Moonshine

by Jasmine Gower

  Ming folded the note and placed both it and the bird charm back in her breast pocket. Johnston’s grandiose philosophizing was beginning to rub off on her, but it wouldn’t help her do her job any better to wonder about consolidation of power and culture wars. She just needed to track down one magician, pitiful and pretty.

  “I’ll let you know what I’m able to find,” she said to Johnston, and she turned to leave before he could ramble on about anything else.

  Chapter 10

  About a week after Daisy had revealed the secret of her grandmother’s magic to Mr Swarz, there was a morning when her boss did not arrive on time. She was busy with a newspaper crossword and didn’t notice until he stumbled into the office sometime just before noon. Out of habit, she nearly said good morning to him, but when she realized that he was nearly four hours late, she looked up to find him a tattered mess.

  “Gracious!” She stood and rushed over to him. “Mr Swarz, what happened?”

  His coat was torn – ripped along one side and scarred with what appeared to be shreds from claws on the lapels – his white shirt was stained with streaks of dirt and blots of something dark and congealed, and his hair was dusty and askew. More dirt covered his face, half-hiding bruises along his left cheekbone and jawline. His bowler hat, dented at the crown, sat crooked on his head. Clearly, he had not come directly from home.

  He swallowed before answering. “Miss Dell, I am terribly sorry. I– I fear I’ve made a mistake.”

  “Andre!” Angel appeared in the doorway of her office, likely drawn by Daisy’s loud exclamation over his condition. She began to step forward but he held up a hand.

  “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I’m fine.” He winced, placing that hand gingerly over an area of his chest where stains splattered his shirt. “Fine enough. There is something vital I must share with Miss Dell that is… private.” Angel looked too stunned to frown. Daisy understood – she imagined there was little that Mr Swarz was unwilling to speak about with his dear old friend that he would share with Daisy. There was only one topic that came to mind.

  She took Mr Swarz by the left arm. “Let’s sit you down in your office, and you can explain.” He nodded dumbly and allowed her to guide him there, his cane clutched in his right hand and thunking along with each step. From the way his body tilted, he appeared to be in desperate need of it that morning. She feared what had happened to him, and the careful, limping procession to his office was almost longer than she could bear to wait before receiving an answer.

  When Miss Dell had him settled at his desk, she hurried to grab him a glass of water before he began. Andre flexed his right hand while he waited for her to return, wincing along with the creak of his leather glove as he was unable to clutch his fingers tighter than the barest curl. He ripped off the glove and examined the pale, bony appendage underneath.

  The white, streaking scars were faint now. The accident had happened in his childhood, when his mother took him to the factory where she worked in the summer because there was no one to watch over him at home. He had somehow gotten his arm caught in a piece of running machinery, and its gears and belts tore at his body, sucking him in to the shoulder and grating his hip and leg before anyone managed to turn it off. He was lucky to have survived, but it left him nearly immobile for several years. Even after he had learned magic, it had never mended entirely – healing was not his forte, no matter that he had first gotten into magic for that exact purpose. His hand would never be able to close all the way again, and the scars would never fully fade, but at least he was now mostly free from the pain of his injuries.

  If only he were not so foolish enough to earn himself more.

  Miss Dell returned, shutting the door behind her and setting the glass of water on his desk. He reached for it with his good hand and drained it as he considered where to begin.

  “This is about my magic?” she asked.

  He set the glass aside with a nod. Miss Dell was an intelligent woman, and it was hardly surprising that she could guess what this was about. That made him all the more embarrassed to admit what had happened – the dim-witted error he had committed – and if her safety were not at stake, he might not have told her anything for the shame of it.

  “I returned to the faerie ring last night.”

  Miss Dell’s spine stiffened, and they both glanced toward the windows. She hurried over to close the blinds, and Andre took a moment to cast a silencing ward around the room. It wasn’t as safe as having this conversation in the speakeasy, but Andre was certain he would never make it down the stairs. Once the spell was in place, he felt the hollow, dizzying sensation that came with the loss of energy, and he fished a small vial of mana from his desk. Draining that as well, he continued before Miss Dell could ask questions or fire accusations.

