by Lisa Ladew
Mary Celeste would do her best with what magic she had. Anna making her another weapon would help, their bond adding strength to the magic it absorbed. Mary Celeste was desperate for the kill. She had her eyes on a dark, dangerous mountain cat and said she wanted “babies and babies” with him. Anna shook her head sharply as she ran, drops of clean sweat flying in the darkness. The curse of the Bond sisters. They all fell hard for one male even though the only official cosh rule that existed restricted switches from wanting “babies and babies" with anyone.
Pink magic crackled around a tree that magically hid the entrance to an underground cave, a disgusting vampire nest. A den of bloodsuckers was Hell on Earth for a switch to enter, but once she slaughtered every vampire therein it became a place of triumph for her.
Black, inky magicks surged and fought with the pink magicks of Anna’s Blood switch sisters, but pink pinned and dispersed black easily. This was no Fatherborne nest, no, this was a fledgeling nest. All cosh switches were powerful enough to kill the brotherborne vampires within, even young and green Mary Celeste.
She saw Mary Celeste, then. Theresa, too. They crouched near the roots of a thick, tall tree, whispering fiercely to each other, instead of fighting inside the nest. Anna fumed as she ran to them. If Antimony had done anything to deny them, Anna was going to lose her very switchy senses. Her days were consumed with all the things Antimony was doing wrong, which was everything. And yet Anna could change nothing and was reminded of that fact daily.
Anna headed for her sisters, jumping to the right as a portion of the smooth winding roots at the bottom of the redwood-sized tree shimmered and liquefied, falling to the ground. Pink and black magicks shot out of the new hole. Light and powdery, the magicks nevertheless seemed to float Antimony out from behind, a nightmare of tyranny, her face as stern as her rigid stance and her bare toes pointed a foot above the ground. Wearing pants of course, as she allowed only herself to do.
Antimony had a vampire in her arms. It struggled, but no more than a newborn puppy could struggle against its mother. Anna skidded to a stop, breathing hard, her chest pounding, still twenty feet from Antimony and her sisters, fear at Antimony’s motives filling her.
No, not like this! Mary Celeste was the greenest member of the weakest element and it would shame her no end to have Antimony hold the vampire she was to kill! Antimony knew that. Anna seethed, magic building in her palms. Antimony deserved to be put in her place. Or at least opposed!
Antimony held up the vampire by the throat, her Blood magic twining around, steadying it. She turned in midair, hair floating above, even the rocks and sticks she wound into it floating like they were made of soap bubbles, and she aimed her victim towards Mary Celeste. More punishment for the Bond sisters. Anna dared too much, and Anna was Bond. Antimony would hit her where it hurt the most: her sisters.
Theresa gasped and stepped in front of Mary Celeste, trying to shield her from Antimony and the helpless vampire Antimony was holding like a sack of potatoes. Antimony actually expected Mary Celeste to accept her shameful offer, to get her first and only undoing out of the way and then go sit in the corner with Anna and Theresa. Anna tried not to bite her tongue in shame and anger as she ran, but she could do naught else.
Mary Celeste peered at Antimony over sweet Theresa’s shoulder, her eyes going wide as she started to understand. Anna had to stop it … but she would never get there in time. Too late. The rest of their switch sisters were already pounding out of the cave entrance behind Antimony, in just a moment they would see-
Anna raised her hands in the air and yelled, stealing a bit of Antimony’s magic to weave a strong illusion around herself. Her bond with Antimony was built from years of naught but frustration and harsh words, so the illusion was strong, but mean and biting. Anna could see it layered over her own body and face, like a rip in reality. Herself, but bigger, especially in the neck and the nose. She glowed amber, her entire body, and magicks swirled around her, twirling in her hair and shooting out of her eyes in burnt orange curls like sunbursts. The shadows of light playing on her face made her old and haggard, rigid and mean, and she hated it. That was not who she was. That was who Antimony was!
