Better 'Ink Twice

by Rachel Rawlings

  As much as I hated to abandon Nicholas the second he realized what had been done to him as a child, I knew better than to argue with Lars when he had that stone cold look in his eyes. I held up one figure in the universal gesture for ‘one second’ and rushed to follow Lars. He dropped a Dead Silence spell the moment we both reached the couch. Whatever was said went no further than the two of us. Uttering so much as a word of what was spoken between us came under pain of death and not even the strongest witch could hear what was said.

  Lars pricked his finger with one of my safety-pins and waited for me to do the same, sealing the spell. “Well?”

  Dead Silence was blood magic. It bordered on black magic, only crossing the line if one of the casters actually died. Of course, some witches would say they died a traitor’s death and got what they deserved. Those same witches— like my foster parents— traveled in shady circles with unsavory characters. Which begged the question, how had Lars come to know and become such an astute practitioner of the spell?

  I stuck the safety-pin into my right index finger and drew a single drop of blood before pressing it against the tip of his finger. My ears popped as the spell snapped into place. “Ouch. I’ll never get used to that.” There was always a jellyfish-like stinging sensation as the bubble of silence sealed itself.

  Lars looked at me with renewed curiosity, like a child with a toy they’d forgotten about. How either of us learned about Dead Silence was a mystery to the other. Secrets were deadly. Maybe if we’d been more open with each other, we’d be better equipped to deal with Winslow and the Magistrate. As it was, we managed to escape by the skin of our teeth.

  That luck couldn’t hold. Even with the Goddess on our side.

  “You need to stop.” Lars switched gears faster than a sports car. “I know what you’re thinking Adeline. I can’t see it in your eyes but did it ever occur to you that Grim and Vincent bound him for a reason? And died because of it?”

  “We don’t know that for certain.”

  “All signs point to yes.” Lars tapped his index finger on my temple. “Use your head. You’re smarter than this. We all know there’s only one thing that would have caused Vincent to bind his son after the first moon ceremony.”

  “Death magic and a lot of it.” We weren’t talking about two-thirds earth magic one third death magic. “It certainly sheds new light on the familiar incident with his roommate.” Nicholas was most likely tipping the scale into Angel of Mercy territory but without unraveling the ward, there was no way to tell. There was just one problem.

  My track record with Angels of Mercy wasn’t great. My last client with that particular magical skill set ended up dead.

  “Yeah, but it’s also shining a spotlight on how he really ended up with a bogus appointment card.” Lars nodded his head in Nicholas’s direction.

  “We already know how he ended up in the shop.” I shoved my hands in my jeans pockets and cast my eyes down at my feet. I had a bad feeling about where the conversation was headed.

  “I need you to stop thinking with this,” Lars tapped the same finger against my chest just above my heart. “And start using your head.”

  “Wow, that hurts.” It did actually. I’d never given him reason to doubt my judgment. Okay, I take that back. I’d given him plenty of reasons to doubt my judgment but a guy had never been one of them. “I haven’t even done anything.”

  Yet.

  “Yeah, yet.” Lars knew me better than anyone. “Did you even stop to ask yourself if this is a con? The guy’s obviously a grifter playing the long game.” Lars folded his arms across his chest. “Nicholas is still working for his uncle.”

  “For Winslow? No way.” I glanced over at Nicholas, who seemed off in his own thoughts despite staring in our direction. We were talking about him behind his back even though we were right in front of his face. The whole thing made me uncomfortable. “If he was still working for Winslow, would he have gotten his ass kicked on the island? Nobody takes a beating like that willingly.”

  “Nobody said he knew about that part.” Lars rubbed a hand over the peach fuzz growing back in on his head. He was overdue for a shave. “Did he slip you an infatuation elixir or something because you are way smarter than this.” He ignored my middle finger response. “You don’t think it’s convenient that he left just before the surprise inspection at Margret’s? Or that he came back right after they left? What about the build-up with the letters? And now we find out about the death magic? Exactly what Winslow was after with Karen? Come on, Adeline. None of this crossed your mind?”

