“I’m always waiting here.” His voice was soft, but with an edge of tension. “Look, I can help.”
“You do help. You saved us back there, remember? We need you. And I don’t know that we should trust the Hedge-Witch.” Tav felt the truth behind their words as soon as they spoke them, and it chilled their blood. The Hedge-Witch had welcomed them into their home, had birthed them into the world of magic. Tav felt the new distance between them like a cut. Eli’s mistrust was contagious.
“I’ve worked with her, too, you know. You’re not the only one.”
“Did you give Eli the blade back?” Tav changed the subject. They didn’t want to talk about the Hedge-Witch with him. He didn’t understand. He had never been close to her the way Tav had been.
“Yes.” Cam’s brow was furrowed. “She seemed afraid of it.”
“Did she say anything to you?”
“No.”
Tav put their head in their hands. Another complication. An assassin who wouldn’t use her knives. A girl who kept disappearing. An unstable Heart.
“Well, keep an eye on her.”
“I was planning to.”
Shaking their head, Tav stood. “If — when — Eli rematerializes, tell her …” Their voice trailed off.
“Tell her what?” Cam handed Tav their jacket, worry in his eyes. Tav didn’t want to see it, so they looked away.
“Nothing. Don’t tell her anything.”
Cam’s reproachful stare followed them out the door, down the stairs, and into the night.
THE HEART
Eli reappeared in front of the ghost, mouth full of the taste of honey, light pouring out of her body. Hands went to her blades, slipping — still — over the empty sheath, falling on stone and pearl. She bared her teeth.
He turned to face her.
The cold wind whipped her hair around her face. Her bangs were getting too long — they caught in her glasses and eyelashes. The wind ruffled the collar of his coat and the ends of his tartan scarf.
They stared at one another, girl-Heart and ghost, hunter and prey. Two misplaced magics on a rock slowly turning on its axis in a dark universe. Two beings drawn to a boi with silver earrings and a smile like a bullet.
He was old, Eli knew that. He had been haunting this city for a long time. He looked like a human. He even moved like a human, the right amount of grace and clumsiness.
But Eli knew he wasn’t one. She could smell the decay and sadness like sour milk on him.
She raised the pearl blade in front of her.
“If you hurt them, I will kill you,” she told him. It.
He stepped forward.
Eli’s hand tightened on the blade as she narrowed her eyes. “Leave us alone.”
Another step.
An image flashed across her eyes. The Heart’s pain surging to the forefront. Memories that wounded. The forest was burning. Smoke burned her eyes. So much pain. So much destruction. Her children were screaming in agony —
Blink. Back to here, now, this body, this threat.
Step.
Another memory — young witches, their teeth sticky with sap and blood, offering strands of hair to her. Feeding her fire, dancing in her soil. Watering the land with tears of joy and loss.
A cold wind cut through the image, and the chill seeped into her human bones. Eli shivered, and the blade in her hand trembled. Her grip relaxed.
The ghost was in front of her now, his dead eyes boring into hers. Her grip on the blade was unsteady, her heartbeat wild and erratic.
The ghost touched her wrist.
Light flowed from her body to his, and for a moment Eli could see the outline of the person he had once been. Before the witches. Before death. When his magic was pure and strong like hers.
He had a name, once.
Many names.
Many sisters, with clever hands and shadow wings, and on his name-day they had carried him up into the sky to look over the blue-and-white planet that danced below them.
They were all gone now.
No one knew why some survived — if you could call this new form survival — but he had stayed while his sisters had died. They were dust now, reflecting the sun back on the Earth, sleeping in the dead craters of the husk of their world. And he was here, feeding his emptiness with hate, growing sluggish with revenge and regret.
Not all killers are made out of hawthorn and glass, but all killers are made.
Eli pulled back, gasping for breath, the ghost’s memories and feelings still swimming in her veins.
Then the light extinguished, and she was just a girl again, with asthmatic lungs and a weak heart. Her hand fell to her side.
