Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“So let me get this straight,” I said, pacing the length of the destroyed living room while everyone gave me as much space as humanly possible.
“My familiar’s some kind of ancient magical entity with a mysterious past and 'certain authorities.
' My host, and fated mate, who I've known for all of eight days, is apparently the last of an extinct line of dragon-hunter Berserkers.
And I'm supposed to just…be okay with this?”
Gary shifted uncomfortably on his perch on the windowsill. It had damned near become his second home, and it was pissing me off even more for some reason.
“To be fair, darling, you did bring a house to life and weaponized an entire town's embarrassment. Glass houses and all that.”
“That's different! I'm a disaster. That's my whole thing. I practically have a patent for it. But you two? You’re supposed to be…” I paused, searching for the word.
“Normal?” Baz suggested wryly.
“Safe,” I corrected, and my voice cracked on the word.
The silence that followed my declaration was practically deafening. Even the house seemed to hold its breath, which was eerie and disturbing on multiple levels.
“Safe,” Baz repeated, setting down the bloody cloth. “You think safety ever truly exists for people like us?”
“People like us?”
“The ones who don't fit into neat categories. The ones whose very existence breaks the rules.”
I wanted to argue, but the butterflies chose that moment to spell out “HE'S RIGHT” in glowing letters above his head.
“Traitors,” I muttered at them.
“Tansy,” Zelda said gently, “everyone in this town has secrets. That's why we're here. Assjacket isn't just a ridiculous name. It's damn near a refuge for those like us.”
“The ‘magically problematic’?” I stared at her. “Is that what we're calling ourselves now?”
“Better than 'dangerously unstable,'“ Dee Dee offered with a giggle.
I slumped onto what was left of the couch. The curse twitched, a reminder that nothing was truly resolved. If anything, it felt stronger now that Illanya's connection to it was severed. Like it was all mine to bear. Alone.
Baz moved toward me, but I held up a hand. “Don't. I need some time.”
The flash of pain hit me midsentence. It was sharp enough to steal my breath.
The curse didn't like me warning him away, but it also didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of having him close.
It was still big mad at me as well as the world.
I didn’t blame it; the peace it craved was ripped away.
Right now, it wanted me isolated, miserable, alone.
Hopefully, you’ll settle down in time. But either way, you won’t control me. This is still MY life to live. With or without you.
“It's mad right now and is going to make you suffer for a while,” Gary observed.
“Thanks for the pep talk.” I rolled my eyes before continuing, “This one's personal,” I said, rubbing my chest where it burned. “She knows exactly what would hurt me most.”
Yes, I’m calling you she now. Maybe, when you settle down, you can tell me your name? Looks like we’ll be stuck together for a while.
“Being loved?” Baz asked quietly.
I'd known this man for just a little over a week, and he'd already bled for me, fought a dragon for me, revealed ancient secrets for me. The mate mark around my neck grew warm, and the curse responded with another round of needle-sharp pain.
“Being unable to accept it,” I corrected with a whimper.
The house creaked in empathy.
“Right,” Zelda said, clapping her hands.
“Emotional revelations aside, we need to deal with the immediate problems. First, the town needs repairs. I’ve had reports that your ex did a little passive-aggressive post-battle arson on her way out of town.
Second, Tansy needs training to control her magic. And third—” she started to say.
“The curse needs breaking,” I finished.
“Actually, I was going to say we need to replace the door, but yes, that too.”
I looked at the empty doorframe, through which a cool evening breeze blew. The glass skull curtain had given up somewhere during the battle.
“I'll fix it,” I said, standing. “It's my fault it's broken.”
“Tansy,” Baz said.
I could tell he was about to mansplain something to me, so I cut him off at the jump, “No, I need to do something. I can't just sit here feeling the curse eat me alive while everyone pretends everything’s fine.”
I walked to the doorframe, trying to focus my magic into something useful. Something normal. Something that wasn't bedlam and madness incarnate.
“Just a door,” I muttered, tracing symbols in the air. “A nice, normal, boring, basic-bitch door.”
The magic swirled, gathered, and then?
The doorframe sprouted arms. Actual arms. They reached out, growing impossibly long to grab up pieces of debris from the yard, and constructed what looked like a door made entirely of sticks, twigs, and dried grass.
“That…” Zelda tilted her head. “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”
“It's weird,” I said.
“It's perfect,” Baz countered. “It's you. Wild, free, and beautiful beyond words.”
The curse flared at the compliment, but I was getting used to the pain. It was quickly becoming background noise, like a headache you've had so long, you forget what it's like not to hurt.
“We should catalog the town damage,” Dee Dee said practically. “See what needs immediate attention.”
“I'll help,” I offered.
