[myst] ordinary magic 03.3 - scissor kisses

by Devon Monk

  “It’s like I’m missing something, or forgot something but I don’t know what it is. It’s like colors are more faded and there’s a sense of…knowing I’m broken. Knowing that at some moment when I might need my strength and determination the most, it won’t be there. It feels like I’m not enough.”

  I placed my hand on her shoulder. “You will always be enough. Even without your soul. But I want you to have your soul back, so you can be whole.”

  “Me too.” She smiled. Did it look like it was a little faded? Did it look like she was trying to fake her way through not having a soul? Was there more to it she didn’t want to tell me?

  “Good,” she said. “Now get rid of the worms.” She walked off to pour herself another cup of coffee, and then check on how Jean was doing rounding up our local witch.

  I got busy dumping out the worms and bagging the box they came in. I thought about dumping the worms out back, but decided I could take them home and put them in my rose bed. Worms were good at aerating the soil, and these were nice, big, healthy worms.

  So instead of going out back, I walked out the front door with the bucket and over to my cruiser.

  There were pictures tucked under the windshield wipers. Photos of my sisters. With the heads cut off and stapled to their feet.

  Dozens of them.

  Creepy as hell. I checked the car—no one and nothing inside. Scanned the parking lot and greenery around it. Nothing. Opened the trunk and put the bucket in it.

  Okay. I wasn’t going to touch those photos without backup.

  I started back to the station, keeping my eyes peeled for any movement.

  But it was a sound that stopped me. A soft sob that I would expect to hear at a haunted house, or foggy forest. Not out here in the cloudy February day.

  I turned.

  There was a human-sized cat standing just a few feet behind me. Or rather, standing behind me was someone in a cat costume, like a mascot for a sports team, except creepier.

  A lot creepier.

  “Hello,” I said, aiming for calm and cop-like. “Can I help you?”

  The cat pulled out a gun. Since when did cats have pockets?

  “Easy,” I said. “Easy, now.”

  The cat lifted its left hand, and a single photo dangled from its bulky paw.

  A photo of me. With my head cut off and stapled to my feet.

  That warm tug in my chest went hot. Great. Being in the right place at the right time meant I had to stare down the barrel of a weaponized feline.

  My life. Just…unbelievable sometimes.

  “I’m right here and happy to listen to anything you want to tell me,” I said, keeping my voice friendly. “How about you put the gun down, and then you and I can talk?”

  The cat head wobbled on the human shoulders. The cat made a couple gestures with the photo, but I had no idea what it wanted me to do. Pick up the picture? Turn around and get the photos off my car?

  I lifted both palms up, so it could see I didn’t have my firearm in my hands. “It looks like it’s going to rain. Would you like to go somewhere? Sit somewhere out of the cold?”

  The cat made that muffled sobbing sound again and swung the gun toward its own head.

  “Easy. Hold on. Just a minute. Let’s take a deep breath, together. Let’s talk, okay? You have my picture. I see you have my picture. Is there something you want to tell me?”

  Don’t ask me how, but the cat looked sad. Its shoulders slumped, even as the gun pressed harder into the comically round and furry side of its head.

  “Hey!”

  That shout, hard and commanding, set several things into motion.

  The cat startled and spun toward the shout, arm jerking and oversized fingers swinging the gun up and out, pointing at the source of the sound.

  Pointing at the demon, Bathin, who was storming our way looking like he was about to have cat for dinner.

  The cat aimed at Bathin.

  And I…I don’t know what came over me. Training, I guess.

  I’d spent years of my life protecting people. Protecting the citizens of my town. The idea of anyone pointing a gun at anyone else made me want to intercede.

  It wasn’t that my heart froze silent and cold seeing Bathin barreling toward a loaded weapon. It wasn’t the sudden fear and hot sting of adrenalin that poured through me at knowing he was putting himself in the line of fire.

  For me.

  That wasn’t what he was. That wasn’t who he was.

  Or maybe…it was.

  But dealing with a gunslinging Garfield was not his job. It was mine.

  I launched myself at the fluffy menace.

  The cat went down in a heap of fur, yowls, and stuffing.

  I leaned my weight onto its back. It squirmed under me, trying to throw me off.

  “It’s over. Just settle down.” I dragged the cat’s arms up behind its back and got my knees planted on either side of its torso.

  The cat went boneless and still.

  Bathin was there, had been there a second after I’d jumped. He loomed behind me, made a sort of primal rumble that might have been a curse or a threat. I glanced over my shoulder.

  His hot gaze was fastened to me, straddling the cat. He was angry. So furious that I could feel the heat rolling off him.

  “Oh for gods’ sake,” I grumbled. “Go inside. Get my sisters.”

  Bathin’s gaze met mine. Instead of the fire I was so used to seeing there, I saw ice. “Maybe you should go inside, Myra. I would be happy to…contain the assailant.”

  “That’s not happening. Go get Delaney.”

  He hesitated.

  “This is my job. This is my town,” I said. “And this is what we do when someone pulls a gun in Ordinary. Go get my sisters.”

