by Ruby Loren
The night air was freezing. January walked up the steps that led to the front door and thought there might be snow on the way. She knocked, hoping that Tor would choose to answer it, now that he knew who she was. She didn’t particularly want to haul herself over the fence and go another round with the garden.
Fortunately, the door swung open almost immediately.
“January, it’s good to see you. How are you?”
January walked into the warm house, getting the comforting feeling that this was just the same as getting music lessons.
“I hear you’ve already found your witch sight useful.” He raised his caterpillar eyebrows at her, leaving January to guess which incident he was referring to.
She decided that full honesty was probably the best policy. “It’s been handy a couple of times actually. The bounty hunter who’s been trying to kill me trapped me in a house with a whole web of spells that caused anyone who walked into them to get their head cut off. Fortunately, the witch sight meant I could see where everything had been laid.”
Tor’s eyebrows shot up. She’d suspected that incident would be news to him.
“Also, I met your son,” she added, now certain this was what he’d been getting at. Still, it was good to know that some events hadn’t yet made it onto the gossip ladder.
“Slippery Simon,” Tor said with a rueful smile. “I don’t suppose he told you why I turned him into a cat?”
January shook her head. She couldn’t believe that it was going to be this simple to get the truth out of Tor!
“Simon and I have never had the best relationship. It’s complicated. I won’t go into detail, but I think you should know the starting point. Tea?”
January blinked at the sudden change of topic. She nodded to indicate yes please, not wanting to distract Tor from telling her about Simon. The old witch placed a teapot on the sitting room table and started to conduct what looked like a highly complex science experiment.
“Simon suffered from a gambling problem, twenty years or so ago. It got to the point where I could no longer ignore it.”
“That’s terrible! He lost a lot of money?” January watched while he boiled water without the use of any heat and added it to the teapot. Interesting.
“No. He won a lot. Far too much.”
January’s eyebrows flew up.
“He was cheating, you see. Simon’s magical talents are, quite frankly - vast, but he decided that out of all things, gambling was what he would apply them to. I know it’s not very politically correct, but I have no problem with someone skewing the odds a little in their favour and skimming off the fat. Simon just took it way too far. He was on the verge of being noticed by a lot of people, and we all know where that would have led - people asking questions we don’t want them to! I tried to persuade him to stop, but it was no good.”
“So, you turned him into a cat… for twenty years,” January finished for him.
“In essence, yes. The spell would wear off enough that he’d get some time to spend as a human. If he refrained from gambling, then soon enough, he’d have been back to normal Simon. I’m sure you can work out for yourself what really happened. A week ago, he was still a cat.”
January bit her lip. So she had been wrong to take the spell off Simon!
“Please don’t feel bad about what you did. It became evident long ago that time spent as a cat had zero impact on Simon’s habits. I thought when he finally found himself a sensible boyfriend a few months ago, things might change, but I’ve heard on the grapevine that that’s all over now Simon’s back to being human. Simon in small doses seems to be the maximum most people can withstand,” Tor admitted.
He poured the tea. January took the cup, checking out of habit to see if there was anything at all magical about it.
Tor smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re checking for magic, but I could have just poisoned it using the same method as anyone else.”
“Did you poison the tea?” January asked.
“No.”
“Good to know,” she said and took a sip. Sure, he could have been lying, but it just wasn’t British to poison someone’s tea.
“What are you going to do about Simon? Turn him into a cat again?” She asked, reaching for a shortbread biscuit that she hoped was also poison free.
Tor picked up his own drink and looked thoughtfully at the cloud of rising steam.
“I haven’t decided yet, but I think you can help. He’s living with you, so you’re the best person to watch him.”
January shifted in her chair. “I don’t want to spy on him.” She thought about it a little more. “Look, if I think he’s about to bankrupt fifty casinos or something, I’ll be sure to let you know. Does that sound fair?”
Tor nodded. “Perhaps you’ll be a good influence on him.”
January laughed into her tea. “I don’t think anyone would ever consider me to be a good influence.”
Tor raised his large eyebrows but said nothing more on the subject. “Shall we do some magic? We’re about to begin the fun bit, which is working out where your talents lie. There are many different types of magic. I could tell you about them all, but it’s probably better if we do a bit of experimenting and see what comes up! We can start with the tea.”
January looked down at her finished cup and saw there were tea leaves in the bottom. “Tea leaf reading? Really?” She was not impressed.
“Use your witch sight and let me know what you see,” Tor said, ignoring her complaints.
January looked and then she looked some more. The tea leaves remained a dark pile of mush. “There’s a blobby thing that might be a cake, if you squint really hard,” she improvised, turning her head to the side. Tor put out his hand and January passed over the cup.
“It’s a death’s head. Someone is about to try and kill you. Make sure you’re careful when you leave the house.” He made it sound like he was warning her not to slip on the icy pavement.
