Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twelve

 Notes: So little magic left, so much to do!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter 12

***

Chapter Twelve

 

Vernon, California is home to a superfund site. Yep, to the surprise of no one, the incredibly corrupt city council allowed a battery manufacturer to improperly dispose of their waste for literal decades in the lot adjacent to their factory, which led to all sorts of ambient pollution and the establishment of a federal superfund site to get it all cleaned up. Which…again, corrupt city council. It’s ostensibly “cleaned up” now, there’s an office there to talk about it and everything, but anyone with magic knows that this area is the equivalent of a dead zone thanks to all the lead in the ground.

Ciro isn’t much of a theorist when it comes to magic. He understands his connection to it intrinsically, can measure and mix his magic into spells like the finest chefs create feasts, but he doesn’t understand many of the reasons magic works the way it does. This part, though, he does understand—lead blocks magic. There’s just something about the metal that makes it a terrible conductor of magical energies, and because of that it’s a wonderful place for a witch to hide. No one with their own magic wants to step onto the grounds, thanks to the miserable way being cut off from your magic makes you feel, and no regular people care to be around either because, corruption aside, they’re not stupid. They know this place is shitty for their health.

Ciro knows it. He feels it, feels every cell in him crying out for a connection to his magic. He feels so much worse now than he did earlier before Angelo started sticking needles into him. His one remaining raven is somewhere outside, just beyond the boundary where the worst of the pollution starts. Ciro can kind of feel it, a little bit, like staring at a video that’s frozen ninety percent of the time and then plays normally the other ten percent. It gives him just enough access to his magic that he can keep breathing, but he knows his blood pressure has to be through the roof.

Fuck it. At least his blood’s mostly inside of him. That’s more than Uncle Magnus can say.

They’ll never stop coming after me now.

He huddles in against the side of the single remaining warehouse, which was surprisingly easy to break into, and shifts to pull his jacket a bit more tightly around his shoulders. It’s coming up on dawn, but still technically warm out—got to be in the high sixties—and yet he’s freezing. Bad circulation, Angelo would probably say. And then he’d take Ciro’s hands in his and rub them with his deliciously warm fingers, maybe pull Ciro into a hug that he’d never admit he needs but wants anyway, then—

It doesn’t help to think about things he wants but can’t have. Ciro forcibly jerks his thoughts away from Angelo and his pretty eyes and warm hands and returns to his escape plan. He already wiped the truck down and abandoned it, so there’s nothing to tie him to that now. He’ll need a new car to get out of this city, though; the bus system is compromised, they might have eyes at the stations.

So, he leaves this dead zone and gets a car, drops by one of his cash stashes—and thank fuck he thought to make cash stashes, he can’t even access his electronic funds now that his phone is gone, and those are probably being monitored now too—and buys some supplies. Then he takes off on the most rural roads he can find for the desert. The Mojave is closest, which means he ought to go to one of the other ones. The northern one is an actual cold desert, from what he understands, which under other circumstances Ciro would appreciate, but he’s so tired of being cold.

So. South it is, to the Colorado Desert. He’ll find somewhere to hole up, lick his wounds for a while, and carefully start drawing his magic to him. Then he’ll…he…well, he’ll figure out the next part of his plan. Maybe reach out to Annette’s sister; if there’s anyone out there in the magical community who will happily tell the Hambly family to fuck off, other than Angelo, it’s his former fiancee’s sister Jacqueline. But she’s got kids, so he can’t actually stay with her and risk putting a spotlight on her. So…

Or maybe I could go to Angelo and…

No! No going to Angelo! The last thing Ciro needs to do right now is bring trouble back to Angelo’s door. Fuck, trouble has probably already found Angelo’s door. It isn’t like Victor Hambly doesn’t know where his associates live; that kind of information is child’s play to people like them, but Angelo is no idiot either. As long as Ciro isn’t actually there, he’s got plausible deniability. There were no cameras on site that Ciro can recall, and the only other person who knows he was there for sure is Maria. She seems pretty devoted to her “Boss,” so…

But what if I’m wrong? What if Angelo doesn’t have a plan in place for something like this? What if they bulldoze right through him and take him back to the tower? That would cause an uproar, but it wouldn’t be the first time for the Hamblys. Hell, that’s how Ciro’s mother ended up living there full-time after her family refused to honor Victor’s “request” that she focus her magical energies on the family she married into, rather than that of her birth.

