Lord of Unkindness Ch. 8

 Notes: A little more alone time, a little hurt/comfort, a little of the gentleness before it all goes FUBAR again...

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter 8

***

Chapter Eight

 

The good thing is, Ciro doesn’t have to move. He’s comfortable in the bed, and his body still aches—where he can feel it, where it isn’t numb to the touch—and it’s nice to settle in and let someone else do the work for once. It feels like Ciro has been on the move forever; he can’t remember the last time he actually let himself relax, really relax rather than exhaust himself into slumber before doing it all over again. And to have Angelo be the one puttering around him, turning the lights up and tilting the head of the bed so Ciro can drink water without spilling it all over himself and generally going out of his way to be nice…that feels extra special.

That’s what makes it so dangerous.

This is temporary. It has to be; no matter what’s going on here, whether Angelo is earnest about helping him or not, Ciro can’t stay for long. Angelo Fabroa is a name of note in the magical world; apart from his insight and care in treating familiars, which is what’s made him famous, he’s literally the only person out there who can treat witches with magic like Ciro’s. Multi-familiar magic, some call it, but those people don’t really understand it.

Familiars are magical pieces of their masters given fleshy forms. Hambly magic is that; so is Jin magic, and Ratatosk magic, Agafonov magic—all families that specialize in having multiple familiars. Ratatosk witches tend to have familiars in pairs; Jins will have between five and ten.

The Hamblys are the only ones out there who can handle hundreds. It both sets them apart and makes them particularly vulnerable to mental breakdowns, especially since they’ve interbred too much over the years in an effort to keep their magical bloodline strong.

Ciro’s father is one of two children from his parents, twin boys: Vincent and Magnus. Not identical, more’s the pity for Magnus. Their parents were second cousins; Magnus was born with a cleft palate and a lazy eye, and developed scoliosis in his early childhood. Vincent, luckier physically, found his bride outside the family, whereas Magnus married one of their second cousins.

Vincent and his wife Cheng Mei had Ciro. Magnus and Vivian had Nephele. Ciro knows he doesn’t have the same raw power as Nephele, but he’s a hell of a lot more sound of mind and body. At least, he was before he took matters into his own hands and forcibly separated himself from his magic.

He misses it. He’s cold without it, cold all the time. It’s worse not having any of his ravens with him, but even one or two isn’t enough to make him feel normal. Shit, can he even remember what normal feels like?

“You’re drifting, honey.”

“Mm.” He knows. It’s easier that way. But now isn’t a time for easy, he’s got to remember that; now is a time for reckoning. He’s fucked himself up. Might as well see what Angelo has to say about it. Angelo, pretty, smiling Angelo, looking all hot while he sets the scene.

Ambiance seems to be a big component of Angelo’s method of magic, whatever-the-hell it really is; Ciro’s not sure. Healing? Kind of. Diagnostic? For sure, but more. Animal powers? Absolutely, but again…he always sets the scene before getting started.

In this case, that means lighting a stick of incense in a jade holder shaped like a dragon that sends a tendril of smoke into the air, passing Ciro a cup of tea to drink that’s so strong it curls his tongue, and a set of acupuncture needles that Ciro’s not looking forward to experiencing. There’s also a—

“Where do you get those?” It’s another golden feather, this one smaller than the one that deflected his blade, small and downy and soft. It glitters in the soft light, and Ciro is struck by the sudden urge to touch it.

“One of the creatures I work with drops them on a regular basis,” Angelo replies as he wafts the feather over Ciro’s body. It twists and turns in an invisible breeze, going flat and fluffing out again for no reason that Ciro can tell. Angelo seems to get something out of it, though, judging by the pensive look on his face. “You’ve got major blockages in almost every meridian. I’m going to do what I can to release them, but it would be a lot easier with your magic active and able to help me.”

Ciro just stares at Angelo, who sighs a moment later. “I figured as much. Let’s see what good old acupuncture can do first.” He gets out his needles, then pauses. “You’ll need to get undressed. Just the shirt for now,” he adds when Ciro doesn’t move. “Please.”