  It hadn’t.

  Now that he mentioned it, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from picking over every second of my interactions with Nicholas. How much, if any of it, had been the truth? His agenda to take down his uncle and avenge his father? The Magistrate? His feelings for me?

  There was only one way to find out. Ask him.

  Chapter Eleven

  I dropped the protective shield from casting Dead Silence without warning. The hiss of the radiator heating the water in the building’s old pipes was the first sound to greet me once my ears popped and I readjusted to the world outside of the magical bubble. Nicholas appeared to have given up on us, busying himself with the varied supplies and magical ingredients he stockpiled in jars along the counter in his workspace.

  “Probably working on a counterspell to break the silence,” Lars grumbled under his breath as he dropped onto the couch. The worn-out cushions engulfed his body as his weight sunk down into them.

  “Waste of time if he is.” I leaned over the back of the couch, putting my face next to his and whispered in his ear, “You go ahead and take a nap. I’m going to go ask our friend some questions.”

  Lars made no effort to join me, settling further into the couch to the point where we’d need a crane to lift him out. “I can watch the show from here.” He sowed the seeds of discord, planting doubt about Nicholas where there had been none. Obviously satisfied his job was done, Lars didn’t seem pressed to follow me over to the workshop.

  “Suit yourself.” I sauntered over into the workspace and did my best to act natural, like Lars and I hadn’t just performed one of the most dangerous binding spells in our repertoire. Resting my hip against the counter, I leaned in and casually observed as Nicholas picked a piece of dried lotus root from a jar. “Tell me it’s not what it looks like.”

  “Why? What does it look like?” Nicholas held a hand across his midsection as he leaned across the worn counter, careful to keep his shirt out of his pestle.

  “It looks like you’re attempting an unlocking spell.” I reached for a mason jar but he moved it out of reach. “Knotweed? Isn’t that for—”

  “Binding? Yes.” He scribbled something down in a book I assumed was his book of shadows before rummaging through his jars. “It’s the focus ingredient, to represent the thing I want to unlock.”

  “I know what a focus ingredient is.” My magic was different but not that different. Warders used earth magic to create our spelled inks. Everything else? Well, that was in a category by itself. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re willing to experiment on yourself?”

  Nicholas stopped crushing the lotus, set the mortar down on the counter, and finally looked at me. “Because you aren’t.”

  “How do you know? You never asked me.” I could practically feel Lars’s eyes boring a hole in my head with his laser death stare.

  “Will you unravel Grim’s ward?” His shoulders dropped as he let out the breath he’d been holding in anticipation of my answer. “See, didn’t need to ask. Your silence is the same as no.”

  “Your dad and the closest thing I ever had to one are dead.” The conversation was not going as planned. Instead of going on the offense and questioning Nicholas’s intentions, I found myself playing defense. “They’re dead because of your ward. And now Margret. The three people who knew about your ward are all dead.”

  “So, Grim’s death is my fault? My dad’s? Margre
t’s?” He picked up the mortar and went back to working on his spell. “As soon as you found my ward, I knew you wouldn’t unravel it. You don’t act. You just react.”

  Ouch. That hurt. “Yeah, you’re right. I have spent a lifetime reacting to what is happening around me. And look where it got me. My business destroyed, my life destroyed, I’m wanted for murder and committing acts of treason. And probably kidnapping you, knowing your uncle.” I knocked the pestle over, spilling its contents across the counter. “So yeah, that’s me reacting again. To you. For being a jerk.”

  Nicholas white-knuckled the mortar in his left hand as the rest of his body tensed up. We were teetering on the edge of the argument I expected to come after I asked him whether or not he was still working for Winslow.