“Maybe I should leave now, or go and check,” January said, glancing anxiously at the windows. What was to stop whoever it was from launching an attack right now?
Tor waved a hand in a calming gesture. “This house is very well protected. They’ll be waiting for you to leave. I see no harm in making them wait a good long time, don’t you?” Tor smiled.
January tried her best to relax and focus on what he was saying.
They spent the next hour seeing what she could do with herbs, garbled Latin incantations, voodoo dolls, and many other strange things. January was left feeling drained but with a sense of achievement.
“You’re a strong natural magic worker, which is no surprise given your shifter heritage. You have zero affinity for telling the future and ritual magic, but you also have a talent for enchanter magic. That’s the kind of magic where you just think strongly about your intentions and it happens. It’s a rare skill to have and goes beyond just being a witch.” Tor looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. “You could be very powerful, you know.”
January tried to look suitably modest. She had no idea how to take that.
“There is one thing I have to find out, with your permission. Would you mind if I took a drop of your blood to do a little test? It’s asking a lot to take someone’s blood in the witch world. It’s akin to trusting someone with your life. A lot can be done with blood,” he explained.
“It’s fine,” January said, stretching out her hand so he could prick a finger with a needle. She had more immediate threats to her life to worry about than potential blood magic.
She watched as Tor carefully transferred the drop of her blood to a round bottomed flask of clear liquid, that had been sat on one of the bookshelves. The blood turned jet black. Then, it suddenly filtered away into almost nothing, like a cloud of smoke.
“That’s the same colour my spells are when I look at them with witch sight,” she said to Tor, who was still staring at the flask with a deep frown on his face.
“When did you do a spel
l?”
“Oh, Simon…” January trailed off, realising she probably shouldn’t have admitted to undertaking any magic without the guidance of her mentor.
“I should have known he’d want to stick his nose into things,” Tor said, sounding more distracted than angry.
“What does the test mean?” January prompted.
Tor turned to face her, his face exceedingly grave. He looked like a man about to pronounce a death sentence.
“I’m afraid you’re immortal.”
18
“No I’m not.” That was January’s instant response. It wasn’t a smart one. After all, until you died, anyone could be immortal without knowing it. But it didn’t seem likely.
“I’m afraid you are. That’s Elaris’ liquid in that flask. Your blood would have stayed red if you had a normal lifespan.”
“Is yours black, too?” She asked, trying to shift the focus of the conversation while she got her head around this.
Tor shook his head. “Good heavens, no. I’m not immortal - just look at me! All I ever did was slow the ageing process down.”
“Would a vampire’s blood be black?”
“No. Theirs would be red because the blood they carry in their veins is not their own. In many ways, they’re not really alive.” Tor was still staring at the final few remnants of January’s black blood.
She tried not to think about Tor’s description of vampires applying to Gregory. Perhaps in many ways, it was the case, but there were also many ways in which vampires were just like normal people. I can’t believe you’re trying to humanise Gregory! She mentally slapped herself.
“True immortality is, frankly, unheard of. The few who have, in theory, attained such a thing in the past are known as Gods. As none of them have announced themselves to the world in modern times, perhaps their immortality was a myth - or maybe they’re very good at staying hidden. I couldn’t say which is true.” Tor’s blue gaze intensified. “I think I have a theory about your own immortality, though. It’s to do with the way your magic works.”
January leant back in her chair, her hands gripping the arms, tightly. “I’m all ears.”
“How many times have you wished that you could stay alive and outlast these bounty hunters and the old vampires? How many times have you wished that you could live and have a normal life?”
January gulped. “Quite a lot, actually, but that’s hardly asking for immortality!”
Tor shook his head and looked solemn. “With the way your magic works and the strength of it, I think it may have been enough. You’ve accidentally done what the majority of the world has been striving to achieve since the dawn of time.”
“That’s just silly. I think lots of things and wish for lots of things. They don’t all come true,” January said, sure that this was some kind of joke, or mistake. Maybe it was another test of Tor’s!
“Sometimes, the strongest magic of all is the magic you do when you aren’t aware of it. It’s the magic that’s born out of a deep-seated desire.”
January was instantly reminded of how she’d suddenly been able to stop the invincible werewolves when they’d been about to kill Ryan. Before then, when Luke had almost melted her mind, she’d suddenly found she was able to fight back.
Tor watched her changing facial expressions. “Yes, exactly. That’s how enchanter magic works.”
“So, I could just will it to go away again and be back to normal,” January said, somehow knowing it wasn’t going to be that simple.
“It’s not that simple,” Tor said. “Once something like that has been done… the bottom line is, you’re probably stuck with it.”
