Lord of Unkindness Ch. 2

 Notes: Let's roll!

Title: Lord of Unkindness, Chapter Two

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Chapter Two

 

It isn’t the fight itself that Ciro cares about. Sure, it ought to be interesting, but Ciro has never been into watching violence for the sake of itself. Some people are addicted to the act of bloodshed, striving for dominance, the true pain of failure, and the glory of a gory victory. Personally, he’s seen far too much of it to find any intrigue left in it.

But power, as a reflection of violence, is very interesting to him. It’s his stock in trade, so to speak—understanding power, knowing what it looks like, and knowing how to interpret it for others. And this fight isn’t a fair one.

It ought to be fair. Witchfights don’t make money from unfair matchups unless it’s a grudge match. When one practitioner is overpowered, the fight is either too short or an exercise in sadism, and this isn’t quite that kind of event. Nobody’s going to get paid more for torture here. The organizers go to considerable trouble to make sure their fighters will provide a good show. There’s a standard spell to give someone else a sense of a witch’s power, and a good caster can use that to put together a roster sure to please.

There are ways to get around that spell, though. And one of the Fraser family’s enemies suspects them of using it liberally.

“And…fight!”

Bogdanova’s bear isn’t huge, but it’s got long claws and doesn’t wait a second once the signal is given. It tears across the ring, barreling toward the terrier like it’s going to squash it into the floor. The terrier—a pit bull breed, so not exactly a tiny thing—is probably a quarter of it’s weight at best, but it stands its ground and spreads its paws wide. When the bear collides with it, it doesn’t move an inch.

Not. One. Inch.

The crowd goes “oooh” in sync, and Jackie Fraser grins as his familiar snaps its teeth at the bear’s ear, crushing the tip of it in a spray of blood. It’s a bold opener. He’s right to be proud.

Or he would be right, if this was his familiar. Which it isn’t.

The way he’s getting around the ranking spell is truly ingenious—Ciro is almost sad to be part of exposing it. The thing is, Jackie Fraser is an identical twin. Unfortunately, his brother Rory has been in a coma since their teen years, the result of a car crash. It’s garnered a lot of sympathy for the family, who are doing their damndest to elevate themselves in the local magical community.

The Fraser patriarch owns a magical security business, and Bogdanova is one of their biggest competitors in that space. If his son beats her familiar today, it’ll be a visceral sign that they have more to offer, despite their personal tragedies. Jackie Fraser is prepared to be the face of his father’s company…or would be, if he actually had the magical ability he says he does.

But he doesn’t. The truth is, Jackie Fraser has almost no magical abilities whatsoever. All he’s got is a mild psychic connection to his brother, who’s the actual owner of the pit bull familiar. Jackie, for all their similarities, was declared a late bloomer and didn’t manage to summon his own familiar until after his brother went into a coma. Except he hasn’t. He’s the face of his father’s company, but all of his power rests on his brother’s tenuous condition. Rory Fraser is, for all intents and purposes, a battery being kept alive to prop up his brother, but no one has ever been able to capture the link between them…before now.

It’s almost gratuitous to be filming this next part, but Ciro believes in going above and beyond. He switches his view to the private room where Rory is kept, life support machines beeping rhythmically. It was hard to get a raven into this room, but luckily one of Rory’s caregivers believes in giving the poor man fresh air and left a six-inch gap in the window.

Back in the ring, the bear has finally freed itself from the pit bull’s teeth. It’s rearing up on its hind legs, ready to come crushing down on the dog—but the dog darts forward and head-butts it in the stomach, and the bear is knocked onto its back a second later. Almost lazily, the dog steps forward and clamps its broad jaws around the bear’s hind foot. There’s an audible crunch, and the bear bellows with pain. Bogdanova grits her teeth, going pale as the pain radiates back at her.

It’s time to make a move. Ciro reaches out to his second familiar—the one inside Rory Fraser’s room, wearing a camera around its neck designed to capture every moment—and a second later it hops over to the ventilator, and taps the switch keeping it running with its beak. The machine shuts down.

Jackie frowns.

Rory’s breathing becomes labored.

The pit bull lets go of the bear and steps back, shaking its head. Jackie urges it back into the fight, but the pit bull begins to whine. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jackie shouts, and then his mouth drops as he realizes what’s going on.

Rory stops breathing.

The dog howls crazily and leaps out of the ring, sprinting toward the distant door.

“What the fuck is this?”

“What’s going on?”

“The fight’s not over, you can’t run!”

Content that he’s got enough proof, Ciro’s familiar taps the machine back on, then flies to the window and out just as someone bursts into the room to check on Rory, who begins breathing again.

Jackie is being confronted by the witch in charge of the fight. There’s shouting and confusion, and Bodganova looks grimly satisfied even as she heads into the ring to comfort her bear. Ciro saves both video files to the cloud; he’ll send them to his client later. Then he hops down from the barrel, almost landing on a particularly bold cockroach scuttling out from the protection of the column. He brushes it aside with his foot, then makes his way past the fight scene and heads back toward the front door.

There’s more drama going on than a fixed fight, though. As he approached the gambling, there’s a scuffle, and a second later a young woman in a long flannel shirt, jean shorts, and shitkicker boots is dragged out of the group of onlookers. Her dark hair is held back in a messy bun, and as she flails in the grip of a man at least three times bigger than her, Ciro catches sight of a familiar hoard of silver rings on her hand.

“Messin’ with our odds?” the man roars at her.

Oh, fuck. The lucky girl. She must have a hell of a luck ability to be able to influence spelled dice, but it’s clearly been going too well for her. She’s given herself away, or maybe whoever she’s working with has. She’s the only one in hand, though, and the guy holding onto her looks like he wants to tear her apart.

“Yer friend may have gotten out of this, but you’re not gonna!”

Yep, that’s the sound of a man set on vengeance. Ah, well. None of Ciro’s business. He tries to slide around the scene, but for some reason the girl twists around in his direction and zeroes in on him. She isn’t strong enough to free herself from her captor’s grip, but she’s got just enough reach to touch Ciro. She brushes her fingers against his hand as he sidles by, and…

He sees how to do it. It would be stupidly easy to help her, but… “What’s in it for me?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“A favor from my boss,” she says a second before she’s jerked off her feet and lifted into the air by just one arm. “It’ll be worth it!” she shrieks at him, genuine fear in her face.

The big man, burly and bearded and tattooed to hell and back—maybe literally—moves into Ciro’s face. Ciro’s familiar flies up into the rafters, cawing wildly. This close, Ciro can smell sulphur in the man’s breath.

“Yer gonna want to back the fuck off, punk,” the man growls at him. “Or I’ll take your hand along with hers.”

And…no. It’s one thing to get drawn into a conflict that doesn’t concern him; it’s another for this idiot to threaten him when Ciro clearly has nothing to do with it all. He tilts his head back and flicks his fingers. High above them, his familiar’s beak strikes one of the old lighting fixtures. It’s old, but it should be solid—it’s held up there with steel chains, after all.

One tap, and it falls.

Right onto this guy’s head. He drops the girl and drops to the ground. Better yet, this section of the warehouse is instantly darker, and localized pandemonium sets in.

Good job, he sends to his familiar, already turning toward the door. He makes his way through the crowd with none the wiser, ignoring the cries of “Wait!”  behind him as the girl he’s just saved tries to catch up with him.

Ciro didn’t do this for a favor. He doesn’t need favors. He doesn’t need anyone to know any more about him than a vague outline.

He gets outside and starts to walk.

A flock of ravens follows him.