“Why isn’t Clytemnestra sending you?” asked Tav. “Wouldn’t the Heir be an enigma?”
Kite stilled, like a raindrop halting its slow descent down a windowpane. “I can’t.” The Beast cowered between her legs. He didn’t want to see the Witch Lord, either.
Flashback of agony and cruelty. The way her mother had torn her from her body, had touched her essence. I can teach you …
Promises of power and promises of pain. Kite remembered the helplessness of lying in the dirt at her mother’s feet. Not once, but many times. Many small wounds, many needles pricking a skin and telling it to become numb. But nobody was ever truly numb. Even skins that souls could slip out of like nightgowns had memories. Kite’s body remembered the lessons her mother had taught her. Those lessons had sent a little girl running into the Labyrinth, hiding out in the walls.
The Witch Lord had underestimated the children, had underestimated her own daughter. The Witch Lord had been lonely for so long that she could not comprehend what companionship might feel like. Kite hoped Cam had found companionship in rock. He had seemed so lonely when she had found him on a sea of black glass, as discarded and forgotten as all the lost things in the wastelands.
Kite wondered if she should tell Tav that she had dinner with Cam, but as soon as she had the thought it slid across her mind like a water skimmer on a pond. Then it was gone, and there was only here and now.
“Did it tempt you?” she asked lightly, wanting to understand this human. She rose with the vest she had made, black with gold embroidery and glass buttons. It smelled of crushed orchids and fruit.
“What?”
“The Heart. Did it tempt you?”
“No.”
Kite heard the lie and was surprised by it. Humans thought lies made them safe.
Witches knew how to wear the truth as the brightest and strongest shield.
“Magic requires sacrifice,” she told them, helping them slip into the sleeves. She crouched in front of them and slowly buttoned up the vest, listening to the song of their heartbeat harmonizing with every exhale. “You will have to decide what you are willing to give up.”
“I’m not going to sacrifice anyone. Or anything.”
“Then you’ll die.” Kite’s fingers brushed the thin fabric of Tav’s shirt and felt rough skin and hair underneath. Bluegreen lights danced along her fingertips and across the back of her hands.
“I’m sure the Warlord would be pleased.”
“No, she likes you.”
Tav laughed, short and harsh. “Yeah right.”
Kite frowned, confused by their response. “Of course. She loves puzzles.”
“And what about you?” Tav looked down and their gaze met bluegreen pupil-less eyes. They ran one finger along the edge of the obsidian blade strapped to their forearm. Behind the sliver of black glass, leaves and petals were marked into the skin with faded blue ink. “Do you love puzzles?”
Kite reached out, a wave caressing the shore. Her hand on Tav’s wrist, the skin damp and soft as seaweed. She felt the bite of fire, and then her hand was on the blade, and she pressed the pad of her index finger against its ravenous tip.
The blade wouldn’t cut. Kite’s body ebbed away from Tav, the ghost of a smile playing across her face.
Eli’s blade had refused to harm her.
“Me? I prefer stories.”
THE HEALER
Tav’s smile grew.
“There’s one more thing you need,” said Kite.
“Better armour?” Tav fiddled with one of the glass buttons.
“Yes.” Kite pulled out the final piece.
“It’s a masquerade?” Tav stared at the twisted metal dangling from Kite’s finger on a copper spiderweb.
Kite’s laugh was like church bells ringing underwater. “Every day is a masquerade in the City of Eyes. This is just the prettiest poison. Are you ready to play?”
“No.”
“That’s the right answer.” Kite smiled, and behind the gleam of white teeth Tav could almost smell the dead animals that had willingly crawled into her mouth. They half wanted to offer their own throat to the luminous creature. A bite like hers would make you forget a thousand touches. “Now, close your eyes.”
“I’d prefer to keep them open.”
“Then you don’t like to be surprised.”
Tav allowed Kite to approach them, to lift the mask and tie it gently around their face. “You are ready to kill me,” Kite observed. “I can see the intention in your twitching liver.”
