She’d drawn my blood and would pay a price—this time, to him.
The sound of booted feet echoed through the room like an army on the move; its commander strode in front of them.
“We always arrive after the fun part,” Gwen said, as a dozen officers in protective gear filled the space around us. “We are the Chicago Police Department, and you’re all very under arrest.”
It had started as a gentle coven, Ariel told us when we were outside. Four of them, led by Dalton, who worked minor earth and love magic to heal heart, water, and land. They all had specialties, and Ariel had learned to use her necromancy to comfort those left behind. Added to the waitressing, she made enough for her own car, apartment.
“But something scared her,” Ariel said of Dalton. “She believed the end was coming, and we were the only ones who could stop it. We believed her. Maybe she added magic to it; I don’t know. Stupid or not, we believed her. And we helped her.”
“But you wanted out,” I said, and Ariel lifted her gaze to me. “Jonathan Black got your message,” I explained.
Her gaze darted away, full of emotions I couldn’t read. “He has... power. Maybe more than he lets us see. Maybe less.”
“And he is not well acquainted with the truth,” I said.
“No, he isn’t,” she said. “He can be a real son of a bitch whenhe wants to be.” Her smile fell away. “Anyway, Dalton told us about the poppets, the stave, the circle. Silverspell, she called it, because a silver dagger would be used each time to perform a small ritual.”
She looked at me, and for the first time I could see her own magic in her eyes. “She said only a bit of blood would be needed. That it wasn’t dark magic, because the blood wouldn’t kindle the spell. It was just a gift to the earth. She performed the ceremony on the human without us. But she said the human wasn’t enough, so we had to use a shifter the next time. We didn’t know she planned to kill him. We didn’t know she’d done it until he fell, and the dagger was—” She paused, looked away as if staring at the memory. “The dagger was in him.”
Ariel breathed in, exhaled. “She said each death would help ward the city from whatever was coming. Would keep the destruction at bay. We told her she had to find another way, but she didn’t believe us. So I sent Jonathan the message.”
“The bell,” I said. “And you put the coaster in Bryce’s clothes, and left the message on the chalkboard for me.”
She nodded.
“You did good, Ariel.” I put an arm around her shoulder. “No one died tonight, and that’s because of you.”
“Tonight,” she sobbed. “But I think she was right, and she was wrong, and I don’t know what’s coming next.”
I held her until the tears were dry.
Theo gave us a lift back to Connor’s vehicle, still parked at the bar. We said our goodbyes to Theo, watched him drive away.
And then Connor’s hand was behind my head, the long line of his body pressing forward, and his mouth against mine. Takingand promising, comforting and seeking comfort. I sank into the kiss as he slid his fingers into my hair, felt love and desire and magic—vibrant and clean and full of life—rise between us.
After a moment he pulled back, leaned his forehead against mine. “I needed that.”
I put a hand against his cheek; he turned to press his lips to my palm.
“We protect each other,” I said, our mantra. “And we found the villain.” I looked up at the sky, the green clouds all but gone, but the fear lingering. “We either saved the world, or we doomed it.”
“Together,” he said, his arms banding around me. “Whatever it is, we’ll face ittogether.”
TROLL LIFE
by Kerrie L. Hughes
“Mommy, it’s an ogre!” a child said loudly.
“Alex, mind your manners,” the woman beside him admonished gently.
Harzl barely glanced up at the human child as he restocked the vending machines on the platform of the Northwest Transfer Station. He knew what he looked like to the offspring of those who dwelled outside the Liminal Subway System. He was used to being gawked at, mistaken for an ogre, or worse, an orc. Never mind that ogres were never less than ten feet tall, and orcs were mythical cannibals.
On the other hand, he was five feet, eight inches tall and thick-limbed, with a shock of purple hair. His skin wavered somewhere between greenish gray and grayish purple, depending on his mood. Currently his mood was bothered, and his skin flushed a bit more purple.
The child ran over to Harzl. “Are you a troll?”
“Good guess, kid,” Harzl replied as he guessed the child to beabout seven and unafraid of asking questions. He surmised it would be best to give short answers and make no eye contact.
