by J M Thomas
I had no idea what any of that meant, but I fell into step behind Don and Hugo. The door opened into a little storage area, probably originally a closet. There was a second door in the back of that, behind a curtain. This, Hugo opened with some kind of amulet he had around his neck, then we went through and shut that door behind us.
It appeared to have once been a bathroom, with granite tiling and an open sink area before the place where the stalls used to be. Those had been barred over into a single blue-tiled cell. On the far end of the room was another door, which Hugo shut as we came in.
Don shook the handle on the door we’d come from, checking to make sure it wouldn’t give, then gestured to me. “Lemme see your belt.”
“Yeah, I think you ruined it.” I unhooked the cute, one-inch leather belt and handed it to Don. He shoved it in his pocket without inspecting it for damage.
“Bra, shoes, and socks, too.”
“Excuse me?” I backed away slowly, hoping I’d heard him wrong.
“I mean it.” Don’s face remained blank, only the tension in his jaw belying how uncomfortable he was with his own request. “No ligature risk. We’re not gonna touch you, but I don’t want you going further into crisis while I’m not here to keep watch.”
I took two full steps back until my spine grazed the wall. “What the… no! I am not going to kill myself with my bra!”
Don tapped his pant leg where the scope was. “You can’t tell me you weren’t thinking dark already. Sorry.” He gave a sheepish glance at the ceiling. “Look, it’s my job to see to it that you’re safe until the crisis is over. That means I’ll do what it takes to remove potential obstacles to your safety. Now, are you going to give it to me, or am I going to take it? I don’t want to, I swear. But I will.”
“Don…” Hugo rested a hand on Don’s forearm. “I can watch her in the cell. Perhaps let her maintain the comfort of her dignity? Not make matters worse, hmm?”
“You have a shop to manage. You can’t have eyes on her at all times.” Don turned to inspect the cell, checking under the cot in it and every corner. To me, he added, “I’m not looking. Now’s your time.”
I skewered his back with a glare, doling out a scathing, one-sided lecture in my mind as loudly as I could think it. I pulled my bra off beneath my shirt, cheeks reddening. I set it on the smooth countertop.
I know you can hear me, you perv. For someone who can eavesdrop on people’s thoughts, you sure don’t know much about me. This isn’t even the worst thing I’ve lived through, and I’m not looking for a way out.
I yanked my shoes and socks off, then slammed them down with a slap on the tile. Then I thought the shoes might not deserve it, just Don, so I gently picked them up and set them next to my bra on the counter. I refused to look at him, refused to honor him with so much as an angry glance.
I’ll show you.
I’ll live through this and much more; no cowardice for me. I might freeze up when things get intense, but that’s just because there are too many ways I could go to make the world a better place.
My hand left my things, and I hoped they grew cold before he touched them. I hoped my socks stank up his bag. You hear me, Don? You hear this? Shall I play you the last call my best friend made to me? Or maybe how I felt when…
“I know how you felt.” He interrupted me aloud, his fist curling tight. “And I know how you feel. None of that changes the situation.” Don glared at me, his eyes stormy with emotion. “And even the bravest face it.” He schooled his impression into something slightly more neutral with a cough into his fist, then gestured to me. “Get in.”
I eyed the cell helplessly, already shot through with cold from my sweating feet on the tile floor and my adrenaline crashing. Resisting would get me nowhere fast.
“Today, please.” Don’t fingers made a “come on, slowpoke” gesture as I shuffled into the cell, then stretched out on the cot.
The door clanged shut behind me. “She’s yours, Hugo. I’ve got a grump-ass employer to back up.”
“She is not, but I shall care for her in your absence,” Hugo whispered, an almost haughty look on his face. He seemed affronted, and genuinely relieved when Don took off at nearly a sprint, locking the door behind him again.
I hugged my knees, a crunching feeling sending icy pain spikes through my back as the muscles stiffened. I wanted to ask Hugo what he meant to do with me, what he wanted from me.
How had I wound up in a cell, here of all places? Why hadn’t I at least tried to resist this? My mind traced back a hundred moments when I could’ve tried, and probably failed, to break free of Don and get out of here before things got to this point. Maybe I could’ve bailed out of my car.