Not for the first time, Ciro wonders just how much of the love and respect that had seemed to evident in his parents’ relationship was real. He wants to believe it all was, just like every naïve kid wants to believe the best of their family, but the truth is that his mother is dead. She’s been dead for years, and Ciro still doesn’t know how. All he knows is that his father won’t talk about it, and his cousin doesn’t know. If she did, there’s no way Nephele would be able to resist taunting him with the truth.

If Angelo is in trouble, I have to help him. It’s a tantalizing thought, the kind of heat-seeking missile that knows exactly how to target Ciro’s heart. By hiding, Ciro might be saving himself, but he’s useless to anyone else like this. If he leaves, he might give himself away before he has a chance to run. But if he stays, Angelo could be injured or worse by Richard and the people he brought with him.

That’s the real question, isn’t it? What’s more important right now: getting away clean and leaving a mystery behind him, or knowing Angelo’s fate and possibly being able to help him, but exposing himself in the process?

A burst of literal pain in his chest tells Ciro the answer. I have to know. One way or another, I have to know what’s going on with him. Otherwise I’ll never be able to leave Vernon. It’s genuinely agonizing not to know, now that his heart has made up his mind.

You might just get me killed, Ciro tells his stupid heart as he gets to his feet. He’s unsteady, wobbly on burnt-out legs like a fawn, but he manages to stay up. His throat burns and his tongue feels like sand, and Ciro realizes that he’s actually really thirsty.

First things first, then.

He detours down the hall leading from the warehouse to the office space. No lights turn on to greet him, no cameras blink in the corners. They didn’t bother to modernize what amounts to an apology office, but there is a mini fridge behind the single desk. Ciro opens it and finds bottled water, a neon energy drink that makes his hands shake just to look at it, and a half-eaten burrito that’s probably a couple of days old.

Whatever, it’s been in the fridge, it’s fine. He drinks, eats, and takes the time to clean himself up as best he can in the bathroom. He can’t go out looking like a guy who just forced an innocent person to run into a magical cougar with his truck. That would be crazy.

There’s a hoodie hanging on the back of the desk chair. It’s branded with the name of the battery company, but that’s fine; that gives him reason to be around here. Shit, if he could remember the number that Angelo wrote down for him he wouldn’t even have to leave the room to check in on him. But…

Stop dithering and do it.

Ciro shrugs the hoodie on, unlocks the front door, and steps out to greet the first rays of sunshine coming up over the horizon. He looks both ways, cautious about being seen, but there’s no movement other than a few cars on a busier street a few blocks away. That doesn’t mean he’s safe, but it’s a good enough start. He looks around for a likely location, picks one, and starts walking.

The farther he gets from the factory, the better Ciro feels. It’s like basking under a heat lamp, and even the pins and needles that prickle down his forearms and into his fingers are welcome. When his only remaining raven lands on his shoulder, it’s almost enough to make him cry, especially when he sees how small the bird is, not even the size of a crow. This is all the magic he has until he calls more to him, and he can’t, he just can’t, not yet. But this ought to be enough to give him the answers he needs.

He looks the bird in the eyes, tying a tether between their vision. “Go to him,” he whispers, and then his raven is aloft once more, winging its way northeast. It won’t take too long for it to fly to Angelo’s place.

Not Ciro just has to find a spot that will let him watch whatever unfolds next without being discovered.

Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Six, Part One

 Notes: A little maudlin, a little sad...don't worry, it'll be dangerous again soon ;)

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

***

Chapter Six, Part One

 

Blobby liked holding hands. It was with a little sense of relief and a little pang of regret that Kieron realized that it didn’t matter who Blobby was holding hands with, he just wanted to do it.

As soon as they got back to Catie, Elanus made grabby hands from where he was sitting right behind the ramp. “Gimme gimme gimme,” he said. “I want to do some fine-tuning on the particle twist, he ought to be able to make better legs than that.”

“He’s just a baby,” Kieron replied, feeling more than a little protective. “He’ll learn.”

“Yes,” Elanus said patiently…for him at least. “And he’ll learn a lot faster if his nanoparticle linkages twist the right way so he doesn’t have to strain to get them to fit together. I’m not doing this because he’s stupid or inferior or any other reason. It’s not a punishment, Kieron.”

