It fell over Tav’s upturned face, kissing their cheeks and forehead. It fell over Eli’s blades and sparkled along their sharp edges. It fell over Kite and her sword, making them shine like diamonds. It fell over Cam like a hand stroking his hair and shoulders and lower back.
(It fell over the bodies of the two boys kissing on a rooftop, and there would be glitter in their clothes for weeks after, evidence of the perfect night they spent together. It fell over the woman on the deck putting out a cigarette on the plastic siding of the house. She made her hands into cups and reached up to catch the silver as it fell. It fell over the child spinning in dizzying circles, wearing their mother’s silk slip as a cape.)
The dust rained down over the world, and for a moment, everything was beautiful.
Seventy-Two
KITE
Morning sunlight poured from a single, steady star. The river had thawed, and its glassy silverblue water skipped and jumped over driftwood and rusted bicycle frames.
Kite stood on one of the flat rocks by the river and marvelled at the way the sun-warmed stone felt under her bare feet. It was a different kind of magic than the island, but it still felt like magic.
She had escaped.
As children, Kite and Eli had made many plans to escape. They had talked about running away to the City of Ghosts — Grace, Tav had called the human town, although the name didn’t fit.
They had planned a life of running and hiding from the Coven.
But now the Coven was destroyed, reclaimed by the twisting maze of ancient rock, its knowledge partially destroyed and the rest freed. The Heart was free. The daughters and discarded objects had come home.
The Witch Lord was dead, and Kite was alive.
She searched through her encyclopaedia of knowledge and history for something that would describe how she was feeling. And there it was, slipped between the pages of a vegan cookbook and a list of fears that had been set adrift in the sea on a paper boat.
Miracle.
It was a miracle.
ELI
The August heat pressed down on Eli and sweat beaded on her forehead and gathered under her breasts. She watched Kite watch the water. The smell of saltwater brushed against her senses and she was taken back to her childhood, to their time on the island together, to the taste of salty blood in her mouth.
Tav and Cam had gone looking for coffee and pastries.
“We’re going to have to find a new café,” Cam had lamented, after they had told him about the Hedge-Witch.
Kite looked happier than Eli had ever seen her.
Eli’s mind flashed to an image of Kite on a throne made of half-rotted fish and wire nets. She flinched and looked away, trying to blot out the memory with something, anything, else. When she turned back, Kite was still standing there, hair and arms limp. She had turned away from the river and was watching Eli.
Eli suddenly wished she could disappear.
But her body couldn’t do that anymore.
“I won’t touch you,” said Kite softly, her voice distorted slightly, vocal cords still swimming in water.
She’s more water than flesh, Eli thought.
Kite sighed slightly, and water dribbled out of her mouth. She could be the river you lie in, thought Eli. Unbidden, the feeling of branches breaking returned, and she clutched her chest, panicking.
“We’re okay,” she told herself. “We’re okay.”
No one answered her.
Being alone in her body again would take some getting used to.
The human heartbeat in her chest reminded her that she was wildly, ridiculously, incredibly alive. The idea that she was safe, that no one was hunting her, was so unfamiliar that laughter bubbled up in her throat like champagne and overflowed.
Kite waited.
She’s always waiting for you, Eli thought. You thought it was you, waiting on her — but you left, again and again. And she waited in the library, in the Coven, hoping you would return.
Did Kite experience worry? Loss? Had she missed her?
“We are the same,” said Kite. “Same magic, materials, everything. That’s what being trueborn means. She took a piece of her essence to make me.”
“You’re not the same,” said Eli, feeling in her entire body that this was the truth.
“You can’t even look at me.” Kite’s voice was cool and distant. But Eli caught the scent of rotting jetsam and understood that even witches could fear losing someone they loved.
“I’ve been looking at you since I was made,” said Eli quietly.
“But now you see her. You see the Witch Lord.”
“She’s gone.” Eli wanted the truth to heal her, but the wound continued to bleed.
A tremor across Kite’s lips, like a bird taking flight from her mouth. Trying to smile, or to hold a smile inside? Eli had no way of knowing. She had been so close to Kite for so long, and then had turned away from her — she had never really seen her for what she was. A girl trying to be free, in her own way.
The silence stretched between them like a shadow, both connecting them and keeping them apart.
Kite swallowed, and Eli was struck by the strangeness of the sound. Witches spat their feelings and words into the world, they didn’t hold on to their grief, hurt, fury. But Kite wasn’t like the other witches Eli had known. “She’s not gone in my dreams,” whispered Kite.
Eli suddenly understood. Dreams in the human world wouldn’t come to life, wouldn’t bury you in sand or tear out your throat. But they still did damage.
She crossed the distance between them in a few steps. She placed a hand on Kite’s cold, clammy face. “We’ll fight her together, always.”
“I smell like her.”
Eli kissed her, slipping her tongue into Kite’s mouth. Salty and sweet, and something else — something familiar. Something like home.
Eli pulled back and pressed her lips to Kite’s ear. “You taste like you.”
