Iron and Magic

If whatever killed the jimsonweed jumped to the henbane, they would take an expensive hit.

“What do you want to do?” she asked.

“I want it warded.”

“The henbane?”

He nodded. “I’ll put plastic up too, but I would feel better with a ward.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll tell Savannah.”

James twisted his hands some more.

“Would you like me to do it?” she guessed. “Now?”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Okay.”

“Thank you!” He reached into the wheelbarrow and withdrew a bundle of elm sticks.

The rapid thudding of a galloping horse sounded through the trees. Elara frowned. A rider came around the bend, emerging from the trees. Sam, wearing his Iron Dog black.

He slowed the horse, bringing the mare to a stop in front of them. “Trouble.”

She jumped to her feet.

“What?”

“People from the Pack are here. The guy who was here before and two others, a man and a woman. They said they were the alphas of Clan Bouda.”

Just what they needed. “Where is the Preceptor?”

“In the moat, on the other side. We didn’t tell him yet.”

Clan Bouda, Clan Bouda… What was it the boy said before? His people killed the alpha of my clan.

Oh no. “Keep the Preceptor away from the bailey. Do whatever you have to do. Don’t just sit there, go! Go!”

Sam turned the horse around and rode back the way he came. She focused on the trees in the distance.

“But the henbane,” James moaned.

“I’ll be back.”

Elara stepped. The trees rushed to her. She stepped again, hurrying to the castle, burning magic too fast. Three days had passed since Deidre was taken from the castle and Hugh had gone inside himself. He didn’t want to fight with her. When he spoke, it was short and brisk. He spent all his time finishing the moat. She’d snuck into his dreams last night and found fire and death, ruins littered with corpses, and him, a terrifying monster prowling through it to the chorus of screams and killing, the fiery maelstrom behind him so big, it took up half of the sky. She couldn’t tell if it was a nightmare or a distorted memory.

In that moment, before he’d turned away and left as Deidre’s family drove out of the castle, she had seen his eyes. Hugh hadn’t realized his legacy. He knew what it was, he knew himself to be a killer, he let it torment him, but inside the castle walls he was sheltered from its full impact. The Iron Dogs admired him; her people looked to him for protection. Whether he knew it or not, Hugh leaned on that human net to keep going. He saw himself as strong, violent, and ruthless, but also as someone who protected and led. He was feared but respected and even envied.

He had never stopped to think how people from the outside saw him. There was no respect in what Wayne Harmon had said. Only contempt and revulsion.

Hugh was a man who couldn’t be trusted with children. A villain. A butcher without a single redeeming quality to him. And she was a witch, Satan’s consort, an evil creature, a deceiver and defiler, fit only to be stoned to death. It didn’t sting her. Elara was used to it. She had grown up with it.

She’d known both kindness and utter contempt. A Baptist church had sheltered her and her people once, knowing what they were, because they were hungry and had no place to go. In the next town, only ten miles down the road, the Christians had lined up along the road with loaded shotguns to make sure they kept moving.

Some people in the world only saw in black and white. They were driven by fear. They had learned how to survive in their little corner of the world and they saw any change as a threat to their survival. But they still liked to think of themselves as good people. Good people didn’t hate without a reason, so they grasped at any pretext, no matter how small, that gave them permission to hate. A line in a holy book. The color of a person’s skin. The brand of their magic. They were not in the habit of taking a second look or giving chances. Their fear was too great and their need to defend themselves too dire. They always lost at the end. Life was change. It would come to them, as inevitable as the sunrise, despite all their flailing.

She had years to armor herself against it. Hugh didn’t. He was on top. On the winning team. No doubt was allowed.

And now the alphas of Clan Bouda were here. She had no idea how he would react to that.

Elara stepped onto the wall and forced herself to stop and catch a breath. The shapeshifters had dismounted in the bailey. A tall, dark-haired man wearing black, his movements fluid and quick. He looked like he was barely holding it together. And a woman, who was his polar opposite: short, blond, and calm. She was telling him something, and her movements seemed soothing. Ascanio Ferara hung behind them, a long-suffering look on his handsome face.

Elara realized that her blue dress was stained with dirt. There was dirt under her fingernails. No time. She descended the stairs. At the foot of it, Dugas waited.

“That man is about to do something violent,” he murmured.

“I know.”

She walked past him and put a smile on her face. “Hello.”

Ascanio and the woman turned to her. The man was still scanning the bailey. The blond woman put her hand on his arm and gently pulled on him, until he turned to face Elara.

“Hello,” the blond said. “So sorry to barge in on you unannounced. I’m Andrea Medrano. This is my husband Raphael. You’ve already met Ascanio, of course.”

“I have,” Elara said. “You must be tired. Would you like something to eat?”

Ascanio’s eyes lit up.

If she could get them out of the bailey and safely settled inside before Hugh showed up, maybe they would dodge this bullet after all.

“We would love something to eat,” Andrea said. “Wouldn’t we, honey?”

Hugh d’Ambray walked through the gate, with Stoyan right behind him.

Raphael saw him. Their gazes locked.

Raphael pulled his leather jacket off with a single jerk of his hand.

“Raphael!” Andrea said. “You promised me you wouldn’t do this. Raphael!”

Raphael yanked two daggers from the sheath on his belt and started toward Hugh.

“I told you,” Ascanio said. “I said this would happen.”

Hugh pulled a knife from the sheath on his waist and moved forward.

The two men reached each other. Raphael struck, so fast he was a blur. Somehow Hugh dodged.

“Go get him, honey!” Andrea called out.

What? Elara looked at her.

“I’m so sorry,” Andrea said. “The Iron Dogs killed my mother-in-law.”

“My condolences,” Elara said. “What happens when my husband makes you a widow?”

“Raphael won’t lose.”

Hugh spun out of the way and kicked Raphael in the stomach. The shapeshifter rolled, sprung to his feet, his eyes growing blood red, and charged Hugh.

Don’t lose, she willed silently. Don’t lose, Hugh.

The two men clashed and broke apart. Hugh’s left forearm bled. A blue glow clamped the wound. It knitted closed.

A cut snaked down Raphael’s face. He wiped it off and flung the blood away. His skin sealed itself. Lyc-V, the virus responsible for shapeshifter existence, gifted them with unmatched regeneration.

They clashed again, slashing, carving, stabbing, so fast she could barely guess at the attacks. Raphael was a whirlwind, but Hugh was stronger. They tore across the bailey. If it wasn’t for the knives, they could almost be dancing.

Hugh staggered back. Cold rushed through her. He must’ve taken a hit, but she couldn’t see it. Raphael dove into the opening, slashing. The tip of his dagger grazed Hugh’s throat, drawing a sharp red line.

Elara gasped.

Hugh grabbed Raphael’s wrist with his left hand and twisted. Bone snapped with a crunch. The shapeshifter snarled and dropped the dagger. Andrea clicked her teeth.

Hugh kicked the dagger out of the way. They lunged at each other.

Seconds stretched into minutes, slow and viscous, like dripping honey. Hugh was covered in a blue glow now. Raphael was bleeding. The Lyc-V couldn’t fix him fast enough. The stones under their feet were smeared with red.