by Robin Moray
"Tell me how it feels," Artemis insisted, pushing his magic up against Kevin's palm.
"Fine." Kevin closed his eyes, reached out, tangled threads of magic between Artemis' fingers, feeling him out. "Tangy," he said out loud, "green and … gold. Warm. Sort of fruity?" And then he stopped, because—"Itchy," he said, eyes coming open. "Like … something's not right."
Artemis nodded. "Link with me."
Kevin did, and the itchy feeling ramped right up, running down his nerves like ants, and it took all his concentration not to drop the link out of shock. "Artie?" He couldn't help how bad it sounded, how plaintive.
"It's not me," Artemis sighed, strengthening the contact, pouring magic into Kevin to scratch the itch away. "It's you. Or, rather, it's him. Your hunter."
"He's not mine," Kevin protested, but Artemis just gave him a frank look.
"He might as well be. Your magic seems to think so, in any case. You're aligning to him."
Kevin couldn't help it; he jerked away, the link fracturing between them, backlash snapping like a whip against his nerves and making Artemis wince. "Shit! Sorry."
"It's all right. But you see, you can't let him touch you again, Kevin. You're aligning to him and away from us. If you keep it up, soon we won't even be able to link at all."
He didn't say, 'And then we won't be a coven anymore,' but Kevin heard it all the same.
"Away from me, you mean," Bella said, quietly from the front seat.
"From us," Artemis insisted, but she spread the great bright wings of her magic, reaching out to both of them and bathing them in it, and Kevin subsided because of course he did.
"You know it's me," she said, and wrapped up in the peach-pear-lemon-lime-roses-and-honey of her, Kevin could feel his magic shift, slowly, turning toward her until they linked, effortlessly. "Tell him, Artie. It's only fair."
The heavy sweetness of Bella's magic made Kevin giddy, almost drunk with it. "Tell me what?"
Artemis scrubbed a hand over his face, looking older and more harried than he should. "You were a baby. No-one knew you'd never … well. That you'd be practically normal. And Bella didn't mean to do it to me, it just happened. It was supposed to be the other way around, she was supposed to develop, naturally, to match me, but she was a such a monster even before she was born that I," and he made a face. "It couldn't be helped."
"I don't know what you mean." Bella's magic felt so right. What could he possibly be getting at?
"When Bella grew her magic, it pulled mine into alignment with hers." Artemis looked faintly embarrassed about it, mouth pinched up prudishly. "It wasn't exactly unpleasant, but I was six by then. I'd started to get the hang of it and I didn't like it changing. And I'd already aligned with Nanna Abigail, so it made magic with her difficult after that."
Kevin remembered. It had always been easy with Artemis and Bella, so much easier than with Nanna Abigail that he'd hardly bothered, in the end. He'd always thought—well. He'd thought she was just old.
"But it happened. There wasn't much to be done about it. Nanna Abigail was too established in her own magic to match us, then, and Bella's refused to change, and we were stuck like that. So, when you were a baby, it seemed logical to let your magic align with ours. So we could link. You need three witches for a coven, after all."
"Except I wasn't," Kevin said slowly, finally getting it. "I'm not a witch, really. Fucking hell, Artie, are you telling me I could have been normal?"
"You are normal," Artemis said, meaning it kindly, but Kevin couldn't stand it.
"No I'm not! I see things! I can feel the fucking moon from here, I can feel the stars! Do you think normal people get dizzy looking at a mandala, or nauseous around too much salt? I get harassed by fairies, Artie! I saw a fucking bogle in the woods the other day and she waved at me! That's not normal!"
"If you left milk out for the fairies," Artemis started matter-of-factly, and Kevin groaned with frustration so hard he thought his head might explode.
But Bella just tightened her grip on him, soothing as always. "Calm down. Don't set the car on fire while I'm driving."
Kevin reined in his frustration, but the taste it left in his mouth was bitter as the sea. He could have been normal. And maybe if he had been he wouldn't have wanted that either, but this half-magical existence he did have was just … no. Not enough of one and too little of the other. Who would want that?
"It's all right," Artie was saying, hands on Kevin's hands, massaging them with his thumbs. "You'll be fine. You're one of us, don't worry. We'll take care of you, little brother."
