by S. L. Prater
Alec broke first. “I need your help.”
“I’m not inclined to give you any.” Marnie caught herself staring at his shirtsleeves, wondering how many armbands he might have hidden beneath them. She tried not to care. The goal wasn’t to win . . .
“You don’t trust me. I understand that,” Alec said.
She put a hand on her hip. “No, I don’t think you do.” The demon blade danced in her boot.
The constable lowered his voice. “I might be able to fix this communication difficulty we are having . . . by extending some trust to you, first.”
Marnie straightened. “I’m listening.”
Alec glanced at the alchemist. “Shar Zerba is my aunt.”
“Hmm.” Marnie focused her witch senses, wondering if the constable was lying. Golden bands of magic showed themselves about the room. They hovered like friendly wisps on his shoulders and circled his face. The magic that favored Alec’s russet skin smelled like sunlight. “I imagine not a lot of people know this about you.”
“No one at the constabulary knows this about me and for good reason.”
She dipped her chin, once and sharply, in assent. “They say no witchlings have been executed since you became constable.”
“And as long as I remain constable, children never will be.”
“Then let’s hope you remain.”
Alec lowered himself into a floral armchair. Marnie sat across from him in a matching seat. They kept their eyes on one another, uneasy allies for the moment.
The constable prepped his cup of tea from the cart: chamomile with a squeeze of lemon. “I will have an easier time remaining the constable if I can continue to appease the wishes of Bishop Jericho.”
“I imagine so.” Marnie poured her own tea, wishing it were a cigarette. “What does he want from you?”
“Something unpleasant,” he said.
She appreciated his candor, but her heart sank.
Alec explained to the room that Shar Zerba, and several of her colleagues, had identified a wild area of the island, north of the walls, which was both rich in resources and, unfortunately, impregnated with demon filth.
“It corrupts the heart of the surrounding jungle.” Shar helped herself to a handful of sliced red apples, popping them in her mouth one at a time with long, elegant fingers. “We have been cleansing it, slowly, carefully. The camp has grown in size more recently; witches from all over Loreley have joined us to assist. It’s unincorporated territory, you see.”
“Squatters rights.” Jack was beaming. His fingers tapped an enthusiastic rhythm against his kneecaps.
“Witch-owned land,” Shar said dreamily. “We call it Magus District. It is a crude place to live at the moment, but given more time . . .”
Marnie’s heart swelled at the thought. Witches didn’t own anything aside from the occasional small business or market stall. None of them were estate owners. Never an heiress.
Alec stirred his tea with a small spoon. “Bishop Jericho sent a small group of watchmen and priests to evaluate this demonic magic alleged by the witches from Magus District. It ended tragically for one of the priests. He was murdered by—”
“—trees,” Shar insisted. They glared at one another. “Demon-poisoned trees under the control of a possessed animal. I witnessed it all myself.”
Alec sighed, shoulders slumping. “According to the witches, a demon retaining the body of a bear has enough power to do such a thing.”
Marnie abandoned her teacup on the cart between them. “And, as usual, the Cloth maintains a witch is responsible.”
“It is suspicious,” Alec stressed.
“Because your mind is small.” Shar crunched another apple slice heatedly, glowering at her nephew.
“Animal possession is a subject found only in witch lore. No documented cases—”
“None documented by the church, you mean!” Shar spat. “Academic witches and magicians have been recording such things for millennia! And in addition to myself as a witness to these events, I’ve provided numerous others, a watchman included among them!”
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed. “The bishop insists the watchman could have been bewitched. He was outnumbered by so many witches at the time, and they have many motives to protect their own.”
Shar threw her hands up, exasperated. “Again with this bewitchment nonsense. There isn’t such a spell—I’ve told you! No one can change a person’s mind with magic! If we could, we would be living at the tops of castles instead of in the gutters of them!”
