by Dodge, Lola
“You don’t have to take care of me.”
“I wouldn’t if you took care of yourself.” That was what annoyed me the most.
“I’m not as delicate as you.”
Lucky we’re not having a contest. “Just don’t make yourself any more miserable because of me.”
“I wasn’t…” Wynn’s soft voice trailed off into the darkness.
I pressed my lips tight together. Would he finish the thought or bite it back to leave me in suspense again?
“A warlord doesn’t waste time on comfort. Neither does a Shield.”
“You’re not a warlord. And hopefully soon, you won’t be a Shield.” I balanced my chin on my forearm so I could stare down at him, but I could only just make out Wynn’s eyes, glittering in the near-darkness. “Have you ever left Taos?”
“No.”
“It’s a big world.” I hadn’t seen much of it yet and wasn’t sure I ever would—I didn’t have a passport and there were still dark places where witchcraft got a girl sent to prison or the stake. “Even when everything’s a struggle, there are reasons to keep smiling if you’re willing to look for them. Your homeworld probably didn’t even have donuts.”
He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “Donuts?”
“It didn’t, did it?”
“Never asked. But, doubtful.”
“We have heated floors and washing machines and pizza places that deliver in thirty minutes. Enjoy the gifts of the modern world. Like clean laundry. And pillows.” I tossed one of my bed’s extra pillows down to him, sort of aiming for his head region.
He made a satisfying grunt when it flomped in his face. I kicked off the extra blanket that was folded at the end of my bed.
“Thanks.” His voice was whisper soft.
“You’re welcome.”
Was it my imagination, or were we actually becoming friends?
In the morning, so many nerves tangled in my belly that I actually said no to Vanessa’s offer of breakfast burritos. I couldn’t swallow one bite.
There’s no reason to be nervous, I told myself for the tenth time.
Girrar was a question mark, but not exactly a problem. I had a contract backed by the Syndicate to protect this whole deal. Wynn would be with me and we were trading off the goods at Fiona’s where Girrar wouldn’t be able to make any desperate plays for more of my power.
I was mid-spell, whipping egg whites in Gabi’s kitchen, when the reason for this new sense of offness finally clicked.
I was playing nice with the death magic.
Embracing it like necromancy was as much a part of me as fire. That wasn’t just creepy—it made it seem like I was betraying my elemental core.
The thought made hot flames flare under the skin of my fingertips.
Stop. Calm down.
I needed to focus on the macarons or I’d mis-cast the spell. That could be disastrous with a happiness enchantment, let alone a death spell.
Grounding myself with the feel of the wooden spoon in my hand, I cleared my head. Casting death magic wasn’t betraying myself.
I had no other choice.
I had to practice with this energy to control it. Had to control it to cast with it. And sure as hell had to cast with it or the touch of death would never fade from my system.
Feeling more anchored, I pushed through until I was finishing the macarons with a last sprinkle of grave dirt.
Then I stuck a Band-Aid on my latest fingerpick. I’d taken blood from a different finger, not wanting to jab the same one twice in a row, but now I wondered if I’d be better off keeping the damage in one place.
At the rate I was planning to bake, I’d have bandages on every finger.
Agatha had lent me some legit macaron boxes, so I carefully placed the finished products inside. I’d already scrawled POISON in red marker on all sides. Now I rubber-banded the boxes closed before sealing them off in a lockable mini cooler.
“I’m ready.” I gripped the cooler to my chest. It probably looked like I was transporting organs. What I had was way worse than a beating heart—not the gift of life.
The gift of death.
“Let’s go.” Wynn held open the door.
I went straight for the passenger seat. I couldn’t hug the cooler and drive, and I refused to let the murder macarons out of reach.
The drive to Arroyo Seco took thirty seconds. At least that was what it felt like. All too soon, our footsteps were crunching down Fiona’s gravel drive.
The Twinkie trailer had been pulled off, taking a place between the scattered sage bushes on Fiona’s property. Now I was positive it belonged to Girrar.