She tucked her hair behind one ear and turned away. “You want to come along? Fine. Just don’t get in my way, understand? I won’t end up like you. I won’t.”
The sound of the motorcycle revving. Disappointment heavy in her stomach, Eli went after them.
Eli didn’t look behind her, but she knew the ghost was following.
Her hand was still shaking.
Twelve
THE HEIR
The main square of the City of Eyes glowed white, a light that was brutal and painful to behold. It was also very beautiful, like a polished star. Beauty that could kill — like her mother, thought Kite. Like every magic in the world, every gold- and silver-touched thread of power. Every tooth and blade and bone.
Unbidden, Kite’s mind conjured up an image of a teenage girl with yellow eyes and crocodile teeth, the reptilian girl’s knuckles white and lined with dark veins as her fingers tightened around glittering blades.
Perhaps the danger was what made them beautiful.
“I shouldn’t be here,” said Kite. “If I’m seen —”
“You won’t be seen.” Clytemnestra threw a handful of glitter confetti at the Heir Rising. Kite’s tongue snaked out and caught one of the silver flakes before darting back into her mouth.
They were standing at the entrance of a shadow door, one of the many ways between the invisible Labyrinth and the city underneath it.
“I could be researching —”
“No.” The word fell like a fragment of stone, heavy and sharp. Clytemnestra twisted her head and neck to face the other witch. “No. You watch.”
“You don’t trust me not to warn them?” Kite’s hair writhed, the strands twisting over one another.
Clytemnestra giggled. “Of course I don’t trust you.”
Kite’s hair stilled. A single wave rippled down the long bluegreen waterfall that stretched nearly to her ankles. She understood. “This is a test.”
“Anyone can see your power,” said the child. “You are more than a child, Heir. You’ve never been one of us. And trust is earned.”
Kite closed her eyes briefly and called up the memory of prismatic light bonding to her essence. Felt the thrum of power, the taste of a dead and drained witch strengthening her body. Shuddered at the slick feeling of it, like gasoline on her tongue.
Craved it.
Needed it.
Just a taste more —
Kite’s eyes opened to slits, and through the narrow field of vision she could see the whitegold light quivering under Clytemnestra’s skin. Could almost taste the honey and whiskey fire of the Warlord’s fierce magic.
What she could do with that magic, how much stronger she would be —
The Beast nipped at her heels.
Kite’s eyes widened, and the potent scent of witch essence faded. “Shhh now, that’s a good Beast,” she purred, reaching down to run a hand over the motley feather, fur, and scales. The Beast rubbed against her legs, trembling slightly.
Clytemnestra went up on her tiptoes, excitement visible in her entire body. “Almost time now. The children followed your instructions. All it needs is the trigger.”
Kite frowned. “What’s the trigger?”
Clytemnestra clapped her hands together. “It’s you, of course.”
She reached out and plucked a single hair from
Kite’s head.
The pain was slight, but all the other hairs rose up in protest, slapping at Clytemnestra’s hands, whipping around Kite’s face like a tornado.
The Witch Lord reached out and touched her essence. Pain blocked out all other senses, memories, feelings …
When Kite’s consciousness resurfaced, she was huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her body, heart pounding. She was still in the shadow door, but Clytemnestra was gone. The witch leader had crossed into the main square.
From her hiding place, Kite could hear her voice, magnified by magic.
“I bring a message from the children,” Clytemnestra announced, floating up into the air.
The sound waves were so strong that Kite felt them rattle across her essence. The other creatures felt them, too. Carriages screeched to a halt. Witches froze on their way to or from the Coven, arranged on the steps like statues. They turned to watch the abomination, who was crackling with energy, with electricity, eyes glowing like flames. She looked like a demon-angel, a baby monster. Her voice was strong and could not be ignored.
Kite knew Clytemnestra had been working on the spell for a long time. This message would be heard throughout the world.
Every witch would know what happened here today.
