His Fairy Share

by Meghan Maslow

  I blew out a frustrated breath as I packed a satchel with blank scrolls and quills for an afternoon in the archives. “I haven’t. I don’t really see the point, you know? At the same time, this will probably be the last time we’re in this realm, so I should look for some closure, right?”

  “Are you asking me, wizard?” Twig approached and ran a caressing finger down my cheek. “I’m probably not the best one to give you advice on family dynamics.”

  I chuckled. True. Twig’s family put the ‘fun’ in dysfunctional. At least his mother had his best interest at heart when she banished him from the clan. And Auric was, well, Auric. I’m not sure he could love, though if he did, Twig would be the focus of that love. And Twig’s family hadn’t let someone sell him into slavery and not raised any objection. Was there any coming back from that?

  Twig stroked the spot between my eyebrows, smoothing out the line trying to carve itself into my face. And it was only day two. Could I last a full week?

  “Would you meet with them?”

  He smiled, all gentleness again. “Probably. If for no other reason than to tell them to take a running leap into lich lava.”

  A satisfying image. Yet, the thought of seeing my parents and siblings again put a lump in my stomach the size of a fist. A fist they might as well have used on me when they’d turned their backs.

  “You’ve never told me much about them. You’ve only mentioned your grandmother and mother and how they taught you some of their herbal lore.”

  “Well, that’s why they own the most successful apothecary in the Lower Isle. Assuming my parents haven’t run it into the ground, that is. Which is likely.”

  “They do?”

  “I never mentioned it?”

  Twig shook his head. “How many siblings do you have?”

  “I must have told you that, at least.”

  Twig raised an eyebrow. “Nope.”

  “Well, why didn’t you ask? Even I saw the parchment with pictures of all of your half-siblings.”

  He shrugged. “There’s a couple more now. My dad is nothing if not prolific.”

  I snorted. Starfigs were a fruitful bunch. Though I had a hard time imagining Auric . . . you know what? Scrub that thought from my brain with a spell of forgetting. Besides, if Greyclover had anything to say about it, Auric’s carousing days were over.

  “Siblings?” Twig prompted.

  “I have an older brother, Mortimer. Yes, he’s as awful as his name implies. I also have a younger brother, Zacchaeus, who goes by Zak. He’s . . .” I had to count the years in my head. “Seventeen, I think.”

  “Were you close to either?”

  “I’d rather kiss a basilisk than spend any time with Mortimer. I don’t know Zak all that well. They brought me to Befsarry Academy when I turned four. Zak wasn’t even born. But as a child he’d always squeal and throw himself into my arms when I came to visit. He’d make me cards, and sing silly songs he made up about me. I didn’t go home often, though. A few days a year at most. Home wasn’t exactly . . . let’s just say, I spent as much time as I could with my grandmother. She died right after I turned sixteen. After that, I tried not to go home.”

  “So, two brothers? That’s it?”

  I nodded, a lump in my throat. I spent so much time hating my parents that I didn’t let myself think of Zak. He’d had wild golden curls and the sweetest grin. What did he look like now?

  “You care for him.” Twig placed a soft kiss on my forehead. “I think you have your answer, wizard.”

  Burn me, I didn’t want to feel anything for any of them. But Zak had done nothing to earn my ire. Mortimer was a different story, though I wouldn’t waste time dwelling on his harsh words and even harsher jealousy. He’d been positively gleeful when I’d failed my final wizarding test. You get what you deserve, he’d said. Those words echoed in my head often during my three years of indentured hell, and they cut more deeply than any knife.

  I leaned into Twig, enjoying the love he brought to my life. Who knows? Maybe Mortimer’s words rang true.

  10

  Stepping outside the citadel, a wall of sticky heat wrapped around us like a velvet cloak. I gasped, sweat instantly beading at my temples and dewing my skin. Twig appeared totally unaffected.

  “Holy handmaidens, it’s an oven out here!” I tugged at the front of my tunic, unsticking it from my back and chest. Going from the Elder’s icy winter to the Hominus Realm’s humid summer overtaxed my body’s attempt to adjust. The afternoon sun baked the ground while glinting off the citadel and sending rainbows in every direction.