  Everything about him sharpened, and for a moment, he was too hard to look at—too much fire, too much rage. And then the edges of him softened again, and he was just Bathin.

  He glared over at the gun, thrown off in the bushes and out of reach.

  “Don’t touch it,” I said. “Don’t mess with it. That’s evidence.”

  His nostrils flared as he turned and strode into the station, fists clenched, shoulders stiff.

  I pulled out my handcuffs, which were not going to work with the bulky paws on this costume.

  The gun had fallen off into the bushes far enough away that neither of us were able to reach it.

  The cat/person/creature beneath me was unmoving and quiet, except for an occasional sob.

  “Okay, so we’re just going to take this slowly,” I said. “I’m going to take off your cat head, so you and I can talk, all right?”

  I let go of the cat’s left paw so I could carefully pull off the costume.

  The man—it was clearly a man in a cat suit—was familiar to me. Very familiar.

  “Jonah?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment. “What is this all about?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and refused to look at me. Even though he clenched his mouth shut, another little sob escaped him.

  “It’s okay, Jonah. Let’s go inside where we can figure this out.”

  He seemed to relax a fraction at that suggestion.

  Voices and footsteps were coming our way. My sisters here to save the day.

  Chapter Nine

  Watching Jean and Delaney question Jonah was a weird experience. I stood in the cramped, dark space behind the two-way glass while Delaney and Jean both sat at the table with my neighbor.

  They all had fresh cups of coffee. Jonah had agreed to take off the rest of the cat costume, and sat in his Steelers sweatshirt and jeans. He looked mortified.

  Bathin had refused to leave my side. I got tired of arguing with him that I was fine and him ignoring me, so he had taken up a position next to me, arms crossed, glaring through the glass like he wished he could melt it with his mind.

  Jonah had explained his actions leading up to the cat-costume confrontation. He’d spoken in fits and starts, in a very soft voice, an
d without making eye contact.

  Jonah was my stalker. Or, rather, he was a very awkward fellow, a relatively new supernatural in town, trying to make friends.

  He had sent me the poem as a valentine. That whole “coming for you” line was his way of saying he’d like to come over and have coffee someday.

  He’d gifted me with a box of worms because he knew they were beneficial to my rose beds, and were the same worms he’d been raising in his basement and using to make his own yard thrive.

  He’d cut off my sisters’ heads in those photos and stapled them to their feet because he knew I was head over heels for my family.

  And the picture of me with my head cut off? His way of saying he liked me a lot too.

  With anyone else, I wouldn’t believe those explanations.

  But it turned out Jonah was a squonk: a creature that usually lives in the hemlock forests of Pennsylvania. They are known to be shy, ugly, and capable of dissolving into a puddle of tears when cornered.

  Oh yeah, and the gun? It was a squirt gun. Jonah had been carrying it to use it on himself in case he became embarrassed. A couple squirts of salt water, and he could just puddle out of an uncomfortable social situation.

  He was telling the truth. I could see it. Jean could see it. Delaney could see it. He hadn’t been in town long enough to make many friends, and this was just his disastrously bad way of going about it.

  “He’s lying,” Bathin grumbled.

  “You’re lying,” I replied.

  Neither of us looked at each other; we just kept staring through the glass.

  “Okay, I am. But I still don’t like him,” Bathin said.

  “You don’t have to like him. You just have to promise not to hurt him.”

  “And if I don’t promise?”

  “I will personally throw you out of Ordinary.”

  “And let me take your sister’s soul with me to the underworld?”

  “No. I would not let you do that. Ever.”

  He turned his head. “Myra Reed. Do you have something up your sleeve?”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t have to. He could read my mind. He’d proven that.

  “I thought I sensed something different here in Ordinary.” He reached toward me, his strong fingers gently turning my face until I was looking at him.

  I didn’t fight him.

  Let him know that I had something he didn’t know about. Let him guess at what knowledge or weapon I had hidden from him.

  Let him see the victory in my eyes.

  He met my gaze, searching for answers.

  He inhaled, a short, soft gasp. “You have the scissors.”

  It was my turn to be startled. My eyes went a little wide.

  “You do,” he continued. “I can feel them near, can feel them on your skin.” He lifted my hand, brought it to his lips. Not close enough to kiss.

  Almost close enough to kiss.

  I found I could not look away. Did not want to. Did not want to pull away. To lose this touch—his touch.

  He did not look away either. I saw the question in his eyes. I nodded, slightly. He pressed his lips, hot as a brand, across my knuckles.

  Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. Suddenly it was hot, and every inch of my skin was aware of the slightest motion of my own breathing, the slow, languid beat of my pulse.

  “Beautiful Myra. How clever you are. To find the one weapon even I could not locate.” His lips pressed against my knuckles again.

  I shivered, as if the heated air in the room was suddenly too cold compared to his kiss.

  “Will you give it to me?” he asked, every word wrapped in silvery oil and candlelight.

  “No,” I breathed. Everything in me strained to say yes. To give in to him. To be taken.

  But a no was a no, and he lifted his face away from my knuckles, then shifted his hold on my fingers.

  He gripped firmly enough that I was aware something had changed.