  He felt defensive, regardless. “I’m not fully sure what drew me back there. Curiosity, I suppose.” This was true, in a sense, but from the way Miss Dell furrowed her brow at him, he knew he would need to offer more explanation than that. “I wished to see the faerie again.”

  His typist’s expression fell, her mouth dropping in something akin to horror. “You didn’t go to have him–”

  “No, nothing to do with artifacts. I swear.” He swallowed, trying to ignore the splitting pain in his head. Mana eased the strain of magic, but it did nothing for the abuse he had suffered the night before. “As I said, I was merely curious.”

  It was as polite a euphemism as he could muster at the moment. In truth, when he first traveled with Daisy to the faerie ring, he had been entranced by her otherworldly friend – Cyan, she had called him. He had a healthy caution toward the creature, perhaps even bordering on fear, but Cyan’s sniffing and prodding of him had its own degree of curiosity to it. Andre didn’t know what could have been so appealing about him to such a being, especially considering that he hadn’t carried any of the faerie’s precious chocolate or shiny objects, but Cyan himself had been quite the sight. His vaguely-human features, appearing as some mix of insect or bird, had been… Andre hated to think “exotic,” but he could not conjure another word for it. Underneath all the otherworldliness was still an intelligence, a cognitive awareness, and it gave Cyan’s beauty something more than a merely aesthetic appeal. There had been something enticingly intimate about the way Cyan had examined Andre, too, and the brief experience with the creature had haunted him. Of course, he had said nothing to Miss Dell of this matter at the time – a wholly inappropriate conversation to have with his employee.

  And he felt now that it had been wholly inappropriate to go back, considering the consequences.

  “I don’t know how, but I was trailed. Someone else found the faerie ring.”

  Her expression fell again, not to horror this time, but wide-eyed, defeated despair. “No.” She shook her head, unblinking. “No. How could…? What happened?”

  Andre shifted in his seat, trying to shake out some of the jitters and physical pain before he began explaining. It did little to help, but he willed himself onward.

  He told Miss Dell everything, feeling he owed her at least that much.

  The evening prior, he had returned to the faerie ring alone. During the drive, he had seen no indication that he was being followed, though he admitted he had not thought to pay much attention to the possibility. Arriving at the farmhouse, he sat down in the faerie ring and laid out his offering – a few glittering knickknacks from his house and the same kind of chocolate that Miss Dell had brought the first time – and he cast a spell of light, summoning a tiny, magical glowing sphere to draw the faerie out. In a matter of moments, the split in reality appeared and expanded, allowing Cyan to crawl forth. Andre had not been sure, at the time, that the same faerie would necessarily appear in the spot, but he surprised himself with a sigh of relief when he recognized the blue-tinted skin.

  At first, Cyan was only interested in the offering, marveling at the ball of light for a moment before shuffling through the spoons and glass doorknobs, and then t
urning to the chocolate. He didn’t look directly at Andre until after he had wolfed down one full bar’s worth and was halfway through another. The fading daylight seeping through the bare canopy of the dry forest shined off his wide, black eyes as he examined the human man. There was a gleam in that gaze that indicated a sentience equal to that of humans, maybe even surpassing it.

  Cyan was a beautiful creature, but Andre’s curiosity toward him was as much intellectual as it was sexual. He had no interest in replicating the sacrifices that Miss Dell spoke of, but that such a thing was possible suggested that these faeries had an innate magic far beyond the scope of humans. There was something worthwhile in that, if only from a theoretical perspective. Andre wasn’t sure how much he would be able to discover, though – Cyan had not said a word during their previous visit, nor had he reacted in any meaningful way to anything that either Andre or Miss Dell said. It seemed it would not be possible to simply ask Cyan about his abilities with magic.

  It felt strange not to speak, though, and Andre gestured with a hand to his chest. “My name is Andre,” he said, trying to speak slowly without sounding patronizing. “You are Cyan?”

