[myst] ordinary magic 03.3 - scissor kisses

by Devon Monk

  “What things?”

  “Well, my family. My friends.”

  “Oh,” he said, like a light bulb had finally screwed down tight and bright. “Head over heels.”

  This conversation was ambling off into nowhere.

  Luckily, Bertie rang the bell and Jonah bolted out of the chair, heading straight over to Trish and almost colliding with Tom, who was taking his time with his departure.

  “Okay then,” I said to no one. Jonah was socially awkward, but didn’t seem like a bad guy. Maybe once I knew what kind of creature he was, I could make a better connection with him.

  “Ah, yes,” a deep voice rumbled. “Finally, we are alone.”

  I closed my eyes for just a second, wishing Bathin would go away. But instead, I heard him settle into the chair in front of me. I could hear him breathing too, steady and deep, could feel the heat of him and smell his cologne.

  “Still here,” he murmured. “And I won’t be leaving for at least three full minutes.”

  I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, wishing I didn’t like the sound of his voice. Wishing I’d found a way to break his hold on Delaney and exile him from Ordinary.

  “I brought a gift,” he said.

  I opened my eyes. He stared straight at me. Smiled.

  “I don’t want a gift,” I said.

  “Now, now, Myra. This is a friendly gathering. I’m being friendly. With a friendly gift.” He tipped his head down toward the object on the table.

  It was a box of tea. A box of very expensive tea that I could only get from one specialty tea shop in Eugene. I loved this tea. It was my favorite.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Bathin leaned forward, getting comfortable. “That is tea.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  “Did you bring a gift to every person you speed dated?”

  “Would that make you jealous? Are you admitting you have feelings for me?”

  “I don’t get jealous and I don’t feel anything for you.” My heart was pounding too hard, and that little voice in my head was calling out my lie.

  I ignored that little voice. Ignored the heck out of it.

  “Is that so?” he asked. “I will remind you I am a demon and I can sense when people lie.”

  “It’s not a lie, and because you are a demon, I don’t believe that you can tell when a person is lying or not.”

  “Why would you doubt me?”

  “Demons lie.”

  “We also tell the truth. Often, and to great effect.”

  He was derailing this conversation and leading it to places I didn’t want to be. This wasn’t a real date. For me, this wasn’t even a speed date. This was a chance to interrogate people.

  And Bathin was in the hot seat.

  One eyebrow raised. He must have seen my change of attitude. He liked it.

  Well, he wasn’t going to like it in a minute.

  “So demons tell the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Think you can tell the truth for the next two minutes?”

  “Will you accept the tea if I say yes?”

  “Fine. Yes.”

  “Then my words shall remain pure and true. And honest,” he said when I opened my mouth.

  “All right. Did you have any part of the crossroads demon being there yesterday?”

  He blinked hard. “No. I’m curious as to why you think I might have. I did try to kill her, as you’ll recall.”

  “Don’t be so casual about that. Killing someone.”

  “So now you’re a defender of demons? I’m on board for that.”

  “Do you know what she and I were discussing?”

  “I can assume it was how to get rid of me, and that she promised to bring to you a means to my end. Which: hurtful.” He winked. “I also assume you were looking for a way to make me give your sister’s soul back. But you know I can’t do that, Myra.”

  “Won’t do it, not can’t do it.”

  “That’s true. I won’t do it.”

  “Why?”

  That question seemed to catch him by surprise. “The possession of a soul isn’t a one-way street,” he said slowly, as if he were picking his way through the concept.

  “Are you saying Delaney owns a part of you? That she owns a part of your soul? I don’t believe you. Demons don’t have souls.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  He didn’t elaborate. I waited. Time ticked down.

  “Are you lying about that?” I asked.

  “No.”

  Which could be a lie. But from how steadily he held my gaze, from what I could see in his eyes—interest, humor, and something more. Something a lot like sincerity. Maybe he wasn’t lying.

  “Explain how a demon possessing a soul is a two-way street,” I said.

  “No.”

  All right, then.

  “I’ll find out how it works,” I said, “you know I will.”

  “If anyone could, it would be you, Myra Reed. But it is not knowledge found anywhere in this world.”

  “That won’t keep me from finding it.”

  He spread his hands, looking calm and unconcerned. “Then you will.”

  “Why don’t you just give this up?” I was frustrated, and I knew he could hear it in my voice. “Why don’t you just give her back her soul? It would make everything easier. It would make everything better.”

  “Not everything,” he said softly.

  “What do you mean?”

  The little crystal bell sang out in Bertie’s hand, and Bathin sat back and bumped the tea toward me with his long fingers.

  “You don’t need to give me your number,” he said. “I know where you live.”

  “That doesn’t sound stalkery at all.”

  He grinned. “If I were stalking you, trust me, you’d know.”

  “Because you’d be sending me creepy poems in the mail?”

  He frowned. “No. Why do you ask? Is someone sending you creepy poems?”

  “No.”

  And here was the test. Could he tell I was lying?

  His eyebrows rose. “I see.”

  He could tell. Well, crap.