  “How are you not miserable?” I glared at Twig. Did he do it on purpose?

  He waved a hand dismissively. “Dragons are built for weather extremes.”

  We stood on a well-tended flagstone path that led to the archives. I pointed to two grotesque gedodrite statues perching above the doors we’d just exited.

  “Are those succubae?” Twig squinted at the monstrous winged beasts, their lips curled back in a snarl, clawed hands extended like they prepared to launch themselves at visitors.

  “Ha! At least then they’d be pretty. No, they’re supposed to be the Goddesses in battle mode. I call them ghastlies.”

  “They are that.”

  “And see how that one has a chalice carved on her ankle, while the other has a rose? Those represent the Goddesses of Merriment and Beauty. There are 103 ghastlies in total.”

  “You’re joking.” He scratched at his jaw, leaned away as though that angle would make the statues more attractive.

  “Nope.” I pointed toward a row of them up on the battlements. While the crystalline gedodrite fooled people into thinking the citadel was simply decorative, the creepy statues and fortifications gave lie to the claim. Parapets with slim decorative windows could easily become a place to launch arrows or spells at invaders. Islingwall Isle Citadel could be a stronghold, if needed, and had withstood invading armies, dragons, and other enemies of the Council of Divine Magic in the past.

  “They have wings. I didn’t know your Goddesses have wings. And claws.” He took a step closer to the two over the entrance. “And fangs. I just assumed they’d be human, like you.”

  “Artistic license.” I tried not to laugh at Twig’s horror-struck expression.

  “Whoever the artist, they should have their license revoked.”

  I hummed in agreement, then pointed to the High Council’s insignia next to the door. Carved from pale gedodrite, the insignia showed a hand holding a fireball in a triangle, surrounded by what was supposed to be foliage, but always looked like tentacles to me.

  “A different artist did this.” As I reached out to touch it, my bracer vibrated painfully, and once again I smelled something acrid in the air. I withdrew my hand.

  “What is it?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “More of that ancient magic.”

  Twig placed his hand on the insignia, but nothing happened. “Why are there tentacles on it? That’s seems more fitting for a pirate insignia than witches.”

  I sniggered and set off toward the gates, passing a courtyard fountain where a group of children played. After feeling like I was suffocating inside a gilded cage, hearing children’s laughter and games made me smile. Unlike the citadel and surrounding walls, a dark marbled stone made up the fountains. No ugly statues sat on top of the single spigot either. I enjoyed the heartwarming sight.

  Twig caught up and we walked side by side, my steps sluggish on the steaming pavement. Passing through the gates, my bracer tingled again as it had at the High Rei’s solarium. I didn’t see any runes, though.

  Three rows of kiosks sat just outside the defensive walls, selling everything from foodstuffs, to housewares, to clothing. We bought some meat pies and lukewarm tankards of ale, and quickly consumed them under a sun canopy, before retreating back inside the walls and following the path to the archives.

  The Revelation Archives wasn’t attached to the citadel but remained within its protective barrier. No g
edodrite graced the building. Instead, wooden walls with a high stone foundation made the archives look more like a massive tavern than a center for learning. The library sported large rounded windows with opaque glass and silvery globes suspended from poles that jutted out from the second floor. They lit up after dark. A signpost hung above the entrance that announced:

  Revelation Archives

  For Those in the Know.

  A thick but weathered wooden door, large enough for a giant to walk through, made the building look that much more like a tavern. A large brass dragon-head knocker hung at least two feet above my head. A similarly styled handle the length of my leg gave the impression you’d need ten men to pull it open. But as we stepped near, the door swung inward on its own.

  We stepped inside.

  “That’s a lot of books.” Twig frowned as he scanned the foyer of Islingwall’s premier library. My familiar had a way with words.

  Bookshelves lined the walls, overflowing with tomes, scrolls, and loose parchment, stretching back as far as the eye could see. Wide ramps spiraled to other floors, but the entire center of the building remained open, with long, rectangular tavern tables side by side and rows of chairs, for those who wanted to sit and read.