  The faerie blinked and parted his lips, making a soft, “Ahh.” Andre didn’t think that Cyan understood any of what he said, but the faerie seemed delighted to have his attention. Quickly shoving a few more pieces of chocolate into his mouth and swallowing, Cyan scooted closer to Andre. He opened his mouth again, and a babbling of vowels and soft, almost whispered consonants poured forth. It was not so much that Cyan couldn’t speak, it appeared, but that the faeries merely had a language of their own. At a loss for how to respond, Andre only smiled. Much to his surprise, Cyan returned the expression, exposing two rows of teeth that were both smaller and sharper than any human’s. He then ignored what remained of the chocolate to begin fiddling with the buttons on Andre’s coat, muttering in his lyrical language as he took in the sight of their glinting surfaces. Andre sat still and allowed the faerie to heap his attention onto him. It wasn’t often that anyone took such personal interest in Andre, and while that never bothered him, it was pleasant on the few occasions that it did happen.

  He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, lathered in the faerie’s curious attention. Being in Cyan’s ethereal presence was at once thrilling and calming, and his sense of time out in those lonely woods was skewed by what he was feeling. When he heard the rumbling of an engine, he looked up to find the sky nearly dark. Cyan heard the car, too, and fluidly pulled himself into a stand, snarling out into the forest. Andre staggered to his feet, as well, spying the glow of headlights some way down the dusty road that lead to the farmhouse. He had his cane with him and several vials of mana tucked into his inner coat pocket, but his revolver rested in the glove compartment of his car. The crashing he could hear through the woods neared at a speed that suggested he would not be able to reach the gun in time. He turned his mind, instead, to hiding the faerie.

  “Back inside the portal,” Andre said, waving toward the crack in existence. It glowed with a faint white light in the evening dimness, and anyone approaching might be able to see it. Cyan had to get back through and allow it to close completely. The faerie ignored his command and snarled in the direction of the oncoming intruders. At a loss for what else to do, Andre grabbed Cyan by the arm and shoved him toward the portal. “Take your things – go!” Cyan only gave him a few bewildered – possibly offended – blinks, tilting his head and muttering in his mystic language. Andre was ready to push him again when he lunged forward.

  A flash of panic froze Andre as he feared the faerie intended to meet his physical roughness with violence of his own, but Cyan darted past Andre and out of the ring. Andre watched as Cyan charged at an oncoming stranger wearing a dark coat. A matching hat shielded their face from any recognition, but their garb was close enough to the description of the attackers at the Gin Fountain.

  Someone was after the secrets of Miss Dell’s magic.

  Andre only barely caught sight of Cyan swiping at the intruder, scraping claws against their arm just as they tried to lift a gun. Another figure burst from the wood brush closer to Andre and was upon him before he had the chance to ready a spell. Grabbed by the side of the coat, his attacker tackled him into the dirt, landing on and crushing several mushrooms of the ring.

  Incantations filled his mind as he scrambled to produce a spell, but in his panic, he could only think up random spell roots without stringing them together in any productive manner. His attacker produced a knife in their free hand, ready to slash down at him, and his mind cleared of all magic. Instead, instinct took over, and he thrashed under the person’s hold. They were smaller than he – something of a miracle, slender as he was – and he managed to successfully buck them off. The person rolled away without releasing his coat, tearing a hole in the side seam. That was enough for Andre to get free, though, and he scrambled to his feet as he tried to focus on a fire spell.

  With a specific function in mind, it was easier to build the spell correctly. Ai – veth – netr. The language of methodical magic was not one of any spoken tongue, invented by magicians themselves to convey their powers. The correct roots in the correct combinations could have wondrous effects, and what Andre needed now was a pillar of fire that would sear his attacker without damaging any more of the faerie ring. Meq – oure–

  His incantation was cut short as a hand reached out and grabbed him by the front of his coat, jerking him to the side. A third attacker with an iron club swung at where he had just stood, but Cyan had saved his neck by tossing him out of harm’s way and nearly into the side wall of the farmhouse. Andre stumbled halfway to the ground but managed to keep a hold on his cane. With a screech that was dissonant from his earlier gentle muttering, Cyan flung himself at the club-wielding assailant, claws at the ready. Andre tried to steady his feet under himself and return his attention to the one with the knife, but they were up and upon him before he could begin his incantation again. He tried to lift his cane to block, but the hilt of the knife collided into the side of his head, and things went black for him.

