Chapter 51 #2
He reached a hand back—
“What did you do to her, you pissing bog troll?!”
Sweet, bleeding Sisters. Even screeching, that throaty voice dripped like honey.
He grabbed onto a head, hair like a silken pillow greeting his palm—which he sank his fingers into and pulled. It, she, whatever the fuck, bit down on his arm hard enough to nearly bring him to his knees, gone a second later.
—You know that scent, lad—
Alert, waiting, Magnus breathed deep. Petrichor and teeming, sun-drenched blooms collided together—a rebellious perfume that made no true sense but was all the more lovely for its dissonance.
“Fern?”
Then, she was everywhere.
Claws and teeth danced around him in a blur, lashing out to deliver bites and scratches and blows with startling efficiency—before disappearing again.
The sound of a pained thud was not comforting in the least.
—Go easy, Maggie. She’s confused—
I’m not gonna fucking hurt her. Not that she extended the same courtesy.
Mag found her slumped beside the couch in a gasping heap, having clearly exhausted herself.
She was likely weak as a kitten and never should’ve been flailing about like that.
Slowing his movements, he crouched and crept towards her with a hand out.
His massive damned size was not generally conducive to seeming non-threatening, but he tried anyway.
“It’s alright, Fern. You’re safe with me.”
—I’m not sure she knows that name—
Aye, thanks. I had no idea.
“Lass, can you understand me?”
There was just enough light for him to be bowled over when she turned around and pierced him with midnight eyes that held every last galaxy in their inky depths, the orbs so brown they were nearly black.
Beautiful, wide eyes that were burning with absolute fury.
“I’m not a cunting bird-brain.” She skittered back, swearing when one of her fragile wings snagged on the leg of the settee. “What did you do to her? She wasn’t broken in the Veil.”
That, he did not expect.
Terror and curiosity were a strange mix.
“You saw her in the Veil?”
Her eyes narrowed, chest heaving. “She pulled me out with her, after that rutting wankstain tried to suffocate me with my own fucking pillow.”
Magnus reared back. “What did you just say?”
“I’m not saying another fucking thing until you tell me why she’s hurt.”
—Fair enough—
Aye, fine.
“She”—He pointed towards the bed—“is Lunara the Moonweaver, we’ve had a wretched fucking night here in the Montrealm, and I’m not even fucking close to the one who did that to her. She’s my sister. I’m trying to help her. Just like I’m trying to help you, Fern.”
“Is… is that my name? Fern?” Her gaze shifted away, and he could tell it physically pained her to ask and admit she didn’t know.
Fucking stars, she doesn’t… Fuck.
—Our witchling will be sorely disappointed—
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s what we’ve taken to calling you while you slept.”
“While I slept…” Her feathered brows furrowed. “I woke up earlier, but was too tired to move. That’s when he came in. How long was I asleep before that?”
Magnus really needed to figure out who ‘he’ was.
“About a month, give or take, as far as we know,” he answered instead. “Lunara’s been trying to heal you since we found you in Glynmor, shredded as anything.”
“I know. I recognized her voice. Owe her my life, whatever good it is.” Her stare got lost in some space between. “I know that name. Glynmor. Feels right.” She blinked and was scowling at him again.
“Is there anything else you can remember? We can help you find your way home, aye?”
Not that it would be happening tonight. Shite, he didn’t even have time for this fucking conversation right now.
She looked absolutely pissed that wobbly tears had dared to gather in her thick, sable lashes. “No. I… I can’t. I don’t even know where home is. Maybe that Glynmor place.”
Magnus hadn’t realized he could feel any worse than he already did. “No, lass. Glynmor isn’t anyone’s home.” He swallowed. “Not anymore.”
Her breaths quickened, nails digging into the wood planks of the floor.
“It’s alright. You’re safe here.” He reached out to lay a hand on hers, but she snatched it back.
“Did you not hear the part where someone tried to murder me, tosspot?”
Fuck me. She’s fiery as the bleeding sunstar.
—Aye. Wild, like us—
“Aye, I did.” Magnus settled back on his arse, too damned tired to be bent down in a squat anymore. If she killed him for it, good for her. “Wanna tell me about it?”
“It was the same fucking cunt from before.” She leaned further away, a wary frown on her face as she gave him a once-over. “Whoever… The one who… I just know it, eh? It feels right.”
“You keep saying that. What do you mean?” He had to stifle a yawn, every fucking dreadful minute catching up with him.
He couldn’t let it. He raced up here as fast as Pet could take him when he saw the tower crumbling, unable to sense his brother or the witchling nearby where they should’ve been.