  I looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. I covered that by reaching down for an ice cube out of the cooler.

  “Is that for me?” he asked.

  “Nope.” I popped the ice in my mouth.

  “Fine, good,” he said. “Because I’ve already gotten what I wanted.”

  “Uh-huh.” I crunched down on the ice, bored, hoping he’d catch a hint and leave me alone.

  He stood. “This has been very educational, Myra. Don’t you think?”

  Something about his words gave me goosebumps. As if he had just gently but firmly wrapped an arm around me, offering me his heat, his strength, his solid presence against all the worries and doubts and fears of the world.

  It was a subtle but alluring illusion, and it was very, very tempting to fall into that.

  He chuckled softly. “So stubborn.” And then, with one last smile, he moved on to the next table.

  I found I couldn’t look away from him. I found I didn’t want to.

  Chapter Six

  It was over. I resisted the urge to cheer in relief. Several of the participants stayed to play pool or to bowl, which made Jacques happy to have the extra business. People also lingered to exchange numbers.

  I got out of there as quickly as I could.

  Right past Tom and Trish sitting at the corner table, holding hands and smiling at each other. A lot. It looked like the beginning of something wonderful.

  I was happy for them. I was happy for all of them.

  I was happy I’d never have to do this again.

  My traitorous sisters had hightailed it out of here half an hour ago, because they were not idiots and had caught on to my increasingly threatening glares and gestures.

  Bathin was gone too.

  I didn’t want to think abo
ut why I’d paid attention to him all night, but I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wanted that to be because he was a puzzle I hadn’t solved yet, a cipher I hadn’t broken.

  But he was more than that to me. Even if it was just easier to think of him as the obstacle I had to overcome to save my sister from a bind she’d thrown herself into willingly, but not wisely.

  I made my way out of the bowling alley and into the rainy, cold February night. It wasn’t going to freeze tonight, but it felt cold enough for it. I was sober, had been sober for hours.

  The parking lot was well lit and empty. I opened the cruiser door and paused.

  There was a small heart-shaped box on the passenger seat.

  The only people who had a key to the car were my sisters. If they thought a box of chocolates was going to be enough for me to forgive them for throwing me to the wolves, they were wrong. There was revenge to be had. And I would have it.

  Eventually.

  I preferred my revenge stone cold and startling. So it’d be weeks or months before I got them back for this. And all the while, they’d be wondering what I was going to spring on them.

  I tossed the tea on top of the candy box and drove home.

  With the tea and chocolate in my hands, I closed my garage door and walked into my house.

  Home.

  My shoulders dropped, that tightness that lingered beneath my breastbone easing up with the first step into my own space.

  This was my safe place, my happiest place. This cozy house filled with the things I’d dug out of antique stores, pillows I’d made, gifts I’d been given. This was where I cooked and baked, trying at least one new recipe a week.

  I could be myself here. Not the middle sister who had a library of arcane information and data stuffed in her head. Not the cop who was fair, if sometimes a little stern. Not the newbie roller derby teammate who still didn’t feel like part of the team.

  And not the last Reed sister who was still single and not dating.

  I placed the boxes on the kitchen counter and started the kettle for tea. Maybe I’d bring the candy to bed with me and eat all the best pieces while sipping tea and watching Netflix.

  I pulled off my coat, hung it. Went through the mini-ritual of measuring out the tea leaves and pouring water.

  Letting it steep, I turned to the box of candy.

  I should leave it here in the kitchen. Otherwise I might be tempted to eat the entire box in one go. Maybe just one piece while I waited for the tea.

  I reached for the lid and stopped.

  Just stopped. My hand lingered just above the box and all my cop instincts were ringing. There was no plastic wrap on the box.

  For a moment, I wished I had Jean’s family gift. That I could tell if something dangerous was about to happen.

  No. I was being ridiculous. If something dangerous were in the box, I would have noticed it while it was on the car seat next to me. I would have noticed it when I carried it into my house. I would have noticed it when I put it on the counter top.

  I flicked the lid off the box.

  Worms wriggled and squirmed in damp, fragrant black soil.

  Okay, that was…

  Creepy

  …not funny. I reached over without looking and pulled my mug to my lips. I sipped tea and stared at the little wrigglers poking around in the bed of loose dirt.

  Would Jean do this? Would Delaney?

  No, I knew my sisters. Giving me a box of worms and dirt after they’d set me up for Bertie’s date-o-rama was not their style. They weren’t that mean. Also, they knew I could kick their butts.

  So who would leave me a box of worms?

  After tonight and my hard-line interrogations? Probably every one of the people who had sat at my table.

  Bathin?

  He’d brought me the expensive tea. But why add worms to the offerings?

  I sighed, pulled out my phone, and took a few pictures of the box, then carefully dumped the worms out onto a piece of cardboard and sorted through them to make sure there wasn’t anything else in there, like a body part.

  Nothing but dirt and worms. That was something, at least.

  I grabbed a bucket from the garage and put the worms—which I had rehoused into the box—into it. Then I covered the whole thing with a lid with a couple holes for air. I wasn’t going to kill innocent worms just because they’d been part of a terrible Valentine’s event.

