Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Fifteen

 Notes: Time for something nice, darn it!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Fifteen

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Chapter Fifteen

 

Is he still actually asleep? Did he fuck up his eyes somehow? Because this looks nothing like what Ciro expected when he walked into this ramshackle building. No narrow hallways or faded paint; this is an expansive room, the floor covered in soft cobalt-colored carpet that gives a little under his feet, the walls a soothing violet color, and every shaft of sunlight appears in a different shade thanks to the delicate, rainbow curtains that cover the windows and skylight. There are living plants on every surface, some of them blooming and perfuming the air with their scents. A massive couch takes up the center of the room while there’s a fountain in a corner, and the few rooms that branch off from this one have open doors and warm, inviting interiors. Music plays over speakers up by the ceiling, something comprised mostly of drums and cymbals. Ciro’s never heard anything quite like it before.

Ciro barely realizes he’s being maneuvered to the side until he hears the door shut behind him. Angelo, weighed down under the weight of half a dozen reusable shopping bags, sets them all down in the entryway with a sigh of relief. He glances at Ciro and grins at whatever the expression is on his face. “You like it?”

“What is it?” Ciro asks, feeling both deeply relaxed and discomfited by what he’s walked into. He knows magic when he sees it, and this place is so full of magic that he can’t even point at a specific object as its source. It almost feels like the building itself is magical, which—that shouldn’t be possible. Natural places can have natural magic, and homes can take it on if they’ve been lived in by a witch for long enough, but—“Is this your actual house?”

Angelo shakes his head. “Not mine,” he says.

“Whose, then?” Who would Angelo trust enough to bring them to? How can he expect Ciro to trust them? “We shouldn’t drag anyone else into my situation. It’s not safe for us to be here.”

Angelo puts a reassuring hand on Ciro’s arm. “No one else is being dragged into anything,” he promises. “This place belonged to my parents.”

The anxiety churning in Ciro’s stomach stills, but doesn’t vanish completely. He very clearly hears the past-tense being used there. “Are they dead?”

“Close enough,” Angelo says, which doesn’t clarify things at all. “Go sit down on the couch before you collapse, okay? I’ll make some tea and we can start figuring out how to get your magic to—”

Ciro jerks his arm away. “Tell me the truth about what’s going on here or I’m leaving.” He doesn’t want to give ultimatums, but this isn’t just a matter of his own life anymore; this is about keeping Angelo safe as well. He’s not going to take advantage of the man’s kindness. He can’t.

Angelo sighs. “Fine. But you have to be patient with me. I don’t talk to people about where I came from for a reason.”

What kind of reason? Angelo is a witch, isn’t he? A different kind of witch, for sure—he doesn’t keep his own familiar, for starters—but he has the sort of healing and nature powers that a lot of witches do. Despite himself, Ciro’s curiosity is piqued. “All right,” he agrees, and lets Angelo take his hand and—after the man reminds him to remove his shoes—tug him over to the couch. He accepts another bottle of water as he sits down, then looks expectantly at Angelo, who sits beside him close enough to touch if Ciro chooses to reach out.

He wants to. His fingers itch to, in fact; being out of danger and slightly better rested have given new life to Ciro’s baser urges, but he holds himself back. Facts first, distractions later.

Angelo sighs again and runs a hand through the longer top section of his hair. It’s not shining and clean anymore; everything about Angelo radiates exhaustion right now. A swell of guilt washes over Ciro, but he forces it back. He didn’t make Angelo help him, and he’ll let him sleep soon enough. But he has to know what’s going on first, for both their sakes.

“I suppose the most important thing for you to know is that I’m not entirely human.” Angelo meets Ciro’s eyes as he says it, voice bold but expression a bit nervous. Ciro knows why, too; consorting with either godly powers or magical creatures is the sort of thing that a hell of a lot of witches have heavy prejudices against. “God-whores and monster-fuckers” are a category of magic that can come with immense power, but that power generates fear as well as awe.

