a bitter song | nicholas

The night was different over here. It wasn’t just the endless sea of black that pressed down over the road like the black velvet lid lining in the battered old trunk that had sat in a corner of the shop for years. They’d taken turns crawling into it when they were small enough, seeing how long they could last. Dust tickling at their noses, hands splayed against the inside of the lid, ready to shove it open when the claustrophobia eventually got too much and they’d shove it open, sucking in deep breaths of air, hearts racing giddily. Tiny pinpricks of light had pierced the gaps in the joints of the trunk, little reminders that it wasn’t a tomb, you weren’t entirely sealed in. Now they were overhead, constellations scattered like those holes across the sky.

Nicky craned forward, squinting out into the dark of the road ahead. No light pollution here apart from what his own car was throwing out. Picking out the road ahead. Dawn was already a sliver of gold on the horizon, starting to dim those stars from their diamond brilliance. By the time it broke he’d be there, gravel biting gritty under the wheels.

He raked his teeth over his lower lip, chewed at the fleshy curve of it until he glanced aside at the phone on the bench seat next to him. Nerves had stretched thinner, like wires pulled until they frayed, when the call had come in. That thin network of his own kind he’d found across the country – the odd intersection of witches and warlocks who dealt – coming through for one another with a single call. If you were willing to take it.

A sniff of the cold air rushing through the cracked driver’s window to keep him awake after the six hour stretch of the drive. Reviving enough that he could feel those ephemeral layers of spells he’d laid on himself to avoid him being tracked here. Not for his sake, but hers. Andy’s. Word from William Martineau had marked her, casting her out from that network like a cat kicked out on the streets to become a stray. No hand to feed her, no way for the girl to buy a path to something new … unless someone was willing to trade and allow a little of that mark to rub off on them.

Rubbing his palms against the ridged edge of the wheel now like he could scrub that mark off, Nicky bumped off of the road, over the cracked stretch of blacktop and into the lot he’d picked out for the meet. There wasn’t anything he could do to lift the bounty from the girl’s head for now but as he’d sat in that motel room in Charleston – the way in West Virginia, not further south – hearing her voice come down the crackle of the line – he’d known he could give her a running start at least.

His breath plumed in the air as he climbed from the car. Fingers curled over the top of the door for a moment, his gaze raking the dark, the silvered outlines of what would appear clearly with the dawn. Nicky saw no unexpected visitors ready to gate crash, no Andy either but he was early. A precaution that would add one more layer of obfuscation to all of this.

Ten minutes pacing the lot, chalk in his hand scoring the ground as he whispered spells, imbuing those marks with the power that burned in his veins. Ringing the place except for the break in the chain link fence where Andy would drive in. Another ten minutes and the car, some piece of junk that would be anonymous in a place like this, chugged in right where he’d predicted. His own car was hidden in the remaining pool of dark at the end of the lot, him in the one at the side of the chain link. She climbed out, limping, the dark form of something wrapped around one wrist, a snap of magic in the air like fireworks popping at random.

Nicky bent, scuttling forward to form those last swirling lines and snap them shut with whispered words. He rose in that cut of the fence, on the inside of the lines, already brushing the chalk from his hand. ”I’m ‘ere,” he murmured. His hand came up, the back of it swiped under his nose as he studied her. ”Entirely. Kept my word, I’m not ‘bout to be callin’ him in.” His chin came up as his hand dropped away, indicating the lines just a foot away from where she stood. ”Took some precautions too. Don’t be breakin’ ‘em. What on earth did they do t’ya?” Concern laced that sandpaper rough tone, his brow furrowing as he got close enough to take a good look at a face that’d taken some lumps since the last time he’d seen her.

Tagged: ANDY LATIMER * Word Count: 818

Territorial lines drawn with magic and warnings had felt like they were everywhere when he’d come here. In London the Reids had been one of probably a couple hundred magical families. They were spread out, strung together like they were all in one giant spiderweb. You could pull a thread with one, have all those around reacting to it with bright eyes and that desire to help one another that defied the years of punishment most had suffered for who they were. Nicky had seen with his own eyes that it wasn’t the same everywhere, especially not here.

Alliances, vendettas, a selfishness that some had turned into a sadistic art form. He’d been bound to tread on a few toes. It had been accidental those first few times. Hands going up, promises not to interfere muttered before they’d put him down one way or another. He’d found that trading with them had opened a lot of doors but now Nicky could see them slamming shut in his face again.

So be it.

He’d scrawled his magic through this place, a web of his own creation, a shield for a girl who looked like she hadn’t had one when she’d needed it. Nicky didn’t need to light the place up to see that she had needed one.

Chin lifting, he studied her. If it had been Mandy in front of him he’d have sighed, forced her to let him look at her. Healing wasn’t the biggest of his skills but there were spells capable of something. Nicky sniffed, catching the sharp scene of herbs. Maybe Andy had taken care of herself. It was a start at least. Eyes pale as a winter morning narrowed as he stopped a foot from her. His lips curled faintly but there was too much of a big brother’s concern in the pit of his stomach for that smile to reach his eyes. ”Can never be too careful,” he rasped. Especially when it came to men like William Martineau.

Men who would beat a woman bloody.

The smile didn’t last more than a heartbeat longer. He felt sick at the thought of the hands that had laid it on her. Nicky slipped his hands into the pockets of his thigh length suit coat, fingers curling into fists. If Darcey had been with him it would’ve been a red flag to a bull. ”Not one who didn’t ‘ave a line of people queuein’ up behind ‘er to give the beatin’ back,” he told her honestly. ”Even if the one doin’ the beatin’ ‘s a big bollocks.” Given Martineau’s warnings he was laying money on the fact that the man was sitting now, easing the ache of his own bruised knuckles.