A lady who decorated her place with doilies upon doilies would never own such a white trash eyesore. Its dents had dings and its rust spots had zip codes.
The trailer creaked open and Girrar oozed out, blocking any possible view of the inside. His lips looked darker, almost plum-colored, and his skin even grayer than I remembered.
A sickening feeling swooped in my gut. I wasn’t sure why, but I trusted the feeling.
I sidestepped, moving half behind Wynn.
He must be feeling the same because his whole body was tight with tension and his fingers twitched, probably about ready to grab for a throwing knife.
“A beautiful morning.” Girrar locked his door with a long iron key. “My treats?”
I shifted the cooler so it was behind me. “We’ll do the trade in front of Fiona.” I wasn’t giving him an opportunity to take advantage.
“I’m already starving.” Hunger echoed in his voice as loudly as if he’d dragged his crusty fingernails down my arms.
Goose bumps rose under my jacket. I whirled, knowing Wynn would follow. I jogged up the steps to ring Fiona’s bell and let out a breath when she opened the door.
“You’re all early.” Fiona moved aside, letting us through the doorway. “That’s good. Come in. I’ll be right with you.”
I wanted to strip off my coat before the warm, dry air suffocated me, but I didn’t dare set down the cooler. Fiona must’ve been burning incense because the smell of stale sandalwood hung in the air.
I hurried into the dining room.
A rose-print cloth covered over the knife-hole in the table. She’d decorated with fancy rose-colored placemats and rolled-up napkins. Maybe she was worried about Girrar making a mess.
She shouldn’t be.
The way he was eyeing my cooler, he’d be licking every speck of macaron off his fingers, the table, the floor…
I was so put off by his greedy stare that I fumbled with the sleeves of my jacket, half-trapped.
Wynn appeared behind me. He gently tugged my arm free and then draped the jacket over my chair back. Mid-motion, he caught my eye and I could hear the words in his gaze. Quit freaking out.
Well. Wynn would never say freaking out, but his telepathic message was dead on.
I needed to calm down.
There was no reason to be this worked up.
Yes, Girrar gave me the creeps, but he hadn’t done a thing to violate our deal. I’d even double-checked my treasure bundle. It weighed the same as ever, so he hadn’t paid in disappearing gold.
Everything is going smooth.
I pulled out the macaron boxes and peeled off the rubber bands, trying to ignore the laser beams shooting from Girrar’s eyes.
Fiona must’ve beelined to the kitchen because she carried a jam-packed tea tray, which she set next to me. “Help yourself to tea and cookies.”
The delicate china set was decorated with the Spellwork Syndicate’s pentagram and mirrored S’s. I was almost afraid to pick up one of the leaf-thin plates.
I arranged the macarons and slid them across the table. Fiona intercepted before Girrar could make a grab.
“Be neat,” she warned him before setting the plate in the center of his placemat.
He jammed the first macaron straight into his mouth.
Whole. Again.
That was one way to
prevent crumbs.
“Tea?” Fiona was a little too prim to shudder, but she definitely turned away from Girrar while he gobbled.
“Please.” I took a cup and saucer, happy to have a reason to look away from the feeding. But the sound of tea pouring through a strainer did nothing to drown out the muffled groan, lip-smacking, chomping noises.
Let alone the feathers of death magic that brushed my skin every time he crunched.
I cleared my throat. “How long have you been a member of the Syndicate?”
Fiona carried her cup to her seat at the head of the table. “Forty-three years this December.”
“Forty-three?” I did the math—Fiona didn’t look older than sixty. “You joined as a teenager?” She must’ve been some kind of prodigy.
“Darling.” She gave a demure smile with the hint of a satisfied cat’s tail-twitch. “I’m already ninety and then some.”
“Ninety?” My voice squeaked. She had the tiniest wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, but her hair was golden brown without a single gray.
“Mannikins have our own life expectancies. Some of us are longer-lived than humans. Others…” Her sharp gaze flicked to Girrar. He was already half done with his plate when I hadn’t even sipped my tea.
