Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Five

 Notes: Have a pleasant lull before a wicked storm, babes!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Five

***

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

In the end, Ciro manages four birds. Each one is painful to manifest, like pulling a length of intestine through a hole in his stomach, but he feels so much better to have them back. Four is a comfortable flock; four is enough to keep reserves in check while having a decent level of power at hand. Four is easier to hide than the dozen, or score, or however many Ciro has living out in the desert right now.

He can tell that Angelo and Annette are curious about the number of birds in his flock. He knows they want to ask, but they don’t and he’s grateful for the reprieve. Honestly, he doesn’t know how many birds he has anymore. He stopped keeping track of his power that closely once he broke free from his family home. Back there, the day he left, he had fifty-three birds wreaking havoc on his behalf. Now, he has the feeling he could have a lot more.

It's not a bad thing. If anything, it’s verification that all of the stuff Annette has been talking about, the growth of internal power and how things change. He knows he could talk it through with them and it would be fine. They’ll support him. They’ll help him come up with ways to manage his power, maybe even a way to hide all of his power inside of him and walk around like a normal human being.

The thought of it makes him shiver. If he had no power outside of his body, if there was nothing to surveil except Ciro himself, if he could mask his body and his magical signature without having to worry about being powerless…it would be so much more possible to hide. It might even be easy. What if he got a decent glamour from one of the fae, or a witch who specialized in that sort of magic? What if he could blend in so well that he could stay with Angelo, help out in his clinic, and never even be suspected?

“You look tired.”

Ciro glances over at Angelo, just back from taking Annette to the hotel. They’ve already decided that it’s best if she doesn’t stay here overnight; apart from the fact that someone would have to sleep on the couch (and it wouldn’t be Annette, Ciro is determined about that) he also isn’t comfortable with her being in close proximity to him for an extended period of time. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Angelo when it comes to the safety of this place, he just…

“Yeah.”

He’s just tired. And worried. And a mess, and he doesn’t want that to rub off on Annette any more than it already has. Annette has dealt with too much shit thanks to his family. Knowing that she doesn’t blame Ciro for the actions of the rest of his clan is a blessing he doesn’t really deserve, so the least he can do is not compound it.

Angelo sits down next to him tugs at his shoulders. Ciro goes, bemusedly, and finds his head cradled down in Angelo’s lap. Strong, blunt fingers find their way into his hair and start to scratch, and Ciro thinks he could be forgiven for the sound that comes out of his mouth. Something between a whimper and a groan, and it’s embarrassing but it makes Angelo laugh and scratch harder, so he can’t regret it.

“You’re just like that little kitten,” Angelo says, “all snuggly and warm and—whoa!”

Ciro doesn’t have to look to know that three of his birds have just landed on Angelo, one on each shoulder and another on top of his head.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it! Don’t peck me again,” Angelo says with a laugh in his voice. “I mean, he’s like a bird. A very sweet, cuddly bird who is my absolute favorite in all ways.”

“That’s more like it,” Ciro says, closing his eyes. He’s tired but right now, in the moment, he’s also the happiest he can remember being for a very long time. Not the relieved, desperate happiness that he felt when he saw Annette, or the wary pleasure of seeing Angelo again for the first time, but an easy, comfortable sense of happiness instead. It’s the sort of happiness he’s only ever felt with his mother before, and even then it was fleetingly rare.

It's dangerous, because he could see himself getting used to this. He wants to get used to this; he’d love to be able to settle in to a state of everyday joy with Angelo. He’d love to be a permanent presence in his life, to find new ways to use his magic that were about helping people instead of finding out their darkest secrets, to help Angelo heal instead of tear things down. And maybe…just maybe…

“What did Maria have to say?” he asks groggily as the memory of her visit surfaces.

“Apparently the Machados came to the clinic,” Angelo says, citing the name of one of the larger magical cartels in the city. “They started pushing her on some things, making a few threats. I guess when she couldn’t raise me on the phone she had a bit of a panic attack and drove out here.”

Ciro sighs. “Have the Machados been a problem for you before?”

“No, they haven’t,” Angelo replies, and he sounds disturbed by the fact. “I don’t know if they realized I was gone and decided to throw their weight around or if this has been building for a while and I just didn’t know it, but it surprises me. And I can’t leave Maria to handle it by herself.”

Tension slowly builds back in Ciro’s shoulders. “You have to go back.”

“Not permanently,” Angelo assures him. “Just long enough to handle this, then I’ll return. No more than another day.”

Ciro bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to offer to go with Angelo. He wants to offer to leave. He wants to tell him that he’s sorry again, that he missed him when he was off getting Annette and he doesn’t want him to leave again for purely selfish reasons.

