by Parker Foye
To which end Luc had been tasked to hand deliver himself to the team finalizing the preparation on the tree. Eloise had laughed and called it “voluntold,” and Luc left her to explain the word to Amandine. He’d been given Amandine’s official card from Dufour Chalets, which would be added to the bonfire before the tree was “lit” with decorative lights. Amandine explained what an honor it was to be invited to give a token, but Luc heard “bonfire” and tuned out. Luc loved bonfires.
When he followed the hubbub in the village and talked his way past the cordons—no bureaucracy quite like French bureaucracy—Luc had to stand and stare for a minute. The tree seemed almost tall enough to ski down. It dominated the otherwise-quiet corner of the village in a way photographs didn’t convey and Luc’s memory didn’t appreciate. The sight humbled him.
“It is beautiful, non?” came a heavily accented question.
Luc glanced over his shoulder at the older man who’d come to stand beside him, a cap low over his dark eyes and ginger in his gray beard. He wore bulky layers and work gloves, showing he was likely one of the men who’d been pruning the tree when Luc arrived.
“Very beautiful,” Luc agreed. He gestured to the tree and the man’s gloves. “You worked on it?”
The man made a chopping motion, one palm into the other. “Every year.” His beard twitched, as if he’d smiled. “Is good to see tradition continue.”
Luc nodded. “Thank you for being part of it. It’s—”
“Luc?”
Luc and the man twisted to look in the direction of the shout. The difference being the man probably blinked at some point between the shout and Rob approaching them, close enough Luc could smell his aftershave. One of the zealous bureaucrats gestured expressively at Rob’s back, and the man next to Luc laughed lowly.
“I will tell her this one is your friend,” he said. He clapped Luc on the back and crossed toward the picket line.
“Wait, he’s—never mind.” Luc abandoned his protest and turned his attention to Rob. Rob’s beanie of the day was a lurid purple and deserved a decent stare. After a moment Luc’s brain rallied resources to flash a sudden warning light, the bulb brightened by the memory of Eloise’s news about the television show. “Are you following me?”
“No! What? No,” Rob repeated. He shook the bag in his hand, which Luc hadn’t noticed. “I was buying souvenirs and saw you.”
“You saw me. From over there. There aren’t even any shops over here. There’s just the church and this—this bloody great big tree.”
Rob’s cheeks darkened. “I might have got turned around.”
“…. Lost. You got lost—”
“Wait, no—”
“You got lost in Les Menuires,” Luc crowed. He snorted with laughter. “It’s the size of a stamp!”
“All right, all right, whenever you’re done.”
Luc snickered and shook his head again. His stomach unraveled one of its nervous knots, and he let himself look properly at Rob and remember the taste of him like he’d been wanting to do all morning. Or, more truly, like he’d been resisting doing, uncertain he’d ever get another chance at the real thing. Yet there Rob stood at the end of a line of footprints in the snow.
Someone yelled something about the tree, making them both start. From Rob’s lack of reaction, Luc alone understood the comment in French that followed—something about rosbif layabouts too busy flirting to help. Luc remembered he’d been tasked with helping maintain his family’s reputation and jerked to attention.
“I’ve got to go.”
Rob’s smile faltered. “Already? But I’d hoped we could, you know. Talk.” He grimaced. “Something less ominous than that.”
“Definitely, I’d like us to not-ominously talk. But look, I’m sorry, I really do have to go. Though you could stick around for a bit? They’re lighting things later, for Solstice. It’s dramatic.”
If Rob said anything else, Luc didn’t hear. Luc dashed across to the tree, where his acquaintance from earlier pulled a teasing face and gestured for Luc to get a pair of work gloves and start prepping the bonfire.
Thanks to working at the chalet, Luc had become used to lugging and chopping and heaving under direction. If pressed for honesty, he enjoyed it, as the manual labor helped him focus while the directions meant he didn’t have time to think. Indeed, with the added pressure of the imminent event, he barely had chance to breathe. By the time his new friend stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, Luc was a sweaty, exhausted mess. Luckily he’d long since handed in Amandine’s card for sacrifice.
