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

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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.”