Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Thirteen

 Notes: Another day, another showdown! At least Ciro only has to watch this one happen.

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Thirteen

***

Chapter Thirteen

 

It’s an odd thing to see out of just one set of avian eyes. Ciro has been down to one bird before, but there have always been others nearby, ready to step in and bring back his sense of his own magic. Now, though…this is it. He’s got his own eyes, and his bird’s, and his view is nothing to write home about. He’s crouched down in an alley on the bottom of a fire escape, staring at a brick wall and hoping that no one stumbles across him. His bird, on the other hand…

It soars, breathtakingly graceful even run down as it is. The air is soft and easy today, giving it just the right thermals to rise up and soar on instead of having to flap hard to reach its goal. It’s so comfortable it almost misses the incoming attack from a family of crows that seems to be very displeased to have their territory impinged on. His magic dodges easily, and what it can’t dodge it makes immaterial. Talons and beaks go right through its feathery plumage, and after a few seconds of concerted effort, the crows realize this isn’t a fight they’re going to win and back off.

Corvids. So smart. Fuck what Ciro’s father says, he was right to choose them for his familiar.

His bird finds Angelo’s clinic with ease, and Ciro uses his magic to hone in on the living he can detect. Four in the warehouse, and one of them’s Angelo—there’s a brightness to his magical signature that makes it impossible to mistake. That’s where he needs to look, then…especially since that brightness is tinged with sickly green tendrils of anger.

He considers landing his bird outside a window and using his magic to help him hear, but it’s so diminished already. He decides to fly inside the building through the crack in the back door instead, quiet as an owl, and up into the rafters where he can hear and see without having to enhance his abilities. He flutters to a stop, tilts his head, and—

It’s the worst-case scenario he imagined. There’s Richard, fists clenched as he stalks back and forth across the floor on one side of the treatment table his familiar is lying on. Angelo is on the other side, all his attention on the cougar as his hands fill with golden light. Maria is a little ways behind him, her arms crossed tight over her chest. She’s got a knife hidden in one hand; it’s clear she doesn’t trust Richard any farther than she can throw him. Angelo, on the other hand, seems completely unperturbed.

Ciro watches them work in silence for another half an hour before Angelo finally straightens up. “She’s going to be all right,” he says, and something inside of Ciro loosens up at the confirmation that he didn’t kill Richard’s familiar. He hates doing that; it feels cruel in a way that hurting people doesn’t, even though the familiars aren’t quite the same as real animals. “I’ve healed the bone fractures and the ruptured liver. It’s going to take some time for your familiar to be at full strength again, but after a few weeks she should be as good as new.”

Richard, ingrate that he is, doesn’t even say “thank you.” Instead— “Tell me everything you know about Cyrus Hambly, now.”

Angelo raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure I know far less than you do.”

“Bullshit. He’s been living in your city for gods know how long, and you expect me to believe that you didn’t know about it?”

“I haven’t laid claim to any territory except for the ground my residence and shop reside on,” Angelo replies coolly. “There are a thousand witches in California, and I don’t have time for the posturing and infighting that goes along with territorial disputes. I’ve got too much work to do.”

Richard stills and stares at Angelo, his brow drawn into a glower. “Indeed you do,” he says, “and much of that work is for the Hambly family. Victor Hambly isn’t going to take your defection well, but if you come clean now—”

“There’s no defection involved, because I’m not beholden to the Hamblys or any other family,” Angelo snaps, putting his hands on his hips. He’s wearing skin-tight, grass-green jeans and a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He should look childish compared to Richard’s stark black suit, but instead he comes off looking powerful. “I scrupulously maintain my independence from every family or organization that tries to lay claim to me, and that includes the Hamblys. If your boss takes issue with that, then he can come to me and discuss it here, but I won’t be dragged into your private affairs just because you think I ought to know something I don’t.”