  I washed my hands, wiped down the kitchen, then took my tea and a box of cookies I kept stashed behind my pancake mix into my bedroom.

  Should I report this to my sisters?

  Yes.

  But it could wait until tomorrow. I was tired and a little wrung out from the event. I wanted to be alone. To have some time to turn off my brain.

  To recover.

  My sisters may have had the best intentions throwing me into the speed dating, but they didn’t see it from my perspective.

  Each person who had sat down in front of me was a reminder of what I didn’t have. What I’d never have: someone to love.

  I shuffled into my bedroom, turned on the light.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Right in the middle of my bed, placed neatly on top of three red silk hearts, was a pair of golden scissors.

  I blew out a breath and stared up at the ceiling. “All I wanted was a quiet night at home with tea and cookies! But no! I had to do fake dating. And worms. And strange crafting implements. On. My. Bed!

  “Whoever snuck in here and left scissors on my bed, I am going to break your arms, because now you’ve made me feel unsafe in my own damn house, and that, I will not forgive!”

  The ceiling, the room, the house around me remained silent. There was no one in the house with me, but there were plenty of people or creatures who could get through any sort of locks I had on the place.

  It didn’t even have to be a nefarious break-in. Lots of friendlies didn’t realize they’d overstepped a human custom until they’d done so. Sometimes a creature new in town took a while to get accustomed to societal norms.

  Like not breaking into other people’s houses.

  But why scissors and hearts?

  I shoved a cookie in my mouth and chewed. I wasn’t taking another step without some sugar fortitude.

  I gulped tea and glared at the bed a little more. “Fine,” I said to no one. “I’ll do some more work. Totally how I wanted to spend my evening.”

  For the second time tonight, I took pictures of a possible crime in my own home.

  The scissors were small enough that I could fit them in my pocket. Made of gold metal that might actually be gold, covered in symbols and runes scratched along the handles and down the outside of the blades.

  Those runes and symbols blurred and danced as I tried to focus on them. They carried a power. Maybe a curse.

  I opened my nightstand drawer and put on a pair of gloves knitted from thread that had been blessed and purified and warded against all magics.

  I also pulled out a little black bag made of the same thread and woven with thin strands of gold and silver. Whatever was placed in this bag was nullified for a short time. Enough time, I hoped, to figure out what the scissors were, what they were used for, and who had left them for me.

  I held my breath then picked up the scissors and the heart cloths beneath them.

  Sparks of red and black and silver surrounded the scissors, dripping like melting wax.

  There was no heat, no sound, no smell.

  But there was knowledge. Sudden and clear, as if someone had whispered it in my ear.

  I knew what the scissors were for: cutting Delaney’s soul away from Bathin’s hold.

  Or, more precisely, cutting Bathin’s hold away from her soul.

  They were a wicked, evil instrument. They would cause him pain. A lot of pain.

  There was only one person who would have known about them, and known to bring them to me. Before midnight, just like I’d asked.

  The crossroads demon. She ha
d just handed over the way to get rid of Bathin.

  I opened the scissors carefully, making sure the cloth stayed wrapped on the handles. The inside of one blade was ruby red, slick as a polished jewel. The other blade was jet black, bottomless as obsidian.

  It was beautiful. And very, very dangerous.

  Swiftly, snip by snip, ruby and black blades in a loving hand.

  I slipped the scissors into the black bag, and then just stood there trying to decide what I wanted to do and where I wanted to be.

  The warm tug in my chest indicated I didn’t need to be here in my bedroom right now. I knew it was going to take hours before I fell asleep anyway.

  I glanced at the tea, cooling on my nightstand.

  I needed something stronger. Much stronger. And I knew right where I should be.

  Chapter Seven

  Mom’s Bar was owned by Hera, but she, along with all the other gods, had left town several months ago. Luckily, all of the gods who owned businesses while vacationing here had contingency plans in place.

  Mom’s was now safely in the hands of Niko, who was a Bakeneko, and didn’t mind looking after the place until Hera came back to town. If she came back to town.

  The low light and easy, bluesy rock made me glad I’d come here. The place wasn’t very busy or crowded, and the people in the room were intent on minding their own business.

  I strolled over to the bar.

  The only god in town, Cupid, sat with his back to the room, more than happy to ignore humanity and all that went along with it.

  Tonight, I could sympathize.

  He wore a black T-shirt that showed off his muscles and tattoos, jeans, and old biker boots. The mirror behind the bar was covered by bottles, so I didn’t expect him to see me coming.

  “Myra,” he said as I sat next to him.

  “Bo,” I replied.

  The bartender strolled over and gave me a smile. “What’ll you have, officer?”

  “Just a shot of Jose, thanks.”

  He tapped his knuckles on the bar then turned to pour and set the shot in front of me. “On the house.”

  I nodded my thanks and pressed my fingers against the glass, turning it on the bar top.

  “You look like someone who needs to talk,” Bo said in his deep rumble. He still hadn’t looked my way, but he raised his beer, something dark and rich I could smell over all the other heavy spirits in the room.