by Sam Cheever
I flew past the sign announcing the outskirts of Illusion City and slowed, eyeing the cross streets as I drove to find the one leading to LA’s home and sanctuary. She lived in an older neighborhood on the edge of the city, in an old Victorian that had probably once been a stunning home for a well-to-do family. The homes were still beautiful, though a little worn around the edges. Many of them had undergone rehabilitation, making the neighborhood a popular spot for growing families.
I turned left onto LA’s street and drove past an array of houses similar to hers. They were set fairly close together, on small lots that were mostly taken up by oversized trees. I spotted her home about two-thirds of the way along the street and stopped the VW bug at the curb. The home was a freshly painted brown and cream with light blue trim. The front door was a creamy beige to match the house and I could see the haze of protective warding overshadowing it.
I wondered if LA would accept the four cats into her sanctuary. I realized it was asking a lot. I’d made a deliberate decision not to call ahead and ask if she’d take the orphaned felines, thinking it would be better to present their adorable pitifulness to her in the flesh.
It would be harder to say no at that point.
Yeah, I know that was a little sneaky. But, hey, desperate times…
After some thought, I grabbed the smallest kitten and headed for the front door. I knocked loudly, scanning the street as I wondered which house belonged to Deg, LA’s boyfriend, the witch.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. I hugged the kitten closer and turned expectantly, finding stunningly good-looking man with mahogany hair and dark silver eyes staring out at me. “Can I help you?”
“Oh. Um…”
“Who is it, Deg?”
My friend came up behind her gorgeous witch and grinned. “Naida!” She pushed past the unhappy-looking man and enveloped me in a hug. “How are you? And who’s this little cutie?”
LA fixed her changeable blue-green gaze on the kitten and her eyes lit up. “May I?”
I nodded, handing her over.
“Oh!” LA turned to Deg. “Look. Isn’t she adorable?”
Deg eyed the kitten with a frown on his handsome face and I couldn’t help wondering why.
“She’s one of several kittens we rescued. I was wondering if you would mind adding them to the sanctuary for a while? Just until I figure out what to do with them?”
LA and Deg shared a look and I tensed. LA didn’t look pleased at the idea.
“Is it a problem?” I asked. “Because if it is…”
LA shook her head, her long, bright red hair swinging around her small face. “No, it’s not that.” Her gaze slid to Deg’s again. “How many are in this litter?”
I chewed the inside of my lip, ready to turn around and leave.
LA must have seen the flight response in my gaze. She reached out and clasped one of my hands. “Let me make this easier. Are these the Quilleran kittens?”
I frowned. “How did you know?”
Deg’s frown deepened. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Clearly, he wasn’t happy.
LA gave him a warning look. “The web has been retrofitted to include them. They’re much too dangerous to leave unattended.”
The “web” LA was speaking about was a magical connection all of the magic users in Illusion City used to keep track of each other. It was far more complex than that, of course, but that was as much as I knew about it.
“Yes. They were being mistreated and used for dark magic. I had to rescue them, LA.” Had that whining tone really come from me?
She nodded, handing the kitten to Deg, who, despite his unhappy demeanor, immediately softened as the sleepy kitten snuggled against his chest. “Let’s go get the others. They’re not safe on the street.”
I sat on the floor of LA’s fragrant, warm kitchen, watching the kittens play as she brewed up a concoction of special milk that she said would be good for their coats and for getting rid of any parasites they might have collected.
“They were being kept in a building on the grounds. Queen Sindra and her people rescued them.”
LA nodded. “Don’t you have a kitten from this litter?”
“Mr. Wicked.” I smiled. “He’s really smart.” By smart, I meant he was well-attuned to magic. He and his litter-mates had been bred to be conduits for witch magic. Being a cat-shifting familiar, LA knew what I meant.
She shook her head. “Such a shame. Some witches don’t understand the value of a good magic conduit, let alone how to treat them humanely.” She flicked Deg a look and he nodded.