“There’s no ‘ought’ about it,” Richard says. “There was something going on between you and Ciro the last time you came to the tower. Everyone knew it but no one said anything; his father actually approved, thought any affection you had for him might make you easier to sway. Then Ciro fucks off, we find him a stone’s throw from where you live, and you expect me to believe that you had no idea?”

“I don’t expect you to believe anything—I’m telling you that I had no idea Ciro was here,” Angelo says. “He never approached me.” That’s the letter of the truth, if not the spirit of it. Ciro didn’t approach Angelo willingly; he was brought here by Maria. She’s carefully averting her eyes right now, too; she knows it would be bad for Richard to read more from her than she wants him to. “I wish I had known though,” Angelo goes on, “because I would have offered him my help.”

Richard’s turning red. “You would have defied the will of Victor Hambly, one of the most powerful witches in the world, to help that arrogant, shit-faced little—”

“I would have offered my assistance to someone who’s been abused by his family for years, yes,” Angelo says firmly. “I’ve never spoken up about it because, as you say, it’s not my business. But I take issue with how your boss runs his organization. It’s less like a family and more like a mob, and I think the fact that Ciro decided to run in the end speaks to the ineffectiveness of that.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Richard’s magic is based around his familiar—he can’t do much without her. But he’s a big man, strong and skilled, and the way he’s shifting his weight makes it clear that he’s getting ready to lash out. “Victor and his family are so far above you, you can’t even see them from the hole you’re in. You’re a contractor, nothing more.” He laughs harshly. “You know, the boss wanted to make you an offer to be our permanent employee? He was ready to give you the damn world to get you to sign on with us. Thought you were worth it.” The I disagree is easy to hear even though Richard doesn’t say it. Instead, he grabs a hidden gun tucked into the waistband at the small of his back, raises it up, and—

Ciro doesn’t even have time to panic before Angelo lights up like a flare, gold light spilling out from him like waves, or feathers. Some of the tendrils wrap Richard up, jerking the gun from his grasp, while others protectively surround Maria and the cougar.

“I’ve given you a lot of leeway today thanks to the urgent nature of your situation. That leeway is over now. If you,” Angelo says with cold, decisive calm, “ever come into my home again and attempt to use violence against me or mine, I will defend myself. And if you think this is the defense I’ll use next time, you’re in for a very unwelcome surprise. Now.” The light retracts from the familiar. “Take her and go. I can’t help you, and after this I wouldn’t even if I could. Tell your boss I expect an apology and reparations before he merits another visit from me. Understood?”

“What are you?” Richard snaps, still not willing to back down even when he’s clearly outmatched. “This isn’t any witch magic I’ve ever seen before. What the hell are you, huh?”

“None of your business.” Angelo jerks his head toward the door. “Now get out, before I decide to help you out the door.”

Richard finally seems to understand that he’s outmatched. He gets to the table and hoists his familiar over his shoulder, then stalks out of the building as fast as he can holding a hundred pounds of big cat. The door slams shut behind him, and the last of Angelo’s magic slowly fades out of sight…except for one long tendril, which reaches up toward where Ciro’s bird is sitting. It encompasses him before he can escape it, pulling him down to where Angelo is standing, fear and fury written on his face.

He isn’t afraid, though. Not of Angelo.

“You,” Angelo says as soon as the bird is in front of him, “have so much explaining to do. I can’t even—fuck, Ciro, are you okay?” His bird nods, the best it can do when it comes to communicating. Angelo shakes his head. “I don’t even know whether you’re lying or not. You could be bleeding to death and you’d say you were all right. Come to me. Or better yet, stay where you are. I’ll come to you.”

You can’t! It’s too dangerous, Ciro can’t let him do that.

“You don’t get a vote this time around.” Angelo’s posture softens a bit. “I’ll be all right. I can cover my tracks.”

“And I’ll be with him,” Maria calls out.

“No, you don’t.”

“Boss!”

“No,” Angelo snaps. “You stay here and keep the clinic running, and I’ll be back soon. And you.” He looks back at Ciro’s bird. “Are going to take me to wherever you’re hiding, no tricks. Got it?”

All Ciro can do is nod.