Still, Anna let out a war whoop, drawing the attention of everyone. Antimony’s gorgeous eyes narrowed in her blushing face. The witch was as beautiful as they came, even at a thousand years old, the only female in the cosh who always wore pants like a man, lashing diamond-encrusted knives to her waist, but letting her hair flow free to twine with the leather of the ties she wove into it. Mating with her after an Undoing would kill a human male but only handicap a shifter, so she took no mate. As far as Anna was concerned, just because Antimony couldn't have the comfort of the same masculine arms holding her every night, a strong male gazing at her with reverence, didn’t mean no one else should get it.
More rage than she’d ever felt built inside Anna. She’d finally had enough of Antimony, the cosh-switch, the rosy-cheeked witchy switch in charge of everything, at least when she bothered to show up and make a fucking decision.
Just that fast, Anna was done bowing to Antimony. Finally, she would revolt. She would fight! She would- Anna caught Theresa’s stricken eyes for an instant and lost the revolt, then pulled herself together. Anna had no time to collapse at the injustice of it all. She had to save Mary Celeste from the shame Antimony was trying to heap on her for no other reason than that she was Bond.
Anna swirled her stolen energy around her head, putting on a show for the cosh. No switches had yet noticed the vampire. Good. The shifters were still inside on search and clean up. The sisters had no witnesses to their drama but the vampire, and soon he would be unable to tell any but the dead.
Anna flung her magic with a flourish of both arms, sending it at the vampire Antimony was holding, bidding the weapon she had molded for Mary Celeste to fly with the stream of campfire orange magic, which found its mark, burying the stick in the vampire’s chest with an explosion of orange light. Antimony’s wild face puckered in irritation and distaste as red light erupted from the vampire’s wound. She flung the already-decaying body to the ground, wiping her hands on the cotton of her pants.
Anna laughed maniacally, until every last switch was gaping at her. Look at me, everyone, this is all about me and Antimony, not Mary Celeste. “I got him for you Antimony, that fledgling had no chance.” She let just the right note of hostility enter her voice. She hoped. Too much and Antimony would lash out, maybe send Growler to Siberia to “search for glowing mistresses with a forsworn love of a fyne blade.” Too little and her other sisters would sneer at her, offer her a cloth to wipe the brown from her nose.
The tightrope Anna walked daily was cutting her feet, making her more likely to pitch herself over the side every week. Throw me out of the cosh. The peace to be with my male would be worth it, to call him my mate. To find what pleasure there is in this hard and deadly world.
Antimony put her hands on her hips, her dark gaze searching Anna’s striking green eyes, a sneer in her voice. “Sisters, mark it. Anna speaking and acting out of place. Isn’t that so unlike a docile bond switch?”
Anna fumed, prepared her magic. This had been coming for so long. This really was to be the time when she challenged Antimony, even without the authority to do so. Swan waved both hands over her head frantically, from behind Antimony, shaking her head and mouthing, “No, no! Not now.” She held her palms out so Anna could see them. Bloody. Dripping.
Swan was saying it had been a bloody undoing, not an energetic one, and thus Antimony would be at her strongest. Now that Anna was paying attention, she could see it was true. All the sisters’ clothes were ruined. But still, could Anna let it slide? Her eyes found Theresa's.
Anna deflated. Dropped her hands. Swan had been made the First Belief Switch six months before. Anna and Swan together could rival Antimony in magical ability, they’d been working together for years, especially recently. But Swan wouldn't stand up to Antimony, not yet, she’d said as much.
There were so many reasons why Anna was caught. Like a fish on a hook. No way out. No help on the way.
Anna dropped her eyes and curled her lip, playing her part, the outcast, the one Antimony could use to work out her issues, to show how powerful she was, to make everyone else fall in line without a decree. Anna just wished to keep what little happiness she had, sneaking away with Growler occasionally, stolen kisses and whispers with him, plus the fellowship of her sisters. Anna sucked in a breath and humbled herself as best she could, knowing she'd managed enough when a blush flew over her cheeks and neck. Antimony would be sure to see and smile.
Anna spoke, her voice humble. “Antimony, grant me pardon. Wrong thoughts and actions I spoke. You are strong, the strongest.”
“And beautiful,” Antimony said.
Anna shook her head, imperceptibly to most. Antimony was out of her fucking mind. Unless she was messing with Anna? Could it be? Anna snuck a look at Anti. Antimony raised her eyebrows as if to ask Anna if she intended to play the game or not?