“These cats are valuable beyond compare. Which is why the Quillerans won’t stop until they get them back.” He balled up a piece of paper and flicked it to the floor for the kittens to chase. “And why we need to keep the kittens away from them at all costs.”
Hope filled my breast. “I agree.” I watched silently as LA placed a large bowl of the special milk on the floor. The kittens ran over and stuck their heads into the bowl, lapping happily at it.
LA smiled down at them. After a moment, she looked up. “I take it you’re looking for an artifact?”
I nodded. “A tea infuser that apparently removes a person’s essence when it’s used. I have a frog at home right now that tells me he was once a Quilleran.”
Both Deg and LA looked shocked.
“They went after one of their own?” Deg asked. “I can’t believe it.”
“That’s a bad bunch,” LA said. She looked down at the kittens again, her expression softening.
I realized how much danger I was putting LA and her friends in. “Look, I know I’m asking a lot…”
LA shook her head. “This is what the sanctuary is for. I’ll keep them. But I do need your permission to find them good homes.”
My pulse spiked. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I’d been considering keeping them all. Wicked would love having his brothers and sisters around. “Oh. Well, okay. But maybe keep one of them. I might want to take a sibling home for Wicked.”
“Done,” LA said, grinning.
“And you need to tell us why the collars all have sigils on them,” Deg added in a suspicious tone.
I shook my head. “I wish I knew.”
We all looked at the four collars lying on the surface of the table. Each one had a small artifact hanging from the loop like a bauble. There was an athame replica on one, a pentacle on another, what looked like a focus sigil on the third, and the symbol for chaos magic on the fourth. I suddenly wondered what symbol Mr. Wicked would have had if they’d managed to hold onto him.
“I’m going to research them,” Deg declared as if defying me to argue.
LA gave me an apologetic look after shooting her witch a warning glance. “These sigils tell us what the kittens were being used for. We need the information to protect them and ourselves,” she said.
“I’m okay with that,” I agreed, catching LA’s eye. “I don’t want to put you in unnecessary danger. But I thought this might be the last place the Quillerans would look for them.”
LA nodded. “We’ll mask their location as best we can. But the sooner you find your artifact the better. If you take away their ability to use the cats, they’ll hopefully lose interest in them.”
12
Bleep Ye Matey, Ye’re the Devil’s bleep
By the time I walked back into my shop I was already dead on my feet and the day was only half over. To say I wasn’t prepared for the next surprise in my life was an understatement of gargantuan proportions. Mr. Wicked met me at the front door, though I’d left the connecting door between the artifact library and the shop closed and locked. Unless my kitten had figured out how to unlock doors and open them without opposable thumbs, somebody had breached my warding again.
Frog’s cankles! I was getting sick of people invading my space.
I scooped up Mr. Wicked and glanced around the shop, seeing nothing out of place.
Moving quietly to the dividing d
oor, I listened for telltale noises, hearing nothing. Mr. Wicked wriggled to be released so I settled him on the floor. He bounded ahead of me into the artifact library, hopping up onto Shakespeare’s desk and dancing away from the dripping ink quill that flew off its surface, heading for the chair which was, unfortunately not filled with the writer the pen expected.
It shot across the room and slammed into the wooden frame of the communicating mirror, dropping to the floor.
Wicked jumped onto the shelves which held thousands of artifacts, large and small, and pawed at the metal support leg, his orange gaze locked on the handle of the deadly sword sticking out from the top shelf.
I looked up to Edward Teach’s sword and grimaced. Better known as Blackbeard, Teach and his pirate crew had tormented merchants around the West Indies and North America in the late sixteen hundreds. His sword was on the topmost shelf where all the most dangerous artifacts lived, well out of reach of someone’s inadvertent grasp. Sebille and I had named the bright-eyed parrot sitting on the blade Sewer Beak, SB for short, because his speech was heavily weighted with words a bloodthirsty pirate would have found useful upon a pirate’s ship.