“Good work,” the man said. “Very good.” He clapped Luc on the back again, chuckling and steadying Luc with his other hand when he swayed. “Rest now, no?”
“No. I have to meet someone. Rob, he’s my—my friend.”
“He is a very good friend, I think?”
Luc didn’t have the energy to blush, and his hair was too sweaty to hide behind. He shrugged instead, grinning as he did. “I’d like him to be.”
The man laughed his deep laugh. “Bon courage.”
Considering the way things had gone so far, Luc needed all the luck he could get. He wished the man a good afternoon and fastened his jacket tightly, as after stopping work, the cold registered again.
While they were working, the area around the tree had filled with chatting crowds, a mixture of tourists and locals alike. After schools closed for the day, the noise increased exponentially, and Luc had grown used to the giggling and names shouted in fun. As he exchanged nods with the people guarding the safety cordons, he caught the high notes of someone tuning a violin; the local ensemble had arrived. The festive season was well underway, with lights strung between trees and across the front of buildings, giving a cozy atmosphere to the afternoon. Some skiers still dotted the nearby piste, but the hill would close soon. Luc needed to find Rob before he lost his chance.
Luc wove through the bustling crowd and followed his nose to a stand selling chocolat chaud and vin chaud. He and Eloise had drunk mug after mug of hot chocolate when they went to the tree lighting as kids, piled with as much Chantilly cream as Maman would allow. As an adult he opted for the mulled wine and cradled the takeout cup in his hands as he stood to one side of the stall, scanning the crowd for Rob.
Of course the battery on his phone had died while he worked, thanks to the cold and to Luc forgetting to put his phone in his inside jacket pocket, so he couldn’t text or call. The men at the tree had laughed when he asked after a charger. Luc missed the city sometimes.
He blew on the wine. It even smelled hot. Luc was about to brave a sip when his hindbrain demanded he turn around. He obeyed and had to quickly sidestep as a lithe woman in a leather jacket breached his personal space.
Every part of Luc crawled at a threat his cursed nature recognized, for all his human brain couldn’t see a reason. The woman seemed like any other tourist on a day off the hill, with jeans, jacket, and a chunky sweater, her hair a waterfall of curls. If they’d passed in the street, Luc wouldn’t have noticed. Yet he wanted to run.
Maybe something about the woman’s smile, wide and filled with small teeth. Or her gaze, which skimmed Luc from head to toe like she was assessing a purchase. Or the way she kept edging toward Luc until Luc bumped into the drink stall.
“You want something?” Luc managed to bite out, nearly swallowing the last syllable. He readjusted his grip on his drink to hold it by the rim, trying not to burn himself.
“I saw you and thought, there’s a man who could do with some company. Would you like some company?” the woman asked.
Luc smiled tightly. “I’m good, thanks.”
“It’s not right for a body to drink alone.”
“Not alone. There’s all these people here.”
The woman looked unseeingly across the crowd. The ensemble had finished tuning their instruments, and someone drew long tones from a cello. The noise ricocheted through Luc’s body. He shifted his grip on his drink, his palm sweaty from the rising
steam.
“My name is Harriet, by the way. Nice to meet you.”
“That’s what people say.”
Harriet bared her small teeth in the most unsettling smile Luc had ever seen. “Now you tell me your name.”
Old craft stories said names held power. Luc didn’t know enough about magic to say if old beliefs were true or not, but he didn’t fancy making the mistake.
As Luc stayed quiet, Harriet edged forward again, the toes of her shoes almost touching Luc’s boots. She placed her hands on the wall behind Luc, bracketing him in as he froze in place. She smelled like stale cigar smoke and something bitter.
“Well? Your name? It’s polite, ain’t it?”
“There you are!”
