Chapter Thirty Nine • Trial and Error • Lillith
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“We’re essentially going to be throwing magic at a wall and seeing if it sticks. It seems like a fool’s errand,” Bastion says, his expression twisting with mild disgust.
“What other choice do we have?” Wren counters.
We’re sitting in Bastion’s study. Aemon leans against a bookshelf lined with the entire Bramblethorn Lineage contained in urns, his arms crossed. The solarium’s table is set with bowls and spoons and crusty bread, while a fragrant stew bubbles in a cauldron at its center.
“We don’t know what this ichor does, Wren. We don’t know if it’s a tripwire or not. For all we know, if we tug on this thing inside of her, it could shrivel her insides and kill her.”
“I don’t think that’s likely,” Aemon says. “With the way things are healing now, I think it’s a subjugation working.”
I know I should be scared by that. I know what a subjugation working is—what it does—but gods, I’m just so weary from weeks of ups and downs. My capacity for fretting feels overspent when it comes to matters of my own safety—my own life.
When a subjugation spell takes hold—if the band of bruising around my neck settles in permanently—my power can be tapped into at any time.
The caster of the spell can force me to do anything they want me to, because denying them could kill me.
It’s powerful, old magic, and, frankly, frowned upon in a day and age when you can usually achieve its socially and morally acceptable equivalent with a binding spell like the one I did with Damien.
It’s ancient enough that Wren, Bash and I would have no real reason to know how to undo a working like it. Our only hope is Aemon, and he seems as baffled as the rest of us.
“Well, do we have any ideas of what we’re throwing at the wall?” I ask, as Bastion picks up a ladle and starts filling each bowl with soup.
I’m reminded of Satoshi’s stalwart support of soup and find myself looking at Wren.
Who is staring at Aemon.
Eugh.
I don’t really feel like eating, personally. My appetite has been dismal the last few days. But every time Damien calls, he asks for a full recap of what I’ve eaten in the day. He must sense that I’m feeling sad.
I underestimated how bereft I’d feel in Damien’s absence. I did alright for a day or two, then my nervous system flooded me with all of the breakup chemicals, despite repeated assurances that we have not, in fact, broken up.
Bash gives me a pointed look as he gives me an extra-large helping of stew. “You better clean that plate,” he says.
I stick my tongue out at him, but dip some bread into the stew and take a bite regardless.
“Well, what do we know about the Ichor?” Wren asks, seemingly breaking whatever bizarre enchantment Aemon has on her.
“It’s essentially the blood of the aberration,” Aemon says. “It gradually spreads from the physical form to the metaphysical one. So, there is a point of no return if we don’t address it quickly.”
“This is great. I have the metaphysical equivalent of an STI,” I say, choking down a mouthful of stew.
“Well, you are into getting choked,” Wren says, just as Bastion does an honest-to-gods spit take with his tea.
“Wren, what in the hells is wrong with you?” Bastion snaps.
“You’re not the one who had to breathe life into her! I’m allowed to make dark jokes... Right Lilipad?” Wren says.
I shrug. “Sure. Why the fuck not? My entire life is a joke at this point; we might as well enjoy it together.”
For what it’s worth, I really do mean for it to come out like a casual quip. I mean to make light of the whole thing. But even to my own ears it sounds jaded. I sound... bitter. Tired. Wren goes a little pallid, her expression falling into one of guilt.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt her. “I—I’m fine. I’m just tired. I honestly meant for that to be a joke, but it didn’t come out that way.”
“You don’t have to joke about this, Lillith,” Aemon says.
He sounds serious enough that I meet his eyes. They soften, his brows rising on his forehead as he joins us at the table. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s alright to be frightened. It’s alright to be uncertain.”
“I just want this part to be over, for better or worse,” I say.
“I think... I think I’ve just been jerked around by my life lately.
All of the best things are happening right alongside the worst days of my life.
One moment I’m at the top of the world, the next I’m worrying about losing my power completely.
I’ve already died once in all of this. I’m not really relishing the idea of doing it all over again. ”
They’re all very quiet for a long time. I don’t blame them. I don’t really know what the fuck comes next either. If the shoe were on anyone else’s foot, I wouldn’t know what to say to them.
In the end, it’s Bastion who speaks.
“You sound like you’re giving up,” he observes.
It’s quiet, almost hesitant. Like he fears that saying it out loud will make it so.
I heave out a long, exhausted sigh. “Guys, listen. I know from an outsider’s perspective, it doesn’t seem like I’m missing out on much.