He doesn’t do any of those things. Ciro’s not helpless, and he’s not selfish enough to force Angelo to stay with him when he’s got a business to run and friends to help. Ciro’s not more important than that.

“It’s fine,” Ciro says. “I’ll be able to see Annette. Are you going to get her in the morning, or…”

“I’ll offer, but she mentioned wanting to get some hikes in while she’s here. She might just get a rideshare to the bottom of the hill and walk up.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of Ciro’s head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.” Feeling a bit mischievous, Ciro rolls over so his lips are brushing against Angelo’s groin. The hand in his hair tightens, and Angelo’s breath hitches in a way that gets Ciro’s blood pumping. “Why don’t you put that grip to good use?” he murmurs as he mouths over the outline of Angelo’s cock.

“Good idea,” Angelo says breathlessly, and the rest of the night passes without any more doubts or worry.

Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twelve, Part One

 Notes: Let's dive right back into the mayhem, shall we? That's probably going to be the theme of the year :/

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

***

Chapter Twelve: Part One

 

Surfacing from the impact of a pain-packer wasn’t the same as coming out of unconsciousness. There was no gentle wakeup, or no startled return to knowing your surroundings. The pain-packer was a simple invention that functioned like an ancient taser—it attacked the nervous system of the person who was hit with it, rendering them immobile and often unconscious.

The pain-packer never rendered someone unconscious, though. The unique thing about it was in the electrode that penetrated the victim in the initial shot. It was a smart machine, smart enough to run its own diagnostic on the person it had embedded into and determine the best way to both maximize battery life and awareness. It sent electricity through the body in waves, each wave just different enough that the afflicted was unable to anticipate how bad it was going to be. If they got close to passing out, it decreased the pain along the central nervous system and routed it to the limbs, but if it seemed like they were dealing too well with the pain, it sizzled up and down their spine to re-sensitize them.

Pain-packers were old tech, almost as old as tasers themselves, and largely out of favor now that nanotechnology was as good as it was. But General Hadrian had always liked the old ways of doing things, partially because they were more affordable but largely because they were more barbaric.

Kieron had only felt this pain once before, when he turned ten and began formally training with a unit instead of doing general training and exercises. It had symbolized welcoming them to a role of responsibility while also serving as a warning of what could happen to them if they fucked up. Back then, it had been on for less than ten seconds, but Kieron had wet his pants by the end of it. He remembered how disgusted the general had been with him.

He didn’t know if he’d pissed himself this time around. He didn’t know anything except pain, and beneath that, helpless fury. Every sound was muffled beneath the buzz of the current in his brain, and every touch felt clumsy and distant. He was vaguely aware of being rolled over, of the arrival of someone new, the pinch in his arm and the arguments going on over his head. How long had it been?

When the pain finally stopped, he kept seizing. His muscles didn’t know how to stop, but at least his mind was clear enough to hear what was happening in the room now.

“—way to be sure,” Carlisle was saying in a clipped tone. “It’s a waste of resources.”

“You don’t tell me what to do here,” the general replied. His voice was so much older, weighed down from years of shouting and abuse, but it had the same vicious edge that Kieron remembered so well. “I’m in charge.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“And I’ll bust your ass back down to private and put you to work in the comfort rooms if you speak out of line to me again, do you hear me?”

There was a pause. “Yes, sir.”

The general hummed with satisfaction. “You brought an interesting puzzle back to base,” he continued, then paused to hock up a wad of spit that landed close to Kieron’s face. Ugh. He prayed he didn’t accidentally roll into it while his nervous system took the rest of him for a ride. “Obviously he’s a spy of some kind. Not Ganian, despite the name. Might be funded by them, though. Those bastards have more money than the rest of the Outer Rim combined.”

“Desfontaines is a Ganian name?”

The general laughed. “Only the name of one of their most visible citizens. Wealthiest of them all, from what the newsfeeds say. Haven’t gotten a transmission in the last few months, but there’s a definite connection.”

“He said he was part of a group looking to colonize. Not here, necessarily, but—”

“He clearly lied. Look at him, look at the way he went after me so quickly. No. He’s a spy or an assassin, or both.” From the sound of it, the general was pleased to be the target of a murder attempt. “It looks like my reputation continues to precede me.”

“Or he momentarily lost his mind.”

“No, no. That was calculated. He was taking his shot where he could get it. Someone out there wants me dead, and they sent this man to do the job.” Yep, that was pleasure all right. “I knew our raids on supply ships were having an effect, I knew it. And you said we ought to redirect our focus to the merc trade!” He spat again. “No, you see? This is the kind of attention we need, to grow strong again. To regain our status as the scourge of the Outer Rim, to make people fear us the way they used to.”