“There isn’t such a spell?” Marnie murmured. She had no idea how it worked, to be sure, but had always believed it must be possible. So many were convinced—even her own mother and father. Even Jack, the cleverest witch she knew. She had always wondered which spirit would lend itself to something like bewitchment. It didn’t fit well with any of their personalities.
“Back to the matter at hand, please.” Alec raised his palms in surrender.
“I assure you, Constable,” Marnie said, “demons do not require a witch to do terrible deeds. Any living thing could feed the creature what it needed.”
“And how would you know that? What evidence do you have?” Alec studied her over his teacup. “Only a street witch spends time with demons, and you are not one, I’m told. Brother Doyle mentioned you had discovered a way to trap the creature from Glint to save a little witchling, but he could not give me any details. If you would now offer me something, I would be more inclined to entertain the idea that a witch is not always to blame for demon magic.”
She scooped up her tea to occupy her hands. Her knee bounced in agitation, rattling her cup. She swallowed a quick mouthful to calm herself. It was cold.
They sat in silence, pointedly not looking at each other.
Alec finally broke the quiet, leaning back in his chair. “This is what I expected. No trust. No communication. You’ve just demonstrated for me the problem I am facing at the witch camp. Either I must prove there is a bear demon”—he exaggerated the term—“or I must bring into custody the witch responsible.”
“And that’s why you’re here?” Marnie scoffed. “You expect me to help you harass a brilliant group of witches so you can find the one you deem responsible—a group who is no doubt keeping the entire island safe by regularly cleansing those jungles. They deserve medals, not an interrogation.”
Shar smiled proudly at her boldness. Jack fidgeted in his seat.
“I don’t want you to harass anyone,” Alec said. “I just need you to come with me.”
Shar harrumphed.
Marnie frowned. “Because I’m the ‘hero witch,’ right? If they see me with you—”
“—they might just talk to me a little,” the constable said. “They might be a little more cooperative with my searches and my questions about what I find amongst them.”
Marnie made a derisive noise in her throat. “If you brought me with you, I would undermine you at every turn. I would harass you to the best of my ability, and I’m told my harassment skills are topnotch.” Jack wholeheartedly agreed. “I won’t disturb the witches. I would find proof of this bear demon.”
“Good, then it’s settled,” Alec said. “You’ll accompany me during my investigation. You look for your evidence while I hunt down mine.”
“I won’t help you hang a witch,” Marnie spoke through her teeth.
“I don’t want to hang a witch. I’d much rather hang a bear.”
“You don’t believe there is such a thing.”
“Precisely,” Alec said. “This has been a surprisingly pleasant and enlightening meeting, but I must be off. I have other assemblies to prepare for yet today. I’ll be having dinner at the palace with the bishop and the emperor to discuss our plans for the Magus District investigation. They want to know how I will bring resolution to this demonic poison in our jungles north of the walls.”
Marnie choked on her tea at the mention of Bran. She cleared her throat. “Does the empe
ror know you plan to take me along on this mission in search of a, uh, demon?”
Jack chortled into his fist.
Alec sat his empty cup on the cart. “Not yet. You are his hand-selected apprentice. I assumed he would be pleased. Will this be a problem?” He glanced at Jack who continued to poorly control his amusement. “Has he already assigned you elsewhere?”
“Hmm. It’s not a problem, per se.” Marnie worried the inside of her cheek. “In your meeting this evening, I suggest you stress that my role in this will be more diplomatic than yours. I won’t actually be encountering any demons, after all.” Excluding the pair in my shoe.
“Your safety is assured,” Alec said, eyes narrowing.
“Better yet, if you want His Majesty to approve the errand,” Marnie said, “just leave my name out of it completely. It’s for the best.”
* * *
Marnie awoke from a dead sleep. Something had jarred the mattress. She sat up in Bran’s bed, tangled in the covers, groggy and confused. The demon folding knife, fused to her ankle, vibrated drowsily. When her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could make out the emperor’s towering frame, hands hooked on his hips at the foot of the bed.
“What would you do if I told you I planned to traverse the dangerous jungle in search of a bear demon?” Bran kicked one of the potion books on the carpet away from his foot.