“You'll rest,” Zelda corrected. “You just fought a dragon, had multiple magical surges, and you're still actively in the midst of a pretty janky curse. You need some sleep.”
“I can't sleep. When I close my eyes, what if I see…” I stopped, not wanting to admit I’d seen Baz dying in my dreams. The curse feeding on him slowly, inevitably. I wrapped my arms around myself in a self-soothing hug.
“Then don't sleep alone,” Gary said simply. Everyone turned to stare at him. A few of them made kissy sounds, and I swear I heard a giggedy-giggedy. “What? It's practical. The curse reacts to proximity, yes, but it also reacts to isolation. Find the middle ground.”
“That's actually not terrible advice,” Zelda mused. “Make sure you sleep in a room with a connecting wall if you can. Close enough to desensitize her, while being far away enough to minimize proximity pain.”
It sounded logical. A little too logical. It reeked of the kind of logical that would either be the perfect solution or would backfire spectacularly.
“Fine,” I said, too tired to argue. “But when this goes horribly wrong, I'm blaming all of you.”
“Noted,” Zelda said with a smirk.
* * *
That night, I lay in the guest bed, hyperaware of every sound in the house. Baz was in the room next door. I could hear him breathing if I listened hard enough. The curse throbbed in warning with each heartbeat, uncomfortable but not agonizing. Zelda had been right about the middle ground.
“Can't sleep?” Baz's voice came through the wall.
“The house keeps trying to sing me lullabies,” I admitted. “It's deeply disturbing.”
The house immediately stopped humming. I swear it was pouting.
“Sorry, house,” I added. “Your lullabies are…unique.”
Satisfied, it resumed its off-key song.
“Tell me about the Berserker thing,” I said, needing a distraction.
Silence for a moment. Then: “It's not a thing. It's what I am.”
“Were you born that way?”
“Yes and no.” I heard him shift in his bed. “The ability is inherited, but it has to be awakened. Usually through trauma.”
“What awakened yours?”
“My mate.”
The words hung between us, heavy with history I didn't have the vaguest idea how to ask about.
“The dragon,” I said. It wasn't a question.
“Her name was Vera. She was…complicated. Beautiful and terrible and absolutely convinced that love meant possession.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Dragon psychology is remarkably consistent,” he said dryly. “They collect things. Hoard them. And they'd rather destroy their treasures than let anyone else have them.”
“Is that what happened? She destroyed you rather than let you go?”
“She destroyed me because I tried to leave. The Berserker rage awakened as I died. It brought me back…different. Stronger. Angrier.” He paused. “I hunted her for three years.”
“Did you find her?”
“Yes.”
He didn't elaborate, and I didn't push. Some stories didn't need endings spelled out.
“Is that why you helped me?” I asked. “Because of what happened to you?”
“Partly. But mostly because…” He paused, and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. “Because when you crashed into my ward line, covered in curse residue and sulfur, you didn't smell like prey. You smelled like possibility.”
“Possibility?”
“The possibility that this time, things would end differently.”
The curse twisted at that, sending raw jabs through my chest. It didn't seem to like hope. Or maybe it just didn't like Baz having hope about me.
“It won't end differently,” I said quietly. “The curse won't let it. You know what it's designed to do.”
“I know what it's supposed to do. But your magic doesn't follow rules, Tansy. Maybe the curse won't either.”
“That's not how curses work.”
“That's not how magic is supposed to work, but here we are with a sentient house and weaponized butterflies.”
As if to prove his point, one of the butterflies phased through the wall—apparently, they could do that now—and landed on my pillow. It transformed into a tiny glowing purple heart before dissolving.
“Even my magic ships us,” I said. “It obviously has terrible judgment.”
“It hasn’t been wrong so far.”
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion was finally winning. The house's janky lullaby was becoming hypnotic, and the curse had settled into a dull, manageable ache.
“Baz?” I said, already half-asleep.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“Tansy?”
“Hmmm?”
“We're going to break this curse.”
“It's impossible…”
Oops. Did I just say the quiet part out loud?
“So was surviving, but we managed.”
I smiled into my pillow. “Fair point.”
“Sleep. Tomorrow, your training begins.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It should. Zelda has plans. They involve charts.”
“I hate charts.”
“Everyone hates charts.”
The house creaked in agreement, and somewhere in the walls, I swear I heard it whisper, “Good night.”
Oh, goodie. It’s learning to talk.
I fell asleep to the sound of Baz's rhythmic breathing through the wall, the near-constant ache in my chest, and the bizarre comfort of knowing I was no longer alone. Even if being together might eventually kill us both.
My dreams were full of unicorns made of Bubble Yum and Gary wearing a crown and lording it over everybody. For some reason, that was somehow more disturbing than the nightmares about dragons.