The thought of being bare in front of Angelo, even though it wouldn’t be the first time, makes Ciro feel like his skin is crawling. He’s defenseless right now, with no magic and no weapon on his person. He already knows Angelo could kick his ass without a second thought, but the idea of deliberately removing a, however flimsy, shield between them makes him so nervous his stomach roils uncomfortably.

“Okay, no.” Angelo drops the needles on the bedside table and goes to sit on the bed. After a second thought, he kneels on the floor beside Ciro instead, so that his head is lower down. It’s an artificial sop to Ciro’s comfort, but it helps that he even thought to do it. He crosses his arms on the edge of the bed but doesn’t touch Ciro, another point in his favor. “This is never going to do anything but make things worse if you can’t trust me.”

“I should go, then,” Ciro says, because he doesn’t want to outright tell Angelo he doesn’t trust him after the other man has, genuinely, never been anything but good to him. The risk, though, is just too high.

“What if I swore a magical oath that I won’t do anything to hurt you?”

Ciro blinks in astonishment. That’s… “You can’t do that.”

Angelo smiles. “Why not?”

“Because you can’t possibly know that it won’t backfire on you someday! You—no, that’s not reasonable. You can’t bind yourself that way.”

“I can and will if it means you trusting me enough to at least let me try to help you, Ciro.” Angelo’s smile wavers. “You want to know why I want to do that? Think about it for a second, babe. Think about this from my perspective. A person I care about, deeply, no matter how impossible things are between us thanks to…everything, very dramatically went missing not long after the last time we were together. No one knew where he was or what happened to him. No one knew if he was alive, but his own family was hunting him and threatening everyone over whether they’d seen him or not and basically making assholes of themselves. They went quiet soon enough—it’s never good to advertise your weaknesses to the other families—but everyone knows they’re searching for him.

“And I would never, ever be able to forgive myself if I was the reason you were found,” Angelo finishes, a contented expression on his face despite the ridiculous thing he’s saying. “It would fuck me up forever, so that’s why I’m more than happy to promise you that I won’t be the one to give you up. Because it would wreck me, Ciro.”

“I.” Ciro swallows hard. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

Angelo shrugs. “I didn’t feel like I should let you know. It would only have made things worse, right? Don’t worry about it,” he adds. “Whatever I feel, or why I feel this way, is nothing you have to bother with. Just—either let me swear an oath, or take your shirt off so I can try to treat you a little better, okay?”

Ciro takes a deep breath, then brushes his fingertips across the top of Angelo’s hand. “Don’t swear anything.” He brings his other hand to the bottom of his t-shirt and began to pull it up. Angelo helps him, and a minute later he’s laid flat again, and tiny, slender needles being pushed just beneath his skin. Some of them, Angelo attaches a tiny, burning white cone onto the tip of the needle, which sends heat down into Ciro’s skin and making the whole front of his body feel warm.

“Are you toasting marshmallows on me?” Ciro asks a bit groggily.

“Moxa, honey, just moxa. Mugwort,” Angelo clarifies. “It enhances the effect of the acupuncture. Let me know if it starts to hurt, okay? You shouldn’t feel any pain.”

I always feel pain. But actually, right now, he almost doesn’t. He feels tired and achy and numb, but the pain itself isn’t prominent. He feels like some old, dusty piece of himself is being picked up off the floor and put back on a shelf, somehow—magically brushed clean. Ciro relaxes and lets himself be…whatever this is, and an indeterminate amount of time later he hears a tap tap tap on the window.

He also feels a tap tap tap in his mind, and smiles as Chiffon starts to bark excitedly.

Huh. Looks like he can trust Angelo after all…at least enough for one bird.

It’s a start.

He opens his eyes just in time to see Angelo pull up the shade and let his raven in through the window. It flies right over to Ciro, and the second they touch he feels ten times better.

“It’s amazing,” Angelo murmurs. “How your meridians respond when you get your magic back.”

“Magical, you might even say,” Ciro replies. Angelo rolls his eyes, but before he can say anything Chiffon goes from an excited bark to furious, leaping toward the door and snarling while pawing viciously at the floor.