“I don’t want to kill you,” said Tav, wondering if that was the truth.
“Then I hope you don’t have to.”
Kite was right: they were ready to kill. Tav wanted the Witch Lord dead. They felt the bloodlust rising behind their eyes, staining the world wine red. Power, sweet as candied almonds, spilled over their tongue.
Purple smoke uncoiled from their mouth.
“Stop that,” said Kite, flicking her hand and breaking up the smoke. It crystallized into glittering pieces of confetti and fell to the ground. “The Beast doesn’t like smoke.”
“I’m sorry,” said Tav. “I didn’t mean to.”
Kite leaned forward, the dampness of her breath brushing their neck. “You don’t have to apologize to me. But when you use your magic, you should always mean it.”
Tav wondered if Kite and Eli had practised kissing under a cobalt sun, if Kite had flowed over Eli’s body and made her moan the way she had moaned against Tav’s chest. Seaglass and skin, hawthorn and hands.
Tav turned their head slightly to breathe in the heavy smell of salt. Kite’s bluegreen light flared up, bright and pure as a star.
Wait —
Something was different.
The edges of Kite’s essence burned white and gold and pink, and small sparks shed from the distressed soul of the lonely witch girl.
And another scent was creeping under the fragrance of the sea, like a single piece of rotten fruit in an orchard.
What was wrong with Kite’s essence? Tav opened their mouth to ask, feeling their heartbeat quicken.
“Kite —”
“Look,” the blue girl whispered. Her breath clouded the mirror, and when the fog faded, the glass had been repaired.
Tav stared at the face in the mirror: the purple hair like a crown of thorns, the glittering eyes like flecks of mica. Their face was obscured by the black iron mask that arched and curled into playful twists — only to end in jagged edges. It was a face that would draw blood.
It was a face that demanded sacrifice.
“Beautiful,” sighed Kite; and that was true, too.
“It’s the face of a witch,” said Tav.
THE HEIR
Kite breathed again and the reflection vanished. “Welcome home.”
Tav said nothing, but the light in their eyes shuddered.
Kite ran her finger along the obsidian blade. “You can’t take her with you, precious.”
“Of course not. Why would Clytemnestra want me armed?” Tav sighed.
“You won’t live long enough to speak with the Witch Lord if you come bearing a witch-killer.”
Tav nodded, and slowly unsheathed the blade Eli had gifted to them. “Keep it safe,” they said. “It’s part of her.”
“I know,” said Kite, accepting the black needle.
A moment of charged silence fell between them.
“I think you’ll live,” Kite said finally. “You have the mouth of a survivor.”
“Well, I haven’t died yet, and I love a challenge.” Tav ran a hand through their short hair. “Oh, but there’s one thing I need. If you want me to put my neck on the guillotine for your rebellion.”
They tossed the keys in the air. They glittered once, and then a giant magpie swooped down and swallowed them whole. The bird landed on Kite’s shoulder. Kite took a single feather from its wing and ran the edge across her mouth.
“Done,” she agreed.
“Thank you.” Tav looked dow
n. “Take care of Eli for me, okay, boy?” They leaned over and scratched the Beast’s scaly ear.
Kite stilled.
Not even witches could see the Beast when he became invisible.
“What are you?” Without thinking, she placed a hand on Tav’s chest, reaching for their lungs, or maybe a chest cavity filled only with stardust. Tav inhaled sharply, then placed their hand on Kite’s. Kite gasped as a circular burn spread over her skin, leaving traces of ash and frost. Tav gently placed Kite’s hand on her own knee.
“You have to ask,” they said. Their voice was hoarse, as if their vocal cords had been singed by the contact.
“I’m sorry. I will.”
Kite stood and looked around for a moment, taking in the plastic toys and the piles of fabric. The spilled eyeliner pooling on the vanity. The crystal vials of potpourri and almond extract. The room looked like it belonged to a mad king or an unsupervised child.
There were crayon drawings scribbled on the wall.
Kite twirled the feather between her thumb and forefinger, aware of Tav’s gaze.
