. I held it off, pushed against it, spinning Mr. Bitey's coils into a fourth-dimensional hand to push it back toward the spell and into the wound.

  Alice's eyes opened wide as the life stuff poured into her. "Muuuuh—" Her head reared back and she sneezed, her two wide nostrils expelling their contents like a twin-barreled blunderbuss. Right onto the side of my face and neck. If I had dodged or even twitched, I would have disrupted the spell, so all I could do was take the blast and feel the dampness drive through my face fur.

  "Oops. Sorry, Thomas." Alice flicked her ears in embarrassment.

  O'Meara was laughing, not very loudly in meat-space, but in our heads, it was a full-blown cackle. Should have warned you about that side effect, she thought without being very sorry about it.

  You have a healing spell that makes people sneeze? I responded.

  It works by sort of accelerating everything in the body. Her next twenty-four hours are going to be a bit interesting. Images of what that would entail followed, and I made a mental note not to stand behind Alice for a while.

  Alice meanwhile had bowed her head back to the mat she lay on, breathing hard. I focused my vision on the wound, where most of the energy was being consumed as the flesh and bone knitted back together, but a fair bit was leaking into her bloodstream.

  "I'm almost done, Alice," O'Meara soothed, focusing on coaxing the blackened flesh back to life.

  "Ohhh, Treeeevor," the cow moaned into her mat.

  It's a bit tough on teenagers, O'Meara commented on my unasked lesson.

  "He's not dead. He's not dead. He's not dead. He can't be dead."

  Something in the air around us shifted as O'Meara stopped her channeling, but we dismissed it as the dissipation of the spell. "There, that will do it. Let Dr. Moore give you some fluids and rest for a few days." She looked around the stall, looking for some clean fabric that wasn't stained with blood before finding a mostly clean towel draped over the wall behind her. "And let me borrow this for Thomas." She grabbed it and attacked the side of my face with it, still snickering lightly.

  Cow snot, desert sand, and I probably hit a few bugs while Oric was yo-yoing me at terminal velocity. To quote a certain fictional wizard: Hell’s bells, I needed a bath.

  Alice didn't seem to see the humor in my situation. She had begun to sob, blinking huge droplets out of her eyes. "I love him! I don't want him to be gone."

  O'Meara stroked the crest of her head. "That's the hormones talking, lass. The side effect of the spell, I'm 'fraid." O'Meara's accent deepened as she attempted to be mothering.

  "We were going to... He was gunna be a magus. And then he'd take me out. Then..." Alice stopped suddenly, ears snapping up straighter than they were meant to.

  I hadn't heard anything over the anxiety-ridden buzz of the camp. "Alice?" I asked.

  "He's back!" Alice sprang up on to all four hooves and charged the door. O'Meara and I had to fling ourselves against the wall to avoid getting crushed. Bursting from the stall, the Ranch erupted in calls of alarm.

  Then I heard it: a creeping whisper slipping under the sounds of the confusion. "Aaaaaaliicce." A sickening sing-song. The realization of what that seeming twist in the air a momen
t ago had been struck both O'Meara and me simultaneously. Scrabbling for the door as one, we got in each other's way and bottlenecked in the entrance for a moment.

  I shot after Alice, but she had a good head start. "Alice, stop! It's not real!" I shouted to no avail, plowing through the Stables and nearly running over Dr. Moore, the vet, who barely got out of the way, bags of saline solution scattering out of his loaded doctor's bag.

  "Sorry, doc!" I said as I bolted by him. I saw "Trevor" now, waiting for Alice right beyond the entrance to the Ranch. A young, handsome man with a wide smile and blackness where his eyes ought to be. Fucking phantasms!

  Pulling even with Alice, I leapt up and wrapped my forelegs around her neck, resisting the urge to extend my claws. Alice bawled and bucked. My nonexistent grip slipped as she twisted. I slammed into the wall of the tunnel.

  Behind us, O'Meara's aura flared to life and sent a beam of scorching heat searing out from her hand and straight through "Trevor's" head.

  By the time the world stopped spinning, all that was left of the phantom was a pile of smoking shadow, rapidly being snuffed out by Alice's tears.

  "No no no no." Alice scraped at the pile with a hoof as I picked myself up and cracked my neck.

  "Alice, it was a phantom. It wasn't real," I said.