"I don't want to be taken care of," Kevin protested. "I just want … do you know how hard it is to, oh, anything? With anyone? Just … dating someone, you know?"
"You've dated lots of people," Artemis said primly. "All those girls in high school, and all those men you think I don't know about. You've kissed half the young women in town! And half their husbands."
Kevin felt compelled to point out—"That's not actually a lot of people. That's like … nine people. Anyway, that's what I'm saying. I can't do it, not with normal people. It never works out. It's too weird, trying to dust bad karma off them without them noticing. They think I'm mental. And they're so—" Boring, he didn't say, and it wasn't what he meant, anyway. Oblivious, maybe. "And other witches aren't any better." Because what kind of self-respecting witch would ever be interested in someone as basically useless as Kevin?
"You'll find someone," Artemis said, looking embarrassed and awkward the way he always did when this subject came up. Artemis was famously disinterested in romance, or relationships of any kind outside his family. He treated the whole business the way an academic might some esoteric field of study he didn't care to understand, distant and vague about it. Now he squeezed Kevin's hands, sharing warmth and magic and an endearing sort of confusion. "One day they'll show up and you'll just know."
"As if you'd know anything about that!" It wasn't even cruel, Artemis wouldn't even be hurt by it because he didn't, but still Kevin felt wretched saying it. "And even if that's true, then how do you know that's not exactly what's happening?"
Artemis seemed taken aback, but then his eyes narrowed. "You said you weren't in love with him."
"I'm not, because that's fucking impossible!" Kevin took a breath, trying to calm himself before something really did burst into flame. "But I like him. That's all."
"You can't," Artemis said, firm about it, using his you-will-never-be-as-grown-up-as-me voice. "You mustn't, Kevin. You can't let him touch you again. He's already pulling you into alignment with him, and if he does …. Tell me you understand."
Kevin groaned, leaning his head against the back of Bella's seat. "I understand," he said, miserable because he really did. "Fucking hell, Artie."
"Don't worry, you'll get over it," and Artemis patted his hand, proving yet again that he was the one who really didn't understand anything.
* * *
When they got back from the Point, Artemis vanished into his laboratory to do Things, and Kevin went off to sulk manfully in the dark.
Bella found him on the roof. "Hey, baby boy." She climbed up over the guttering, huffing a bit with the effort. "I'm getting too fat to climb up here."
"You're not fat," Kevin told her crossly. "You're beautiful."
"I'm fat and beautiful," she said, dusting her hands off on her leggings and shuffling over to lean against his side. "I suppose you're miserable, since we're up here."
"I'm fine," Kevin lied. "Just … wanted to see the stars."
Bella, who knew better, didn't argue, just shoved at him until he put an arm around her, and then they huddled together in the dark, watching the clouds roll over the moon and away again. She used her magic to warm them both, such a waste of it but she had so much to spare that Kevin couldn't argue. And, of course, Bella never listened.
Her company was a comfort, soothing the ragged ends of his hurt feelings and helping him tuck them away inside, so no-one could see. He could feel how m
uch she loved him, and he loved her back just as hard, but … how could he explain himself? There was nothing to explain. He didn't have anything, not really. Ugh, how useless he was. And how useless it was to feel useless, all the time, that was even more pathetic. Why not just get over it, like Artemis said?
It wasn't that easy.
Bella was quiet, until eventually she said, "Tell me about Peter." She said it sweetly, as if she really did want to know, but for gossip, not anything else.
So Kevin took a breath, and told her how Peter looked at him, and how he smiled, and how he seemed to understand when Kevin said things, paid attention and didn't ignore him, and how those smiles had seemed forced at first, then rationed out, until they really weren't. He told her about Peter's hands, about the dark gravity of him, how he tapped Kevin's magic and how he stopped when, Kevin realized later, he had thought he was making Kevin cold.
He told her how it felt to touch him, how everything shifted, and how much he wanted to touch him again. If Peter wanted. God, he hoped Peter wanted. And how, if Peter wanted his magic Peter could have it, Kevin didn't care.