She rubbed her eyes. “I suppose I would lock you in a cupboard until you came to your senses.”
Blue moonlight lit up his glowering face. His black hair was in his eyes. The green emperor’s stole was a tangled, aggressive knot around his neck. “And yet, here you go, traipsing off after danger again, and I am expected to just let you, I suppose. With my blessing.”
She blinked at him for a time, still fighting to clear the fog of deep slumber from her mind. Marnie focused. The golden bands of magic emerged, floating like fiery wraiths caught in a breeze. She wrapped herself in them.
In a blink, she was flush with Bran, her hands on his chest. He jumped, startled.
“You can’t keep me in a cupboard,” she said softly. Magic danced across his face. The smell of an autumn night engulfed her.
“Don’t be cute,” he said. “I’m upset with you. And yes, I know it’s all my fault to begin with. This entire apprentice mess was my doing, but I truly had no idea they’d be dragging you away from me at every turn to go after demons. You could just say no to them, of course.”
Marnie rose on her toes and kissed his nose.
His shoulders relaxed subtly. “I’m furious. You should be quaking.”
“But I am.” She showed him her arms where her skin pebbled.
He ran his fingers up and down them. “Not the same thing,” he said, dropping his forehead lightly against hers. “Did you honestly believe Alec wouldn’t tell me you were part of his plan? I’m his emperor, after all.”
“Suggested, hoped . . . not believed,” Marnie said. “And you’re my emperor, too. Did he explain my role is diplomatic? I’ll be there to encourage better communication between Alec and the witches.”
“There’s quicksand in those jungles,” Bran grumped.
“And quicksand couldn’t hold me any more than a cupboard could.”
She stepped on his feet for a boost closer to his stubborn mouth. She kissed him. His rigid posture loosened as her tongue teased his. He wrapped her up, holding her tight.
“Come back to me,” he commanded, in that way only an emperor can.
“I swear,” she said in his ear. “Is Raif across the hall again tonight?”
“He is.”
“Then I’ll need to be quiet, so be careful with me.” Marnie slipped out of the straps of her nightgown. The fabric slid down her sides, landing in a heap on the carpet.
Bran’s brown eyes widened, drinking her in. “You were right: I’ll break first,” he said, as he pulled her into bed.
Chapter 13
It took one week to prepare a team. The jungles north of the city walls were notoriously thick and full of sharp crags, quicksand, and vicious carnivores. The safest and quickest way to reach the witch clearing was by steam ferry. A blood-red watchmen transport, sleek and blanched by sunlight, was selected for the job.
The ferry was named after the spirit Ammnon. Massive, mechanized, claw-like paddles used to aid in steering flanked either side of its deck. The metal claws were plated in copper, which reminded Marnie forebodingly of the gallows. Steam shot out of its chimneys as it followed a shoreline attacked by crashing waves under a brilliant, newly risen sun. The immense white walls of the capital fell away, replaced by sun trees, ceibas, bright flowers, and tangled vines. The canopy was a woven curtain of dark green foliage.
Against Marnie’s protests, Alec had added two watchmen and a priest to their party. On the deck of the Ammnon, the constable made introductions, but she immediately forgot their names, too distracted by the apprehension and distrust in their eyes.
The priest, at least, she approved of.
“It will be good for these men to witness what we accomplish in Magus District,” Brother Doyle said, cleaning sea spray off his glasses with his silver priest’s stole.
Marnie remained wary. At Shar’s suggestion, she and Jack had changed into thin brown boiler suits decorated with extra pockets sewn in by hand for the excursion. She tied her coffee-colored hair back with a kerchief. Humidity was thick in the air around them. She undid the buttons at her collar, opening the top to cool her body. Her demon knife was tucked in her left rider’s boot, alongside the cuff of her pants. It hummed aggressively when the priest stood nearby.