Anna repeated it deadpan. “And beautiful.”
Anna could hear Antimony’s smirk in the murmurs of her sisters. Anna had bared her neck and Antimony had accepted, sinking her teeth in victoriously. Again. She let them smirk. The price was still too great.
If she challenged Antimony, would she still be alive after? Probably. Still part of the cosh? Almost definitely not. And how much would she hurt her Bond sisters and Growler in the process? Too much to ever forgive her for, certainly. She would lose her sisters, lose her standing, lose all those little moments she stole with the intense and massive male who made everything right for her. He would be a fool to take her side, to be turned out with her. Shifter and switch could scrape together a living outside of the cosh, as long as they’d never been inside it. Never tasted the power and camaraderie and warmth and chaos and cruelty that came with being coshtwined, bound to the cosh by Fate. One taste of the bright colors of cosh life, and normal life would forever seem black and white and bland.
Anna gritted her teeth and bared her throat again. She could do it. She could stay in her place. For her sisters. For her male. For the only life she knew.
15 – Sir Dewey Gets Mean
Growler’s mind swam in the dark and night and black and ink and he dreamt of the Great Bear, and himself as a cub and his family and life.
A whisper reached in Growler’s ear and poked at his wandering mind. “Old chap,” the proper voice slurred, just like Sir Dewey’s did. That bear was nothing if not proper, at least in front of the shifters and switches, unless there was a feat of strength to be accomplished, then he was a show-off with a grin that turned many switchy heads.
Growler couldn’t keep his mind in one place. It swam like he was asleep but wanting to be awake and should be awake, but couldn’t break the surface of sleep. Growler tried to reach Sir Dewey. To open his eyes and see Sir Dewey. Was that him? His eyes weighed billions of pounds. They would never open again. His mind sank once more beneath the storm.
Sir Dewey. A good guy, but a newcomer to the cosh.
Growler shook his head not sure suddenly who he was, who he wanted, who the thoughts were about. Fierce light screamed into his brain, blinding him. His pupils wouldn’t contract. Or dilate. Or whatever the fuck pupils were supposed to do when light shone on them. He didn’t schitting know. He didn’t have to know. The pupils knew. He growled. It hurt. A lot!
Sir Dewey spoke. So many words. He shook Growler. So much shaking. Still Growler couldn’t’ respond.
Sir Dewey’s proper tone and pomp rolled through Growler’s mind. And he was mad. Whoa. “Wake the shite up you focking peasant! Your bear is a cub, a little roly poly cub that I laugh at when I see it! Your focking maypole is the size of an inchworm. That’s what we call you when you’re not around! Inchworm!” Growler tried to care. That was mean as shit. He hadn’t known Sir Dewey had it in him. There, a little spark of irritation. Flame it, fan it. He growled. Yes, anger. Even though he knew Sir Dewey wasn’t really mad. No, he was terrified.
Sir Dewey thought Growler was dying.
Could he be? Growler yanked his shoulders out of Sir Dewey’s hands, the movement shooting agony through Growler’s legs at the thigh, pulling him to consciousness, where he now realized why he hadn’t wanted to go.
“Old chap!” Sir Dewey yelled, his voice pained and different.
Growler growled and swiped out with his claws, the agony making him crazy. He strained to see. It was night time. Sir Dewey had a torch. Had he been asleep? Blood. His blood everywhere. Not asleep. Fainted from shock. Which should not have happened. His bear should have come forward and healed and commanded him at the moment his human fainted.
“The Bear swive it,” Sir Dewey grunted, his relief at Growler moving or trying to move so evident it was comical. Growler want to laugh/growl even through the blinding pain that surely meant his legs were cut right off. Through an orange and red haze, Growler saw Sir Dewey brace his strong fingers against the teeth of the oversized bear trap that had caught most of Growler’s legs. Black vampire magicks swarmed around the trap. If the mouth of the bear trap had been any taller or he any shorter, he never would have pleasured Anna in that way she liked the best again. And yes, his mind had gone there when he was almost dying. Always back to his Anna and their secret life. As single-minded in death as he had been in life, since the moment he first saw her. “Anna,” he rasped to Sir Dewey. Was she alright? “I glowed,” he gasped to his friend.