“Oh lord, it’s just a damn bug, sweetie,” Angelo calls over, but his dog doesn’t stop. “Well, that’s that moment packed in,” he says, then turns back to Ciro and begins to briskly take the needles out. “Let’s have some dinner and talk, shall we? You’re doing much better now, it seems.”

“I am.” Chiffon is still growling and running back and forth by the door, but whatever it is that caught her his interest seems to have escaped. “I can go…”

“Give me one meal to try and convince you to stay, please,” Angelo says.

It’s a bad idea, but…Ciro’s had a lot of them over the past hour. What’s one more?

“Okay.”

Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Four, Part One

 Notes: It's been a while since we've had some action, hasn't it? No more! 

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Four, Part One

***

Chapter Four, Part One

 

“Try putting your helmet on.”

Kieron shook his head. “There’s no sense in it now. I’m already exposed to whatever pathogens this place might have, and we know the environment is breathable.”

“Humor me,” Elanus said flatly.

Kieron sighed. “I can’t. You already saw that, I—”

“I said, humor me.”

He wanted to push the fight about it, but Kieron had to admit that he’d acted rashly. If this was a small step he could make in the direction of Elanus forgiving him, then he’d put his weakness on display again. He reached back, lifted up his hood, and—

It slid perfectly into place. He blinked. “What the fuck?” He took it off, then put it back on. His arms had no trouble making the motion now. His mind didn’t shudder or come to a standstill. He was fine. “What the fuck?”

“Situational incapacity,” Elanus said. “I thought that might be it.”

“What the hell is that?”

Elanus sighed. “You didn’t get very far with Danielle when it came to coping mechanisms for stressful experiences, did you?”

Kieron paused, then said, “Who’s Danielle?”

Now it was Elanus’s turn to swear and shake his head. “I forgot that you wouldn’t remember her, not with the…medical situation.” He went to wipe his hand over his face, then set it back down when he remembered his helmet. He’d gotten his EV suit on in record time, to come after Kieron so quickly. “Never mind. Think of it as a mental pressure valve. You were under a lot of pressure regarding an unknown situation when we landed, and it resulted in situational incapacity. Your mind didn’t allow you to put your helmet on, probably for a whole cocktail of reasons. Then you took another path to get the same result, just less safely, and now the incapacitation is gone. Probably just temporarily, but gone.”

“Oh.” That made sense…kind of. Kieron didn’t like the idea that his mind had laid a series of mines for him to stumble over at who-knew-what-times, but he didn’t know what he didn’t know. He’d just have to keep Elanus close and hope for the best. “Um. Sorry about that.”

Elanus wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, and frankly I’m too tired to care right now. Just…what are we doing now?”

A sinking feeling of guilt suffused Kieron’s chest, but he pushed it down and brought his palm light up. “Let’s take a quick look in the front. We won’t go farther in until it’s light,” he added in an effort to show Elanus he had some basic understanding of safety precautions, “but we’re already here. Might as well get a glimpse. Catie?”

“Yes, Kierrron?”

“Any large signs of life?”

“No, Kierrron, but there is a mineral component to the soilll that dampens my scannning ability.”

“Thanks for letting us know.” Kieron glanced at Elanus, but the other man was already stepping into the building. With a bit-back sigh of contrition, Kieron followed him.

The room was on the small side for an entrance, perhaps twenty by thirty feet. The walls were covered with empty cabinets, and there were two desks as well, and one abandoned chair on its side that was missing three of its four legs. A thick layer of grime coated the floor, and with every step Kieron could feel a grittiness under his shoes that scratched unpleasantly at his brain somehow. It was filthy, abandoned, and useless.

He felt more stupid than ever for suggesting they come here. Fuck, the colony headquarters would just be more of the same, more of a disgusting past filled with deranged people who had given less than a damn about him while he was a child and would hate him even more now if they could somehow see him. He’d dragged the man who loved him and their daughter here, left the other daughter at home with the refugees they were supposed to be sponsoring, done it all while he was brain damaged and ought to be listening to Elanus better than ever because look at the fucking bullshit that happened when he didn’t listen to Elanus, he ought to—

Elanus took two more steps, then fell through the floor with a choked cry. He vanished from sight a moment later.

