by Lee Isserow
“I'm screwing with you!” he cackled.
Relief washed over Ana, and she found herself joining in the laughter, despite it being at her expense.
“What can I get you? Ticklebrew? A comfysquirt? Intoxicatory confluence? Wibblyguts juice?”
Ana's lips parted, she was fairly certain none of those were real drinks, magickal or otherwise.
“We're happy with whisky,” Lincoln said.
“Have you tried whispsky?” the bartender asked, directing the question at Ana.
“Is is like whisky?”
“Sort of, but brewed by whisps.”
“They piss in it,” Lincoln explained.
“That's an important part of the whispsky brewing process,” the bartender explained.
Ana wasn't sure her first magickal drink should involve urine, whether it was derived from a mystical being or otherwise, and decided to stick with normal mundane whisky.
“This is place is amazing,” she said, whilst the bartender clip-clopped off to find boring old whisky.
“Told you,” he said, smile still fixed on his lips.
“It's like Narnia, but for alcoholics. . . Barnia!”
Lincoln continued to smile, eyes locked on Ana's. He could have responded, could have probably found something witty to say, but he was all too aware of the ringing in his periphery, as a call was coming through.
He waited for Ana's eyes to dart around the room before refusing to accept it. He was having too much fun for Rafe to interrupt his night. After all, he wanted to get to know Ana properly. And perhaps, if the night went his way, he'd get to know her intimately.
Chapter 22
Matter of life and death
“Dammit!” Rafe spat, as he stormed through the streets. Neither Ana nor Lincoln were accepting his damn calls, and he needed to let them know that they didn't get all the Teloah. If they were coming after him, the two of them could also have the bastards after them.
He bustled through the streets, only becoming aware of his state of undress after the tenth or fifteenth person stared at him with an aghast expression. The whisky from the drunkard's glass had almost worked its way out of his system, beaten down by adrenaline, and he had to do something about being shirtless, let alone wearing nothing but underwear and slippers.
He ran his fingers down his scarred chest, cotton flipped and flopped around his body, buttons blooming out of the front like round, plastic flowers. He made his fingers do the same pirouette across his legs, glamouring jeans and then shoes. He thought about conjuring a coat, but decided against it―he was still being pursued, and he'd need every drop of the little magick at his disposal, if he was going to be able to defend himself.
Rafe flicked his right hand through the air, and instant disregarded the thought about not using too much magick, as he dialled Tali again.
“I need some help,” he said, solemnly.
“Sorry, helpline hours are 9AM to 9:01AM.”
“Fine, I need some advice.”
“I advise you not to bother me when I'm working. . .”
“Matter of life and death.”
“It always is. Unfortunately for me, it's never your death. . .”
“Ho bloody ho. Can you just send me another door and I'll be out your damn hair.”
Tali sighed long and hard. Rafe was certain he could actually hear the eyes rolling in her skull. “Alright, if you'll shut up and let me get back to work. . . Where you heading to this time?”
There was only one place he could think of. . . But Rafe was almost certain he wouldn't be welcomed with open arms.
Chapter 23
Arranged marriages, and forced breeding
“Wow.”
“Don't say 'wow'.“
“What exactly is the correct exclamation to invoke in this situation
“You don't say 'wow'.”
“Is 'congratulations' more suitable?”
Ana scowled at Lincoln with a playful smile. If she were to be honest, it was a little forced. The banter back and forth with Lincoln wasn't as much fun as it was with Rafe―but she was doing her very best not to think about Rafe. And for the most part it was working.
“So, are you a bona fide hill-billy then?” Lincoln chuckled. “Your mother's your sister, your grandmother is your mother, your uncle is your dad and your brother. . .”
She prodded him in the ribs, with a finger that was harder than he expected. Lincoln shrieked louder and higher pitched than any man Ana had ever poked.
“No uncles, no brother, just one not-at-all-missed absentee father,” she corrected.
The almost-permanent upward lilt of Lincoln's lips dipped, only a fraction, but Ana noticed it.
“What?”
“Do you. . . know who he is?”
“Who?”
“Your father.”
“Never met him.”
“But your mother―grandmother must have told you.”
“Nope.” Her short, sharp response was intended as a hint that she had no interest in this line of questioning, but it appeared that Lincoln wasn't interested in taking that hint.
“Have you looked up your genealogy? The family lines are kept at―”
“The library. Yeah, been there, done that, don't care.”
“Aren't you even the slightest bit intrigued?”
“He shot a load into my―apparently ancient―mum and buggered off. Doesn't seem like a guy worth knowing.”
“But still―”
“No.”
Lincoln sighed and turned back to the bar. He chewed on his lip, and toyed with the glass of mundane whisky in his hand. He would have preferred the whispsky. In fact, he would have preferred any mystically enhanced beverage to the dross Ana insisted on drinking. But he would never tell her that. She needed to think he was on her level, that was the only way he believed she could be comforted after being hurt by Rafe's display of brutality.