"It's weird, though, pretending I don't know about magic," Kevin added, playing with Bella's sleeve. "Tomorrow he's going to tell me about it, I think. Or he'll lie. I don't know. But he said he would, and I believe him."
Bella had listened to all this without interruption; now she sighed, snuggling into his shoulder. "Well. No wonder you have hearts in your eyes."
"Do I really?"
"Mmm-hmm." She reached up to brush the hair off his brow, the magic on her skin light enough that he could see the sweet sadness in her face. "Really, really. I don't know what to tell you, little brother. He's a witch-hunter. I thought maybe we were wrong, but the way you said he drew on you … what else could he be? And what do you think he'll do when he finds out about you?"
"I don't know." Kevin bit his lip. She was right. Oh, that couldn't end any other way than bad. "I feel like … I want to tell him."
"I won't let him hurt you," Bella said darkly, and he felt the squeeze of her magic hard for a heartbeat before she relaxed. "If he hurts you, Kevin, you know I'll hurt him back."
"You don't have to, and he won't, I just … Artie's right. I should just stay away from him."
"I don't think you can, now." She sounded so apologetic. "He'll suspect something if you suddenly drop him, just when he's going to tell you about something like magic. And, while he's here, maybe—" She broke off, mouth twisting with distaste. "He could be useful. If you pushed him toward the warlock. That sounds awful, though."
It did. But, also, narratively neat. Kevin didn't like it, but, well, Kevin didn't like any of it. "Maybe. I … fuck, Bells, I don't want him to get hurt either, you know?"
"I know."
"Why does it all have to be so hard?" he whined, knowing he was whining and hating himself for it.
She snuggled up under his shoulder, arms winding around his torso. "Well, we're grown-ups now. That's how it goes."
It was supposed to be comforting, he supposed, but it really wasn't.
Chapter 6
Usually, going for a long run in the evenings meant Kevin got a good night's sleep. But Artemis argued that it 'wasn't safe' and Kevin was 'being stubborn' so Kevin was stuck with just the narrow variety of push/sit/pull-ups he could manage out on the back verandah.
'Confined to the yard' was how it felt, like a misbehaving dog. Except a dog could chew up Artemis' shoes in revenge and Kevin wasn't supposed to be that petty.
Still, he did pull-ups til his shoulders burned, and hoped it would be enough.
When he woke up on the floor of his room, half tangled in a sweater, it became obvious that it hadn't. "Damn. It." The problem with the sweater was also obvious; he'd being trying to put it on with one of the arms inside out.
The sleepwalking was becoming a problem. It made him feel foolishly young, uncertain of himself because if he couldn't trust his body not to wander the hell off when he wasn't paying attention, how could he trust his brain?
Though, if he was honest with himself, when it came to Peter Kevin wasn't exactly thinking with his brain.
Peter looked terrible in the light of morning, weariness hanging beneath his eyes in dark shadows, and Kevin wanted to brush it away so badly but he just tucked his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and asked if Peter wanted coffee.
"Yes, please," and he looked so grateful it made Kevin feel worse, so Kevin took him to Walter's without really considering the consequences.
Walter, though, just looked from one of them to the other and smiled a mild but knowing smile. "Good morning, gentlemen. What can I get you today?"
"Coffee, please, and, um," he glanced at Peter. "Are you hungry?"
"No, I've eaten."
Kevin had also eaten, though cereal wasn't really food, he figured. Still. "Just coffee then."
Walter gave him a 'you can do better than that' sort of look, but he nodded. "I'll bring them over."
Kevin, who always sat at the counter, didn't know what he meant for a moment, and then he felt his face go hot. Walter thought he was on a date. Oh God.
But, still, he took Peter over to the table in the corner and settled in. "Um. So. You look," Don't say terrible, "like you didn't sleep well."
"No, I didn't." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting Kevin's eye. "I've rather been dreading this, I must confess."
Kevin went cold, and then hot with embarrassment. "Oh," was all he could say, and, "right." Peter looked up then, suddenly contrite, and one of his hands moved to cover Kevin's; Kevin pulled away before he could, though, folding his arms to keep his hands safely tucked behind his elbows. No touching, he told himself. He figured it couldn't be that hard; he spent whole days not touching anyone except Artemis and Bella. Weeks, even.