  His expression was serious and intent.

  “Promise me,” he said, a command and plea I had never heard from him before. “Promise me that no matter how much hate for me is in your heart, no matter how much fear for your sister is in your thoughts, promise me you will not use those scissors.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because they will change anyone who uses them. They will…maim. The scissors were a gift. Given to my worst enemy. And you would not want to know what they will do to a soul as sweet as yours.”

  Okay, that snapped me out of whatever dreamy state I’d been in.

  “I don’t care what they would do to my soul.” I snatched my fingers away. “I want my sister free.” We stood so close that there was barely an inch between us. When had that happened?

  I took a step away from him. And another, until I could think again. Until I could breathe again.

  “The price is too high,” he said, taking a step toward me.

  “Really? Suddenly you’re worried about me and the price I’ll pay if I use a pair of magicked scissors on you? I think you’re scared, Bathin.”

  “Am I?”

  From the look he was giving me, from the arms, once again crossed over his chest, no, he was not the least bit frightened.

  “Free my sister’s soul.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll use the scissors.”

  “No.”

  “Then make me a deal, demon. You seem to be fond of those.”

  “The deal is you don’t use the scissors.”

  “No,” I said.

  “This is for your own good. For your own safety,” he said. “Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  “Because I don’t like you.”

  He smiled, a hot curve of his lips that narrowed his eyes. “Did the crossroads demon give them to you? Did you promise her you’d let her steal souls right out from under the eyes of Ordinary if she gave you the scissors?”

  “Who is your enemy?” I asked.

  He tipped his head, shook it slightly. “Oh so many people.”

  “Who made the scissors?”

  His jaw clenched, loosened. He huffed out a breath and ran his palm over his hair. “My mother.”

  Hold on. “You have a mother?”

  He shot me a puzzled look. “Did you think I walked fully formed from lava and hellstorms?” At my look, he rolled his eyes. “Of course I have a mother.”

  “And she gave your enemy a pair of scissors that will damage the user and damage you, her own son?”

  He shrugged. “She thinks she knows what’s best, even if that’s what I think is worst. It’s a complicated relationship.”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed. That was such a…normal thing to say about a parent. I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to hide my chuckle.

  “Don’t,” he said fondly as he gently drew my hand away from my mouth. “I love your laugh.”

  I shook my head. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Oh?” He hadn’t let go of my wrist yet. I hadn’t made him let go, either. He stepped up close to me again. “What is ridiculous?”

  “This. All this. Us.”

  He nodded. “It is, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t like chaos,” I said. “I don’t like messy. I don’t like…whatever you are.”

  “I know. You’ve said so. Several times. And yet here we are, right where we keep ending up. As if we were meant to be here. Just at this right place. Just at this right time.”

  He paused, and I let that sink in a bit.

  I did keep ending up here, with him, in his arms, alone.

  And it did not feel wrong.

  Bo’s words came back to me: the heart is never wrong.

  But was this the right time to trust it? To listen to my heart instead of my head?

  I lifted up on my tiptoes. Bathin was over six feet tall, and I only came up to his shoulder.

  He held his breath, and everything about him stilled as I inched closer to him, my face tipped up.

  He kn
ew what I was asking. And that mountain of a man, of a demon, bent toward me, swaying downward to meet my need.

  For a moment, we were caught there, teetering on the edge of someplace we had never been before. Teetering on the edge of possibilities.

  No, my logic reminded me. This demon was chaos, and chaos was not what I needed. Not what I wanted in my life.

  Yes, my heart urged. This demon was loyal, calm, intelligent, precise. Everything I wanted in my life.

  Yes, my heart shouted. And I could no longer find a reason to ignore it.

  The door to the room swung open with a whoosh of cold air and Jean already mid-conversation. “…get most of that? Because pressing charges for epic social naiveté is gonna be a tough one.”

  The spell was broken. The mood vaporized.

  I stepped back, two full paces. Bathin straightened, and the passion in his expression banked like ashes beneath a mountain of stone.

  Jean paused, just inside the door, holding it open to let the air, and apparently the good sense of the rest of the world, into this cramped space.

  “Oops,” she said. “Should I call the fire department? Or would you two like a little more time alone?”

  “I’m not going to press charges,” I said, still looking at Bathin.

  He grunted.

  “We’re going to recommend him into the orientation class,” Jean said. “Get him a buddy to help him navigate the rules in Ordinary so this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. He’s beside himself with embarrassment and remorse.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So I guess we’re done here.”

  Bathin raised one eyebrow. Challenging.

  “Are we now?” he asked.

  Into the silence that stretched between us, Jean chuckled. “So I’ll give you two some time.”

  “No,” I said. “We’re done.”

  “We are not done,” Bathin said. “We are just barely beginning.”

  “And that’s the way it’s going to remain,” I said. I meant that. Most of me meant that. Okay, some of me was wishing I was just brave enough to follow through. To find out what it would be like to let a little chaos into my life.

  Bathin exhaled through his nose, making his nostrils flare. Then he smiled and shifted the weight on his feet, his shoulders angled toward me. Closing the space between us without taking a single step.