“The rule of the Coven is ending. The children have risen, and we bring chaos, freedom, and anarchy. When the Witch Lord is ready to meet our demands, she can find me in the Labyrinth. We are not afraid,” she went on, “and we are no longer in hiding. Welcome to the end of the world — and the beginning of a new one.”
A glint of bluegreen in Clytemnestra’s hand began to sizzle, the strand of hair going up in the smoke. The trigger.
The main square exploded.
Thirteen
THE HEALER
The bike was waiting for them. Tav let their hands run over the leather seat, inhaling the scent of gasoline and lavender. Their Kawasaki Vulcan 900 was their most prized possession. Tav’s cruiser was reliable, loyal, and it got them where they wanted to go. It was black and chrome, with an aquamarine mermaid spray-painted on the fender. Cam liked to make fun of the design and had taken to calling the bike “your girlfriend,” “Starbucks,” and “Ariel.” “Ariel” was Cam’s favourite. Tav liked to think it was a reference to Shakespeare’s imprisoned spirit in The Tempest, but Cam insisted that was an affront to both Hans Christian Andersen and, more importantly, to Disney.
To Tav, the sea monster was a masthead, and a symbol of their freedom. Their bike was their ship, and it turned the city into an ocean. It opened up the world to them, offered the freedom and adventure that Tav imagined explorers used to have when they risked their lives sailing the seas to discover faraway shores.
But while those fifteenth-century voyagers had carried genocide and slavery with them, Tav would carry vengeance and justice.
A sliver of guilt cut through the pleasure that riding always gave them. They had left Cam behind, again. They knew he hated that. Tav didn’t want Cam anywhere near the Hedge-Witch’s manipulations or machinations. But they had another reason for leaving him at the apartment — they wanted to be alone tonight. The apartment was crowded with bodies and magic and feelings, and Tav needed time to breathe before the next attack.
It felt like a very long time had passed since they had last gone for a midnight ride with their thoughts. Sometimes when they were anxious, it helped to talk it out with Cam over a beer or an espresso. But not even Cam could help Tav with the burden they now carried.
The bike purred to life, and Tav sped off into the night, following the familiar pathway to The Sun, letting nostalgia mingle with heartache. The moon was slipping into a waxing gibbous, shadow and light coming together on the surface of the dead rock. It was beautiful.
Flashes of memory burst through the solitude.
Eli’s waist under their hands, her skin soft and warm.
The made-girl’s breath in their ear, whispering their name.
Foreheads pressed together, yellow eyes burning with intensity.
Tav’s knees tightened around the bike, a shiver wracking their body. Tav had dated around and was well known in the queer scene. They’d had crushes on dozens of girls, taken them on dates and kissed them in the back seats of their moms’ minivans, got lipstick stains on collared shirts. It was fun, and exciting, and Tav had spent their fair share of nights thinking about ripped jeans and a sharp collarbone. But nothing had lasted long, had ever meant much. Tav slipped in and out of relationships like jackets — a new one each season.
They had never felt this way about anyone before.
Maybe it was the weight of growing up different, of growing up sharp as a needle, but Tav never let anyone get too close. Tav learned to smile and laugh while their nails cut half moons into their palms; learned how to flirt and tease and buy shots for pretty girls. Learned to shrug it off when the girls left with their white boyfriends or girlfriends. And since the ghost, since discovering magic was real, they’d stopped showing up at the gay bar, stopped going to drag shows, and cheering on their exes at roller derby. The only people they saw were Cam and the Hedge-Witch. They’d even started avoiding their parents, not wanting to deal with the disappointed looks and tense hugs.
With Eli they could be themselves. They could be angry, sad, flawed. They were allowed to want impossible things. They were allowed to do impossible things. And the way Eli looked at them when they used their magic — like they were special, like they were someone Eli wanted to touch, or maybe taste.
That look kept Tav up at night.