Sir Dewey cocked an eyebrow and Growler was glad he could see at all. Sir Dewey spoke. “You are a day late. Anna is well and has not been in danger this day. Prepare yourself for your shift the very moment I yank the trap open.”
“A day. What day.” Growler growled, more of a demand than a question.
“No Undoings since yesterday. You’ve been missing for a full day.” Sir Dewey said, then heaved crossways against the metal, grunting and straining to pry the jaws open, giving Growler no time to process what Sir Dewey had just said. Growler threw his head back, the pain pushing up his throat in a strangled, gurgling yell that made him realize he was dying, or had almost died. Or was still about to die.
Anna. He braved the pain and yanked his legs out of the bear trap, lifting them as high as he could. Sir Dewey let the trap clang shut, taking bits of his own skin. Growler was drifting. Losing. Retreating back to the dark around the light. Sir Dewey shook Growler’s shoulder, screaming in his very face. “Anna is well! She’s at the cosh. Shift, old man, shift or your blood will drain into the dirt. Your wounds are death! Shift, my alpha, shift now!”
Growler held onto his friend's words as best as he could. Shift. Change. Change to his bear. Heal. But he was cold. His hands were freezing. And tired. He was so tired.
Sir Dewey smashed a crockery flask against Growler’s forehead. Growler didn’t even have the strength to yelp.
“The Bear help us,” Sir Dewey muttered to himself.
Anna’s magic leaked out over Growler’s nose and mouth. Growler snuffled it in, tasting Anna, the salt of her tears. Feeling her… affection... for him. So much warmth he almost couldn’t accept it in this potion she’d sent with Sir Dewey.
Sir Dewey lost his British bearing completely, his rakishly-long hair falling into his face as he jerked Growler around by the shoulder and yelled at him. “By the bear, man, shift now! Thou art needed here. By all of us. By Anna!”
Growler growled. He could do it for Anna. Could overcome whatever was not allowing him to shift. Vampire magic. Anna’s Bond magic coursed through him, lending strength and purpose, muting the black stuff.
A fresh growl split the cool forest air, rousting an owl from the tree above them. Growler’s bear ripped out of him too fast, his skin splitting and healing as he grew. His femur bones knitted back together too quick for a watching eye to track, and within no time he was a fully shifted and massive male grizzly bear, a thousand pounds easy. He growled into the sky, stretching his neck and his lips high, fle
xing his muscles that had been ground up only a few moments before. Now he was whole and strong again, his female’s magic tickling the fur on his face. He felt good. Powerful. He could chew a vampire in half. He licked at Anna’s waning magic on his lips, wanting just a flash of a taste of her skin, or her sweet-wood campfire scent. Sweet and dangerous at the same time. That was his Anna.
Growler snarled into the sky one more time, then shifted back into human form, his clothes knitting around him as bear turned human. His clothes came back together perfect, dry, and clean, thanks to an everweft spell Anna had placed on them. Her everweft spells were now the best in the cosh. She could charge for them if she wanted, outside of Bond element, but she would never do that. To Anna, to any of the Bond switches, the cosh shifters and switches were everything. Family, life, blood, bond, sisters, purpose. Relationships were the highest blessing.
Sir Dewey partially-shifted, just hands to paws, fingers and flesh knitting into thicker, tougher, bearskin with fur and no wounds, then the shift reversed without ever traveling above his elbows. Impressive as shit. But Growler had always been impressed with Sir Dewey. Knighted, proper, mysterious, with a mean brown bear that had actual scars. Growler didn’t want to think about what situation led to a bear as big and as mean as Sir Dewey’s getting scars and then keeping them. Sir Dewey’s bear was an alpha in his own right, and yet neither bear nor human had challenged Growler yet. That kind of control was unheard of, and Growler was impressed as could be. If Sir Dewey challenged him, could Growler keep his spot as the alpha of Bond element? He didn’t know which one of them was stronger, which had never happened to him before. He always knew the second he met another shifter which of them would win if they fought. Growler would have said he was meaner, giving him an advantage over Sir Dewey, but now, after the inchworm comment? Growler wasn’t sure.