“We will, you know,” she added, bending over and picking up the Beast. “We’ll take care of her.”
Then she walked through the wall and took another step toward regicide.
Fifty-One
THE HEALER
Kite had left the invitation on the vanity, pinned with a jewelled broach in the shape of an owl. One of the bird’s eyes was missing. Another souvenir from the City of Ghosts, another trinket for the children to play with. Tav was sure the broach had been left intentionally — for all her dreamy slowness, Kite was an important part Clytemnestra’s revolution, and she had experience with the curiosity of children.
Tav pinned the broach to their vest and picked up the Witch Lord’s calling card.
Tav could see the magic burning in every fibre, and the smell of gunpowder and gardenias was overpowering. They understood: it was a password, a key, a summons that would bring any one creature into the Coven. A portal.
Tav wondered if it would let them leave again.
The vanity looked like something that had been picked up at a flea market, stuffed with costume jewelry, and left out in the rain for a few weeks.
Cam would have loved it.
If he were here, he would have insisted on doing their makeup so that under the mask was a second one, fierce and fantastical. He would have offered to come with them even though he knew he couldn’t. He would be standing here, beside them, making jokes to hide the worry in his eyes.
Cam will be okay, Tav told themselves. He’s part of the Labyrinth. He’s probably back in the under-labyrinth. After all of this, you’ll find him.
“Don’t bleed on your mask,” said a high-pitched voice. Tav turned around. A tiny girl in an oversized T-shirt, clutching a broken Game Boy, stood in the centre of the room. Her feet were bare.
“Who are you?”
“That’s a rude question to ask,” said the girl. “You’re leaking.”
Tav brought a hand to their face in time to catch the black feather that fell from one eye.
What the fuck? They dropped it and looked up at the girl. “What are you doing here?”
“We came to watch.” Another child appeared, naked and sticky with popsicle juice. “Clytemnestra told us to give you a gift and then leave. But we’re staying.” They both giggled.
“I always like an audience.” Tav bowed deeply. The children giggled harder. “It’s showtime, kids.”
They twirled the invitation around in their fingers for a moment and then brought it to their lips. They kissed it gently, tenderly, letting their body communicate how much they wanted to know the other party. Their lips left a stain on the gold paper.
The card shimmered, glittered, and the kiss caught fire. Tav released the edge and it hung, suspended in the air, burning.
Where the paper peeled away, shedding sparks and ash like a snake shedding its skin, was a hole.
A perfect circle of nothing.
A pathway.
Through the hole Tav could see glimpses of white light, could almost hear the laughter of insects. The smell of plum skin and vinegary wine was stronger now. They could almost taste the burnt perfume of the Coven. Of the Witch Lord.
“Don’t forget your toy,” said the little girl, tossing something sparkly in the air.
Tav caught the keys, glittering silver under the light of the Earth’s moon. The second the keys touched their palm, the air in front of them rippled like heat waves. Black and chrome. Their Kawasaki Vulcan 900. The mermaid spray-painted on the fender, the paint fading and chipped. They’d have to touch it up when this was all over. Tav reached out and stroked the bike, the soft leather of the seat soothing their fingers. They were already feeling less alone. I missed you, girl, they thought.
Tav grinned at the children. “Thanks, kids,” they said. “If I don’t come back, you can keep my shades.” Tav nodded their head at the cheap aviators they had left on the vanity.
“If you don’t come back, we’ll probably all die,” said the popsicle child, licking juice off a dirty elbow.
Tav wasn’t listening. The familiar bite of adrenalin had woken them up, and everything was sharper, clearer, brighter. The glow of recklessness and danger warmed their bones. It was time for another story. It was time for a terrible mistake.
Tav grinned as they swung one leg over their motorcycle.
It felt good to be back.
Fifty-Two
THE HEART
Darkness. Warmth. The Heart was an acorn, an embryo, a spore. There were no dreams in this place, only stillness and the promise of rest.
A shrill voice cut through the silence. Wake up. We need to wake up.