Was he one of the short-lived ones, or did she just want him out of her house? And would eating so much death magic add or subtract from his lifespan?
I peeked while reaching for a ladyfinger.
The macarons gave off that subtle hint of underworld I never would’ve noticed without my stuck-on necromancy. And Girrar…
Was I imagining things?
Or did I sense a flicker of energy in him?
Something as soft as the flutter of moth wings in the dark.
Whatever it was, it hadn’t been there yesterday.
My fingers froze over the tray of cookies. The more he chewed, the more my instincts shouted.
If death magic made Girrar stronger…
What would happen if I kept feeding him?
Fourteen
Girrar decimated the macarons, conjured me a cooler-full of treasure, and then headed home to his trailer with the promise that he’d see us tomorrow.
I hung back with the excuse that I wanted to finish my tea.
I hadn’t taken a sip and I wasn’t going to because my stomach was already boiling. “Did you feel his energy shifting?”
“Not particularly.” Fiona’s voice drifted off like she was thinking it through. “But Girrar’s power has a murky quality to begin with. It’s hard to read.”
“What happens if the death magic powers him up?” Would he turn into some kind of super vamp?
“Nothing to worry about.” Fiona refilled her teacup. “No matter the power bump he gains from this trade, a minion is still a minion. Never mind the Syndicate, Queen Anyssa will stomp him if he steps out of line.”
I sagged in my chair. That was a relief. “I should’ve thought of it before.” It just hadn’t occurred to me that Girrar wanted my death magic for anything but its taste.
Stupid, Anise.
“He’s no match for you in his current form.” Fiona’s gaze slid over my shoulder. “Or for your Shield. If you two can fight off a warlock together, the average mannikin would never be a threat.”
The average mannikin, sure. But Fiona obviously wasn’t average.
What if Girrar leveled up?
I couldn’t see Wynn gripping my chair back, but the wood creaked. “I’d end that fight before it started.”
“I’m sure.” Fiona leaned forward, balancing her sharp chin on pointed fingers, and I was glad her cold stare pointed at Wynn. “Speaking of fights, how did my table offend you?”
My chair back loosened and I had to turn around to see Wynn’s expression.
He was smirking.
Smirking at the ancient mannikin lady who could probably turn us both into apple crisp.
“Had to give Girrar a warning. Your table took the hit.”
Was Wynn trying to antagonize her? “I’ll pay for the damage.”
And the money was coming straight out of Wynn’s get-out-of-jail stash.
“I won’t push the issue this time.” She glared icicles at Wynn. “But if you’re determined to act rambunctious, Agatha will have to take over for me.”
“It won’t happen again.” I jumped up, pushing back my chair so fast it would’ve hit Wynn in the gut if his reflexes weren’t so fast. “Right, Wynn?”
“That’s up to Girrar.”
His tone sounded less like an apology and more like a challenge. No way would Agatha let us make the trades in her house, and if we got booted from Fiona’s, I’d be the one running around begging Syndicate members to help.
I stepped on Wynn’s toe. Between his hard boots and my soft sneakers, there was no way it hurt, but he couldn’t miss my meaning.
He let out a resigned breath. “I’m already holding back.”
Still not an apology, but from Wynn, those few words were practically a dramatic monologue. “Thank you, Fiona. We’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, indeed. Take care.” She sipped her tea and didn’t move to see us to the door. She was too busy icing out Wynn with her eyes.
I grabbed my jacket and shoved the cooler into Wynn’s arms. The treasure was heavy and if Wynn was getting the gold, he could carry the gold.
He stashed the cooler in the trunk while I buckled into the passenger side. The trade-off felt like it had lasted hours, but the sun had barely moved in the sky.
One day down, maybe forever to go.
It won’t be forever. Just until my power goes back to normal.
But when I looked inside myself, the situation felt exactly the same. Like deathly ashes clogging my inner hearth flames.
And the nearest sage bush was starting to wilt.