Nicky trailed her as she popped the trunk, shoulders hunched, eyes ticking back and forth between the car and her. She likely wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her take a header, even if it was taking everything she might’ve had to stay upright and moving. ”I’m guessin’ the price’s about as high as you can talk me into. The bigger the pay day, the further you’re gonna get away from this.” And him. Humming, Nicky pulled a hand free as she started to line things up on the roof, a car boot of a different sort. He nudged a bowl inscribed with something close to Norse runes with a finger. A summoning bowl, old enough to have built up power like a patina. ”I’d ask how far you were plannin’ on running but it’s better I don’t know.” He could play dumb with Martineau then, wouldn’t have anything to hand over if he was asked.

Turning to her Nicky shrugged, his hand going back into his pocket. He’d have given the girl a hand anyway, what he’d had in this wallet but this was a way to save face and her behind if she was going to be tracked by all of this. Better that the trail led to him instead. ”A thousand for all of it. Unless you’re lookin’ for more?” He’d go higher if he needed but he wanted to leave the girl what pride hadn’t been pounded from her.

Tagged: ANDY LATIMER * Word Count: 697

Pride could be as painful as the wounds themselves. He’d seen his brother wrap it around himself as he’d staggered away from a fight, keeping his chin up even if he should’ve been weeping out the pain of split knuckles and blackened eyes. Darce was proud of what he’d do to protect others, as proud of it as he was of his family. It was something to admire if they weren’t worried about him. It all went both ways though and Nicky had seen the worry in their eyes before he’d made that leap from Europe to America. He’d clutched his own pride around him like a blanket then, fingers that wanted to shake while he begged to come back home clutched in it. The words had never made it past his lips. Pride leaving him on the road.

Nicky wasn’t planning on stripping it away from Andy now, although it might’ve been better for the girl if she gave in and let those cracks open up. It hurt more in the short term, left you burning with a shame you didn’t think you’d live through but at least others could offer up some sort of a band aid without having to pretend not to see. His mouth twitched now as the girl laughed it off, but Nicky’s own smile had faded, his gaze twitching from hidden wound to wound. He couldn’t force her to let him play Florence Nightingale, he could give her the money to find her own though, some hospital hundreds of miles away from here who maybe wouldn’t ask questions or call the police on for what they’d presume was a domestic case.

Half the money had come crisp out of the cash machine two towns over, added to the softened bundles he’d put together before he’d left the shop on his last trip. Credit wasn’t extended much in their world. ”So,” Nicky echoed. Her former associate had failed, so she’d take the money from him now and avoid something worse if she could. The girl probably hadn’t wanted to shoulder him with the trouble the pieces would cause, but it was his shoulder and his cash he was wiling offering up. He was a big enough boy to take it and deal it back out if he had to.

Tongue pressed between the sharp edges of his incisors, Nicky let his eyes tick between the items, his gaze seemingly languid. Each piece would be easy enough to move, even if they hadn’t been, he’d have taken them. They could gather dust in the back room of the shop for all he cared, better there than back in William’s hands, along with the girl. Nicky huffed out a breath at her correction, just a sliver of humour to it as his gaze slid from the bowl to the girl. ”No haggling ‘til I’m payin’ ya half of what they’re worth.” He was his father’s son and would’ve done it for appearance’s sake and then handed over the fair price anyway in a situation like this. Shrewd businessman still had room for a heart and Reids didn’t take advantage.

Nicky made a low sound in his throat and gave a single nod. The lips that had pinched with concern for her moments before echoing the curve of hers. He raised his brows, hissed a breath in through his teeth before he picked the bowl up carefully as though to inspect it again. ”Don’t. I don’t even want a hint of it.” It was easier to deny any knowledge truthfully than to try and point in another direction and have Martineau

The power from the bowl tingled over his skin, the same way he imagined his own had over Andy when she’d driven in to the warded space. She was right, the thousand would barely even cover the bowl but he wanted to see that backbone stiffen in her and was glad to hear the scoff. ”Some of it’s decent,” he agreed. Blue eyes watched her fish the last of the pieces out. There was more decent and it pained her to let go of it. ”No cuttin’ you to the bone, although I think you’d fight me every inch of the way for it.” And would likely sag like a sail with no wind when he was done.

Setting the bowl back among the others, Nicky turned towards her and crossed his arms over his chest. She knew what he’d have done, if he’d have gotten away with it – although he wouldn’t have called it charity. It was helping out an acquaintance, an ass saving he might one day need himself if he let himself get too deep into things like this. Fingertips drummed on lean biceps, a grunt pushed out of him. ”Yer not, but you look like you need a little jet fuel in yer.” A thousand or two extra in her pocket might provide it for now. ”Three. A thousand of it alone’s for that bowl. It’s got some juice in it.” Markings that he’d dig into once he got back to town.

There were connections over here he could lean on if he came up dry. More than a year of travelling in these parts had started to build up a network that had led Andy to him in the end. Stories drifted through it, like threads of cobwebs that’d tangle up on you and cling together. ”Bits ‘n’ pieces, not s’much of the purity. Heard it got pretty dark with ‘em, definitely weren’t meant to have been pretty for a while. This one of theirs?” Grimoires were the bread and butter of the magical world. Passed down, handed around like an explosive pass the parcel if the possessor had no clue real what they had or what they were doing with it. Nicky spread his hand in front of him, palm out, fingers splayed, shivering as the power slithered off of it and up his arm. A crackle like lightning he wasn’t so sure he wanted to feel lance through the rest of him.

Tagged: ANDY LATIMER * Word Count: 1012