Those he’d left behind would be out of their stupor by now, looking for answers he didn’t have, and there were too many people who needed pulling from the wreckage.
Her look softened ever-so-slightly, turning inward.
“The smell of him is in my bones.” She breathed deep, like she could still recall the scent from her ravaged memory.
“So much pain, the first time it entered my lungs.” Another breath.
“Both for me and the ones I was with. They were like you. Shifters? But they’re gone now.
I think. Because of him.” A shudder worked its way through her. “I can feel it.”
Magnus sat up a little straighter at that. The last time she would’ve been around Wolflords… “Are you trying to say a male razed Glynmor and he’s here?”
That couldn’t be right. A dreadbeast had done the deed. They’d killed it. He’d had his justice.
“I don’t know, but I know. Fuck.” A hand landed on her chest, over her heart. “In here, I know what you just said is the truth.” She jabbed a finger against her forehead. “Up here, I can’t make sense of fucking anything. But yes. That. He’s here. I can feel it.”
“Aye, alright. Alright.” Mag tried to keep his breathing steady. Everyone else would have to wait. “Did he speak?”
“I’ll say. That cunting bag of pixie shit called me a fucking fairy, then had the nerve to shush me while I struggled,” she spat, a grunted screech leaving her. “I’m going to peel his fucking flesh away with my teeth when I find him.”
Weary as he was, a rising wrath boiled in his veins to match hers.
“Tell me everything he said, Fern,” he breathed. “Word for word.”
She rolled her eyes. “’You should have stayed dead the first time. Now, go to sleep like a good little fairy and stop fucking up my plans.’”
Fucking fuck. A person had done it.
Could a single creature be responsible for all of it, or was he working with someone else? Baldrir, Glynmor, the chasm, the dozens of fucking dreadbeasts and attacks—seemed like too much for a single individual. Unless…
—Unless they could be more than one person at a time, moving to and fro unnoticed. Aye, lad. That might be your proof—
Vann had been wrong. Magnus was sure of it. The Kohamaians might not have any documentation of a shapeshifter being born in the last couple centuries, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Especially if he was working for extremists. They’d have gladly hidden him away to be used later.
“What did he look like? Sound like?” It might not help, but he had to ask.
“I only caught a glimpse of long, silvered hair and pale skin before I was eating pillow stuffing. As for his voice…” Her lips peeled back, sneering. “Sounded like he’s riddled with seeping cock warts, the uppity arsehole.”
Even spinning from the night’s events, Magnus almost laughed. “That’s not a sound.”
“Shitting seasons. Fine.” Her head tilted, lips pursed. “Not like you or me, eh? Or the witch. Deep, high-handed. Too stupid to realize he’s already fucking dead. Probably proud of his twig dick.”
Aye. Fiery as the sunstar.
Long, silvered hair, like Bal’s abductor. Not Thodeleborian, Kohamaian, or Nachthellian. It wasn’t even half the dots that needed connecting, but it was something.
—Except, he could be anyone, Maggie. At any time—
Shite. There is that.
Everything else aside, the lass was sitting there telling him the one who’d slaughtered his people had been in this room within the last couple of hours.
No one could be trusted. Not until she pointed the shite-sucker out.
—We’ll feast on his bones when she does—
Aye, Pet. He’s ours.
But not tonight. His people were already gone, Demons were suffering down in the city, and Lunara needed him. Brand needed him.
Magnus stood, ignoring the creak of his battered body as he debated what to do.
Her ability to identify the culprit was worth its weight in all of Bordoroth’s gold. Leaving her alone, vulnerable, would be a mistake. On the other hand, taking her out where she might be seen was just as fucking bad.
—If you take her with you, you’ll need to cuff her to your own wrist, lad. Never let her out of our sight. At least by leaving her here, you can lock the door and keep pretending you know nothing. Keep her safe—
Aye, that’s—
“Oh, I’ll be staying with her,” Fern said, jutting her chin towards the bed.
Every particle of Mag’s being snapped to attention, honing in on her. She’d said that like it was in answer to his conversation with Pet. “Fern…”
“Piss off. She was with me the whole time I was lost. Saved me.” She rose to unsteady legs, snapping her teeth at him when he moved in a daze to help. “She might be asleep, or healing, or whatever the fuck, but she’s the only person in this twigging place I trust. I’m staying with her.”
His heart was pounding hard enough to make him sick. Good thing he could see there was absolutely no point in arguing with her.
He was too fucking shaken to do it, anyway.