The watchmen clustered close to one another on the deck of the swaying ferry, staring anxiously at her and the ink marking that peaked over her apprentice badge. They spoke in whispers, quieting if she stepped too close. She had only brought one armband with her: the antler bone piece. The magic wafting off the carved spirit runes still smelled like wildflowers. She sniffed it for comfort.
The watchman with cropped black hair and a short beard became seasick. He threw off his short crimson stole, clutching his stomach. Then he leaned over the side of the ship and heaved.
“I could cure you with a witch’s kiss,” Jack quipped.
The watchman’s companion pulled his revolver and aimed it. Pistons in the automated reloader spun. The short barrel glowed. He cocked the clockwork hammer.
Jack froze, arms raised in surrender. “Only teasing,” he said sheepishly. A spider crawled out of his pocket. He tucked it back inside quickly, then resumed showing his palms. “Believe me when I say I have no desire to kiss either of you.”
“Put that away,” Alec barked.
The watchman with light blond hair and a scar above his eye hesitated before obeying the constable. It was lucky he lowered his weapon when he did. Marnie was seconds from transporting him into the ocean. He removed his peaked hat and rubbed his forehead. His hair was matted with sweat and sea spray.
He was younger than the average watchman, impulsive, his face pale and unlined. Worse yet, even after he holstered his weapon, he continued to look terrified, which worried Marnie the most.
Nothing good could come from that. She would keep her distance.
“There it is,” Jack shouted, gesturing to the shore. He tucked away another rogue spider, a bright yellow one.
Trees and vines dissolved into a muddy field with a simple, handmade wharf. Fishing boats dotted the waters. Men and women carrying heavy nets paused to stare at the ferry as it docked, lowering the slip. Canvas tents—more than Marnie could count—and simple wooden cabins were planted along the tree line, following the shallow creek that cut through the field. The creek ended at a massive blue bonfire. Marnie could smell the magic pouring off the flames from the dock. It smelled like a storm, like thunder and sleet.
“Look at all of them!” Jack’s smile was sunshine.
The men and women moving in and out of their makeshift homes—fishing, weaving, leading horses—were all witches, and the
diversity among them was shocking. Some were dark-skinned Acheans. Others had the pale white hair common in Stejin. More appeared to be native to the island, with olive skin and dark wavy or curling hair. All of them were covered in ink: witch runes, spells, and spirit symbols. Most of them wore little clothing. None of them wore shoes, like Jack.
Marnie agreed. “I’ve never seen so many witches in one place. Even in Terra District.”
“And it’s almost theirs, witch-owned land.” Jack beamed.
Alec offered Marnie his arm as they disembarked. In the name of peace, she allowed him to escort her up the muddy field, their disparate crew in tow. They marched for the bonfire, gathering long looks and whispers from the witch residents.
The canvas tent nearest the blue blaze was the largest and most centralized. Marnie saw tables through its open flap piled with alchemical equipment: beakers, burners, a microscope, and a bubbling glass gasogene.
“That is my temporary home,” Shar said. “Follow me this way—”
Her tour was interrupted by a clash of voices and crashing wood. Brother Doyle cried out in alarm.
“That’s enough,” Alec shouted, stomping off in the direction of the fighting. “Let him go!”
Marnie and Jack hurried, Shar and Doyle at their heels. The bearded watchman was missing his hat and looking disheveled, his red stole slipping off one shoulder. He held a man on the ground, his knee in the witch’s back. The young blond watchman pointed his revolver at a wooden chest nestled between barrels at the back of Shar’s tent.
A crowd began to form. The grouping of witches muttered angrily.
“He needs to put his revolver away,” Marnie said.
“Calm down!” Alec’s voice was gruff. “We are guests here. We are not in any danger. Holster your firearm.”
The blond watchman kept his back to the constable. His elbows were locked, arms shaking, revolver pointed at the wooden box. Its barrel glowed bright red. “That’s a demon symbol.” His voice trembled.
Marnie leaned to look. Diridge’s ram, its bone-colored horns spiraling out of its head, was painted upside down on the wood.
