Oh. Fated mates. That feels right. There’s a part of me that knows this is exactly right. How did I not notice this before?
“Elijah’s less human than you and you have a fated mate,” Darcy points out, releasing my shirt and wrapping his arm around my waist again.
Romily’s face probably looks the same as mine: smile bright as the sun, eyes full of affection for his partner as Fox interjects, “Shifters have fated mates.”
I feel that in my bones. Or maybe in my inner dragon. “Shifters for the win.” I hold up a fist to Fox, who bumps it companionably.
Darcy snorts, squeezing my side. There’s a clap of thunder, and a familiar weight lands on my shoulder, startling me a bit. My baby flink wraps their limbs and tail around my face and neck, chirping loud and agitated. The air pressure drops, the world blanks out, and with another clap of thunder, I pop into existence in my apartment.
The flink chirps loudly, jumping off my shoulder to the table, gesturing all around to the destruction in my apartment. It’sstill a mess, but there aren’t any more body excretions hanging around. Still, it’s going to need a thorough cleaning, and I’m not looking forward to that. I hope Chet the handyman isn't too expensive and knows a good cleaning service. “I’m not really sure what happened,” I explain to the upset baby.
Reality splits open and Darcy walks through the tear, grabbing my arm as it closes behind him. “What the fuck?” he demands.
I gesture to the baby. “They’re concerned about the state of my apartment.”
Darcy’s expression hardens. “I’m going to find who did this,” he rumbles, roiling with frustration.
The baby flink jumps back on my shoulder, chirping at Darcy in an accusatory manner.
I reach up, petting the baby. “It’s fine, baby. Darcy knows what he’s doing,.”
Darcy glowers at the walls. “It stinks of human, but there’s a coating of your feu follet magic in here. It’s not fresh. It’s old, like you spent too much time with someone and your magic’s still lingering on them.”
The baby flink chirps several more times, as if he’s telling Darcy something, and Darcy nods. “Sure, but anyone he considers a friend would have his magic on them.”
I scrunch up my nose. “I’m not one to get my feathers ruffled about much, but are you telling me that my own magic is the reason this happened?” I don’t like the idea that this is my fault even if I didn’t know that I had magic before I met Darcy.
Darcy tips his hand back and forth. “Your magic is present and an influence, but how people choose to let the magic influence them is more at work here. You’re not taking free will away when your feu follet magic is triggered, you’re just giving them something to follow and the hope of a better life. It would be slightly harder than usual for a mentally and emotionallyhealthy person to stop being friends with you if you wanted their friendship, but they could if they decided they didn’t have the time or inclination to continue the friendship. It wouldn’t be their first choice, but they could.”
“What about the people I’ve dated?” Because I have more trouble with them than my friends. In fact, my friends didn’t seem to have any trouble abandoning me when I was with Stalker Steve.
“Whoever did this has held on to your magic more tightly than was healthy or necessary. They’ve let themselves be corrupted by it. It started with a choice they made, and then they made another, and another, and another that led them to this point. And I would guess it’s someone you dated, because this place is full of the anger of rejection.” He gives the destruction a dark look. “And I ain’t gonna let them get away with it, because if it ain’t clear, Peach, yer a Foxily now, and the Foxilys don’t let this shit slide.”
“Do you think it was Stalker Steve?” I ask, just because he’s the only person I can think of who’d have done this, but I also watched Darcy kill my neighbor and that guy was acting like a jilted lover, so I guess it could be anyone.
“I do,” he growls like the primeval volcano monster he sometimes reminds me of—I bet that’s the fire dancer part of him.
I heard stories over lunch about how the Foxilys deal with the people who try to fuck with them. I don’t think that the destruction of property should be a death sentence, but also, I’m looking at the Avatar of Neutrality, and he does what he wants.
“Whatever you want to do.” I pause for a second, petting the Flink and thinking aloud, “I need to pack up what’s salvageable and call Chet to come fix the apartment before I surrender it back to the property manager. I need to let my family know Idon’t need the apartment anymore, and I’m going to need to change my address with the mail service and school.”
As I start a list of things that need to get taken care of, Darcy gathers components from the pouches on his utility belt, pulling a small bowl from one of the larger pockets and mixing the components into it. I get out of his way when he kneels to draw in blood on the linoleum in my kitchen. Two lines of runes or whatever.
The baby starts purring in my hair, cuddling in close. They probably need a nap, but this isn’t going to be a show for baby flinks. “Baby, I know you like sleeping with me, but I’m about to get busy, and I don’t want to disturb you. Go on home, and you can visit me again later. How about if I call for you when I get to my new place so you know where to find me.”
“Chirrup,” they reply sleepily and disappear with a clap of thunder that makes my ears ring for a second.
I turn my eyes back on Darcy, who pulls his glittery pink magic powder out of his utility belt and tosses it between the two lines of runes. He grins when the runes flare to life and turns to me. “You comin’?”
I consider my options, but honestly, I’d rather be there than hear about it afterward. “Sure.”
“Walk on through. I’ll be on your heels. You’ll come out the other side where the person who did this is,” he explains.
I lean down and kiss him for no reason, then walk through the soupy air between the runes. The air is thick, almost like I’m walking through a bog all the way up until I step out of my apartment, right in front of Stalker Steve. I jerk back, surprised to be nose to nose with him, stumbling clumsily, and I’m saved by my boyfriend’s arm catching me and steadying me.
“So. This is weird,” I comment, studying the way Stalker Steve is hung up by his wrists with his chest cavity cut open like someone decided to get a good look at all his organs.
We stare at the open cavity, where all his internal organs are still in their various places. Even his intestines are still inside, like his skin is still there keeping them in place. It isn’t, and neither is his ribcage, but the organs don’t seem to care about that.