“I don’t even know what immortality means! Will I age but live forever? What happens if I die? Can I die?” January narrowed her eyes thoughtfully at her last question. If she couldn’t die, that would mean she could walk through every trap the bounty hunter set for her and not have to worry about it. But even if she couldn’t die, she was willing to bet it was still possible to cut bits off her. Would she be left walking around with half a head?
It wasn’t something she wanted to find out.
“Take my advice and don’t die. I’m not sure what will happen if someone manages to kill you, but I can tell you this: you’ll either be dead, or something that might be worse than being dead.”
“Note to self: stay alive,” January muttered, feeling worse and worse about this whole immortality bombshell.
“I think that’s all we can cover today. We’ve got through a lot. You should be pleased!” Tor said, as if he’d never announced she was accidentally immortal.
January handed over his fee without another word. This was definitely going to require several night’s worth of over-analysis when she should be trying to sleep.
She walked back down the corridor to the front door in half a daze.
“Don’t forget someone’s going to try to kill you tonight!” Tor reminded her.
“Oh yeah. Thanks,” she said, opening the door to a small flurry of snowflakes. She looked out with her witch sight. Nothing glowed apart from the white of the first falling snow. “It looks safe,” she said, hoping Tor would jump in with some reassurance.
“If they’re still trying to kill you with magic then, yes… but remember what I said about poisoned tea. That was a lesson, too. The smartest witches don’t always use magic to achieve their goal.”
January wasn’t quite sure why she’d ended up parked outside the werewolf bar. She and Dominic had agreed their contest, but something had pulled her here all the same. Maybe the teacup fortune is making me go looking for a way to get myself killed, she thought, sourly.
Really, she just wanted to talk. The immortality revelation had got her thinking. As much as she enjoyed a fight, she wanted to do her best to work out why the wolves were so unhappy and see if there wasn’t something that could be done to head the whole thing off, before it got out of hand.
There wouldn’t really be a winner from January’s fight with Dominic London. If she triumphed, the wolves would still be unhappy. If he won, then her pack of misfits would be scattered and alone. There had to be some compromise they could all live with.
The first thing she needed to do was to get in there and find someone who was willing to listen to her, before they tried to rip her throat out.
Loud rock music was pumping out onto the street as January approached Howlers bar, feeling inappropriately dressed in her jeans and fluffy sheepskin blazer. She probably looked like dinner to a wolf. There was no one on the door, so January just walked straight into the heart of werewolf territory.
Werewolves definitely had a look about them. They tended to love leather and denim, and generally did everything they could to ensure that everyone knew they were tough. January knew she stuck out like a sore thumb.
A gradual hush descended over the bar, despite the loud rock music. January walked up to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic, like she’d been coming here her whole life. It was only after the barman had sullenly served up her drink, overcharging her and neglecting to add a wedge of lemon, that she turned around and noticed her parents. They were sitting in a corner of the room at a small table, and they were both staring at her.
“I’m fairly certain that I banned you from the pack. The werewolves are part of the Witchwood pack, which I am still the leader of,” January said, sitting down at the table with her drink.
“Darling, you don’t really think you’re the leader of the wolves, do you? They’re wolves! They’re their own pack,” her mother said.
January ground her teeth together. “They are not allowed to be a pack, unless they leave Witchwood. If they don’t leave, then they’re a part of my pack. It’s for everyone’s safety. But if you think they’re acting as a pack, please tell me more. I’ll pass on the details to the Official Board of Shifters and leave the matter with them to sort out.” She would do no such thing, but knew exactly what it took to impress her parents.
“Young lady, you’re act
ing very above yourself!” Her dad said.
January fixed her gaze on him. An injury to his leg had meant that Michael Chevalier had definitely slowed down over the past couple of years. January remembered him being lean and in shape, but during her time spent in Paris, he’d gained a paunch and some saggy jowls. Despite that, he was obviously still used to being able to intimidate everyone he met.
“There is no one above me. I’m the pack leader,” she repeated, patiently. “And you’re not meant to be associating with other shifters. You do know that by pack law, I could have you killed or banished?”
Her parents looked blank. They were the ones who thought they were above all this. For a moment, January was sorely tempted to show them she meant business, but the more people she sent away, the more she felt like she was becoming a tyrant, just like Luke had been. She’d already banished her sister.
“Things will be changing soon. That Dominic chap is going to put everything back to normal and the way things should be around here,” January’s dad said, like she wasn’t even there.
“You do know I’m the one who’s meant to be fighting him, right? And you know that often the loser doesn’t make it out alive?” She wanted to get this straight.
“You make your own decisions,” he said.
“It’s a good thing I do, or I’d probably still be stuck inside the house every full moon ‘for my own protection’.”
Her parents had chosen to hide her away when they’d found out she was a unicorn. January still thought it was the wrong decision. If she’d been out in the world sooner, perhaps she would never have been tempted by the offer of a new life in return for killing vampires.