  “You and Lars cast Dead Silence and I’m the jerk? Yeah, I’m familiar with the spell. I’m a graduate, remember?” He paused a beat like he wanted me to answer but then jumped right back in. “Wait, kidnapping? Why would you... You’re kidding, right? You think I’m working for him? After all this?”

  Lars decided to answer for me. Not that I needed or wanted his help at this point. “It looks pretty bad from where I’m sitting.”

  “Well, the good news is you don’t have to sit there.” Nicholas shook his head, a look of disappointment in his eyes. “I think it’s time we went our separate ways.”

  “What?” I asked in shock, though I probably had no right to be. “You’re kicking us out?” I turned toward the couch, directing my question at Lars, “Where are we supposed to go?”

  I was hurt, scared, confused. The seeds of doubt Lars sewed about Nicholas were growing wild and free, taking over my mind until I questioned myself, Lars— everything. “Magistrate put out the word. We’re murderers. There’s a bounty. Even if people wanted to help us, they wouldn’t.”

  I knew the streets. Hell, I practically cut my baby teeth on them. But this was different. Before Grim found me, the only thing I was running from was my foster parents and my past. Months passed, seasons changed since Winslow and the Magistrate burned down the shop and killed Karen Brown, but we weren’t wanted for a high-profile murder. Just the mind wipe of a footman— which paled in comparison to the death of a revered clairvoyant like Margret. The odds of us surviving without Nicholas’s secret hideout dropped drastically.

  “Damn it, Lars.” I raised my hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s back up for a second and slow things down.”

  “We’ll leave in the morning.” Lars switched positions on the couch, cramming a pillow behind his head and propping his feet on the tattered and faded armrest. “At first light.”

  “It’s settled then.” Nicholas slid his ingredients and his book of shadows as far away from me as the counter would allow. He dragged the stool across the floor, positioning it and himself in front of his work with his back turned toward me. “Good night, Adeline.”

  What he meant was good-bye.

  I stood there for a moment, mouth agape, unable to formulate a response. There’s a first time for everything, right?

  Nicholas walked into my shop and my life amidst a shit storm. The Magistrate was closing in and I was one underground tattoo away from getting busted as a warder. But not just any warder. The Warder. The one the Magistrate had been looking for. I was a thorn in their side, emptying their coffers, peddling my trade and binding the dual-natured— a problem they claimed to want solved but really just wanted to profit from with higher tithes while forcing them to live in the shadows.

  As for Nicholas? The handsome spy armed with nothing more than his wit and a cheap knock off of my business cards? He had ulterior motives that had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the death of his father.

  We were supposed to be a team. The knowledge that we weren’t and this was how it ended hurt more than I expected. I’ve ended affairs with less heartache.

  “Lars and I will be out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

  When he didn’t respond, I left him to work on the spell that I knew was doomed to fail.

  ***

  As much as I needed sleep, it never came. I tossed and turned all night, awaiting the moment where we parted ways with Nicholas. The old mattress with its worn springs squeaked in protest as I untangled the sheets from around my feet. I fluffed my pillow, rolled to my left side to face a dormer window with a view of the moon and whispered a little prayer to the Goddess for guidance and strength.

  I should have prayed for sleep because it never came.

  I was about to drift off when a hand clapped over my mouth, stifling a scream that would have otherwise escaped. My first instinct was to swing. I wasn’t going to be taken by one of Winslow’s men in the dead of night without putting up a fight. It took a moment for me to realize the hand clamped over my mouth belonged to Lars. Just like it took a minute to register that my arm never actually moved.

  None of my appendages responded.

  A single tear ran from the corner of my eye down across my temple, disappearing in my hairline. The fear and dread I knew as a child, of being held captive inside my body rushed back, threatening to overtake the one thing I still controlled— my mind. I couldn’t blink, never my close my eyes to avoid looking at Lars and acknowledging the betrayal and more importantly heartache I felt. He did something I never, ever, would have thought him capable of— using my mark against me. There is no way he could have known the hours of torment suffered at the hands of my foster parents with the use of that mark, the amount of magic drained from my body with the use of that mark. It made the betrayal no less significant.