  The smell of smoke brought him back to reality. The sky glowed with the dull grey of a cloudy morning. Pushing himself up from where he had collapsed near the farmhouse, he spied a bonfire built not far in front of him. After a few moments of hazy disorientation, he realized that it was where the faerie ring had stood. Now, covered in a layer of twigs and crisp branches collected from the forest around them, the circle was ablaze, little mushrooms already wilted or charred. Andre scanned the area for Cyan or their attackers, finding no bodies but scuffed footprints scattering every which way around the farmhouse and into the forest, some appearing to have clawed toes. Andre staggered up, peering about for any flash of brilliant green-blue. When he saw no sign of assailants, he tried to call out to Cyan, but smoke scratched at his throat and it came out as a raspy, wispy bark.

  Andre looked back at the bonfire. If the offering he had left for Cyan was still there, it was buried under the bonfire kindling, and the crack in reality was gone. Although the fire itself was low and gentle in its crackling and fizzing, Andre didn’t care to think of what might happen if a spark leapt from the pile to a nearby tree of the dry, wooded foothills. He conjured an enclosed but invisible dome around the bonfire, cutting off its access to oxygen. The flame was smothered quickly, and Andre removed and drank one of the vials of mana tucked into his coat pocket. The only one, in fact – the others must have tumbled out during the scuffle, and he didn’t pause long enough to search for them. It would be dangerous to try another spell without a supply of mana, and as he hurried back to his car, he hoped he wouldn’t have need.

  Luck was with him when he found that his assailants hadn’t bothered to slash his tires before abandoning him next to that fire hazard, though he worried about Cyan. Had the faerie returned back through his portal? The tracks around the property suggested he had chased some of those attackers into the woods. Had he found a chance to come back and re
turn to his own plane? Andre could only hope so as he pulled away from the farmhouse and returned to the city to speak to Miss Dell about the matter.

  Now there – his tale complete – unmoving where he sat at his desk, he ached from the roughness of his previous night and awaited Miss Dell's lash of fury. He could not blame her; he would have done the same to anyone who so foolishly endangered him.

  But Miss Dell’s face was awash with concern. “They destroyed the ring?”

  “I suppose there’s some comfort in that. They won’t be able to use it for their own ends, now. Though that seems counterintuitive if that’s what they were after the whole time.” That in mind, had he perhaps been wrong about them being after Miss Dell’s magic?

  But that was a question for later. What he had told her was driving Miss Dell into a panic, or so it seemed from the way she began pacing in hurried, tiny steps in front of his desk. “And Cyan disappeared, but you don’t know to where?”

  “It’s possible that he escaped back into his realm, if he returned to the ring before those attackers destroyed it. But he had defended me, earlier – I can’t imagine he would leave me there like that if he thought they would come back.” It was a whimsical thought, but Andre was too exhausted and worn to worry about keeping such notions to himself.

  “Could they have chased him into the forest? That would give anyone remaining a chance to destroy the ring. Or could he have destroyed it on his own?” Miss Dell paused and shook her head before whirling on him. He could finally see the heat in her deep eyes that he had been awaiting the whole time. “What were you thinking, going out there on your own like that? And while the rest of us are on lockdown, too! If we can’t go out to the clubs, what gives you the right to pursue your ‘curiosities’ while we’re being hunted?”

  Andre hung his head, at once humiliated by her accurate judgment of his foolishness and outraged that he was being told off by his own employee. “It was a mistake – a grave one, I know. I apologize.” As Miss Dell had pointed out to him not long ago, he had been making too much use of that phrase in recent weeks. Never insincerely, though, and his young typist relaxed her shoulders upon receiving the apology.