The fact that Mr. Wicked was basically recommending that I grab the sword didn’t speak well of what was waiting for me upstairs.
I resisted the idea, looking around for something less…deadly to protect myself with. But Wicked yowled softly, his orange gaze shooting toward the ceiling high above our heads.
Sighing, I reached out a hand and engaged my artifact seeking magic, which worked as a locator when I couldn’t actually see the artifact, and as a magnet when I could.
The sword lifted off the shelf, sending SB into the air in a fit of squawking and foul language, and drifted to my hand, well-worn wooden handle first.
My fingers wrapped around the hilt like it belonged to me, the handle magically adjusting to the size of my palm and length of my digits.
With a final flurry of magically expunged sewer language, SB landed on my shoulder, hopping unhappily back and forth from foot to foot as he worried at my hair with his curved beak.
“Leave it, SB!” I told the cranky parrot. He gave me a theatrical sigh. “Bossy ye be for a wee female, lass.”
“Arrr! I not be wee and I not be bossy, ye scurvy blackguard,” I countered, heading for the steps. “I be wanting to keep my hair attached to my head.” I bit my lip against further speech, realizing the sword had already pervaded me to the point that I was talking pirate gibberish.
An unfortunate side effect, which I defeated with a flick of shielding magic.
Wicked took off across the room, no doubt to hide until our intruders were gone. I started up the stairs, the sword clutched in two hands, and SB singing a lewd tavern song as I tried to shush him.
In response, the parrot threw back his bright green head and caterwauled, off-key and loud enough to make my ears ring. “Ye bloody Brit sons of blessed mums whose gifts to ye be small, ye’ll fall to Blackbeard’s mighty sword, ’fore yer mum’s tears of shame can fall.”
“SB!” I whispered harshly. “Be. Quiet!”
The parrot shifted from foot to foot on my shoulder, turning in a circle as I carefully sidestepped a creaking stair. “What ye be afraid of, lass? Ye’ve the mighty Blackbeard’s sword. The blood of yonder scurvy dogs is all but spilt.”
So much for sneaking up on whatever, or whoever waited for me in my rooms.
A floorboard above my head creaked and I went very still, listening.
“Ye busty barmaids, ale in hand…”
“Oh for…!” I swept my hand over my shoulder in an attempt to expel the loudly singing parrot. Unfortunately for me, he flapped his wings and took to the air, only to land again on my other shoulder before I reached the door.
I took a deep breath, realizing the jig was up, and stepped into the open doorway, sword held in front of me in both hands.
My knuckles were white.
My heart was pounding.
My parrot was swearing.
I sucked in a quiet gasp.
Four Quilleran witches stood arrayed in a half-circle in front of my couch. Though their eyes were wide as SB opened his beak and belched out a few more lyrics to his bawdy song, each new line raunchier than the last, I felt their power like a thick, sulfurous fog filling my lungs.
There was so much magic in the room it was hard to draw a full breath. Sweat broke out on my temples and coated my palms. I squeezed the handle of the sword harder to keep it from slipping out of my grasp. “Get out of my house.”
My voice came out with a harsh, booming quality that I knew was another side effect of the sword. In that moment, as I saw the four witches stiffen with alarm, I was glad of that particular side effect.
The dying sunlight outside my kitchen window fell across the room between us like a barrier, its gilded rays catching the razor-sharp edge of Blackbeard’s sword and making it spark as if from magical energy.
The Quillerans shifted backward without moving their feet.
I glanced at Felicity, happy to see a sheen of sweat on her brow too. Maybe she was as scared of me as I was of them. “Did you not learn your lesson the last time?”
Felicity twitched, her unattractive face folding into a frown. “We want our litter back.”
I tried for an expression of confusion, but I was pretty sure I didn’t entirely pull it off. “Litter? I don’t know…”
“Don’t lie to us,” Jacob Quilleran boomed.
His voice ricocheted around my small apartment, rippling over my skin like cool water over smooth rocks. Despite my best intentions to seem intimidating, I jumped slightly at the sound.