“No!” Kieron ran over, then had to step back again as more of the floor crumbled away beneath his feet. What the hell, this space had been hollowed out. How? By who? “Elanus!” He shined his palm light down into the hole and saw Elanus lying awkwardly on his side about ten feet down, one of his lower legs bent at a bad angle.

“Well, shit,” Elanus said through gritted teeth. “That’s broken.” It went unsaid that on almost anyone else, it wouldn’t have been a bad enough fall to result in a break. Elanus, being afflicted with Elfshot Disease, was unpredictably vulnerable to injury.

“Daddeee!” Catie’s worry pulsed through their implants, so loud that it made Kieron’s vision blurry for a moment. “Daddeee!”

“I’m going to be okay, honey,” Elanus said, projecting admirable calm despite the pain he had to be in. “Catie, get the grapple out and ready to go. Kieron, go drag it in here and throw it down to me.”

“I’ll come down to you with it,” he said instead.

Elanus shook his head. “There’s no sense in both of us being stuck in this hole, you might as well—”

A shiver from Catie’s signal interrupted him. “Daddeeee, something is coming toward you…something alive! And it’s big!”

Kieron didn’t even let himself think. Sheer instinct, sharpened by paranoia, took over, and he wrenched the final leg free of the chair and dropped into the hole just in time to place himself between Elanus and a reptilian creature with a body like a crocodile, a mouth like a shark, and the flexibility of a catterpet. It arched its long back, growled gutturally, and clawed the ground.

“Holy fucking—”

“Catie, shoot the grapple in to us!” Kieron called out, brandishing the leg in the reptilian’s face. He’d surprised it, but it knew a good target when it saw one, and if it could get past him and to Elanus it would. If it got its teeth onto him and dragged him into the tunnel Kieron could make out behind it, Kieron would probably never get him back.

“I willll, I—”

The reptilian launched itself at him. Kieron couldn’t sidestep, not with Elanus right behind him. He’d have to go toe to toe. He smashed the chair leg down hard on the beast’s head, enough to rattle it, then kicked the underside of its jaw, which clacked together hard. It stepped back, shaking its head from side to side. There was a whoosh noise from above, a rattle, and—

“Sorryyyyy, I missed! I’ll tryyyy again!”

“Try quickly, honey!” Elanus called out. “Kieron, I’ll be fine, get back up there and guide the grapple down here.”

“No.”

“Kiero—watch out!”

The reptilian tried a different attack—using its long, pointed tail like a flail over its head, trying to batter Kieron out of the way with it. He dodged the attacks, not bothering to try and smash it with the chair—that would just leave an opening for the mouthy part of the reptilian, which would end this fight a hell of a lot faster. He feinted toward the head, driving the creature back, and when the tail came around again Kieron caught it in one hand and yanked, hard enough to force the reptilian onto its back.

Whoosh. Rattlerattlerattle… The grapple made it into the hole. Kieron didn’t have to look to know Elanus was attaching it to his belt. His fiancé started to rise. “Come on!”

“I have to hold it down!” Which wasn’t easy—the tail was useful, but too powerful to maintain a grip on. He’d have to let go soon, and once he did…

“Kieron, get over here!”

“You first!”

“Kieron, grab my fucking hand!”

Kieron chanced a look behind him and saw Elanus almost at the top of the hole. He let go, turned, jumped up—

And was grateful he’d pulled his legs up behind him, because the reptilian launched itself up and snapped its massive jaws together less than an inch beneath his tucked-up feet. He and Elanus were tugged over the edge of the hole, and as soon as Kieron could stand he picked Elanus up and ran back out into the rain. Catie’s hatch was open for them, and a minute later he and Elanus were slumped side by side in relative safety, cold, wet, and adrenalized as hell.

That had been way too close, and it was all Kieron’s fault. Fuck it. They were getting out of here.

Lord of Unkindness Ch. 7

 Notes: We meet our mystery man! And get a little deeper into why Ciro is fucked, yay!