Fear them? Fear them? Once Kieron had gotten away from Hadrian’s Colony and his head was clear enough to actually do some research into his own origin, he’d been startled to realize that the place he’d been raised, the war he’d been shaped for, the “scourge” he’d been a part of, was barely a footnote in the annals of the larger galaxy. They’d been a thorn, nothing more, not even at the height of their power. And now, as reduced as they seemed to be, they were probably hardly more than a dark, pointless flicker to most of the inhabited planets in the sector.

“That being the case, sir,” Carlisle said carefully, “there’s still no need to waste a serokit on him. Either we can ransom him or we dispose of him. We don’t need to know anything else.”

Slowly the world began to come back into focus around Kieron as his body finally settled. He was on his side, and he hadn’t pissed himself. That was a plus. His fingers and toes tingled, and he was careful to keep his breathing shallow and his eyes slitted for now, to make them thing he was out of it for a little longer.

“On the contrary.” The general sighed. “You’re such a small thinker, child. It’s no wonder you never could rise to become my co-general. You let the immediate trump the long term. Running a serokit on this man will tell us plenty of useful things about him. If he’s got Ganian blood in him, the diseases he’s vaccinated against, how many modifications he’s undergone…all of this will tell us better than anything that could come out of his mouth exactly what kind of person he is.”

Oh fuck. They were running a panel on him. Fuck.

They were going to find out that he was vaccinated against all sorts of things, including diseases endemic to Hadrian’s Colony that weren’t found anywhere else in the known galaxy. But that was nothing compared to the other things they’d see in his DNA.

I’m your fucking grandson, you piece of shit.

What that would mean to this man, Kieron didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out either. His loss of control had cost him, cost him very badly. The only way out of the situation that he could see now was to play up his weakness and ramp up his efforts to escape.

“I’m leaving him in your care,” the general said. “Consider it your chance to redeem yourself. Once we know exactly who he is, I’ll make a plan. Until then, your job is to keep him alive and maintain the security of the compound. If you fail, it’s the comfort rooms for you for the rest of the season.” Kieron heard the bulky creature shift his weight, and when he spoke next, his voice was lower and far more vicious. “Half the fifth brigade is looking for a chance to fuck you over after what happened last month, you know. I’d be careful with the prisoner if I were you, otherwise soon enough you’re not going to be able to walk.” He leaned back. “Dismissed.”

Carlisle didn’t hesitate, just threw him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and walked out at a brisk pace, leaving Kieron to contemplate the fact that his grandfather was threatening his mother, the man’s own daughter, with serial rape.

Over my dead fucking body.

Lord of Unkindness Ch. 24

 Notes: Look at these three, managing to be productive for a whole *checks watch* few minutes!

Title: Lord of Unkindness Ch. 24

***

Chapter Twenty-Four

 

Getting through the basics takes a matter of minutes. Ciro and Annette were trained the same way, after all. There are some familial differences, little tricks and turns that are passed from parent to child, but multi-familiar mages have a wealth of power to draw from. It’s the nature of having so many familiars at their beck and call from a young age. Those with a single familiar to start with have to start slow and learn to rely on themselves more, but families like Ciro’s have a creature by their side as soon as they’re able to do magic. It’s not something they need to train, really.

And that’s the problem.

“Your familiar is a manifestation of your magic, not the other way around,” Annette says for the third time in the past hour. Ciro tilts his head from side to side in an effort to crack it. “Pay attention.”

“I am!”

“You’re listening but you’re not hearing what I’m saying!”

“I am! We’re born with intrinsic magical ability that isn’t bound by the existence of our familiars and can access it with practice, but I don’t have that kind of practice,” Ciro says. He’s not snapping. He’s not. He isn’t in the right mental space to snap at this woman, but he’s definitely frustrated. “Yes, fine, it’s the sort of thing that can be learned. Great. But that’s got to take years of training.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Angelo notes from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, sipping tea from a bright blue mug. “It just requires determination and focus.”

“Neither of which I’m good at.”

Annette rolls her eyes. “Stop it. You’re not stupid, no matter what your father has made you listen to over the years.” Ciro goes still, and then regrets it because he sees her notice. “Oh, you think I didn’t know? I knew how hard he was on you! I knew all about the things he would say about you behind your back, never mind to your face. He told my father that he was sorry I was going to be married to such a lazy brat, but that he’d do his best to whip you into shape before the wedding.”