He took a sip, and decided on a change of tack.
“He's certainly no gent, that's for sure.”
“Understatement.”
“What a rotter.”
Ana spat whisky across the bar, much to the irritation of the satyr bartender, who not only scowled, but seemed to exude an audible horse-like whinny of disapproval.
Lincoln didn't get the joke, mostly because it was aimed at him and his distinctly out of date upper class lexicon. However, he had retrieved a laugh from within her seemingly steely shell, and took that as a sign to continue with his reformed line of questioning.
“Could be someone who wants to preserve the line. . . “
“Oh don't start.”
“You must have been told how rare magick is these days.”
“All the damn time. I hate all that magickian talk, blood purity and all that. It's like you're all in favour of eugenics or something.”
“Well, in a way we are.”
“Alright Mengele, sell it to me.”
“Think of it like natural selection, those with weak immune systems or bad fight or flight reflexes were wiped out, the rest survived―”
“Except you're talking about sex and babies! Making people breed to keep the blood flowing.”
“It's the same thing.”
“Is it? It feels more like arranged marriages, and forced breeding.”
“It's never forced.”
“Never?”
“It's mostly never forced. . .“
“From what I gather, even pairing up magickians doesn't guarantee a magickal baby.”
“Sometimes, but that's just nature. It's rare.”
“My mother―my sister―doesn't have a drop of magick.”
“That you know of.”
“She doesn't, had her dad try to kill me and her a little while back out of spite. . . Pretty sure he wouldn't have done that if he hadn't been trying to cover up that he shot magickal blanks.”
“Well,” Lincoln said, taking a delicate sip of his whisky. “We can't choose our parents. . .”
&
nbsp; “Or our drinking partners―you drink like a girl! A five year old girl.” She signalled over to the satyr, who trotted over with a wry expression carved on his brow. “Tell him he drinks like a girl,” she instructed.
“I'd say he drinks more like an adorable, tasty kitten.”
“That's totally it! His tiny sips are like he's lapping it up.”
“Excuse me, I'm right here!” Lincoln said, as he put the glass down, and tried his best not to let it show that he was hurt by the thought of being compared to a kitten.
“See? Not so much fun being talked about like you're not there, huh?” Ana spat back at him, relishing that for once she got to be the one to talk about someone in the third person. Her attention shot back to the satyr. “Wait, did you say tasty kitten?”
The bartender raised his eyebrows, and a wicked smile crawled across his jaw as he turned on his hooves and walked away.
“I will never understand magickal folk. . . Who would eat a kitten, they're just fur and bones!”
Lincoln chuckled into his whisky, continuing to sip at it slowly. Ana glanced over to him and realised that she was actually enjoying herself. It was different, being with a magickal man who wasn't Rafe. But although she didn't want to admit it, she was starting to warm to him.
Chapter 24
Another map
The repeated rapping of his knuckles on the door hadn't resulted in anything close to a response, and Rafe had taken to slamming the meat of his palms against the wood over and over, until it finally clicked open.
Reva Lang stared at him with a disproving glare, a towel wrapped around her, wrinkled shoulders littered with an astrology book's worth of constellations made up of freckles. Her long grey hair was thick with water and suspended in the air above her head.
“Bad time, Rafe.”
“I need your help.”
“Of course you do. . .” she said, with a step back from the door to let him enter. With a flick of her wrist and dance of her fingers, her hair fell from its tower, bone dry and impeccably styled.
“Close the door!” Rafe instructed.
Reva glanced outside. The street was quiet, but she knew well enough that quiet in no way meant safe.
“What can I do you for?” she sighed, throwing a glamour across her body. he towel's fabric contorted, thick white cotton became thinner, longer in some parts, darker in others, until she was wearing a long white tunic and black skirt, covering all of her previously bare skin.
“Teloah are after me, whole army of the bastards! The map you gave Lincoln only had sixteen marked down.”
“Must have only been one genus. Hardly my fault. . . He should've told me there were more strains out there, got me samples.”
“Obviously. . . I need another map, need to know how many of these damn things are actually out there.”
“Oh, that'll cost you. . .” she said, wandering over to the kitchen to go through the ingredients in her cupboards.
“You're an awful friend,” he muttered under his breath.
“Rafe, we're not friends, not even close.”
He huffed as he dug into his magickal money pocket, throwing a handful of gold coins onto the counter.
“First things first, I need to lose the damn things hunting me down.”
“So you decided to bring them here? How thoughtful.”
“Reva, I've already got sarcasm in spades. Need an actual solution.”
Her attention moved on to the contents of the pantry, his statement being responded to with nothing but a simple “Hmm.”
“Hmm? Was that a thinking hmm, or a concerned hmm? Don't like the sound of hmm, I was hoping for more of a 'here's the answer to your problem, be on your way'.”