  Lars applied the second mark, taking away my ability to speak which freed up the hand covering my mouth. After scooping me up off the mattress, he shifted me into a fireman’s carry. The only other thing Lars chose to take was my tattered army backpack. The one filled with my spelled inks, tools, and grimoire. The one thing I couldn’t ward without. Everything else, the few books Nicholas bought me on one of his supply runs, my clothes, Lars’s clothes, even my toothbrush remained behind as Lars took off in the dead of night with my dead weight slung over his shoulder.

  “We don’t have much time.” Lars double-timed it down the steps with an additional hundred and twenty-five pounds not including the backpack. “Footmen will be here any minute.”

  Had I the ability to speak, a string of expletives followed by several questions would have come out of my mouth. Since I couldn’t, I was left to wonder what the hell was going on and piece things together with the crumbs of information Lars dropped.

  Why were footmen on the way? If that was the case, why were we leaving Nicholas behind? I wasn’t as convinced as Lars that he was still on Winslow’s payroll. How did Lars know footmen were coming? Those questions were as relentless as a dog after its own tail, running around and round inside my head. Logic dictated only one possible conclusion but I refused to believe it.

  He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t have.

  No way in hell would Lars call the Magistrate. We spent our entire lives under the radar, avoiding the Magistrate at all costs. Well, almost our entire lives. I haven’t exactly lived by the code the last few years. I’d taken risks and ended up on the radar but in no way, shape, or form was that the same as handing someone over to the Magistrate.

  Especially one of Grim’s clients and that’s exactly what Nicholas was.

  Why didn’t I just go to Savannah? If I had, I wouldn’t be wanted for treason, murder, and Goddess only knew what other trumped-up charges Winslow threw at me. I wouldn’t be torn between my loyalties to Lars and Grim’s memory and Nicholas. Or draped over one shoulder while Lars hauled ass down a flight of stairs, out the side door, and through a back alley under the cover of a Now You See Me, Now You Don’t while half a dozen footmen stormed Nicholas’s apartment.

  Just when you think things can’t get any worse— they do.

  Chapter Twelve

  Lars set me down, leaning me against the wall of an alcove across the street fro
m Nicholas’s apartment as he peeked around the corner. Water— and Goddess only knew what else— soaked through my socks. Apparently, there hadn’t been time for shoes when Lars decided to paralyze me. He’d been busy, plotting Nicholas’s demise and our escape.

  “I talked to Amber.” Lars reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a small glass jar. “We can go back to Crane House.” After unscrewing the lid, he dipped two fingers into the syrupy contents and drew a glyph on my forearm. He uttered a prayer to the Goddess and repeated the process on himself.

  My ears refused to pop and the shivers that occasionally ran down my spine when a glamour took effect burned as the immobility mark held them in place. The spell moved from minor inconvenience to downright painful.

  As if the glamour he chose wasn’t bad enough.

  A gangly teenage boy with onyx hair and an emo cut occupied the space where a short and sassy warder once stood. Black lace-up boots and an Edward Scissor Hands ensemble covered my perfectly worn jeans and comfy knit sweater. The only thing left unchanged by a glamour spell of this magnitude were the eyes. Overall features like nose, shape of the mouth, or jawline could be softened or hardened, rounded or squared to fit the temporary identity. But not the eyes. A good footman or a trained tracker could root out their prey with direct eye contact. Fortunately for us, people spent more time looking at their phones than each other. It made disappearing that much easier. Assuming I wanted to disappear.

  And we all know what they say about assuming.

  Did I want to avoid capture and the subsequent death penalty for treason and murder? Of course. But we had everything we needed at Nicholas’s. Supplies, a roof over our head and relative comfort, the safety of perimeter wards, and an escape route. Everything we needed was in the attic of the apartment building across the alley from where we stood. For all I complained about my captivity, it was a necessity.