Title: Lord of Unkindness Ch. 7

***

Chapter Seven

 

Coming back to consciousness is like being pulled up out of a deep cavern. It’s not comfortable to be down in that dark, cold place, but it’s even less comfortable to be jerked out of it. Ciro resists with all of his might, some part of his brain knowing that he’s going to be confronted with pain and possibly imprisonment the moment he opens his eyes. There’s a weight on his chest, and it…

Actually, it’s not so bad. Not crushing, definitely not impeding his lungs. And there’s a warmth against his side that’s pretty nice. Something soft…and furry? He must move slightly, because the warmth shifts and the weight disappears and the next thing he knows, something wet and rough is licking the side of his neck.

“Chiffon, stop that,” a gentle voice chides, and the tongue goes away. Ciro gets a cold nose to the neck instead, and it startles him enough that his eyes jerk open.

The ceiling is painted the color of the ocean, sweeping from gray to blue to green in a way that seems like it shouldn’t work as well as it does. There’s a light fixture in the center of it, but it’s not on. The only light in the room is from a small golden lamp on a side table about three feet to his left. The bed he’s on—and he only just now realizes it’s a bed, of course it is—is incredibly soft. It’s like lying on a marshmallow, and Ciro feels like he should hate it on principle after spending the last six months on mattresses like rocks, but his body has melted into it instead. He’s…almost comfortable.

Almost, because he’s so grateful not to be locked up somewhere, but he also can’t feel his arms from the elbows down, or his feet, or the tip of his nose.

Almost, because the dog curled up next to him is a shih-tzu the color of pale gold, her coat long and well-brushed, with a tiny, adorable ponytail on top of her head. Almost, because Ciro only knows one man with a dog like this, and that man has the connections to ruin him.

When Ciro’s feeling uncharitable, he thinks Angelo already did that over a year ago.

“There you are.” A warm hand touches his shoulder, and Ciro turns to look at the man sitting beside him on the bed, back against the headboard. He’s in the same clothes as before with the addition of a pair of glasses, and is just putting a book down. “Finally. I thought you’d be awake hours ago.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Ciro’s voice sound like it’s been coated over with rust. He coughs, then almost gags on the dryness.

“Shit, here, drink.” A straw presses against his lips and he practically inhales the water he sucks up through it. He drinks and drinks until the straw is taken away. Ciro makes a noise of discontent, and his companion chuckles. “You can have more soon, but let’s not flood your system all at once.”

But he wants to flood his system. Ciro feels empty, drained in a way he hasn’t been since he first abandoned his family to roam the world, setting his magic loose and keeping it away from him so they couldn’t find him. He’s hollow, and it hurts.

But none of that is stuff he plans to share. “I need to leave,” is what he says instead.

The beautiful man beside him shakes his head. “You need to stay at least long enough to have a meal with me.”

“I can’t.”

“What, you can’t eat now?”

Ciro looks down at his hands instead of answering. He lifts one up and flexes his fingers, watched the tips press against each other. Nothing. It’s completely numb.

“You have some major blockages in your meridians.”

“I know.”

“Mm.” Angelo looks away, staring at his hands for a moment. Ciro takes advantage of his distraction to stare at him, his mental contact list sorting to the information he knows about his companion.

Angelo Fabroa. Thirty-three, Filipino-American with dual citizenship, speaks five languages fluently, the world’s premier authority when it comes to issues with familiar magic. Unaffiliated with any of the major families, survivor of two kidnappings and four known assassination attempts, charges whatever he likes and is paid accordingly to ensure that people like the Hamblys can do their work without spreading themselves so thin they lose their minds. Gay, out, unbothered by it, and pretends to be a casual smoker but it’s more serious than that.

And apparently a bleeding heart who runs a veterinary charity for hard cases, too.

Ciro had no idea about the last one. Every time he’s seen Angelo before this, the man has worn the most pristine, ornate silk barong shirts and black slacks, shining dress shoes, and scents that remind Ciro of bergamot and lemon, geranium and cyclamen. Not barn musk with an undercurrent of tobacco, which is what he’s currently sporting. This unadorned, simply dressed man is almost a stranger to him. Everything except for the glint in his eyes when their gazes meet.