  "I hate this place," Alice said. "I hate it so much!"

  "I know. They're cruel things." I nodded as O'Meara and Jet caught up with us, puffing.

  "Will you be okay, Alice?" I asked as O'Meara slid a reassuring hand down my neck, neither of us sure how to console the teenage cow.

  "Do I have a choice?" Alice's voice dripped with bitterness. "Should have just let it get me. Then I wouldn't miss him anymore."

  "Don't talk like that, Alice. That's not true." Jet walked up and leaned against Alice. She appeared to gain some amount of strength from the smaller goat as he walked her back toward the Stables.

  O'Meara and I were left alone in the dark. Feather seemed to have left; apparently she hadn’t wanted to get involved. Ah well. I looked up at the ceiling and saw that the electric lights placed there to ward off the phantasms had been shattered. The black miasma that remained of the phantasm clung to the upper corners, waiting to be triggered again.

  So... vampires, huh? I thought at my bond.

  Its... called a Tikoloshe. It doesn't feed on blood. O'Meara stood with her eyes closed and fists balled, face tight with concentration. I must have fought them in the war. It's so fuzzy.

  I looked into her mind to see the ghost of Sir Rex, O'Meara's previous familiar. With mental bonds, you always leave a piece of yourself behind. Rex had left a huge chunk of himself in his mistress's head and had appointed himself the guardian of O'Meara's painful memories. Now he stood on the border of the subconscious, stripping information out of a buried memory with his teeth. The scraps of info were tossed over into conscious memory. It feeds on grief; grief for the one it has taken. O'Meara reached for more, but Rex pulled the memory back into the shadows. Out of reach. The dog turned his dead eyes on me and bared his teeth. There would be a long conversation with the ghost soon, but not while O'Meara's conscious mind ruled.

  Forcing my attention back into the real world, I maneuvered my head beneath her hand for a scratch. Felt like it was trying to feed on a lot more than that. My own memory blazed with the pain that had been anchored in my brain.

  It’s more complicated than that. Again, she reached, but no more info was forthcoming.

  Damnit, Rex, what if the next time this thing decides to pull, Alice's heart breaks instead of her leg? That earned a growl from deep in O'Meara's mind.

  We'll figure that out later. We have to deal with a more pressing concern. You can't help Alice if Oric gets his talons on you.

  But—

  I attempted to protest, but her hand grabbed my muzzle and wrenched it upwards, forcing me to look into her eyes.

  You are not allowed to get yourself killed. You want to make the world a kinder and gentler place? Then you stay alive. Rex thought his death would mean something. Thought he'd be the martyr who changed everyone. O'Meara spat a huge loogie on the floor and then vaporized it with a flash of fire. I'm the only one who even remembers him. She let me go.

  O'Meara, I soothed, Oric's only got one trick, and it probably won't work as long as I'm bonded to you.

  You won't be bonded to me tomorrow when you're teaching Ceres's willowy brat. You'll be vulnerable.

  I conceded the point. We set to planning while we replaced the light bulbs along the tunnels. Afterwards, we retired for some grub, grooming, and actual rest. Tomorrow would be a big day, and I'd find out just how far Oric would be willing to go to kill me.

  17

  The Willowy Child

  Ceres agreed to have Grace meet me and Rudy deep in the tunnels near the Luxor. O'Meara hung back out of sight but not out of sound. I had Rudy's device - whatever it did - tucked in my harness, waiting for any rude attempt to change my location.

  We arrived plenty early and with plenty of light to chase off any phantasms who were looking for a snack. Rudy had just finished dragging a piece of chalk on the floor to make a very primitive casting circle when I spotted Grace approaching. Rather, I saw her channeling power a ways off. The blue of her anchor treated the concrete of the tunnels no differently from glass.

  Her voice came next, bouncing off the walls. "People really live down here, Dougie? It's so dark."

  Dougie? I snickered at the thought of the uptight cheetah being called such a thing. The serial clicks of claws on concrete echoed as well, but nothing more. Had Doug come without Ceres?

  I need to find a better name for you. O'Meara jabbed me with a thought. Thomas is so formal. You sure you don't like being called Tommy? Oooh - maybe Thommy?