Ciro can literally hear his father’s voice in his head, saying exactly that. It still hurts, even though he’s understood this about their relationship since he was a little boy. His father finds Ciro useful—found, at least—but he’s never liked his son. He raged at Mei time and again for her inability to have another child, told her he would put her aside and get another wife, told her they were going to try dark magic, blood spells, to get her pregnant with a better baby.

“Your father has made you think you’re incompetent, but you’re not,” Annette goes on, unrelenting. Ciro shuts his eyes so he at least doesn’t have to see the earnestness in her face. “You’re more than just strong, you’re smart. You held off your entire family for months! That’s amazing!”

It’s actually harder to hear compliments than it is to hear insults. He’s used to insults. Being told he’s good, or clever, or brave…

Someone touches his hand and he shakes it off immediately. He can’t take being touched right now, it will feel too much like he’s being cozened. He doesn’t need lies to do what needs to be done. Annette has a limited amount of time with them; Ciro needs to make the most of it. He breathes in deep, lets go of his frustration and anger as best he can, then opens his eyes and looks at her. Angelo has moved closer, but Ciro avoids his gaze. This isn’t about them. This is about him.

“Fine. I’ll try to stay focused. What do I do?”

“Not resentful at all,” Annette murmurs as she pets her cat’s back. It turns and nudges its head under her hand, and she obediently scratches beneath its chin. A second later, the familiar disappears.

Ciro doesn’t startle, but only because he’s too tense. “Nice trick.”

“It’s useful,” she agrees. “Learning to hide the magic you do have is an easier place to start than conjuring up magic that’s not near you. But watch.” A second later, the cat is back. A second after that, another cat steps out of the first one’s shadow. It’s a demonstrably different cat—this one has far more white patches against its orange fur. Ciro knows his jaw has dropped, but…

“You got them back?” A pain he didn’t even realize was tearing at his heart eases.

Annette smiles. “Some of them. When Nephele went after my familiars, I was…wounded.” Almost to death. “It’s taken a long time to heal those magical wounds, but as I have it’s been easier to conjure more familiars again. You see what I mean, though? I was down to one, and now I have as many as six cats again.” Both cats split once more, becoming a long-haired, fluffy feline and another that’s as small as a kitten, which immediately jumps off the couch and runs over to Angelo.

Ciro tries to ignore the fact that his first emotion when he sees Angelo petting one of Annette’s familiars is jealousy. That should be his magic preening under his lover’s fingers. Angelo looks up at him and raises an eyebrow, too tuned-in to Ciro’s emotions for Ciro’s own good.

“Use that envy, baby.”

Annette nods, because of course she does. “Associating strong emotions with the magic you want to access is the best way to do it, in the beginning. Whether it’s joy or anger or jealousy, those are really good catalysts to manifesting your familiar.”

It’s the exact opposite of everything Ciro was taught growing up. Control, control, control. You don’t let your emotions get the better of you. That’s for lesser beings. That’s why Nephele can’t be put in charge of anything serious—she’s a loose cannon. That’s why you’re going to be beaten black and blue until you “stop crying, damn you” and get it right, or else. Do it. Now again. Now better.

Right in front of his eyes, Angelo picks up the kitten and kisses it on the head. It mews and pats Angelo’s face with its little paws, and Ciro feels a lurch in his gut as he watches it.

“Let your magic out,” Annette encourages. “Use your emotions to fuel that resurgence. The magic is inside of you, Ciro. It’s not separate from you until you force it to be. That’s how we all start—the magic is there when we’re born, we just give it a shape later on. Find it, and bring it here.”

Angelo is cradling the kitten now, rubbing his blunt, strong fingers over its tiny belly, and fuck it. Ciro grits his teeth together and reaches—not toward his magic the way he’s used to, not like he normally does when he calls it to himself, but toward the origin of his feelings in the first place, the tense, vibrating place inside of him that promises either answers or broken fucking dishes if his magic doesn’t get over here right now and—

It’s like popping a joint back in place, or having a single hiccup. Ciro jolts, and a moment later his raven is there, big and beautiful and cawing up a storm. It hops down from his shoulder and literally marches over to Angelo, and for a moment Annette stiffens in alarm. A raven that big could practically bite the head off that little kitten.

It does no such thing, instead flapping up onto Angelo’s head, bending over, and pecking him firmly right between the eyes.

“Ow!” He raises his hand and the raven hops onto it, then immediately curls into the crook of his other arm and croaks triumphantly at the kitten, who’s already jumping down in favor of chasing its own tail. The other three cats are in various states of lounge, no alarm to be seen, and Ciro finally gives in to the sense of accomplishment he feels and grins.

“Good job,” Annette says proudly. “That’s one. Let’s see how many more we can get before we break for lunch.”