Peter seemed startled, and then a worried crease formed between his brows. "I did not mean this. Forgive me, it's only that this conversation is … difficult."
"Okay," and that was better, wasn't it? Or did that make it worse? "Um. So, what—"
But Walter had brought the coffee and he had to wait, and then Walter went back to the counter, turning the radio up next to him as he read the paper, which Kevin thought was his way of giving them a little privacy.
"You're going to tell me," Kevin said, once they were alone again, "about how you're a magical warrior of light."
Peter laughed. It was wonderful how it changed his face, how the weary shadows lifted a little, how his aura brightened. Kevin couldn't help grinning at him, and he had to catch himself before reaching out across the table and just … anything.
"You should do that more often. It's good for you."
Peter shook his head, flashing Kevin a small but genuine smile. "That would ruin the whole 'moody stranger' image I've tried so hard to cultivate," he said, sipping his coffee and eyeing Kevin over the cup.
"Yeah, but you could work on 'mysterious trickster' instead. That's good too."
"I don't know that I could pull that off." His expression turned serious, brow furrowing. "I'm not," he said quietly, "a magical anything. Quite the opposite. Damn it, I don't know where to start …"
He trailed off. Kevin waited, itching to say something, do something, anything, but (take that, Artie) he could be patient when he had to.
"Three years ago," Peter said quietly, "I flew into the country for a conference. An academic conference," he added, "I was supposed to be presenting a paper on … well, it hardly matters now. Suffice it to say, I was at the time greatly depressed. The reasons for it aren't important, but the fact of it was vitally important. There really did, at that time, seem no good reason to keep on. It seems foolish now, but I was quite convinced I was worthless." He offered Kevin a not-particularly-convincing smile, completely forced. "So it goes."
He fussed with his cup for a moment before going on. "I met a man there. He seemed … in retrospect he was thoroughly untrustworthy, but at the time I was too … I had no capacity
for judgement. And, in any case, even if I had perhaps I would have fallen under his influence all the same." He coughed, embarrassed, glancing up and around the shop but not at Kevin. "I gave him an awful lot of money. And other things. I … regret to say I was exceedingly … I was a bloody fool." When he did meet Kevin's eyes his expression was sheepish. "It isn't even as though he was very handsome."
Oh. Kevin felt his face heat. So. That answered that question. He knew it was inappropriate to feel glad of it but, dammit, he was only human. "Sometimes … that doesn't always matter, though."
"No," Peter agreed gratefully. "And in this case not a bit. In the end he wrung me of cash, sucked me dry, and threw me out, with one very specific instruction. I was to take a length of rope and a chair and, well, I'm sure you can imagine."
Kevin couldn't help it; he reached out, just the backs of his fingers against Peter's hand but it was enough, his magic slipping sideways, untangling itself to suit. He shouldn't have done it, but he couldn't have not, especially with how eagerly Peter twisted his hand to lace their fingers together, which only made it all worse.
Tang. The catch and pull of magic between them. Kevin … Peter's eyes were such a clear amber, like dark honey. Kevin couldn't look away.
"What happened?" he asked, unable to help how small his voice sounded.
"Miranda." At first it made no sense at all. Then he went on. "She'd been tracking Ian, knowing what he did, trying to catch him in the act. She'd meant to stop him before he finished me off, but she was alone, you see, and when she realized he'd turned me loose she chose to save me rather than catch him." He swallowed, fingers tensing on Kevin's hand. "For which I will be forever grateful. Anyway, Miranda caught up with me before the inevitable, broke Ian's compulsion, and told me what I'm going to tell you now."
He took a deep breath, wrapping his other hand round the join of their fingers, eyes fixed on Kevin's and Kevin could not look away from the naked honesty in them.
"Magic is real. Witches are real. And witches can do terrible, horrible things, as evil as anything you can imagine, and they do them without remorse because the act of evildoing renders them heartless in their evil, inures them against it. They're not like us," he said, earnest, meaning every word. "They're monsters. Worse than monsters in their cunning, because they have all the intelligence of a human."