Rob evidently had some kind of stealth mode. Luc dropped his drink, aiming for Harriet’s shoes, and twisted beneath her arm in the same moment. Something snatched at the ends of his hair, but Rob’s hands waited for him, and Luc grabbed them like he’d climbed up a ravine and Rob waited at the top. Luc’s chest was tight, and he felt wild-eyed.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Luc said fervently. He licked his lips, tasting sweat. “So fucking glad.”
Frowning, Rob tugged Luc into position behind him, protecting Luc with his body. He kept hold of Luc’s hand. “Who’s this?”
Harriet looked up from shaking out her foot. Luc hoped he’d burned her toes. He braced himself against Rob’s solid form.
“You interrupted,” Harriet said, unable to take a hint. She shook her foot again. “We were making friends.”
“She said her name’s Harriet,” Luc added, feeling vindictive.
Rob tightened his hand around Luc’s, but his expression didn’t ease from furious lines. “Yeah? And who’s Harriet?”
“Harriet Nessom. I’m in collections.”
All the blood in Luc’s body plummeted to his toes, pinning him to the earth as sure as a chain. He might’ve swayed if it weren’t for Rob’s presence. Fear sang in his empty veins and rushed through his body, reaching every part of him.
Luc had grown up with horror stories about hunters, thanks to the disappearance of Oncle Thierry. While the unsanctioned practice had largely disappeared, due to the work of organizations like the enormous Metaschemata Law over in North America or various administrations in the EU, some would-be hunters lingered on the outskirts and dealt in the black magic market. They called themselves “collectors,” as if the euphemism might erase centuries of stalking cursebearers and metas and selling their parts to the highest bidder.
Collectors were what seemed likely to have disappeared Thierry and would do the same to Luc if they caught him. The only reason for Harriet to use the word was if she knew about Luc and wanted him panicked.
Well, congratu-fucking-lations, Harriet Nessom. Forget the town ensemble; Luc’s heartbeat played percussion on his sternum in a bruising tempo.
“They’re—they’re going to light the fire. We should go,” Luc managed to stutter.
For a second Luc didn’t think Rob would move, which meant Luc wouldn’t move because he couldn’t go alone. He refused. Luckily Rob took the hint and gave Harriet a jerky nod before shifting his weight. He managed to reverse Luc toward the drink stand and away without ever presenting their backs to Harriet. They turned the corner.
When Luc dared to glance back, Harriet had gone.
Rob led Luc through the crowd without saying anything, his hand linking them together. Luc shuddered, drawing his shoulders close and flinching whenever someone bumped into him, relieved when Rob led them to a quiet place under the bright lights of the shopping center. People kept passing in a steady stream, but none too close. Luc could hear the ensemble and see the tree if he craned his neck. High voices started to sing: a children’s choir. He sat on the bench and tried to remember how to breathe. After a moment Rob sat beside him.
“Is there anything I can do?”
Luc shook his head.
“All right. Let me know if that changes.”
In. Out. The kid’s choir didn’t sound bad. In. Out. No, wait, there went the high notes. In. Out.
“Thank you,” Luc said as soon as he was able.
Rob huffed out a breath. “No thanks needed. I’m just sorry I couldn’t get there faster. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Battery died. Cold, you know.”
“Bollocks.”
“Pretty much,” Luc said. He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the sweat. “I bet I look a proper state.”
“You smell—”
“Hey!”
“I was going to say ‘manly.’ Very manly.” Rob glanced sidelong at Luc, but his teasing smile faded. “Did you know that woman?”
Luc snarled without meaning to. He’d never made a noise like that in his life and probably looked as surprised by it as Rob did.
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” Rob said, voice light.
Luc rubbed his face tiredly. “Hard no.” He let out a breath and straightened up, trying to shake off the last of his panic attack. Rob watched him like Luc might be about to pass out, which was fair. Luc tried to think less wan thoughts. “Thank you. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along. It’s ridiculous. I’ve fought people twice her size, but something about her…. You must think I’m a complete dope, standing there like that.”