The patriarch of the Quilleran clan was an imposing figure. He stood in the center of the group, a good foot taller and half again as wide as the three women. He wasn’t fat. Not by a long stretch. He was about six feet four and two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle. And if his magical abilities had physical attributes, they’d be similarly endowed. “You have twenty-four hours to return them to us.”
“Or what?” I asked, clearing my throat as it caught on the words.
Candace Quilleran anchored one end of the half-circle. Her thin, cruel mouth twisted upward at the corners, scaring me until I realized it was supposed to be a smile. She held Mr. Slimy’s donut box up for me to see. “Missing something, sorceress?”
My heart stuttered. The sword lowered a few inches as I tried to process my surprise. Frog’s cankles! It was Rustin, or to be more precise, Mr. Slimy. I’d left him behind when I’d made my unplanned exit from the Quilleran home. With everything that was going on, I’d totally forgotten him.
I’m so sorry, Rustin.
I forced myself to swallow and pasted an unconcerned look on my face. “My breakfast bagels?” I shook my head. “I ate them. They were yummy.”
Candace’s smile drooped, her yellow eyes flashing. “It seems you left something in the box. I was thinking of cooking it up for my dinner. I’ve heard frog’s legs are delicious.”
The woman standing next to her nodded. I thought her name was Margot. She was a Quilleran cousin, and she was known throughout Enchanted and the surrounding area as the enforcer. She stood several inches taller than the other two women. She was strongly made, standing on muscular legs encased in stretchy yoga pants and wearing a sleeveless tee that emphasized her muscular arms. She wore her coal-black hair skimmed straight back from her face, ruthlessly cinched in a ponytail at the back of her thick neck.
Her eyes were the expected Quilleran yellow, but there were visible flecks of green that flashed with energy. I realized most of the clogging magic energy in the room came from her and Jacob. The other two were relatively powerless compared to them. “You’ll have to excuse her ignorance, dear cousin,” she said, her gaze never leaving mine. “I believe Naida has lost something and hasn’t yet grasped the significance of her loss.” She held my gaze and extended her hand, dropping a long coil of silky red onto the floor. “And if she doesn’t do as
we command, she’s about to lose a whole lot more.”
As my horrified gaze slid downward, to the bright red coil of hair lying between us on the carpet, the Quillerans disappeared from my apartment like a quartet of ugly spirits.
I barely notice their departure.
I dropped to my knees, the sword thumping forgotten to the carpet beside me. Reaching for the bright red strand of hair, I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears.
They’d taken Sebille.
I barely had time to register the fact that the Quillerans had my assist…no, my friend. I had to admit that to myself. Sebille was my friend. Though a very annoying one.
No sooner had I settled that fact in my mind than I heard the jangle of the bell downstairs. I swore softly, realizing I’d left the book shop unlocked.
“Naida? Are you up there?”
I closed my eyes with relief when I heard Lea’s voice. “Yes. Hold on. I’m coming down.”
I stood and headed toward the door, SB disappearing through the door ahead of me in a shower of brightly colored feathers.
I grimaced as bright red and blue feathers hit my carpet and wondered if the undead parrot was molting due to too many years in magical limbo.
I clutched Sebille’s silky hair in my fist and brushed at tears as I bounded down the stairs, entering the bookstore to find Lea standing stock-still in the center of the room, twisting her fingers together.
“What’s wrong?” I asked my friend, my own bad news dying on my lips at the obvious evidence of hers.
Lea stopped pacing and reached for my hands, squeezing them hard. “Where’s Sebille?”
I felt my face folding into sadness. “She’s…” I took a deep breath and forced the word past my lips. “I think the Quillerans have her.”
Tears filled Lea’s eyes. She pulled me into an unexpected hug. “Oh, Naida. I’m so sorry.”
I held up the silky strand of hair and gave Lea the brief rundown of our failed exploration of the Quilleran home and my adventure upstairs.