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

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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.”