Yeah, right.
I glanced at the man waiting impatiently across from me. Hugo was both a talented necromancer and a watchling descended from the weres of hundreds of years ago. His position straddling the fence seemed tenuous at best, but his neutrality offered me a sort of caged safety. However that should’ve comforted me, I found it didn’t. Not at all.
“Hugo…” I croaked out, clutching my arms over my chest. “Which prophecy do you believe?”
He smiled sadly, squatting over his heels and resting his elbows on his thighs. There was a certain canine grace to him, an eagerness even in his few moments of stillness. Acceptance crossed his face as he cocked his head.
“Both. Both prophecies are true.”
And that right there was why I couldn’t trust him, either.
Chapter 24 – Can’t Contain Them
“It’s for your own protection, says the man.” Hugo averted his gaze, re-touching his necklace pendant to the door frame like he was renewing a spell over it. “For better or worse, no one can get to you here.”
I’d waited in the cell for an hour while Hugo tended shop, alone with my fears and my aches. I’m certain I cried at some point, since my eyes stung and were puffy and red. Hugo squatted down again, setting a box of tissues next to the cell bars and passing a thin blanket through to me. He’d left the door to the shop open a crack so he could listen out for guests, or so he’d said.
I bet it was so he could listen out for trouble.
But no sign of trouble darkened Hugo’s face now, despite how much distress was surrounding us both like a dark cloud. “How about I make us a nice cup of tea while we pass the time?” Hugo asked. “I have a peach darjeeling blend and some lavender honey I’ve been meaning to brew, but I really wanted to experience it with a guest.”
That sounded suspiciously like a ruse to knock me out cold. “How… how do I know you won’t poison me?” I asked, shivering as I wrapped the blanket around me like a hooded cloak, with only my face poking out. An hour alone with my fears hadn’t been any better for me than the time spent with my pain.
I was beginning to comprehend why Don had insisted on the indignity of leaving me here minus half the things I’d come in wearing, though I still wanted to strangle him for doing it. Maybe I’d strangle him with my bra, for good measure. He’d probably laugh at me for trying, or make an inappropriate joke.
Hugo hooked his index finger over his chin. “I suppose you don’t know it’s not poisoned. And you have no real reason to trust my word, either. It’s a shame—the tea isn’t poisoned, and it always makes me feel better when I’m upset… and cold.”
I was opening my mouth to say yes to the tea when the bells on the curiosity shop’s door chimed. The door slammed, sending them all a-titter.
“Oh dear.” Hugo sighed, rising and turning all in one motion so smooth it could be a pirouette. “I was wondering when he’d show up.”
Heavy footsteps barreled toward us. “Where is she? Where’d you put ‘er, you pompous fuck?”
There was only one person that could be. I sat up on the cot, leaning over to try to catch a glimpse through the door when Hugo opened it to greet the newcomer. My blood pressure pounded in my temples as I did, a warning that I should stay laying down. Pain shot through my abdomen from the pl
ace I’d impacted on the car roof.
“You know I can’t do that, Lyons. You have no guild authority! Their matters are outside the Agency’s jurisdiction.” Hugo sounded almost pleading. “Stop being a baby and wait for Alena to…”
“Oh, fuck Alena. Fuck the Agency, and especially fuck the guild.” Aeron fell silent for a moment, then his tone changed completely. “‘There’ve been rumors of an unlicensed mage practicin’ illegal magic in this city. Check me.”
“I don’t want to check you. It’s business hours, for filament’s sake!” Exasperation lent a frantic edge to Hugo’s voice.
“Then I ‘ereby confess to the murder of four teenaged lads by practice of dark magic. I demand a trial before your shit guild.” A sudden slam rattled the uncomfortable silence, probably a fist. “Take me into custody, damn you! I won’t resist.”
Hugo fairly shrieked. “Lyons! You can’t do that!”
Aeron’s voice dropped like a stone. “Try me.”