The bloodline curse is a drag, but hey, all things considered, it could have been a lot worse.
But the thing is... Gods, I want to be able to dream.
I don’t think you really get it, because you’re not confined to just this city like I am, but for one short moment I thought I was free.
Really, really free. And then this happened. ” I gesture to my neck.
“I want to... see Niagara falls. I want to go hiking in Malibu. I want to visit Alcatraz, or see a lake. I want to go to a different country and try learning a language while I’m there.
I’m thirty-three years old, and all I have stretched before me is the shop and The Buried City, forever and ever and ever.
I’m good about keeping a positive outlook for you guys.
But... I just... getting to want something, and think it might actually happen, only to have that hope ripped away...
” I sigh. “I don’t have much room in my heart for more disappointment. ”
A long moment of silence passes again, and Wren rises from her seat, coming to sit next to me on Bastion’s little loveseat next to his table.
She pulls me into a silent hug and just...
holds me. She holds me in silence for so long that I do that awkward pat on her back.
But when she doesn’t let go, I lean my weight against her.
Bastion follows after, pulling us both against his chest for a three-way hug. Two silent tears slip down my cheeks and I sniffle. “I should be with Damien right now,” I hitch under my breath.
“You should be,” Bastion agrees. “I’m sorry, Lilipad. It really is criminal how so many Nightingales have lived their lives locked in a cage.”
I look at Aemon, and he looks distracted. He’s examining a spot on the floor like it’s going to spill magical secrets. More tears slip out as I close my eyes. There’s a long silence; I can’t tell if it’s contemplative or resigned. Maybe it’s a bit of both.
But being held by my friends. It feels good. Because they’re family, too. They’re everything I have. And to have them finally acknowledge how miserable it’s been to live like this feels like I’m releasing myself from a generational curse, even if I’m still trapped.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” Bastion says as he holds me.
He fusses with my bangs, getting the center point of them to lay flat against my brow, a bit of familial care he used to do when we were kids.
“We’re going to eat this stew I made. And then we’re going to read.
A lot. An obnoxious amount, quite honestly.
And when that’s done, we’re going to do whatever we can to break this subjugation spell.
It won’t fix everything. But it’s our first priority.
Because we need to sever that connection if the rest of everything else is going to fall into place. ”
This is what Bastion is best at. Assessment and strategy. His mind is built to find the first correct thing to do.
“And then we’re gonna have a fucking sleepover,” Wren says, nuzzling against my cheek. “Because we need to get your mind out of the dark spot you’re stuck in. Girl time, yeah?”
“It’d be nice not to be alone...” I mumble. “I miss Damien a lot.”
“I know. You’re so down bad,” Wren says indulgently.
“I’m so down bad,” I groan.
Aemon sighs and pushes off the wall. “I’m going to get started looking through the archives. Alright with you, Lovely?”
Lovely? Who is he calling—
“Yeah. Sounds good,” Wren answers.
I stare at her, mouth agape, as Aemon once again blinks out of existence. Bastion must sense my immediate tension, because I hear him heave out a sigh as he releases us from our group hug. “I’m going to serve the stew,” he says with a resigned sag in his tone.
Wren blinks her too-big-too-innocent eyes at me.
“I know you’re not hiding another hookup from me, Wren Constantina Regina Laluz Alonso!”
“All of the middle names? Really?” Wren whines.
“Wren.”
“It’s not that serious,” she says releasing me and spreading her hands with a shrug. “We just... kind of hit it off.”
“SO WELL THAT YOU FUCKED?”
“NO,” Wren cries. “We just kissed. Honestly... it was kind of nice. I can’t remember the last time a guy just kissed me, without trying to go for more. Aemon’s kind of a gentleman.”
“I don’t even know what to think about this right now. You were sleeping with Satoshi like, four days ago!”
“Not all of us are lucky enough to have a hot drummer become instantly besotted with us and devote themselves to us entirely, Lillith! Satoshi... eugh. Okay, he’s fun.
I have had more orgasms with him than I have with any other man.
It’s BLISSFUL. But every time we hook up, he ghosts me for days at a time!
No texts. No calls! I’m not tied down to him, and he’s not tied down to me! No harm, no foul.”
“Wren. Aemon is a demon,” I say.
“It was just a kiss. I’m not gonna fucking marry the guy. Also, he’s not a demon, remember? He’s a familiar.”
“Is this why you wouldn’t go with Satoshi on tour?” I ask.