In the distance, she heard car tires on gravel. Tav had been sad that Ariel decided to stay in the City of Ghosts, but Cam had a ride handy as always. The lilting voices of their easy banter washed over Eli as she held Kite close to her body.
A honeybee buzzed around their heads, once, and a handful of purple flower petals swirled around them.
Finally, they were all together, and that made this corner of the universe home.
Epilogue: Homemakers
It was midnight in Grace, Ontario — which Tav would always think of as the City of Ghosts. After the adrenalin and magic of the last few weeks, Tav’s body was finally settling back into a circadian rhythm, their humanity welcoming the turning of day into night, the endless dance of the moon and Earth and sun.
The streets were abandoned, and the main square was lit up by only a few flickering streetlights — which was good, since what they were doing was illegal.
As Tav watched, Eli pressed the tip of the blade into the dry soil of an empty flowerbed and waited for the rosebush to bloom, the spiny briars stretching up to the sky. Even magical plants needed to photosynthesize. When it was done, she sheathed the thorn knife, and reached up to break off a small, delicate rosebud.
She looked up and met Tav’s gaze, and a current ran between them. The blade in Tav’s palm warmed against their skin. Eli smiled, and her reptilian eyes shone like two suns. She walked over to them and offered the rose.
“For you,” she said softly.
“Thank you.” They pressed their forehead against Eli’s.
“Working hard, I see,” said Cam, leaning against a lamppost. He had opted not to wear the glamour Kite had made for him tonight, claiming it was itchy and that no one was going to be around, anyway. He looked rakish and regal under the fluorescent lighting, blue agate shimmering across his shoulder blades.
Eli laughed and shifted slightly to look at him. “Is lookout duty so tiring? Do you need a break?”
“Nah, I’m tough.” He tapped his knuckles against a stone torso. “And stylish, of course.”
“Very cool,” agreed Tav. “You’re a punk rocker.”
“I live for sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”
“One out of three’s not too bad.”
“Hey, I do just fine with the boys!”
Their laughter intertwined with a lullaby in a minor key, sung by a voice that heralded the arrival of starfish and electric eels. The sounds played across the night air, soothing Tav’s anxious body. It would take a long time to learn to unwind the spool of tension in their body. Maybe one day they would untangle those knots. Or they would learn to live with them, and work around them.
“Will you ever go back?” Cam asked Kite. She was drawing intricate designs on the sidewalk with the moon sword. It seemed to have adopted her.
“I don’t know,” said Kite. “There is so much to learn here.” Her gaze flicked to Eli, her smile so bright it could catch fire.
Kite would go where Eli went. They were together now. They always would be.
“I’ll teach you how to make the best pour-over coffee in the country,” Cam promised.
Kite turned back to him, her expression grave. “Thank you, Cam. I would appreciate that.” The Beast wagged his tail, wings folded delicately on his back.
Tav reluctantly disentangled themselves from Eli and made a few more lines with the obsidian blade, following the pattern Kite had taught them. They were learning ritual magic, circles, and other small enchantments.
Cam drummed his fingers against the cement, feigning boredom. “Doesn’t the Witch Lord have more important things to do than defacing public property?”
“Witch Lord in exile,” Tav corrected him. “And it’s an empty title now that the monarchy has been disbanded, the Heart has been freed, and the Coven is empty.”
“It’s not empty,” said Kite dreamily. “The Coven welcomes all who love knowledge.” She sighed. “One day we will excavate the library from the soil where it is buried.”
“One day,” agreed Eli. “I know you miss it.”
“There will be trouble.” Kite’s lilting voice whispered of harmony even as she spoke of unrest. “Not all the witches are pleased that you took the power of the Heart away from them and that their rule has ended. Clytemnestra and the children are reckless. You may be needed to keep the peace. You can’t stay here forever.”
“I know.” Tav extended one arm and gently tugged aside space and time, showing their companions. A glint of bone-white marble peeked through the door. Then Tav closed it, carefully sewing the seams shut.
“Show-off,” muttered Cam.
Kite had gone back to crooning as she etched designs onto the ground.
“You think this will really keep the protesters safe?” asked Eli.
“It should.” Tav frowned again.
“It will,” said Kite. “The magic will hold.”
“What if they go outside the lines?”
“We can only do so much.” Tav shrugged helplessly. “I was at the meeting. Black Lives Matter is holding a rally here tomorrow afternoon. We don’t have the power to cast protective spells over the whole city, so this will have to be enough if the police get involved.”
“It’s good,” said Cam, getting serious. “It will help, Tav.”
“And I’ll be there, too,” they said. “If things get out of hand. I can still heal.”
“Yes, we know you’re a superstar.” Cam rolled his eyes, but couldn’t disguise the pride in his voice. “Want to finish this before sunrise? I’d rather not get arrested tonight if it’s all the same to you.”
Tav’s lips twitched into a smile, and they finished the design wordlessly, the only noise the scrape of obsidian on concrete. Then they stepped back to survey their work.