Oh. It was odd to have his own internal reasoning called out with such precision.

“Seriously, give him to me—” Blobby didn’t need to be asked again, though. He stretched a tentacle from Kieron to Elanus and, with a few stumbles, settled into his creator’s lap with a scrunch upward, followed by a relaxed sort of moan. “Hydraulics, really?” Elanus muttered as he began to scan Blobby with a tool he’d cadged from the autodoc. “That’s so retro, why would you even try hydraulics with a closed system like this, what are you—are you trying to eat air or something? Are you picking up bad habits? You don’t need to breathe, Blobby, don’t pick up your daddy’s bad habit of breathing.”

“Humaaans need to breeeeathe, Daddeee!”

“Well bots don’t,” Elanus replied as Catie shut her door behind Kieron. He began to methodically strip out of his EV suit, focusing on every little linkage and trying not to think at all, but it wasn’t working. “We want all the autonomic functions, none of the somatic ones with this little guy. Linkages! You’re cutting-edge carbon-nano technology split with alloys I created just for you, you don’t need hydraulics when you can have these linkages! You—what are you doing?” He raised the tool above his head. “Are you trying to take my scanner? Naughty, this is to be used on you, not by you.”

But Blobby wasn’t trying to take it—all he wanted was a grip around Elanus’s wrist. Once he had it, he let his creator continue. “Seriously? You want to, what, hold on and make sure I don’t mess things up? You want to be the director of the body now, hmm? Somatic nervous system indeed, that’s just not—”

“Daddeee, he just wants to hold your haaand,” Catie said.

“Oh. Well. I guess that’s okay…except this is my dominant hand and I need it to function like a normal engineer, so how about you hold the other one? Yeah, there you go, very good.”

Kieron hung up the last of his suit, then sat down in one of Catie’s chairs. He felt strangely off-kilter, like there was something inside his body that had forgotten how it was meant to fit together. Was this how Blobby felt, when his linkages didn’t mesh? Like there was a hitch in his step, a puncture in his lung, a hole in his brain where crucial information was meant to be?

Why did he feel this way all of a sudden? Kieron reviewed the past few minutes and couldn’t narrow it down to a single trigger that made him become maudlin. Maybe it was because he was in a place where he’d been young, but never really a child, with a bot who was allowed to be more of a baby than he could ever imagine being himself. Maybe it was the way something inside of him longed to take Blobby back and hold him again, to feel simple emotions toward a being who had no preconceived notions of who he was or what he meant to everyone around him. Maybe he was just low on electrolytes and slightly dehydrated and sad and sorry and sick of this goddamn place.

[Kieeeron?]

He switched over to talking through his implant. [Yeah, honey?]

[Are you okaaaay?]

[I…] He wanted to say that he was. He wanted to tell her that there was no reason to worry, that he wasn’t going to be the cause of even more stress for her. He wanted to say that everything was going to be fine and so was he. He wanted to tell her beautiful lies and reassure her that he remembered everything, that he felt so much better, that as soon as the storms were gone they could leave without needing to go anywhere else. But… [I don’t know,] he settled on at last. [I feel a little strange.]

[Sick straaange?]

[I don’t think so.] He’d know if he was really sick…probably. [Just unsettled by everything, I think. It’s very strange for me to be here, and I’m very worried about you and Elanus.]

[We’re okay, Daddeee.] There was a pause, and then she said, [Lizzie is only speaking in binary right now, but she asked me to tell you that she’s going to take care of all the heavy calculations for me.]

[That’s sweet of her.]

[Xilinn and Pol want to knoooow how the trrrip has been so far. Lizzie told them it’s ‘busy.’]

Kieron chuckled a little. [That’s accurate, I guess.]

[She doesn’t waaant them to worry. There’s nothing they can doooo.]

Kieron sighed. He knew how they felt. Being responsible for Blobby had given him, very briefly, a sense of purpose that had centered him. It made him feel needed, necessary in a way that he couldn’t find any reason to feel otherwise lately. With Blobby firmly ensconced in Elanus’s arms, being tinkered with by the inventor himself, Kieron was back to having nothing but useless musing to do. He didn’t like it.

