by C. S. Wilde
The train crossed a few small towns, stopping at a shifter village called Wulfham. As far as Mera could see, no one boarded.
“Wolves hate us more than humans do,” Bast answered her unspoken question, and then they were moving again. “Other shifters are usually less… temperamental.”
“Temperamental? You openly call werewolves mutts. Of course they hate you.”
A certain anger swirled behind his irises. “I have never, and will never, call a werewolf a mutt. Understand?”
Oh, she’d struck a nerve.
Mera 1, Bast 0.
“Fine. But you can’t deny the fact that most fae are snobbish assholes, and that’s why everyone hates you all.” She took the last sip of her mocha and nearly spat it out—it had gone cold.
“You’re right. I can’t.” Something glinted in his eyes, but before Mera had time to wonder what it might be, he turned to the window and watched the passing scenery.
“Your borough is the most corrupt in Hollowcliff,” she said. A fact rather than an assumption.
Bast ignored her.
“I know it’s because royal Sidhe refuse to abide by Tagradian law. They think they’re more than the rest of us,” she pushed. “It’s not your district’s fault, by the way. I get that.”
“You do?” He raised his brow.
“Yeah. You can’t fully enforce the law and keep the peace with the courts at the same time. Which is why you get carte blanche on a lot of matters. Avoiding civil war comes before following the law.”
“Your point?”
“You’re a royal Sidhe working as a detective.”
His nostrils flared as he glared at her. “I’ll pretend you didn’t just accuse me of corruption.”
“That’s not what—”
“Mera.” His lips formed a thin line. A mix of outrage and fury burned behind his eyes.
She watched his profile, all sharp, squared lines; then the slight hollow between his jaw and cheekbones that became evident when he swallowed. Strands of loose hair hung above his temples like threads of starlight. Even in his anger, Bast was beautifully sad. And this sorrow inside him, this hurt, it somehow resonated with Mera’s own.
“Your game sucked,” she grumbled.
“Yes, it did.”
The train halted abruptly and Bast nearly slammed into her. He’d been fast enough to stop before the table, but his upper body arched over it and he’d nearly pinned Mera against her seat.
“Hey, watch it!”
He looked down, shooting her a bewildered grin. The loose strands of his silver hair making him resemble a madman. “Can you feel it?”
Magic. Sizzling, boiling, magic. With a metallic taste.
Whoever had been following them had come out to play.
“What are you talking about?” she lied, because as far as Bast could tell she was human, and humans couldn’t sense magic.
This magic wasn’t similar to Bast’s, though. It was more chaotic, less stable.
Witch magic.
The metal in the carts groaned loudly before the entire train boosted up, then stopped. For a split second, Mera was weightless. It felt like floating in a current, letting the ocean take her where it wanted.
She drifted midair along with Bast, their suitcases, and the shards of glass from the broken window as the metal twisted around them.
Reaching out for her, he pulled Mera to him, cocooning her with his body.
Was he protecting her?
He thought she was human, so yes. He was. Which made Mera feel terribly guilty for implying he might be corrupt.
The warmth of his skin irradiated into her as the train dropped with fury. They crashed to the ground with a violent shrieking boom, the screech of metal bursting around them.
Bast groaned, and Mera immediately freed from his grasp. “Are you okay?” She checked him for broken ribs or limbs, but he seemed fine.
“Yeah,” he winced. “Been worse.”
Fury swirled inside her, a type of rage she hadn’t felt in a long time. The same type that had killed her mother.
Peeking out of the glassless window, she spotted a hooded figure standing a few carts ahead in front of the train.
“Come out from wherever you are, detectives!” the figure yelled.
Bast swayed as he forced himself to stand. Once he balanced on his feet, he straightened his posture and pulled down the edges of his gray vest. He wiped away the shards of broken glass that peppered his white shirt, then watched the hooded figure who had just upended an entire train.
“Look at that, kitten. We have company.”