Hugo sounded deflated, as if someone had popped his inner balloon. “My friend, please don’t make me do this! You know there’s no going back, no undoing what you’re about to rashly…”
“I don’t b’lieve you ‘eard me, Fleming. I said, I confess to the murder…”
“Yes, yes, I heard you. Right this way, then.” Angry tears shone in Hugo’s eyes as he led Aeron down the little corridor. Hugo nodded toward me as they passed, then turned away.
Aeron kept his searing gaze on the back of Hugo’s head as if he could fry a hole in the man’s skull with his eyes as they strode out of my line of sight again.
If I had to guess, and hadn’t just heard what went on, I would have thought Aeron was the one arresting Hugo, not the other way around. One man looked far more trapped than the other by the situation.
“Alright, you can leave your things on the chair. I’ll go look for the anti-charm bracelets. We’ve never actually used them, so I have to use…” Hugo’s voice took on an air of disappointment as he came into view again. “Normal ones. Hope you’re not terribly offended.” When Hugo spun around again, he hissed through his teeth. “Egads, Lyons! What the hell?”
“Jus’ do what you need to do to get me in that cell.” With a metallic click, a pair of handcuffs locked in place.
Then Aeron came into my field of vision again, and I nearly burst into tears myself at the sight. He stood at the cell door while Hugo unlocked and opened it, sans jacket and shirt, showing the full extent of scars mottling his shoulders, back, chest, and ribs. Some of the cuts still had bits of magical flail tattoo stuck in them.
Some were so fresh they were still scabbing over. I was right when we couldn’t reach him earlier… He’d had to fight his way through hell to get to me. I made a mental note that Don was a much better liar than Aeron was.
“Aeron…” I swung my legs off the cot as Hugo locked the cell door behind Aeron. The movement made me dizzy, so I leaned back against the wall before he could look up and see me wobble. “Did you come all this way to tell me off for leaving?” I managed a half-smile.
“Yeah, ‘at’s it.” He scanned me up and down, noting my still-trembling legs, though the blanket covered the scrapes on my knees. “My jacket, ‘Ugo. Give it to ‘er,” Aeron barked, his gaze flicking over me before pivoting back to Hugo. “Now, damn you!”
“Hold on. I have to check the pockets, you oaf!” Hugo made a show of emptying Aeron’s jacket pockets of their contents, then handed it through the bars to me. Aeron helped me into it, though his hands were cuffed in front of him, so it was a clumsy effort.
I turned my attention to his cuts. “Dude…”
“I knows. Gotta pay the price some’ow.” He shrugged, then grimaced at the pain the movement clearly caused. “‘Ey, ‘Ugo! Whatever tea’s brewin’, make it a ‘ole pot.”
Hugo came back, bearing more gifts for his imprisoned guests. “It’s steeping; hold your horses! Here you are, my dear.” He passed me a bottle of witch hazel, a few packets of gauze, and some cotton balls. “I have butterfly bandages somewhere, but apparently not in the first aid kit. I’ll try the second aid kit!”
He gave a little wink, his attempt at chipperness a bit too thin to be believed. “This man can be summoned by a good, strong pot of English breakfast from anywhere within the city. He has a nose for tea better than the watchlings have for blood.”
“Or scotch,” I added, accepting the handfuls of medical supplies, then using them as an excuse to sink back to the cot. “Thank you.”
The tears I’d been holding back didn’t stay put the second Aeron turned his back to me. A tattoo of a hideous flail adorned his back. There were ribbons and chains, half a dozen each, every one featuring something sharp and nasty sticking into his skin. It was raised and angry, like a festering wound.
I couldn’t bear to look at it and do nothing. “Sit on the floor in front of me. Let me see to it.”
“I don’t see to it, generally.” He waved me off, one fist clenched around a cell bar and the other hanging from its chain.
“And that’s why you have scars. Sit down, Aeron. Give me something to do besides fret.” I snapped my fingers at him, pointing at the spot between my feet. It felt good to have a scrap of agency, and I meant to use it. “If not that, at least give me a chance to make it up to you.”
Reluctantly, he obliged, dropping into a cross-legged seated position on the bare floor with a muttered grumble.
I ran my fingertip across the topmost chain on the tattoo. It terminated in a fresh wound on his shoulder, a shard of inked glass buried all the way into the muscle. “That looks like it hurts.”