“You’re not a dope. Fight or flight aren’t the only fear responses. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.” Rob took Luc’s hand in his. “Do you want me to call someone for you? My phone’s still okay.”
“Call who? Nothing happened.” Luc sniffed. Fear had given way to embarrassment. “I’m glad you were here.”
“Me too.” Rob smiled shakily. “Bet you’re glad you crashed into me now, aren’t you?”
Like you wouldn’t believe.
“Will you kiss me?” Luc asked, hating how pathetic he sounded.
Rob answered with the gentlest kiss Luc had ever tasted. Once Luc felt steady, they returned to the tree to watch the lights get switched on, with speeches from local worthies in the craft and non-craft communities accompanying the ceremony. The bonfire was lit to a great cheer, and a group of witches performed elaborate spellwork to create patterns from light and fire. Luc clenched his teeth as magic vibrated in his bones as the sun fully set. He refused to give himself away more than he already had. If he crushed Rob’s hand, Rob didn’t say anything. He didn’t let go. Fire burned shapes in his eyes.
They didn’t release each other’s hands until Rob left Luc at the door of the Dufour Chalets, by which point Luc could scarcely think for the headache caused by his curse. They didn’t speak of anything more important than the next day’s snow conditions.
It wasn’t until Luc was warning Eloise and Amandine about Nessom that he realized Rob had never asked why Luc was so afraid of a collector.
There was only one explanation for that: Rob knew about the curse.
Chapter Six
ROB hung protection charms on the inside handles of the hotel room doors—entrance, balcony, and bathroom, just in case—before calling Olivia for advice about the collector. Or hunter, whichever she turned out to be. As the phone rang, he peered warily through the closed curtains into the village. Was anyone looking his way? He couldn’t be certain.
The line picked up. “Hel—”
“Do we know any hunters called Nessom?”
“—llo?” Olivia finished, her voice going up in question. “Rob, are you okay?”
“Check the archives. Please.” Rob blew out a breath and dropped to sit under the windowsill, leaning against the wall. He pressed his hand to his face, his fingertips making icy prints against his skin. He could hear Olivia typing despite Rob’s rudeness about asking. “Sorry for being an arsehole, by the way.”
“Apology tentatively accepted,” Olivia said, not undeservedly tart. “I suppose this is for your new friend we’re not talking about?”
Rob jolted. “What makes you think that?”
/> Olivia sighed. “You mention a cursebearer one day and panic over a hunter the next. I know I’m the smart one, but I’m hardly having to leap to conclusions here. More of a smooth roll to the inevitable.” She hit a key decisively. “And that’s yes, by the way, to the Nessoms. Elder is Patrick, younger is Harriet. No red flags. They usually work on the continent for one of the mages stationed over there, with an interest in the application of fungi, apparently. Not sure there’s a lot of that at your altitude.”
As Olivia spoke, Rob slid over to lie on his side on the carpet. He regretted doing so immediately but didn’t have the will to move. The tension holding him together since meeting Nessom had rushed from him all at once, and his wobbly muscles could barely keep his bones together.
“Rob? I said is that the answer you wanted?”
Fumbling with his phone, Rob flicked it to video call. The screen jumped as it reacted with the protection charms before settling. Rob rested the phone against the bedframe and squinted at Olivia’s sideways face. She had curlers in.
“Going somewhere?”
“It’s Friday night. Yes, I’m going somewhere.”
Rob grimaced. “Sorry for interrupting. Seriously, you’ve been a great help. You’re always a great help.”
“I’m amazing, I know.” Olivia started to uncurl her hair, glancing off-screen from time to time and typing one-handed. “But if you hadn’t been panicking, I would’ve told you to shove it. I’m not your personal research assistant.”
“I’ve no excuse, I’m sorry. Can I make it up to you?” Half the family relied on Olivia’s skills, and the other half wished she took their calls. Rob and Olivia had been friends since they were kids, when they weren’t arguing, and he didn’t want to lose her friendship. The archives were Olivia’s domain, but they weren’t her life. He needed to remember that.