“Okay,” Ciro replies, and Angelo relaxes a bit. “Um, do you want to tell me what you are, exactly? You don’t have to, but—”

“No, no,” Angelo says lightly. “It’s time to rip off the band-aid. You of all people should know the truth about me.” Before Ciro can ask why, he says, “My parents were kinnara. Well, mostly kinnara.” He smiles. “And you have no idea what those are, do you?”

Ciro thinks hard. “Something to do with Buddhism?” he says at last.

“Good guess. They are connected to Buddhism in several countries, as well as Hinduism. Kinnaras manifest in many different ways depending on the culture, but they’re usually depicted in myths as half human, half animal. Almost all of them are associated with music, pleasure, and love.” Angelo smiles and gestures at himself. “As you can see, the reality is way different, at least for me.”

Ciro’s not so sure. He could definitely see how Angelo could be associated with pleasure and love, but… “Yeah, you’re missing the animal half.”

“True kinnara can transform themselves to appear entirely human,” Angelo replies. “Both my parents did for most of the time I was with them, but they also had avian characteristics.”

Ciro grins as the thought of it sinks in. “Are you saying you’re part bird?”

“No, dumbass.” Angelo knocks him gently with his knee, and the mood is so light for a moment that Ciro almost feels like he could float away. “It’s a manifestation, not a true physical reality. Compare it to your own magic. Are your ravens actually ravens?”

“No,” he says instantly. “They’re magic given physical form but not limited by that form.”

Angelo nods. “Exactly. Kinnaras are very similar to that. They’ve got celestial magic, or at least my parents did, and that magic manifests differently depending on their needs.”

“You talk like you’re not the same as them.”

“I’m not.” Angelo looks away for a moment. “Celestial magic doesn’t work the same way as witch magic does. It doesn’t follow the same direct heritability. A kinnara might have a fully celestial child, or they might have a child that’s almost entirely human. I wasn’t born with the musical abilities that my parents have, and without access to that celestial music, I’m much closer to a human than a full kinnara. My magic isn’t as strong as theirs, and their community doesn’t recognize me as a true member.”

Ciro frowns and scoots closer, taking Angelo’s hand and squeezing it. “That’s bullshit. You’re one of the most powerful people I’ve ever met. You’ve saved people on the brink of death, you’ve saved their magic, you—”

“I’m not saying I’m not powerful,” Angelo clarifies, but he clings to Ciro’s hand like a lifeline. It’s clear he’s not as casual about being rejected by his parents’ people as he wants to pretend. “I’ve got abilities that most kinnaras don’t, and I’ve still got some of their magic as well, enough to give me an edge in a lot of things. But I’m not one of them, and I’ve come to terms with that. So have my parents. They made this place for me before they ascended.”

“Ascended?”

“Became one with their celestial magic,” Angelo says. “It’s a whole thing, don’t worry about it. Anyway, they imbued this place with as much of their magic as they could so that I would always have a safe haven, somewhere to protect me and let me recharge when I needed to. Think of it like an extra-magical vacation home.”

And here he is, sharing it with Ciro. “Thank you for trusting me to be here with you,” he says, his throat a little tight.

Angelo looks at him for a long moment, like he’s weighing something in his mind, before finally shaking his head slightly. He reaches over and cups Ciro’s cheek with his free hand, then pulls him in close and presses their foreheads together. “There’s no one else I’d ever bring here,” he says, and the words ring with a sense of importance that Ciro doesn’t really understand but feels acutely. He can’t help but tilt his head and bring their lips together in a kiss.

A second later Angelo is straddling his lap and kissing him like he’s been dying without it, all the reserve he displayed in their earlier encounters gone. He kisses like a man with something to prove, and as golden tendrils of light blossom between them and wrap around Ciro like a loving embrace, he lets go of his fear and lets Angelo show him just how much he wants him.