Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Nine

 Notes: What's this, a kerfuffle in the air? A hint of something golden and delicious? Could be good!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Nine

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Chapter Twenty-Nine

 

 

Photo by Anna Kozakova

It gets worse on the plane.

There are so many rats that Ciro can’t count them all. Rats scampering across the floor, rats on top of the six seats in the main compartment of the plane, rats walking over his feet as he’s guided to his chair by a very impatient Richard. They stink of Nephele’s magic, and Ciro’s raven hops on top of his head in an effort to distance itself from them.

The rats aren’t the worst of it, though. That’s reserved for the Doberman waiting for Ciro beside the chair that always used to be his when they flew. The second he sees it he instinctively freezes; he hates that he does, but he can’t help it. He hears Richard scoff behind him, then shove him forward with a muttered, “You knew it was coming.”

He did. He does, he just wasn’t ready to think about it. Nephele’s presence might feel like a punishment, but his father doesn’t see it like that. To Victor Hambly, the best punishments are the ones that leave marks.

“Sit down,” Richard says, and his cougar coughs out a warning. He sits, hoping the numbness sticks once the real pain starts.

Nephele sits down across from him, a frown on her face. “I don’t like this part,” she says petulantly as Richard sits down right next to Ciro, boxing him in. “Uncle Victor doesn’t have to do this. Ciro is mine, I should be the one to decide what punishment he gets.”

“You don’t like it, then take it up with him.” Rats start to swarm Richard, but a single growl from the Doberman familiar stops them in their tracks.

Nephele’s familiars kill by overwhelming their targets. Uncle Magnus’s familiars couldn’t even be used for murder, not unless they carried poison or were transformed into pure magic at the last moment. It’s the same for Ciro, but Victor…any one of his familiars can kill a person. Ciro’s seen them do it. And they absolutely wreck familiars. One Doberman against a horde of rats should be a foregone conclusion, but Victor’s dogs have the same sense of iron determination as their witch does.

Nephele wouldn’t be able to stop the Doberman before it killed too many of her familiars for her to stay conscious, and if Victor wanted to, he could have it bite right through her throat before she could stop him. Ciro’s options are even more limited.

He keeps his eyes on his lap as he extends his right arm. The Doberman sniffs it briefly, dismissively almost, before opening its long jaw and sinking its teeth into his forearm. Into it, and the combination of painful pressure and the agonizingly sharp bite cutting through his skin brings tears to Ciro’s eyes. He gasps, and Nephele shifts uncomfortably in her seat, but Richard is watching him like he’s the best show the man has ever seen.

“Tell the pilot to go already,” she says petulantly, and soon enough they’re taking off. Ciro doesn’t spare a glance for the distant ground; he can’t afford to think about the place he’s leaving for good. He can’t quite help it, though. Angelo. For the briefest moment, he lets himself think about his lover’s golden magic and his warm, tender hands.

To Ciro’s surprise, the pain in his arm recedes a little. He immediately sends his thoughts up to his magic—don’t. Don’t waste your energy on me. We’ll need all of it once we get back to the tower. He gets a careful impression of It’s not me from the raven, which…how is that possible? There’s no other place the magic could come from. It’s not Nephele making things more comfortable for him; she knows better than to test Victor that way. She’s carefully ignoring the situation instead, playing with her phone in one hand while the other tap-tap-taps on the armrest, clawlike nails beating an irritated tattoo.

Ciro breathes deep and closes his eyes. He hears a derisive noise from Richard and ignores it; let the man think he’s doing everything he can to bear the pain. Instead, he’s turning his mind and magic on the wound itself, testing it for influence. What’s going on here? He can feel blood drip from his arm onto the floor, the rough pressure of the Doberman’s tongue, the points of the teeth and the burn of the bite, and yet…something is staving off the worst of the sensation. He’s damaged, but it isn’t consuming his mind. Why?

All of a sudden his raven leans over and pecks him right in the middle of his forehead. The answer hits him like a rush.

Angelo. This is Angelo’s magic. He’s sure of it even though he can’t parse it out from his own, can’t feel the thread laying on him. He knows it’s there now, though. Angelo is doing his best to protect him even though they’re miles apart.

How long will it last? Is it a conscious spell, or an aftereffect of their intimacy? Can Angelo take it away? Can it be used to track him? God, please don’t let it be something that another witch can use to track him. Ciro can handle giving himself up to his family, just barely; he’s going to do everything he can for Maria, even though he fears the worst. But Angelo…well, it would be like giving Annette over to them, except even more wrenching because while Ciro loves Annette, he’s fucking in love with Angelo.

Don’t hurt yourself for me. I couldn’t stand it. Maybe Angelo can’t stand it either. Maybe they’re a pair of self-sacrificing idiots. Maybe—

Nephele’s phone rings. “Turn that off when we’re in the air,” Richard grouses.

“Shut up, it’s not the noughties anymore,” she snaps back. Ciro opens his eyes and sees her glaring down at her phone. “I don’t know this number.”

“You’ve got telemarketers calling you at thirty thousand feet? You—”

“It’s not a fucking telemarketer! No one outside the family should have this number,” Nephele replies. After a second, she answers the call. “Who is this?”

Ciro can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but the way Nephele’s eyes light up is indicator enough. “Oh, Mr. Fabroa! Fancy hearing from you!”

Oh fuck, no! Angelo is on the phone? Ciro tries to reach over and grab it, but the Doberman growls and bites down harder, holding him firmly in place.

“I suppose you discovered what’s left of your house.” There’s a long moment of silence on Nephele’s side as she listens with a smile on her face. “Mmhmm. Check it for bones, because—oh.” She pouts then. “You found her, huh? Well, then you can let her know we’re coming for her entire family and she’d better count the minutes she’s got left to live.”

Annette. Ciro breathes a faint sigh of relief as he realizes the two of them are together. Angelo will help her and her family hide, they’ll be better at it than he was, his father won’t—

“Ex-cuse me?” The outburst has both Ciro and Richard flinching. “You don’t talk that way to me!” she screams into the phone. “I’ve got him right here and I’ll happily have my rats gnaw a finger off so I can send it to you and let you know I’m serious, you piece of—ha! I’d like to see you try it!” She leans forward, gripping the phone so tight her knuckles blanch. “You’re just mad because you didn’t hide him well enough! Well, he’s mine now and so is your little bitch, and I’m going to make sure you never see either of them aga—”

Something surges out of Ciro, some combination of his desire to get her to shut up and the strange power that’s protecting him. He sees it go like a little golden dart, flying straight at Nephele. It vanishes inside of her and then…

Her voice is gone. No matter how she tries, she can’t speak a word. Even her hissed breaths are almost silent.

She screams and screams in silent rage, smashing the phone into the armrest until it breaks, and Ciro lets himself feel hopeful for the first time since he knew what she’d done.

He isn’t in this alone.