  Suspended globes hung over each table, casting a brighter light than that among the shelves. Animated shelving units moved up and down the ramp bringing items to library patrons or other archive staff. When we walked in, every witch in the place seemed to stop what they were doing to stare at us.

  “Was this place once a tavern?” Twig’s neck swiveled as he took in all the details, ignoring the curious—and in some cases lascivious—looks. “It’s got a hint of a smoky odor to it.”

  I sniffed. Detected nothing. “Unless you can drink books, I’m pretty sure it’s always been a library.”

  “More’s the pity. I could use another tankard of ale.”

  “Agreed.” I pointed to the information desk placed at the corner closest to the door. “Let’s see if we can get some help. This could take a while.”

  Twig groaned.

  “Did you think it would be easy, dragon?”

  “Hope springs eternal.”

  Approaching the desk, two witches roughly my age, sorted tomes into piles. A mangy raccoon curled up on one end of the desk, unmoving, limbs limp. Seeing me, one of the witches straightened, her eyes gleaming. She stuck out her hip in a jaunty little pose, showing off an attractive figure.

  The other archivist cocked her head in a way that spoke volumes about her curiosity, though her gaze lacked heat or calculation. I liked her ebony dreadlocks, too. Pirates wore them. But a witch? Never. So a bit of a rebel.

  “Hi, I’m hoping you can help me.” I directed my comments to the rebellious librarian.

  “I’ll do it,” the other witch said, almost shoving the other librarian out of the way. “How may I help you?”

  “You can step aside, so my mate can ask his questions,” Twig sneered. He puffed up to his full height. The pushy archivist squeaked before disappearing into a back room.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her move so fast,” the other one said, biting her lip to hold back a smile. “I’m Beckett. How can I help you today, Quinn Broomsparkle, ‘first wizard in a thousand years’? We’ve quiet rooms if you need to hide from the hordes of witches hoping to catch your notice.” She turned to Twig, eyeing him curiously, but not suggestively. “And you must be CCM Twig Starfig. The only half-dragon, half-fairy in existence. Son of Auric Starfig and Maylanth the ‘Taker of Life.’ It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Uh, thanks, um, Beckett.” That introduction was a bit unnerving.

  She smiled and dimples appeared. “I have an eidetic memory, in case you’re wondering.”

  “Oh, wow, that must be amazing.” How cool would it be to remember everything you’d read?

  “Meh, sometimes. It’s hard never being able to forget a thing, you know? Some things are better forgotten.” She leaned her elbows on the counter. “Helped with spell casting, though. Straight A’s.”

  “Lucky you. But you didn’t go to Befsarry. I’d remember you.”

  “Nah, not enough money or influence. Dugwany Academy.”

  “At least you didn’t have Professora Shackleton.” I pretended to shudder.

  Beckett grinned. “She comes in a lot. She’s actually cool to talk to, if you weren’t her student.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “She’s been working on some new spells that she’s hoping the Council will pass into canon.”

  “Really? Tell me more. What kind of spells?”

  We talked—okay, gossiped—about the professoras who were mutual acquaintances, and only when I heard Twig yawn did I realize my familiar was bored out of his skull.

  Beckett rested her elbows on the desk. “I take it dragons aren’t interested in spell craft or those who create it?”

  “If Quinn’s interested, I’m interested,” he said, holding in another yawn.

  Big, fat liar. I appreciated his loyalty, though.

  He poked a finger at the sleeping raccoon. It didn’t even stir. “I think your, uh, familiar, might be deceased. He doesn’t appear to be breathing.” Twig crouched down to get a better look, giving the pathetic critter a hard poke. It still didn’t move.

  Beckett chuckled, then reached into her robes and pulled out a small hand mirror. “Hold it under her mouth.”

  Twig took the mirror and did as instructed. The mirror fogged up.

