He could now see Skadra in the outline of his vision, tall buildings and paved streets breaking up the monotony of the desert. He curved his broom towards the smaller coven encampments. Under normal circumstances, he would've avoided flying over anyone’s but the Jumpers’ base, but this time he didn't give a damn, cutting across the air with such speed that when their patrols pursued him, they couldn't keep up for more than a mile or two. Some of those witches weren't used to flying at such a low altitude. They wiped out in the sands below. But one managed to stay on his tail, a tail he didn't have time to lose.
So he merely trusted that the Jumpers' guard was on high alert as he sped towards the small smattering of trailers with a grey house in the center.
Luckily, he recognized Samar from one of the watchtowers, the other man's dark brown eyes wide with recognition. Hewaved in his direction and then pointed behind. Luckily, no other words were needed. His friend shot out in the opposite direction to take care of the straggler, but Kit didn't have time to watch the takedown and instead crash-landed on the gravel near Visha’s house. Far harsher than sand, the gravel ripped up his pants and dug into the skin of his shins, but luckily he managed to keep Gentry protected from the flying rocks. And then he was up on his feet, cutting through Visha’s wards with ease.
To his great aggravation, they greeted him as they always had, curling leaves and vines swiping at his legs and arms lovingly. He gritted his teeth and batted away a wayward fern that reached out for Gentry. "Don't touch her," he snapped, beyond frustrated as he stomped his way towards the medicine cabinet.
Juggling Gentry in one arm, Kit now yanked the drawer out, the little bottles clinking together in protest. He then laid Gentry onto the sofa and went to work. She was in a far worse state than she had been an hour ago. Her hair was wet with sweat and her pink complexion had turned gray. She moaned when he pried her mouth open with his fingers and gave her the first potion. Her dull green eyes opened up at him as she swallowed it. "It tastes bad," she said.
He kept his palm at the base of her back, feeling the ugly presence of Visha’s magic underneath her skin. Everyone was allergic to magic at the end of the day, but a non-magical like Gentry was particularly sensitive to it. She had no immunity built up. And each potion he gave her was spelled with magic, so it was more likely to send her into severe magical poisoning, but he didn't have a choice.
They were on their fifth bottle when he finally felt Visha’s magic dissipate. But instead of relief, all he felt was concern.
Samar burst into the room just as he was placing blankets on Gentry. "What the hell was that?" his friend asked. Kit clockedthat his fists were bloodied, so he surmised that the fight in the sky had likely turned into a desert brawl.
"Visha," was all Kit said.
His friend looked down at the unconscious Gentry and swore. “Tell me later,” Samar said, as he rolled up his sleeves, “what do you need from me?”
“She’s still burning up, and I don’t know what else to give her.”
Samar gave him a patronizing look. "Have you considered non-magical medicine?" He then walked over to Visha’s cabinets and pulled out the smallest drawer. Kit then found himself taking orders from his friend. They gave her anti-inflammatories, and Samar shoved cotton into her cuts when he explained that they wouldn't clot on their own.
It took about an hour for Gentry’s body temperature to go from dangerous to sickly. Her breathing was no longer shallow, and she resembled less a ghost and more a pale human.
"She can't handle any more magic for a while, but she should be okay," Samar announced, his dark eyes focusing on Kit with quiet intensity, “now tell me what this is all about. How’d you wind up with that”—he gestured at his neck—“there?”
twenty-five
Kit
Kit touched the raw part of his neck self-consciously. He’d had no time to cover it, his night clothes still on. “It’s a long story—”
A couple of thuds and a moan sounded from the guest bedroom.
“Fuck,” Samar dragged the word out, his tanned face losing all color. “I forgot about her. Quick. You two need to hide.”
Silently, Kit picked Gentry up. He was a little horrified when the girl let out a soft cry of pain. Samar ushered them into Visha’s bedroom, which was covered in clothes and little trinkets. Kit winced when his foot hit a discarded nail polish bottle, but he managed to shut the door with his foot and placed Gentry onto the bed.
He then tapped the large crystal ball on Visha’s dresser, toggling the surveillance she had on the camp until it landed on the living room.
And he watched as a dark-haired, sullen bedraggled teenager trudged by the sofa. He recognized her instantly — Georgia, Clea’s apprentice. In the week that had passed since theirmeeting in the warehouse, her black eye had gone from a bruised purple to an ugly yellow. But the deep shadows under her eyes and the way she kept blinking at the morning light told Kit she’d had more than a little to drink. That, and the large wine bottle in her hand.
“Do you have any more of this stuff?” She swayed in front of Samar, who was in the kitchen doing an excellent job of looking busy. “It’s pretty good,” she slurred, “for being brewed all the way out of here in your shitty rusted cauldrons.”
Samar smiled wanly at the insult. “Our last bottle is in the cellar,” he gritted out, and Kit recognized the other man was about to snap. But just then, he watched as Georgia seemed to take in several things: the medicine on the table, the rumpled couch, and then, finally, the blood on Samar’s fists.
"You got in a fight?" Georgia slurred, a mischievous smile edging up on her cheeks. It made her look younger. It also made her look, to Kit's horror, flirtatious. "Did you win?"
Samar looked equally as horrified. "I-I did win," Samar stuttered, clearing his throat and shifting from foot to foot. "We had some intruders from the Trapdoors, but we did pretty well."
Georgia's eyes gleamed with interest. "Do you think they'll come back tonight?" she asked eagerly. "Feels like I never get to go all out in a sky fight. Everyone's too afraid of us. It's always, 'collect these taxes, Georgia,' 'raid this coven for valuables,' but no one ever really puts up a fight. You know what I mean? It'sboring.”
“Well, what about the apprentice games? I heard those aren't boring."
Georgia's face clouded. "Now those are too dangerous. Damn near lost my head at the last one." She took a swig of her bottle and brightened. "But maybe we should raid those Trapdoors. Get them back for disrespecting you. We could go right now!”She looped her arm through Samar’s as though they were about to go to a ball.
Kit stifled a laugh as his friend rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. Starting a fight. But we should wait until nightfall,” he said quickly.