He sighed and patted Catie’s control panel. [How are you doing, honey?]

[I have plenty of reserrrrves, Kieron, I’m fine.]

[That’s my tough girl.]

[I waaant to be tough, just like you.]

He shook his head. [You don’t want to be tough like me.]

[I do, though. You’rrrre so strong. You saved me, and you love us even when we’re diiiifficult, and you came back here even though it hurrrts you.] He gets the mental impression of a shudder. [I neverrr want to go back to Cloverleaf Station.]

[That’s fair, baby.] He can’t imagine it holds good memories for her, all things considered.

[But I would go for youuu.]

Kieron closed his eyes. [I don’t deserve you, Catie.]

[Yessss you do,] she said, quiet but firm. [Um. Do you want to waaatch a ballet? Lizzzzzie and I are putting on a new one. It’s got antiiiigravityyy effects!]

He…thought he remembered liking their ballets. And other performances. Wasn’t there something with pink dinosaurs at one point? Thinking about it made his head hurt, so Kieron just said [Yes, of course,] and let the show play out on the backs of his eyelids.

There were still dinosaurs, only this time, they flew. There was no way he couldn’t clap for that.

Lord of Unkindness Ch. 11

 Notes: It's all fun and games until someone loses a familiar...

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Eleven

***

Chapter Eleven

 

Run.

It’s a searing rhythm in his brain, flooding out into every limb and driving him beyond what his normal body could bear. Ciro is running for more than just his freedom; he’s running for his life. He’s not sure what he’s done to his uncle or how permanent it is, but he does know one thing for sure: Magnus didn’t come alone. His escort might not be witches, but—

Bang bang bang! Three rubber bullets impact the broken brick wall of the apartment building just a half-step behind Ciro. Ahead of him, a cannister strikes the ground, a miasma of chemicals rising from it. Knockout gas? Whatever it is, he knows it’ll fuck him up. But Ciro isn’t helpless now. His magic is in the air all around him, and he throws a wind forward that blows the cannister, and its gas, back toward the person who tossed it into his path in the first place. He turns the corner to the sound of shouts, and as soon as he’s out of sight he spreads a raven thin and wide, transforming into a veil of shadow between him and his pursuers. It’s probably unnecessary, given how dark it is around here and the fact that they’re mundane, but he’s got to play it safe.

Ciro hears a coughing growl behind him, and the power of the veil is wiped away a second later by someone else’s familiar. Fuck, so much for safe. He doesn’t look back, just uses his magic to go even faster. He might be able to outrun a familiar. He’s down to five birds—none of the rest are close enough to save him now, and he can’t risk squandering his magic.

“Ciro! Stop!” The voice is deep and very familiar—Magnus’s personal bodyguard, Richard. He’s not a Hambly; Ciro and his family aren’t the best equipped for combat, despite the number of familiars they have at their disposal. Their magic is designed to be a network, a bunch of moving pieces that connect to each other and create an inescapable web. For one-on-one damage, though, you want a proper battle witch.

Richard is one of the best out there. His familiar is a cougar, bigger and leaner than any wild animal and the sort of beast that sends people running the second they see it. He’s trained hard to learn to suppress a witch’s magic with it—he’s ruthless about killing off familiars, which generally sends the witch they belong to into a mental and magical breakdown. It’s different for Ciro because he’s got multiple familiars, but it never feels nice to lose them to violence.

But violence has found them, and Ciro can only think of one way out of this. He sends one of his ravens winging ahead to search for just the right thing and takes stock of what he’s got left. Four birds…he’s got to last for four birds.

“Ciro, don’t make it worse for yourself!”

Richard isn’t falling behind. He’s two decades older than Ciro but fit, the kind of fit that made Ciro first question his sexuality when he was young. Richard was always too intimidating to crush on, though.

“One more block and I’m going to start breaking bones when I catch you, you little bitch.”

Case in point. Ciro refuses to stop, though. His magic is out there, he just needs to give it time to work. He runs, his breaths jagged in his ear and chest, and lets one of his familiars fall back. It transforms into an oily rain, slicking the ground and thickening the cougar’s coat, making every pace it takes feel like its paws are covered in slime. Richard slips and falls with a thud, and for a second as Ciro hears him curse he thinks that he might have already done it. One good trick might be enough to put his latest problem behind him.