Chapter 6
Fan-fucking-tastic.
As a detective in the human borough, pretending to be a human, Mera wouldn’t be able to use her powers. Sure, she had spelled people into telling the truth, but a siren’s song could be like a toned-down version of a vamp’s glamour, so it usually went under the radar.
However, to fight a witch who could lift an eight-ton train as if it were made of paper, she would need more. Much more.
The macabre.
No. Not that. Never that.
Maybe Mera could do this old school. After all, supernaturals bled just like humans.
Back in Clifftown, she’d often faced misbehaving vamps and shifters. A stake to the heart or a silver bullet had been more than enough, but bloodsuckers and morphs had close to no magic in them.
Witches and warlocks? Totally different ballgame.
They were humans with a talent for magic, which was enhanced by the runes they tattooed over their bodies. Evanorians might not be as powerful as faeries, but they got damn close.
Exchanging a knowing glance with Bast, Mera tapped the gun holster attached to the left side of her belt, then the dagger sheathed on the right, and hoped they would be enough.
As she and her temporary partner stepped out of the train and walked ahead, she noticed he had a mad glint in his eyes, which matched the slight grin on his face. It was as if a bewildered force—or presence—both beautiful and terrifying had taken over him.
He also seemed utterly unafraid of the witch who had come for them.
“Bast? You okay?”
“Never better.” He didn’t turn to her, his gaze fixed on the hooded figure standing ahead.
A long dirt patch followed the train tracks. Left and right, endless green prairies unfurled toward the horizon.
People slowly got out from the crumpled wreckage, and Mera spotted the groups of escorts, businessmen, and merchants helping each other. A warm sensation spread in her chest. From what she could gather, most passengers were injured but not badly. Some limped while others supported them, but most could walk on their own.
When they spotted the witch ahead, they gasped and ran as fast as they could. They clearly knew what witches could do, specially one who had levelled an entire train.
Mera and Bast stopped at a safe distance from their opponent. She couldn’t see the witch’s face from underneath the hood. The woman was completely clad in a black robe with a silver insignia shaped like a firebird. A belt riddled with weapons hung around her waist.
“Were you following us before?” Mera asked.
The witch nodded.
“What do you want?”
She pointed at Bast, displaying a swirling ink that decorated her skin up to her fingers. “It has been foreseen that you’ll be his doom. Therefore, you must die, Sebastian Dhay.” The witch craned her neck at Mera. “You may leave, human.”
“The fuck I will,” Pulling her gun from the holster, she removed the safety and aimed.
The witch laughed, leaning back slightly, and Bast screamed for Mera, but it was too late.
As the witch bent forward, a wave of magic burst from her body; a tsunami of wild energy ready to crush her and Bast. The magic’s yellow flares cut the air toward them so fast, that Mera didn’t have time to pull the trigger.
The blast threw them both on the ground.
All breath left Mera’s lungs
when her back slammed against the dirt. She closed her fingers around thin air—where her gun should have been—but it had slipped from her hand, landing some eight feet away.
Fucking witches.
“Stay down, kitten,” Bast ordered as he jumped to his feet and closed his fists.
Darkness swam down his elbows, enveloping his lower arms and hands into a void, almost as if a part of Bast was made by the deepest night Mera had ever seen.
The darkness spread up from his skin, enveloping him in a black aura. Maybe Mera had lost her mind, but she could spot tiny stars twinkling in the void.
At the sight, the witch swallowed dry, but didn’t hesitate. “Captionem!”
Bast’s arms snapped toward his torso as if an invisible viper had wrapped around him. His angry void writhed like a caged animal, the same way Bast did. He pushed against the magic but couldn’t break free.
His bun fell loose from the effort, freeing his long, moonlight-silver hair. His eyes widened with shock. “How’s a witch—”
She took a pendant from underneath her robe and showed it to him; a golden hexagon with a red ruby attached to the middle.
