Page 50 of WitchCurse
I turned my head to follow Toby’s gaze. The blood on the bed wasn’t gold, but red, dark and pooled. Mortal blood.
“Nick?” The bond between us unfurled, the dark rot vanishing beneath the light of magic, but something still lingered as if it were willing to pull him under again.
“I’m fine,” Nick whispered weakly. He barely moved beside me, the magic of our bond throbbing with strength as he seemed to be yanking on it to heal.
Had I hurt him? All the flailing and fighting against Zephyr, had it been Nick and not the monster of my past?
“This needs to be done,” Toby growled. “Zephyr can’t do that again.”
I thought he was talking to me, but his gaze was focused on Nick, Nick’s face blotched in blood. Claw marks marring his beautiful features, even as he healed, wounds sealing and turning to pink scars that quickly began to fade. His chest rose and fell slowly, clothes shredded. He barely moved, as if everything hurt. Blood coated him like I’d seen in some of the mortal movies he watched with the omega’s pack.
It was me; I had hurt him. Had the dream been a lie? Not Zephyr at all? Or had that nightmare been an attack to sever one of my scions from me? I trembled with the idea of Nick being gone.
“Still here,” Nick said. “Don’t bury me yet.”
“We have to remove their ties,” Toby said.
“I thought I got the worst of them,” Nick muttered. “They must have sensed it? Decided I was a liability?”
Toby scowled. “If they think you’re the problem they don’t know about me yet.” He let go of my wrists now that the claws were gone and put a hand on Nick, pressing a structure of magic into him. The healing quickened. Talented were my scions, sad that they were stuck with me.
“You’re mine,” Toby growled.
“Ours,” Nick said. “I was much more useful in Underhill where I could shape Kiran’s magic with ease. Here it’s like trying to throw an elephant.”
“I suspect that’s part of these curses,” Toby said. “We need to get rid of them all.”
“Kiran isn’t strong enough.”
“Kiran is not as weak as everyone thinks he is,” Toby said. His intense blue gaze turned back to me. “He is kitsune. They’ve spent centuries trying to bind him and control him, and failing miserably, needing to try something else, bind him in another way, and it’s time to take the fucking gloves off.”
I had no idea what that meant. I wasn’t wearing any gloves. Toby smiled at me, showing more fangs than teeth, his wolf on the surface. He touched my face. “This is going to hurt,” he said, then added “Don’t die.”
His eyes flashed gold, swallowing up my world in white-hot pain. For the first few seconds I could feel the symbols being ripped away, dug out with sharp claws rather than precise knives. Then there was nothing but pain, all blending into itself until I prayed to pass out. The darkness didn’t come, and I couldn’t find a way free of the agony to define anything for a long time.
I drifted, floating on memories I’d thought lost ages before, seeking the touch of happiness and joy, rather than the lingering pain, and finding my early years spent deep in the forests of Underhill, listening to the sound of the trees, and avoiding other fae who would drag me back to my mother complaining that I should not be free to roam.
That first doorway had been a marvel, and a mistake. I recalled watching the flickering waves of magic and approaching it, not with fear, but wonder. That trip through, I’d only been a handful of years, and landed near a small village that mistook me for a normal child. Until I shifted in front of them and they called me demon, chasing me into the trees. I learned to mimic the fox, though my fur was white streaked with red. We even played for a time, a mother fox taking me in with her own, but the mortals hunted me.
Being different taught me fear at an early age, and I found myself lost in the mortal world, looking for a way home. Though in truth, Underhill had never really been a home either. Someone always stalking me, dragging me back to the palace, locking me in my room away from the prying eyes of the court, and from embarrassing the queen.
In the mortal realm, they didn’t seem to know what I was, labeling me as a monster, though I hurt none. In those long-ago days, it was easier to hide from mortals as there were less of them, and I could hear them from great distances. Rather I kept to the woods, hunting when I hungered and napping beneath the giant sentient trees.
One such tree wrapped long branched fingers around me, carefully petting my fluffy fur and singing sweet things as the wind whistled through its enormous array of leaves, comforting and protective. I couldn’t understand it at all, but recalled thinking it looked a bit like the cursed trees of Underhill, the ones that appeared like gnomes snatched up by the trunks to create a sort of creepy carved trunk. Those cursed trees ate fae, and I knew well enough to keep my distance. This tree hadn’t looked any different at first, the bark more white than gnarled black, and moss etching up the sides in welcoming life.
I rolled from beneath the tree’s touch to stare up at it, studying the differences. It turned a kind face to me, fingers gently reaching for me. I changed into the fae form, a child of red hair and brown skin, all limbs and wildness, expecting it to recoil as everyone did when they saw me. Only it didn’t, rather it seemed to sigh softly, as though relieved, branches snagging in my hair, combing through it almost lovingly?
The creature’s eyes gazed down at me, filled with light and magic, a pulsing of earth, and occasionally rolling waves of fire. It invited me to sit with them, rest within the branches and listen to tales of those melodies on the winds, all with a gesture of flowing sticks. I hesitated, fearing it was a trap, turned and ran, but found myself drawn back, listening until eventually the song took form.
Nick found stories of sirens, and I now thought of the melody like the draw of a siren, singing desires of peace and safety, home and warmth. If I listened long enough it all came together, words branding themselves into my mind, and the creature spoke of legends and stories, sharing histories with me I wish I still remembered, as Nick would have loved them.
The creature taught me control of my shift, how to cover my hair and skin in more than simple glamour, and blend in with the masses of passing mortal life. I could be the average fox, or an ordinary human child, instructed by the tune of some earthen deity. It taught me wards, the shaping of barriers to keep myself safe from predators and humans. It sang to me the songs of the wind and the rain and the little growing things in the dirt. It showed me how to spin wild magic and create things I would need in the mortal world, like clothing and finding food.
I’d been ravenous at first, both for knowledge, and real hunger. The mortal beasts I ate couldn’t fill my belly. The creature taught me to hunt shadows as well as mortal beasts, strange flitting creatures that lingered close to human villages and often preyed on its occupants. They might even have been escaped creatures from Underhill. The shadows burst with wild magic filled my stomach and calmed the growing unease within my gut.
A half dozen years passed under the creature’s tutelage. I explored mortal cities, learned languages, sought out history, and returned each night to the forests, vast and endless back then, to always find the creature, a close and willing sanctuary. The forest creature taught me to flit between forms much as it did, lending a magic to my speed. For a time, we’d flown together, not as birds do with wings and friction, but like a shooting star in one breath of time, and a petal drifting on the wind in the next.
From time to time I changed, shifting into wilder things, filled with curiosity and magic. The creature never protested, but moved us deeper into the forests as we worked on wards. They always found food for me, shadows and beasts, keeping my stomach filled, and my mind engaged. The wards became as natural as shifting, part of me.