by Amir Lane
“We need Peruvian bark for this, right?” he asked, even as he lifted one of the smaller jars from the lower shelf and pushed it into the crook of my elbow.
I blinked. Was he asking me? I hadn't the slightest idea. Spells were far from my area of expertise.
“I'd say so, but you're the hex witch here,” Kieron said from behind me.
“Mugwort?”
“Aye.”
“Want mint?”
“Mint? What for?”
Elias nodded to me. “Tea. You want?”
“I— Sure,” I stammered.
I quickly lost track of the plants — I assumed they were plants — he was listing. One by one, he handed back jars and vials without looking at which of us took it. By the time he turned to us, my arms were starting to ache. He motioned with his empty hand for us to leave. I followed Kieron back the way we came. There was no clock or indication of how long we were there, but it couldn't have been long. Kieron set his jars on the counter and sat at one of the high chairs on the customer side. I did the same and rubbed the back of my right shoulder.
The stab wound had healed remarkably well, but not perfectly. An ugly knot of scar tissue ruined the cedar tree I had tattooed there to cover the other ugly knot of scar tissue, and I still only had about 80% strength and range of motion. The fact that it could have been worse didn't make me feel much better, despite what well-meaning people thought when they said it.
“Shoulder hurting?” Kieron asked. “I can make you something for it. You mind?”
The last question was directed to Elias, who waved his hand dismissively.
“Go for it. Half that shit’s yours anyway.”
“Course it is. You have elecampane?” Kieron asked.
“Yeah, but some people get allergic reactions. I been using plantain leaves. Oh, nuke this for me while you’re back there?” Elias held a jar of what looked like melted blue toothpaste out to Kieron without taking his eyes off the powder he poured into the bowl with his other hand.
“You want me to microwave this like some kind of goddamn Heathen?”
“First of all, Heathenry’s a specific religion. Second of all, you’re a Druid. And third of all, cauldrons take fucking forever.”
Kieron’s face reddened and one of his hands came up to the metal crosses hanging from his neck next to the chain holding the dog tags under his shirt.
“First of all, I am a goddamn Catholic. Druid my fucking arse.”
Elias lifted his head to wink at me. “So you don’t pray to the Tuatha Dé Danann when you work with spells?”
“That’s different! And it’s only Kerridwen.”
Assuming Tuatha Dé Danann were some kinds of deities, I failed to see how it was different, but I wasn’t going to say so. I also didn’t know who Kerridwen was. It was obviously a fairly touchy subject for him that was absolutely none of my business. I wasn’t in any position to judge anybody’s beliefs, anyway.
I considered myself a non-practicing Muslim with what Ariadne called ‘agnostic tendencies’. Whatever I was, when I’d needed the strength to kill Rutherford Bromley, I’d called on the Muslim prayer etched beneath my skin. It wasn’t my position to dictate what anybody else believed. The way I saw it, it was a source of internal energy and nothing more. If Kieron prayed to one God on Sunday and another on Monday, did it really matter?
“Goddess of magic, patron of Druids,” Elias said, looking only half-focused on the conversation. “And I know you got that altar to Brigit. Don’t tell me it’s for Saint Brigid.”
Kieron muttered something in Irish that made Elias laugh and give him the finger. They had such an odd relationship, but I saw the way Kieron’s eyes softened when Elias wasn't looking. Even his shoulders seemed less tense as he disappeared into the back room. It warmed my heart. Kieron had taken Rowan's disappearance hard enough that he'd almost started drinking again after nearly four years of sobriety. I didn't know that he would have held on if not for Elias and Gwendolyn.
It made me miss my own family. My parents were heading dangerously into overbearing territory since the business with Bromley, but I hadn't had a chance to see my brothers in ages. Emad was a doctor in Boston and Amin was an engineer in Thunder Bay. Neither of them were exactly weekend-trip distance. I was going to have to find a way to see them face-to-face soon. Hopefully that would be before the wedding. That was assuming Ariadne said yes when I proposed, of course.