Power enhancers.
Mera had heard about them, but never actually seen one since they were illegal.
“Ah, so you’re cheating,” Bast snarled as he fought to break free. “Seems hardly fair. The runes inked on your body should’ve given you enough advantage.”
“I know who I’m up against.” The witch put the pendant back underneath the fabric. “Besides, assassins and bounty hunters never play fair. Don’t you recognize my insignia?” She pointed to the silver bird stamped on her robe.
Bast stopped fighting against the invisible grip, his chest heaving. “House Fillanmore,” he grumbled.
No way.
House Fillanmore was an urban legend. Mercenary witches hired for hits on important people. They made the job look like an accident or a death by natural causes, which was why law enforcement assumed claims of their existence were just stories. If a death looked and smelled like a heart attack or a suicide, it usually was exactly that.
In most cases.
Mera glanced back at the crumpled train. House Fillanmore’s supposed discretion was definitely out of the window.
The witch stepped closer to Bast, her movements sinuous and fluid.
Good. As long as she was distracted with him, she wouldn’t notice Mera crawling toward her gun.
The mercenary removed a dagger from the belt around her robe. It had a curvy yet sharp blade, and the silver handle was encrusted with red emeralds. “Killing you will not bring me joy, sweet prince.” She raised the dagger and ran the blade’s belly down his cheek. “You’re a fine specimen of your kind.”
“You have no fucking clue,” he grumbled before a black wave of energy burst from his core, flinging the witch away and cutting the air above Mera’s head.
Bast’s eyes went fully black as flaming night—that was the only way to describe it—bloomed from his fists.
He grinned, and Mera could swear his canines had grown sharper.
The witch stood up, blood trickling down her forehead. The impact had pushed her hood back to reveal a girl with lush red hair and tribal tattoos over her face and neck. She couldn’t be much older than eighteen, but witches loved a good old magic facelift.
Considering the strength of her attacks, this one must be fifteen going on one hundred.
Mera finally reached her gun and stood up, aiming at the witch’s head. “Stop!” She ordered. “You’re under arrest!”
“Your bullets are worthless, human,” she snapped.
Wrong. Mera had packed special bullets with the Cap’s approval. These babies were granted on special inter-borough missions. Mera wouldn’t waltz in Tir Na Nog with normal weaponry. She wasn’t stupid.
“These bullets are made of iron. They might not stop you completely, but they will cut through any magic shield you create.” She shrugged. “Through your flesh and bone, too.”
The witch cursed Mera under her breath but made no sign to attack. Instead, she raised her hands slowly in surrender.
Bast glared at Mera with those beastly eyes and snarled, as if he were a wild animal and she’d stolen his prey.
“Bast?”
“The honor to kill should be mine.” He stepped closer, ready to attack her.
She kept her aim at the witch but wondered if she should pivot the gun toward her new partner. “Bast, what the hell are you doing?”
Shaking his head, he halted. His eyes turned blue again and the whipping tentacles of night over his fists disappeared. He blinked at Mera and straightened his stance, once again the fae she knew.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his tone strained. “Good job.”
She would have to ask him about this night-flaming-demon shenanigan later. They had more pressing concerns right now.
Glancing away, she focused on the witch. “I thought house Fillanmore was known for their discretion,” Mera nodded to the crumpled train behind her. “What changed?”
“I wanted to take my new pendant for a test run,” she explained simply, eyeing Bast as he approached with a pair of cuffs in his hand. “Our leader approved.”
“Yeah? And who hired you?” Mera pressed.
“Humans,” the woman spat with disgust. “You think you’re so powerful with your gadgets, but you’re all so ignorant.”
Mera sensed the wave of magic swirling inside the witch. “Don’t even think about—”
“Captionem!”
The magic was faster than a thought. Mera fired but missed the witch’s head by an inch. Her gun clanked on the ground, and she tried to pick it up, but her body didn’t move.