Reva emerged from the pantry, and took a look in the cupboards under the counter. “Other than you bringing these things to my doorstep, I really don't see how this is my problem. I had plans for tonight, and I'd rather not―”
“Dammit, you know how to track these things, better than bloody anyone. Can probably track 'em all the way back to the brood mother!”
“Maybe. . .”
“Really? You're going to go all mystery woman on me now?”
“Might do. . .” she said, closing the cupboards and turning back to him.
“I hate you so much.”
“I assure you, the feeling is mutual. I'll need another owl if I'm to help you. . .”
“Oh. So, you're going to help?”
“You paid, didn't you?”
Rafe glared at her, he was not in the mood for her games. Nor was he in the mood for a solo owl hunt. “What are the chances of another owl manifesting?”
She stared at him with wide eyes and shrugged, which Rafe did not find helpful.
“Say the owl's off the table, what else will do it?”
“Might be able to do it with an onmoraki.”
“Does it look like I have corpses just lying around at my disposal?”
“An alkonost?”
“The top half of them is a naked lady! I'm not bringing you half a naked lady.”
“They have lovely breasts.”
“Not helpful!”
“Incredibly pert. . .”
“Head in the game, Reva.”
“A gandaberunda, that shouldn't be too much trouble.”
“Remind me?”
“Bright orange plumage.”
“Anything more specific?”
“Coral blue chest.”
“Doesn't sound familiar. . .”
“Two heads.”
“You know you could have just started with 'two heads' and I would have been with you straight off the bat.”
A resounding crash against the door stole their attention from the conversation.
“Expecting anyone?” Rafe asked, already knowing the answer.
“Go out the back.” she commanded.
“If I get you a gandaberunda you sure you'll be able to do this? Don't want to go half-way across the bloody world for a waste of time.”
“I'll do it―if you get the hell out before the brood trashes my house!”
He stomped over to the the back door, coated in the familiar black gloss of translocation. As he reached for the knob, his fingers pirouetted through the air as they met with it. There was only one place to get a gandaberunda at this time of night. . . and he was starting to wish he had wrapped up warmer.
Chapter 25
So many other options
A snake of fire arched across the darkness, and performed a loop-de-loop before splitting into three, and turning sharply on itself. Each of the three flames took on a different temperature, and with them, a different hue, as they weaved back and forth around one another. The smoke appeared before Ana even noticed the water bursting through from its realm―let out at specific points along the body of the fiery three-headed serpent, it bellowed out, twisted and turned like a wild mane as the flaming beast contorted, all three elements controlled by the whim of the magickian performers.
It was a stage show unlike any she had seen before, and although the rest of the patrons appeared to be more than used to the outlandish display of magickal talent―let alone the combination of water, fire and smoke adepts―she was loving every second of it.
Up until experiencing the majesty and beauty of the Anaglyph show, magick had seemed purely functional, used for attack or defence―or in some cases, hiding a spot, or changing the colour of her hair. She was realising that there was so much more that could be done with it, and so many alternative options for a magickal career, rather than investigating deaths, or tracking down yet another haunted painting.
As the show drew to a close, Ana leaned back in the booth, and caught sight of something in her periphery, a hand. Lincoln had reclined whilst she was wide-eyed, and put his arm over the back of the booth. More accurately, he had put his arm around her. The thought crossed her mind to shove it away, reject him as she had been doing all night long.
And yet she didn't.
&
nbsp; He might have been a bit smarmy, and was certainly overconfident, but there was something about him that she liked. She couldn't pin down exactly what it was―it could have been as simple as actually being able to tell without a doubt that Lincoln was interested in her. Things were so confusing with Rafe, he wanted to train her, and would touch her whilst they were training, but as soon as the lessons were over he'd practically jump across the room to get away from her. He didn't want to get too close, haunted by the idea of an apparent curse that killed all the women the men in his family had loved.
Or, she reminded herself, it might not have been that complicated.
Maybe the vague inkling of attraction to Lincoln was related to how he embraced magick, imparting to her that it was good for more than just utilitarian purposes. Rafe had been so judgemental about her using magick for trivial means―but she was starting to wonder if that was just him dumping his baggage on her. He had so little magick left in his blood, and was obviously terrified of running out, becoming nothing more than a mundane. It was such a dumb fear, and it irked Ana. She glowered at herself for falling back on to that train of thought. Rafe was not a subject for mulling, not that night, at least.
A call came through in her periphery, and a heavy scowl carved itself into her forehead. Rafe again.
With a wave of her hand she refused to accept it. This was her night off from Rafe, and she sure as hell wasn't going to answer his damn calls.
Chapter 26
There were always repercussions
Nanda Devi was the second highest mountain in India. Rafe remembered that from an investigation he was on back at The Circle―he couldn't recall the details of the operation itself, it was one of the many memories he had intentionally tried to forget. However, the fact about the mountain retained, as if some small, ignored part of his subconscious knew it would come in handy in the future.