He let out a huff. “I’m fine.”
Yeah, right. You’re fine like I’m fine. I traced the edge of the ink, wondering at what magic made a tattoo that could harm its wearer. Ink that could stab, slice, mutilate. But not me. Like so many things, everyone but Celeste...
“Aeron… What’s wrong with me that death takes everyone around me, but leaves me behind?” I counted off on my fingers. “I’m the child after a miscarriage. I lost a boyfriend and a best friend long before their times. What if I really am...”
“Deaf doesn’t want you.” Aeron twisted around, fixing me with a glare as he swatted my hand away. “It’s not your turn, so stop it!” He bit the last two words like he was snapping a twig between his teeth.
I bit back a protest. As I silently ran my finger along the top edge of his tattoo, I could almost slide my nail under the inked shard of glass… then, somehow, I did. Gently, I lifted the thin line, as if it was a delicately interwoven lace chain, and the glass design slid free, its jagged edge leaving Aeron’s skin.
I stared at the magical ink laying over my finger. “Woah… did you feel that?”
A shiver coursed through his body. “I felt summin'.”
I curved the chain gently, looping the links to rest harmlessly against his skin. The second I slipped my finger out from under them, they sank back in as if they’d been tattooed there. As best I could, I cleaned the wound.
When I looked up again, Hugo was standing there, bandages in one hand, tea service in the other. His eyes were wide as saucers, and his face had blanched ashen white.
“Y-you...” He shook his head, passing his offerings through the bars. “That’s it! I’ve lost my mind. Goodbye, faculties!”
I reached out a hand for the bandages and set them next to me on the cot before lowering Aeron’s tea to him. With a smile, I realized my hands were nearly steady. My breathing was calm, and my head wasn’t spinning… as much. Having a role to play, a way to help, really did work wonders for me, like waltz steps when I freeze.
Aeron took a sip of his tea, then glanced up at Hugo. “You look like you seen a ghost, mate.”
“Those aren’t so bad, once you get to know them. This… this I’ve never seen!” He shook his head again, shaking finger coming up to point, then dropping again. “I’d tell you, but you wouldn’t believe me anyway.”
I flashed a tiny smi
le as Hugo dodged out again to answer the shop’s bell. “I’m just tidying up is all.” The next nasty critter, a fishhook, looked like it’d take some convincing before it’d turn loose. The skin had already grown around it. A thought occurred to me. “Is this why you don’t sleep lying on your back, Aeron? Do you feel this… all the time?”
His harrumph of almost tacit acknowledgement broke my heart for him.
I gave the hook a little tug to loosen one barb. “No wonder you’re a dick.”
That got a laugh out of him. “Oh no, love. I was a dick long before I got this fing. Probably didn’t help, though.” He took a surprisingly dainty sip of his tea.
“This one might smart a little.” I pressed against his shoulder with two fingers to stretch the skin, then unhooked the barb, laying it flat next to the wound.
Aeron hissed a little but didn’t cry out. His shackled hands lay in a strange formation on his lap, a picture of self-control. One hand made a circle as the other made a victory symbol or maybe a peace sign with his first two fingers.
I wished I could feel as calm as he looked, besides his eyes squinted shut. One-by-one, I unhooked arrowheads, glass shards, hooks, spikes, and razors from his skin, each as thin as the ink they were made of. I set them gently atop his back, treated the wounds, then bandaged his cuts. For whatever good it would do, and for however long, it didn’t really matter.
He’d just given up his freedom to be in here with me. It was the least I could do.
Hugo reappeared with a cup and saucer for me.
After cleaning off my hands on a moist towelette, I accepted a cup through the bars of the little cell. “Thank you, Hugo. The accommodations might not be much, but you’ve been an attentive host.”
Hugo let out a little snort as he refilled Aeron’s cup. “For guests this distinguished, we use the fine china! Wedgwood, a family heirloom. I selected a floral pattern with hues from each of your eye colors to brighten a dark spot on this little adventure. How’s the tea?” His eyes lit with expectancy.
“It’s incredible. So summery and mellow!” I smiled as I took a larger mouthful. The flavors fairly exploded on my tongue.