And that was assuming I ever gathered the courage to propose.
When I get back from undercover, I told myself.
I propped my chin on my knuckles, watching Elias work. He hummed and sang to himself as he took herbs from the jars and poured liquids from the vials. As far as I could tell, he didn't measure anything. Some things, he ground in a mortar. Others, he used whole. All the labels were facing away from me, and I couldn't find any rhyme or reason for what he did.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked.
His eyes flickered up to my face. “Shoot.”
“What's the difference between you and Kieron.”
“About four inches in height and the fact that I got my dick online.”
My face felt hot all the way down to the bottom of my neck. His lop-sided grin only made it worse. I was pretty sure Rowan had make a similar joke about himself once.
“That's not— I didn't mean— Your—” I glanced at the door to the back room. Had Kieron heard that? I let out a sharp breath, trying to shake off my embarrassment. “I meant your powers. What's the difference between a kitchen witch and a hex witch?”
The question had been on my mind for ages, ever since I heard the two terms. They seemed like the same thing to me. I'd never wanted to ask for fear of looking like an idiot, but Elias didn't seem like the judgmental type. If he was half as decent as Kieron, he wouldn't be. Elias shrugged, though there was a soft smile on the corners of his lips.
“Pretty slim difference on the surface. A good kitchen witch can do a lot of what a hex witch can do, and vice versa. What it really comes down to is that a kitchen witch can pretty much only use the energy of what's already there. They take the properties of a herb or whatever, and they amplify it to get a specific result. You see a lot of them in the pharmaceutical industry.”
My eyebrows went up. It had never occurred to me that someone with Kieron’s abilities would be well-suited with pharmaceuticals. I knew chefs and bakers who were kitchen witches, and that was it. I'd always assumed that meant their powers were related to kitchens. I chided myself for the assumption. I knew better than that.
“How is that different from what you do?” I asked as Kieron emerged from the back room, a white mug in his hand.
Kieron slid the mug in front of me and took the empty high chair. Steam rose from the cup. A mix of scents wafted up with it, but nothing I could properly identify.
“It'll help with the pain and inflammation,” he said, surprisingly soft for a man his size.
It made me think of what Finín had said about him being quiet.
“Thank you,” I said, bringing the mug to my lips.
Kieron snorted. “Don't thank me yet. It tastes terrible.”
He was right. I grimaced at the first taste and nearly gagged at the second.
“Oh, God, what's in this?”
“Nothing that’ll hurt you. Just tastes bad, is all.”
That was an understatement. It was one of the worst things I’d ever tasted. I nursed the tea, repeating to myself that it would help. The pain in my shoulder wasn't as bad as it had been three months ago. It was mostly sore with the occasional sharpness. It was nothing I couldn't bear. But if this helped, it was better than painkillers. Emad always said to try the herbs first. If that didn't work, try the medicine. If the medicine didn't work, go back to the herbs. As a rule of thumb, I agreed. Too many cops I knew had fallen down the addiction hole. Alcohol, painkillers, worse. I didn't want to be one of them. In the early days of my injury, all the herbs in the world wouldn't help. It was
a relief to have them be effective now. It meant I was doing better.
“Okay,” Elias said, wiping his hands on his jeans, “this is where it gets a bit Hollywood Satanic. I'm gonna need a half a cup of blood from each of you.”
I thought he was joking until he set a measuring cup on the counter and held out the dagger to me.
“You first.”
I took the dagger between my fingertips.
“Is this sanitary?”
“Sanitary enough.”
“Isn't this a bit overkill?” Kieron asked.
“Probably,” Elias said with a tip of his head. One of his braids came dangerously close to the bowl. “It's the strongest spell I know. It's the one they used to use for Samhain.” He pronounced it like Sau-in. “You know, to keep spirits from recognizing them. I just modernized it a bit. I’m assuming you don't want arsenic poisoning.”
“That's a good assumption,” I said, tapping the blade against the counter.