That, Ciro remembers very well.

“You’re quite the mystery.”

Ha. “Nothing mysterious about me,” Ciro replies.

“I beg to differ. The scion of one of the most powerful witch families in the United States going missing set off a firestorm of gossip among your peers. It doesn’t help that your cousin burned down one of your family’s properties when she founds out.”

Of course she did. “Nephele’s always had control issues.”

“I had to be called in to keep her from giving herself a heart attack,” Angelo says. “She sent rats out all over the city to look for you. She didn’t keep even one for herself, and it nearly killed her.”

Ciro shuts his eyes and sighs. Too bad it didn’t work. “Am I supposed to feel bad?”

“No. Think of it as more…informational. Ciro.” Angelo touches his shoulder again. “Honey. You could have died today. Where the fuck is your magic?”

There’s a part of Ciro that wants to confess everything. The young part, the eager part, the part that once thought about Angelo more than anyone else in the world. That part wants to confide in this smart, steady man.

A bigger part, though, knows that it would be foolish. There’s no such thing as keeping a confidence in their circles. Angelo might be above murder, but if it’s a choice between facing down Ciro’s father or giving Ciro up, he’ll give Ciro up. It’s the only logical thing to do.

“I don’t know,” is all he says instead. It’s even mostly true.

Angelo narrows his eyes. “How can you not know where your magic is?”

“It’s got a mind of its own.”

“Bullshit.”

Ciro shrugs. He’s not going to expand.

Angelo takes his glasses off only to stick the end of one of the earpieces in his mouth as he stared at Ciro. Angelo’s got an oral fixation, always has to have something in his mouth. Ciro isn’t complaining, but he doesn’t like the hint of a glare in Angelo’s eyes.

“Let me tell you what I think.” He sounds calm, but there’s an energy thrumming in the air between them that Ciro can feel. “I think you were given an ultimatum that you couldn’t live with. You decided to run, and you burned every bridge behind you when you went. You already felt certain that no one would take you in, so you didn’t bother to reach out to anyone. You ruined every corporate relationship that you’d been responsible for maintaining, sending your family into a financial tailspin that they’re still digging themselves out of. Your cousin lost all control when you ran and is still actively hunting you down, which I’m sure you know. If they find you, they’ll either kill you or find some way to force you to do whatever it is they want you to do. And you’d rather die than do that.” He raised one thick eyebrow. “How did I do?”

Scarily accurate. “Not bad. Got a few details wrong.”

“I’m sure. Separating yourself from your magic was smart,” Angelo allows. “One raven is a common familiar. A flock of ravens is a calling sign. But Ciro, you had a flock of over nearly two hundred birds. That’s a fucking lot of power to be dispersed, and it takes a lot of concentration to keep it from coming back to you. You’ve basically been acting against your own polarity in pushing away your own magic. It’s doing serious damage to your body.”

He knows that. But… “What kind of damage specifically?”

“I haven’t done a full physical, but from what I can see you’re looking at peripheral neuropathy that could eventually lead to paralysis if it gets as far as your central nervous system.”

Ciro frowns. “The numbness goes away after a while.”

“It has so far. That doesn’t mean it’s going to continue.” Angelo rubs his eyes for a moment. “The nerves in the tips of your fingers and toes are almost completely unresponsive, Ciro. They’re dying. Regenerating them will take a lot of magical time and energy or a specialized and very expensive healer, and you don’t have that kind of money or magic right now, from the look of things.”

Ciro didn’t know it had gotten that bad. “I’ll just…” Go to the desert with my magic as soon as possible, but was that even going to be possible anymore?

“Let me examine you more fully,” Angelo suggests. “I’ll be able to tell you how far things have gotten and what you can do to walk it back.”

“I’m not going to do magic for you,” Ciro warns him. He’s not going to call one of his birds in, no matter how much it would make him feel better.

“That’s fine.” Angelo smiles, and it’s like seeing the sun rise over the horizon. “Let me do magic for you instead, honey.”