  “Yep, still breathing. Poor little gal just keeps going.” Beckett ran a hand along the raccoon’s back a few times, then pocketed the mirror. After a moment, the raccoon woke up and made a tiny chirp before eyeing Twig balefully. “This is Trash Panda. TP for short. She belonged to another witch who passed away, bless her shriveled hide. When I went to the bonding room, she lay in a cage in the back. They’d considered putting her to sleep but felt sorry for her, so were planning to let her live out her final days in peace. The moment I stepped into that room, I felt the pull, and knew she’d chosen me.”

  “I didn’t know elderly animals could be familiars. Or that they’d bond again.” Learn something new every day.

  Beckett nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. It caused quite a stir. The keepers were loath to give me an animal who might draw her final breath at any moment. Meh, it’s been three years.”

  TP chirped once more, flipped to her back, and began snoring almost instantly.

  “Odd little thing. No offense.” Twig ran a finger along TP’s belly, giving her a scritch.

  “None taken. Now, we should discuss why you’re really here. Gossip and spell craft aside.”

  Twig didn’t groan, though he looked longingly at the racoon. He didn’t have to say that he’d rather be doing almost anything else, including sleeping on the information desk. It came through, loud and clear. I took pity on him.

  “Why don’t you find Pie and go into town? I’ll be here a while anyway, and this is as exciting as it’s going to get.” We’d invited Pie to come with us to the archives but he’d declined saying he’d hang around our suite until we were ready to head to the Lower Isle. If it didn’t involve drinking, fighting, or adventuring, Pie wasn’t interested.

  For a moment Twig looked hopeful before saying, “I can’t leave you by yourself. You’ll be mobbed.”

  He had a point. The only thing that kept most of the witches at bay so far had been Twig’s size and stern countenance—and, in a couple of cases, growling.

  “I promise I’ll keep Mister Broomsparkle’s fan club away from him.” Beckett raised her hand in a ‘witch’s honor’ gesture—three fingers held up to make a big W, naturally.

  “How do I know you’re not one of his fan club?” Twig grumbled.

  “Twig—”

  Beckett laughed, full throated and amused. “He’s a little too young and clean cut for my tastes. Mine runs to a certain seasoned, um, gentleman, who won’t even give me the time of day. His
virtue is safe with me, I can assure you.” She held up her little finger. “I’ll even pinky swear if you need it.”

  I saw Twig consider it. I rolled my eyes. “Go on, Twig. Make your escape while you can. You’ll know if I need you.”

  Fine, wizard. Keep your thoughts open to me. Twig stepped close, his protectiveness giving me an extra burst of warmth.

  Town will probably be too far for our thoughts to travel, but you’ll still know how I’m feeling.

  It aggravated him that there were distance limits on thoughts and seemingly none on feelings. Perhaps being in different realms from one another would sever that connection, though since we’d become wizard and familiar, we were always aware of each other’s feelings. Well, admittedly, I shielded a few, because Twig didn’t need to know how much I still struggled with my past.

  It will be okay. I put as much reassurance into that thought as possible.

  He nodded, and after leaning in to give me a gentle brush of his lips against mine, he turned to Beckett. “I expect you to keep your word.”

  She held out her pinky again. “I’ve got him.”

  Twig didn’t grasp her finger, but he wanted to, even though it wasn’t a binding gesture. He nodded, then went in search of Pie. That should make Pie happy, too.

  “So, what can I help you with, Mister Broomsparkle?”

  “Actually, two issues. And please call me Quinn.” I glanced around the archive in case any eager witches popped out of the woodwork. So far we were alone.

  Beckett’s gaze trailed after mine. “Why don’t we go into a quiet rooms, Mister Broomsparkle, I mean, Quinn?”

  “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

  “I have a feeling this will be an epic day.” She smiled, scooped up TP, and led me back to a small room with a large table and two chairs. Shutting the door, she then sank into one and indicated another. I followed suit. I wanted to broach the mating issue, but I hesitated. Pie’s issue felt less emotionally loaded, so I started there.

  “I need to send a ghost to his rest.”

  “You could exorcize it. Relatively simple spell.”