Outside the protective circle, the ghost was watching. It couldn’t cross the wards. Tav had seen it approach when they started. No one else had sensed it, not even Eli. Tav wondered if some of Eli’s own magic had been lost when she returned the Heart to its home. They hadn’t said anything about it. They just enjoyed the feeling of her body against theirs.
Tav raised their head and met the ghost’s gaze. They stared at each other for a long time — the monster who had suffered the loss of his home and family and had lived for generations taking revenge on anyone who crossed his path. And another kind of monster, a witch-human hybrid who had finally killed the witch responsible for the ghost’s pain. Who still had battles to fight.
Now Tav knew why he had followed them, protected them, fought with them. They were family. For the first time, Tav could see the faint outline of wings extending from his back, a memory of flight. Tav’s own wings had moulted a few days after the duel with the Witch Lord, but they could feel them under their skin, ready to be set free again.
Tav nodded, once, acknowledging the ghost’s presence. The hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth, and then he vanished. Tav had a sense that this time, he was gone for good. They hoped he had found peace.
They turned back to their companions, to their best friend with a waxed moustache and a ponytail that suited him really well. To their lover with crocodile eyes who used blades to coax roses out of the earth. Who knew Eli would be such a romantic? The other night she had surprised them with a bouquet of allium flowers and asked if they could go back to the purple fields together. Tav had said yes and tried not to cry.
Their eyes fell on Kite. They knew Eli wanted to take Kite to the fields with them. Tav wanted that, too, but it would take time. They hadn’t known Kite as long and were only beginning to learn her silence and song, to speak the language of her hair. So they flirted and brought her zebra mussel shells and handfuls of pink salt, and listened to her tell stories about a civilization on the moon. They were excited to see where that would go. In the meantime, Eli and Kite spent time alone together, climbing buildings to watch the stars and tell each other myths and taste each other. Tav didn’t mind. They felt loved.
The apartment was a little crowded, but they were making it work.
Tav turned back to the spells etched into the pavement. Tomorrow was important. They had told their mother about the rally, and she said she was already going. She seemed relieved to have heard from them.
They spun the blade in their hand and grinned.
Tav wasn’t done changing the world. They were going to build a new one, brick by brick.
Acknowledgements
The Feels
Thank you to the Dundurn team, who gave love and attention to this book during an incredibly difficult time. I wrote and edited The Boi of Feather and Steel in my pyjamas, often in bed, struggling with depression and anxiety during a global pandemic. I would not have been able to finish Tav and Eli’s story without the thoughtful feedback from my editor, Shannon Whibbs. (P.S. I think we can all agree that the cover is gorgeous, and that Sophie Paas-Lang is a genius designer.)
Thank you to my mother for reading to me when I was a kid, for giving me so many stories about girls having magical adventures, and for buying too many copies of my first book.
Thank you to my stepdad, Walt, for helping me pick out Tav’s motorcycle and teaching me the difference between a cruiser and a crotch rocket.
Thank you to every person who uses my correct pronouns.
Thank you to Élise Lapalme for answering my panicked questions about hot queer femme sex.
Thank you to my heart and home, Rida Abu Rass. I want to hold your hand forever.
نور حياتي
Thank you to every person who wore a mask, social distanced, and quarantined this year. You saved lives.
The Facts
Black Lives Matter was founded in 2013 by Alicia Garza, Patrisse Cullors, and Opal Tometi in response to the police murder of Trayvon Martin. BLM activists work to dismantle white supremacy through advocacy, action, protest, collective care, and raising awareness of systemic racism. Violence against Black bodies is very real in the United States and Canada. Non-Black queers: we need to stand up and support our Black family. Learn more and
donate at blacklivesmatter.com (United States) or blacklivesmatter.ca (Canada). Recommended reading: The Skin We’re In: A Year of Black Resistance and Power by Desmond Cole and Policing Black Lives: State Violence in Canada from Slavery to the Present by Robyn Maynard.
Finally, I want to write a bit about what it means to be a Canadian author living and writing in Canada. I grew up in Kingston, Ontario, on the traditional lands of the Haudenosaunee and Anishinaabe peoples, sixty-five kilometres from Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory. As a Canadian author, it’s important to recognize the Indigenous peoples living on the land they have always cared for, and to respect the rights and sovereignty of these nations. I did not write about Indigenous struggles in my book, but I encourage all readers — especially those in Canada — to think and learn more about our relationship to each other and to the land, and to support Indigenous girls, women, and Two-Spirit people. There are so many incredible books written by Indigenous authors telling their stories, so definitely add some to your reading list! Recommended reading: A Mind Spread Out on the Ground by Alicia Elliott and As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom Through Radical Resistance by Leanne Betasamosake Simpson.
About the Author
Adan Jerreat-Poole lives with chronic pain, depression, anxiety, and feminism. When they aren’t reading or writing, Adan likes to crochet, play video games, and do jigsaw puzzles. They have a Ph.D. in cultural studies and work at the intersections of disability justice and digital media. Adan lives in Kingston, Onatario, with their forever partner, Rida, and their two cats, Dragon and Malfouf.
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