I wasn't squeamish. There were very few things I had seen that wouldn't make most people throw up. I'd definitely thrown up more than once, I wasn't ashamed to admit that. I would be hard pressed to find someone in Homicide who hadn't. I also saw more than enough of my own blood. Still, the idea of cutting myself and filling the measuring cup with it made my skin prickle like I was being walked on by ants.
“Dude, we can do another spell, but I can't promise it'll be as strong,” Elias said, clearly picking up on my reluctance.
I thought of Rowan's face in the video on my phone and the photographs of him in that box. The oldest pictures were of him at 13. He hadn't been rescued until nearly four years later. He'd barely survived it all, but he had survived. “All I wanted was to do good.” That was what he'd told me. After all that, after four years of being treated like trash, he still had good in his heart. Maybe there were other people who could make the world safe for him, but I was the only one stupid enough to actually try it.
Yes, I knew this was stupid. All of it was. But I knew he would do the same for me. That wasn't just something people said, either, not in this case. He'd risked his life to save me. He could have gotten away and saved his own skin, but he didn't. I owed him the effort.
I made the cut close to the inside of my elbow, large enough that getting half a cup wouldn't take forever. I kept my eyes on the ceiling like I did when getting blood drawn. Even though I wasn't looking, I still felt the blood leaving my body. My head swam, and I had to close my eyes.
Surely I'd lost more blood when Rutherford Bromley had stabbed me in the shoulder. I'd probably also been more distracted.
Before long, Elias pressed a tissue to my arm and pulled the cup away. I took the bandage he offered and covered the slight wound. There was much less blood than I expected. Maybe the tea was actually doing something. Elias wiped down the blade and handed it to Kieron. Kieron didn't seem as bothered by the half cup of blood he lost, but he was also much bigger than I was. I couldn't watch Elias mix the blood together in the measuring cup. That was where I drew the line.
“Do you use that for baking?” I blurted without meaning to.
I covered my mouth with my hands. My face burned against my palms. Had I actually just said that? They must have thought I had the most backwards opinions of them. I tried to apologize, but Kieron’s deep laugh bounced off the walls to drown me out. Elias’ good-natured snickers were a much smaller version. That only made it worse. I slid my hands up to cover my entire face, groaning. Did he have a spell that could make me disappear?
“We'll blame the blood loss,” Elias said with a wink. “Okay, this is the fun part. You asked how what I do is different from what he does?”
I lowered my hands. My curiosity overtook my embarrassment, if only slightly. Do you use that for baking. What kind of idiot was I?
Elias pulled a dry erase marker from under the desk and drew an A with the middle line extending past the legs. Then, he circled the A in what looked like runic letters.
“Do you, Kieron ’Badass Bitch’ Harper, hereby offer your protection to Fairuz ’Runs in Heels’ Arshad as per this here ritual?”
Kieron have a slight nod. “Aye. I do.”
“And do you, Fairuz ’Take No Shit’ Arshad, hereby accept protection of Kieron ‘Kick Ass and Take Names’ Harper as per this here ritual?”
I looked between the two, feeling like I had whiplash. I could barely follow his quick speech. What was he talking about? Protection? What kind of spell was this? I didn't want to do anything that could get Kieron hurt.
Elias gave me a sympathetic grin and tipped his head. “Don't worry, that's just to get the energy going. Consent’s important in these spells, it's all just a formality.”
I looked to Kieron, feeling very much like he was a stand-in father right now. When he nodded, so did I.
“Yes. I— consent.”
Elias mixed the blood in with the herbs. When it became a thick, disgusting paste, he dipped his thumb into the blood mixture and pressed it into the hole of the A. Both the symbols and his eyes glowed a faint green. I eyed the bowl, watching for it to glow too, but nothing happened. He poured the mixture into a mason jar, then used a pen to scrape what didn't pour easily. I was glad to see him throw the pen into the trash.
“Voilà.”
I took the jar with only a slight hesitation, turning it over in my hands.
“Am I… supposed to drink this?”