Mera floated a few steps above the earth, trapped in the air. “Bitch!” she spat as magic twirled around her and squeezed.
Bast grumbled under his breath, a shield of night and stars standing between him and the witch. That’s why the magic hadn’t worked on him.
He certainly learned his lessons.
The redhead shook her index finger left and right at Mera. “Time to let the grownups play, human.”
Bast’s shield vanished into thin air. Licking his lips, he threw the cuffs on the ground. “I suppose an arrest isn’t an option here?”
“Either you die, or I do.”
“I see.” He and the witch began walking in circles like two beasts about to prowl. “How much did they pay you, red?”
“A hundred thousand coins.”
He whistled. “That’s a lot. I’ll double that if you give me the name of the person who wants me dead.”
“Don’t you see my house’s emblem, pixie?” She tapped the insignia across her chest.
“Ah, so your famous code of honor isn’t as flexible as your discretion.”
The assassin smiled as yellow neon flares that smelled like watermelon spun around her, enveloping her body in three cutting rings of magic.
“You know, that’s an oxymoron,” Mera noted from her invisible prison, not bothering to try and break free—she knew she couldn’t. “Bounty hunters have no honor.”
“It’s why house Fillanmore’s prices are exorbitant,” Bast countered as night flames sprouted from his skin and his eyes became beady-black again. “They rarely go back on a bounty.”
The outer side of the yellow rings morphed into several pointy shapes, and in one impulse, the witch flung them toward Bast and Mera. The magic daggers swarmed upon them.
“Too easy.” Bast chuckled.
A cloud of night shot from his hands, ripping through the air, and sucked the daggers into a void.
All except one.
It pierced through Bast’s night and hit Mera in her stomach, a hot poker that slammed right through her.
Motherfucker, it hurt!
She held the screams that pushed out, but tears coursed down her cheeks anyway. The magic burned inside her gut, hissing and merciless. The assassin must’ve used the necklace’s power to make one inv
incible dagger for Bast. It missed its target and hit Mera, though.
Tough luck.
The magic trapping her dwindled, and Mera fell to the ground. The dagger lodged in her entrails vanished into thin air, and blood began flowing from the wound.
“Sakala wu, baku!” Bast screamed, his fangs sharpening.
Baku. It meant something bad, but Mera couldn’t remember what. She should have, since cursing had been the only interesting part of her school lessons in Faeish.
Sakala wu, on the other hand, had been much easier to remember. It meant “Fuck you.”
Mera spotted a deep cut on the upper side of his right arm. His white shirt soaked up the intense wine-red⸺a little darker than normal blood⸺that flowed from the wound, but Bast didn’t seem to notice.
So, the witch had created two deadly daggers, but only one had hit the target.
A storm of rumbling darkness rose from Bast’s body, thunder cracking inside a cumulus of void and stars without any lightning. It was magnificent and terrifying to watch.
The witch’s eyes turned fully white as a shield spread around her, protecting her from the surge of night that crashed upon her, swallowing the grass, trees, and even the train tracks ahead.
When the darkness receded, there was nothing but death in its wake. The metal in the tracks had corroded, nearby trees were left leafless and curling as if swallowed by a merciless fire, and black ashes covered the space green grass had occupied a moment ago.
The witch’s shield had protected her from the surge, though her skin looked reddish, and her fingers were dark with something that resembled frostbite.
Bast didn’t wait. He ran at her, punching through the shield. It shattered the way crystal breaks.
He jabbed her stomach with his blazing void, burning through her robe. The witch howled in pain but managed to cut a line over his chest with one of the daggers from her belt.
With one quick, mighty blast, she flung Bast away, slamming him straight into the train’s face.
The metal groaned as his body pierced a dent in it. He fell unconscious to the ground.
“Bast…” Mera stretched her hand toward him. She tried to stand up, but the pain from the wound spread across her body, rendering her useless and whimpering.