  Sending a mental growl in O'Meara's direction, I watched Grace and Doug emerge from the murk. Grace's scent weighed heavy with panic's perfume, but eagerness lit her face as she stepped into the intersection we had set up. Doug had no scent I could detect.

  Donning my best customer service smile, I bade them welcome. "Welcome to black magic lessons. We're under cover and under ground."

  Grace's eyes widened, and she rounded on Doug. "Black magic? Is this illegal?"

  The cheetah barked a laugh and leaned against Grace's legs. "Never you fear. It's fine, Grace. Mr. Khatt here has angered a particularly displeasurable owl. He's merely a bit frightened. It is of no consequence to us."

  Rudy piped up, "Rotten acorns! What did you and Ceres do to get him riled? You two are blackballed by the TAU!"

  Whatever ease Doug had assumed in Grace's presence vanished as soon as Rudy's voice reached his ears. He managed to look down his nose at me, despite the fact I was half a foot taller. "That is both a complex story and none of your business. Grace, please give Mr. Khatt his tass so that he will stop being curious and do his job. And I will remind you of the privacy clause in your own contract, Thomas."

  I declined to make any additional cracks as Grace reached into her bag and pulled out a much smaller one made of black velvet. Rudy climbed up on top of my head to receive it. No one spoke but the zipper of my harness as he stowed it.

  Go ahead, Thomas. Shout if you need me, O'Meara said as my stomach clenched itself as tightly as a man's fist. If there was ever a moment the TAU would show themselves, it would be this one.

  "All right, then." With a mental pull, O'Meara's presence slipped from my mind. A great yawn of nothingness replaced her comforting warmth. Despite knowing that she sprawled out on a lawn chair a mere thousand feet away, just around the corner, and that Mr. Bitey's simple mind coiled within, a sense of loneliness spread through my heart.

  I had no time to meditate on that feeling. Opening my eyes, I found Grace's copper-colored irises staring into me, her teeth biting ever so slightly on her bottom lip. The stare strayed to the side as Mr. Bitey slid into three-dimensional space; thin coils of silver chain unspooled from around my neck and hung in the air beside me. Slowly, the cha
in twisted upon itself, resolving into a silver cobra with the base of his tail anchored in my neck.

  Both Doug and Grace stepped back, their wide eyes mirrors of each other's. Doug gave an uneasy bark. "I have never seen anything like that."

  "It is a similar concept to a fey chain, but more... animated," I said, turning to Grace. "Do you grant us permission to bind you?"

  "Will it hurt?" Grace asked, eyes wide like a doe about to be struck.

  "Grace!" Doug hissed under his breath.

  A wince flashed over the perfectly smooth features of Grace's face. "I give permission."

  Mr. Bitey struck. The snake split into a mass of chains. Doug appeared in front of them, moving faster than my eye could follow, paw outstretched as if to pat down the chains. But they merely zigged around the blur before entangling around Grace's neck.

  The contract flashed in my head, and her mindscape opened.

  I held myself steady, poised, not wanting to intrude and pry into a young mind.

  Instead, she came flooding into mine with the grace of a teenager on a tightrope.

  AAAAAAAAHHHH! A mental scream born of both voices echoed through us as I fought to contain the tide of her thoughts. Memories flashed through me. The metallic smell of blood in a human nose. My blood - no, hers! Pain pulsing as a weathered basketball slowly bounced away.

  I pushed it away, but another came in its place. A sharp nail stabbing me in the gut. "What is this?" Ceres's eyes glared down at me. The seams on my apprentice robes had ripped.

  "I'm sorry. I fell asleep, Mistress Ceres. I can't channel in my sleep."

  "Did I tell you that you could sleep yet? I told you I don't like to see all this... unhealthiness. Why am I still seeing it?" I was so tired. I'd been in that room so long, so many hours. Focusing. Yet I reached for my anchor.

  I tore free of the memory and fell into another. Music pulsed. I moved in time. Effortless. All my practice had paid off. The world spun around me as if I were its center. An ethereal grace poured down into me as if I'd grown angel wings. I pranced through my routine, but it had become simple, boring. I twirled through the steps, adding flourishes, my partner a simple statue to use as leverage for my grace. Every step I landed, every beat I cherished. It ended too soon. I bowed to the crowd. They did not move. They could not see me. Then a single, solitary applause. A single woman, dark and tall, walked down the aisle toward the stage.