I didn't think that was physically possible. Elias made a face.
“Ew, no. There's a cup of human blood in there. That's how you get that weird cannibal brain disease. Prion disease? It's a face mask. Put it on for about an hour, nobody will be able recognize you.”
Was that more or less disgusting than drinking it? More. Less. More. Less.
“Is this safe?” I asked.
“Should be. Might give you some wicked acne. I've never actually done this specific one before.”
Great. I was trusting my life to a spell he'd never made before that might give me some wicked acne.
I really was going to get myself killed one day.
Chapter Six
“You don't have to do this,” Ariadne said, stroking her thumb over one of the scars on the back of my right shoulder.
It was an odd feeling. The nerves hadn’t healed right, and it felt like she was touching the spot about an inch to the right.
“You know I do.”
We’d been fighting over it for hours now, since I'd first told her I was going undercover. Her earlier agreement had only been because she didn’t actually think Sabine would be stupid enough to let me do it. Finín Quinn apparently made some very convincing arguments.
Ariadne didn't sound like she was going to keep fighting me now, she just sounded tired. Her hand moved to the side of my neck, and she pressed her forehead to my shoulder. The new hunched position made me lose the warmth of her stomach against my back.
“It’ll be fine,” I promised. “I get in, I get the information, and I get out. Easy-peasy.”
She tried to stifle a laugh at my awkward pronunciation. It always got a smile out of her when I used expressions like that.
“But what if—”
“There's no what-ifs. Nothing is going to go wrong. Nobody is even going to be able to recognize me.”
I’d explained Elias’ spell to her as best I could while she’d been yelling about what would happen if somebody I'd arrested recognized me. Though she'd grudgingly accepted Elias’ reputation as someone who knew what he was doing, she wasn’t convinced that this wasn’t my stupidest idea yet. It hadn't seemed worth mentioning that Elias had never made this particular spell before or that it was absolutely my stupidest idea yet.
She let out a long, defeated sigh and kissed my hair.
“At least you have your powers, if things do go bad.”
That didn't seem like much consolation to her. I would take what I could get at this point.
“Exactly. I’ll be fine. I will be back before you even
have time to worry.”
Most undercover missions went without a problem, especially short ones like these. The odds of something going horrifically wrong or an undercover officer getting found out were relatively small. This would be even safer than most of those. I wasn't bringing anybody down, I was barely even investigating anybody. All I had to do was have a conversation.
It was going to be fine, even if the iron tampered with my powers.
You just keep telling yourself that.
Ariadne drove me to the precinct so I wouldn't have to leave my car there, and so we could have a few more minutes together. We sat in silence for a long time, neither of us sure of what to say. There wasn’t much to say.
No, that wasn’t true.
There was too much to say.
I thought of the ring my dad had given me sitting in the bottom of my jewelry drawer. Ariadne would never go looking for it. Even if she did go rummaging, every box looked the exact same. She would have to open every single one to find it, even if she knew it was there. Which, as far as I knew, she didn’t.
We’d talked about marriage a few times since she’d moved in with me, and even before then. It was something we both wanted one day, when we were both ready for it. I was ready. She still needed more time.
I’d thought about proposing before I left. I’d thought about it a lot. For the days leading up to this drive, actually, and even before then. I’d been thinking about it since my dad gave me the ring. It had belonged to his mother, the only other barrier witch in my family that I knew of. Hell, I’d been thinking about it from the first minute I’d laid eyes on her.
It was quite possibly the least romantic way that I’d met any of my girlfriends, or boyfriends before I'd come out. She’d been assisting in the autopsy of one of my murder victims. It was one of my first cases as a Homicide detective. When I walked in, she’d been elbows deep in a corpse, blood staining her lab coat. Her hair had been a mess, tied into a bun on top of her head. Even though it was early, she’d worked through the night and it had shown in her eyes. It was far from sexy, but the determination in her eyes to see this through had made me fall for her, hard. From that first second, I knew that one day, I would want to ask this woman to marry me.