“That’s your left arm!”

Nope.

Ciro glances back and is dismayed when he can’t see the cougar. He uses his familiars eyes to search, circling around him, and sees that the big cat diverted around the oil spill and is coming around the warehouse he’s running beside, fast. It’s going to beat him to the intersection up ahead at this rate, and he can’t have that. He needs to break left anyway, according to his roving magic. He sends one of his birds ahead to act as a more direct deterrent, dive-bombing the cougar and transforming into a feathery net at the very end of the fall, using its inherent magic to twine the familiar up and hold it for as long as possible.

Ciro breaks right, but he stumbled as he feels his bird rent to pieces in what feels like no more than a second. It’s been a long time since he trained with a bodyguard like Richard, who’s used to dueling the most vicious and powerful familiars in the world. Of course his cougar can make mincemeat of Ciro’s magic. He’s lucky it slowed the beast down for as long as it did, but the loss hurts nonetheless.

“That’s your right arm, Ciro! Don’t make me move on to your legs.”

“Fuck off!” he shouts back, panting. “Just leave me alone!” He’s got to get across the overpass up here, just a little farther. Once he’s done that he’ll be in a more defensible position, and with the cover from the sharp turn and the tall building on the left he won’t telegraph what he hopes happens next.

“I can’t do that, Ciro.” Richard is getting closer, his cougar pulling up next to him. They’re being cautious now—not as cautious as Ciro would like, though. “Your uncle told me to make sure you came back home with him, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Just another minute. He can feel his magic coming back to him. Hold him off, make him cautious, separate them. Ciro stops, then whirls around and does what is, admittedly, a stupid party trick. It’s like the shadow blade from earlier, except he turns one of his final birds into a whole fistful of them out in front of him, circling in the air like the barrels of a gatling gun, each one ready to fire. The other one flies up higher and dissipates into what seems like nothing at all, and a quiet descends over Ciro.

Richard and his cougar come to a stop on the far side of the street, still cautious…but Ciro can tell from the look on the man’s face that he won’t be delayed for long.

“Your family only wants what’s best for you,” Richard tells him. He’s got gray in his beard now, but his shoulders are still broad and strong. He’s got at least half a foot on Ciro, and his cougar’s fangs are as long as Ciro’s hand. “Come on, Ciro. Come back without any fuss, huh? Your uncle might still put in a good word for you with your dad.”

Ciro starts to laugh. He’s incredibly out of breath, his whole body is blazing with fatigue and he’s seeing spots dance in front of his eyes, but he can’t help himself. “My…uncle…” he manages to get out before he’s got to take a break.

“Magnus is a reasonable man. You just need to—”

“My uncle…might never…speak…again.”

The cougar goes completely still, a mirror of its master. “What.”

“He attacked me…with his roaches,” Ciro says, straightening his spine. His magic is incoming, so close, but maybe not close enough. If this is when he goes down, then he’s going to go down fighting, not cringing like a frightened fledgling. “He was really excited about it,” he taunts. “So excited he forgot to shield. So I sent my magic straight into his brain. Magnus will be lucky if he can wipe his own ass after this, much less remember your name.”

“Forget your arms,” Richard says, his whole body stiff with fury. “I’m going to break your fucking back for this.” He and his cougar begin to run forward together, which isn’t in the plan.

Ciro does three things at once. He turns the circling blades into hammer strikes and launches them at Richard, knocking him back onto the sidewalk. He banishes the magic that had absorbed all sound outside the thirty-foot radius between him and Richard. Lastly, he makes the driver of the Ford F-150 who his raven is possessing step on the gas, and a split-second later it screams by just in time to clip the cougar’s rear flank barely a body-length before it reaches Ciro. It spins away across the pavement with a scream of pain, and Ciro runs for the truck, praying that Richard’s dedication to his familiar is strong enough to keep him from coming for Ciro instead. He makes the blank-eyed driver get out, slams his foot on the gas pedal, and only closes the door once he’s a block and a half away.

He doesn’t look back. He knows he won’t like what he sees if he does.

Ciro’s hands are completely numb, but that’s a problem for later. Escaping somewhere his family can’t immediately find him is his problem for now. Luckily, he’s got a spot in mind that will repel anyone but the most dedicated locals.