I gripped the edges of my seat. “Get us out of here.”
Wynn reversed so hard our tires sprayed gravel. I rested my forehead against the cold window.
All of this enchanting was supposed to get rid of my death magic.
Not make it stronger.
I’d play along a few more days, but if I kept killing bushes, my deal with Girrar was officially canceled.
I usually wouldn’t mind being cooped up, but the library in Gabi’s casita consisted of a grilling guide and two veterinary technology textbooks. The only other “book” I had was my planner, and it said I was supposed to be at Baking I this afternoon.
I’d kill to go to class, but that was the problem.
I didn’t want to kill.
Wynn napped on the living room couch while I paced. With nothing to read and nothing to bake, I was out of hobbies.
Wynn jumped up so fast I froze.
Three seconds later, a soft tap sounded at the door. “Anise?”
I opened the door to find Gabi in overalls and rubber boots with her curls pinned back. “Just checking on you. Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s good.” Except for the part where I was pumped up with death magic and itching to sneak to campus. I was so twitchy, it felt like fire ants were crawling up my arms. I couldn’t handle it. “Is there anything I can do to help around the clinic? Probably not with the animals, but cleaning or carrying or something to keep me busy?”
“Ah…” Gabi gave a hesitating glance toward the spread of outbuildings. “There’s work, it’s just… How desperate are you?”
“I already read through the grill recipes.”
“Okay. But fair warning, all I’ve got is dirty work.”
“Do I have to change?” I was wearing leggings and a ratty T-shirt, but I didn’t want them ruined by farm animals.
“The first thing on my to-do list is mucking out stables and you’re going to want all bare skin covered. I’ll lend you a set of work clothes. Still in?”
“I’m in.” I’d never mucked out anything but a walk-in cooler, but a stable couldn’t be that bad. Working would be better than pacing the afternoon away.
>
“Wynn? Are you joining us?” Gabi pitched her voice into the casita. “I can lend you a set of my dad’s clothes.”
“I’m following. Not working.” Wynn rolled his shoulders back until they cracked.
Right. What sane person volunteered to muck out stables?
Gabi led us toward the outbuilding that held all the kibble and coolers full of rats. Thankfully, she kept moving to the one next door. It was also a storeroom, but instead of food, it held racks of packaged med supplies. White coats and sets of overalls hung on pegs above big galoshes.
The overalls and long sleeves made sense, but I wondered if I’d made a mistake when Gabi handed me a set of the rubber boots, gloves, and a full-on face mask.
Afraid to ask, I followed her across the yard to a low barn that stank of horses. Shovels and nets were propped against the wood outside.
“We only have two winged horses right now and they’re both out at the back pasture all day.” Gabi handed me a net. “You sure you want to do this?”
I ignored the winged horses part, focusing instead on the pole in my hands. “Not a shovel?”
“Not a shovel.” Gabi hesitated at the barn door. “Their manure levitates for a few hours. We leave it alone when they’re outside, but they get fussy if there’s a bunch of poo floating around the barn.”
“Fussy. Sure.” My voice sounded far away because surely this was someone else’s life?
“It’s not too late to turn back without needing a shower.”
Levitating poo was still a better choice than being alone with my worries.
“Let’s do this.” I pulled up my face mask.
Gabi did the same.
“Have fun.” Wynn leaned against the barn and closed his eyes, but I was almost positive he was hiding another smirk.
At least he wasn’t coming inside to watch the show. Taking one last deep breath, I stepped into the barn.
Scattered turds floated. Most of them around knee-height. A few more dangerous ones drifted above my head.
Gabi swung her net high, catching one of the tall ones. “Start from the top and work your way down. Then we can take off our masks.”
It wasn’t the minefield of poop I’d feared, but it would only take one horse apple in my hair to ruin the day.
After a few minutes, Gabi slid off her mask and came to trade my net for a pitchfork. She already held a shovel. “We’re safe now. I’ll muck out and you can fork in the clean hay.”