The Heart stirred but resisted the call. It was sinking into oblivion, losing itself in the synaptic dance of a human brain.
The voice came again, sharp as glass. Wake up now.
Eli wrenched her eyes open. A headache stabbed at her temples and gold lights flickered at the corners of her vision. But she was awake, and whole — at least for now.
She was also alone.
Eli stared up at the bruised sky through spiny gothic spires. Her vision was blurry. She fumbled around for her glasses and jammed them on her face. Then she rose on unsteady legs and asked the walls, “Where’s Tav?”
“Oh, they’ve gone to a fancy dinner party. Sorry you weren’t invited!” Clytemnestra popped into the room. She was juggling skulls and seemed in high spirits; high treason suited her.
Eli stopped breathing. “You sent them to the Witch Lord.”
“They agreed to be our delegate. You missed so much while you were convulsing, lazy girl!”
Eli ran a thumb over the pearl blade. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” she said. “Inviting the Witch Lord into your home. If you open her portal, she might just come through it.” The movement of the skulls in the witch’s hand was making her dizzy.
Clytemnestra grinned. “I wouldn’t be interested in playing if it wasn’t dangerous.”
“Can you stop that? I can’t think.” Eli waved a hand at the spinning bones.
Clytemnestra stuck her tongue out. “You were more fun as a child.”
Eli’s blade pierced the skull of a squirrel, pinning it to the wall behind the witch. The other bones crashed to the ground as Clytemnestra lost her rhythm.
“I take it back,” said the baby Warlord as Eli crossed the room and wrenched the blade from stone. “There’s still some fun in you.”
“So you’re sending Tav as an offering.”
“Our delegate. An exciting distraction while my tame Heir opens a back door into that cranky old building.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m not from here,” said Eli shortly. “I know what ‘delegate’ means. What I don’t understand is why you want to use Tav as bait.”
“Because” — Clytemnestra spun a pirouette — “the best bait bites back. Don’t worry, your girlfriend will be there to look after them.
”
Eli’s stomach dropped. “I’m going after them.”
“Sorry, sweet prince, we’re not sending the Heart into the hands of the Witch Lord. I’m sure your friends will be fine. And if not, Kite gave us some delicious chaotic magic to blow things up. There will be revelry soon enough. I promise to save you a piece of the Coven to destroy.” Her voice was sweet and sticky as candy.
Eli suddenly realized that Clytemnestra was trying to comfort her. Never had the little girl ever offered to share. This was her attempt at kindness.
The knowledge only made Eli more anxious. Why was the Warlord keeping her from Tav? She was the most powerful thing in the world — the Heart — and Tav might need her.
“Am I a prisoner?” she asked quietly. “Is the Heart your plaything now?”
“No!” cried Clytemnestra, and then she shrugged. “Well, yes. But you knew that when you retrieved it for me. You knew that when you came back here. You could have gone to the Coven, to the forest, to the home your ruined witch-mother left abandoned. You could have gone anywhere, but you keep coming here. You keep asking Tav to bring you here.”
“I didn’t ask —”
“Maybe not with words, but with your material. With your thoughts. With your desires. You came to me, even though you are not a child. And we have sheltered you, because you have something that belongs to us.” Her eyes shone with fervor, and when she blinked, flecks of rust speckled her face.
“The Heart doesn’t belong to anyone.” Eli stepped away from the girl warily, hands hovering instinctively over thorn and bone.
“It belongs to my world.” The witch bared her teeth. “And we are taking that world back. You might be dressed like a made-daughter, but you are our Heart. And I forbid you from going anywhere near the Witch Lord.” The air around her head crackled with thunder and lightning, and hot pink sparks burst like fireworks around her forehead — a garish halo. The scent of chemical smoke filled the room.
Eli’s eyes flashed, and behind the yellow slits of a reptilian monster were the storm clouds of a distant planet. She looked around her prison. “No chains today? Don’t tell me you’re getting soft.”
The Boi of Feather and Steel Page 20