A few bats fluttered overhead. Tav liked the company of other nocturnal animals. They had never been very good at sleeping, had often gone for walks at 3:00 a.m. It was the safest time to go walking alone.
Eli wanted Tav. But maybe it wasn’t them at all. Maybe it was just the magic she wanted to fuck. Maybe when the wounds between worlds had been healed, Eli would go back to the City of Eyes and leave Tav behind. Maybe when she met someone who had more power, she would follow that source of magic instead, and would taste someone else.
But she wanted you before she knew you had magic, Tav thought, their stomach twisting with anxiety.
Maybe she’s lying to you.
The Sun appeared too soon, framed by the half-light of the moon. Tav flashed their lights a few times and then waited. After a long moment, the lights inside the café flickered on.
The Hedge-Witch was waiting.
Fourteen
THE HEIR
Fanged horses screamed, sweat and blood leaking from their nostrils as they climbed into the sky to escape the trauma. Carriages were ripped apart, spiked wheels tossed across the square. Witch bodies were torn from their essences. Smoke and flames rose from the ruin. The steps leading to the Coven were demolished, a pile of burning white rubble.
Proof that the Coven was no longer untouchable.
The rumours would start here — that the Coven was weak, the Witch Lord fallible, that the centre of power could be destroyed. That the Heart of the world was failing, or perhaps, even, that it had been stolen. The stories would circulate throughout the world.
Thousands of eyes watched the bloodbath, and tongues whispered of fear and failure and disobedient children.
Above it all, golden curls bouncing, face smudged with soot, Clytemnestra was resplendent — her essence glowing through her skin, her smile benevolent and gentle.
She was a queen crowned on a throne of mayhem.
A tiny worm of fear slithered behind Kite’s eyeballs. She had done this, piecing together forbidden magics in the library and using that knowledge to destroy. She had brought the spell work to Clytemnestra, and she herself had whispered the words. The Beast whined against her skirts.
“It’s okay,” whispered Kite. “This is what we wanted.”
But her voice trembled.
Acolytes rushed from the mouth of the Coven to quell the flames. Jade steeds lay on the ruined marble, wounded and shrieking, blood flowing li
ke ink.
Clytemnestra was giggling.
“They will come for the children,” said Kite.
“They can’t enter the Children’s Lair. They can run through the entire Labyrinth and will never find us!” The Warlord clapped her hands together. “We will play a game of hide and seek.”
The flames were already extinguished, members of the higher rings of power emerging to cast protective wards and heal the wounded. Smoke fluttered above the Coven, stretching upward toward the sky. The Coven itself was unharmed; it was an impenetrable fortress, a living creature of stone and earth and magic. But the message had been delivered — the announcement of a coup, the proclamation of a rival lord. And the challenge had been written in gunpowder on the very steps of power.
The children had come out of hiding.
A few bloodthirsty children pushed past Clytemnestra and Kite, casting flashes of light to spook any animals that were uninjured and tossing hexes at the Coven witches before vanishing back into the Labyrinth. A boy in a tutu lay on his back and made ash angels, sweeping the soot with his arms and legs. One naughty girl in pigtails set off fireworks, the gold-and-red glitter mixing with smoke.
“They can never resist a demolition,” said Clytemnestra fondly.
“Even if you hide, they will find you. They will hunt you.”
“They won’t have to find us.” The Warlord yawned, her pink tongue sticking out of her mouth like a kitten’s. “We’ll come to them. The children are ready to fight — and you won’t take too long to find us some new recruits, will you, my little matricidal Heir? Besides, people will be lining up to join us once they hear about our magnificent performance!”
Kite stared at the smoking street that would soon be polished over again in marble and magic. But the stone would remember being broken. There was no going back.
Clytemnestra’s eyes were shining as she turned to Kite, capturing the Heir’s gaze as easily as she stuck insects with hat pins. Her voice was reverent as she whispered, “The revolution has begun.”
The Boi of Feather and Steel Page 5
