Warrior Witch: Book Two, page 4
Her gaze had drifted behind him and she gasped. Jack spun to investigate the busy street.
When he felt magic, it usually swept across his skin. His hands and feet were the most sensitive to it and the best for identifying magics. Touch was the most common method of distinguishing enchantments amongst magic users.
This was different. It filtered through his nose, something hot and thick, with a strangely pleasant odor, like cranberries and molasses. It funneled his focus to a young girl dressed in blue. He paid little attention to children and knew even less about them developmentally, but he guessed she was four years old. She kept her eyes downcast, trailing behind a woman of high birth.
Smelling magic was a rarity, but seeing it was even more uncommon.
This little girl glowed, a faint pale gold eclipsing her light frame. Even her tidy brown braid shone.
“You see it too?” Kye asked, shielding her eyes.
“I've never seen or smelled anything like it,” Jack murmured.
“Is that what that is?” She sniffed. “The smell, like molasses? I don't usually smell magic; I wasn't sure.”
“I don’t either.”
Kye rubbed her arm and scratched at an itch, like her skin was prickling. “There’s only one thing powerful enough—”
“Can’t be. Greater spirits only reside within a witch in fairytales. What would a great spirit want with a little girl?”
She rolled her eyes. “You said that about me and my gifts, but here I am again. I conversed with my magics—no spell, no ingredients—looking for you, and I found you easily.”
Jack squared his shoulders with hers. “If you want my help, show me how your magic works.”
Kye grabbed his elbow, her face gleaming with curiosity and excitement. “Later, come on!” She dragged him along behind her.
They followed the girl at a distance. Stopping when she did, mimicking her movements. The child and her Sophia paused before a stall of gadgets: compasses, stamps, and pocket watches. Kye prodded Jack off the cobblestones, out of the way of traffic. Motorcars and steam carriages puttered by, stirring up smog, making them both cough. A large snake slithered into a drainpipe. Kye shivered and moved to his other side in a hurry, distancing herself.
Jack recognized the high-born woman who wore the gilded badge of a winged lion and the short coal-colored stole of a palace councilor. The Sophia, Juliet Becker—Marnie’s cousin—scrutinized the stall before her. The gemmed pen in her black, curly hair was worth more than he’d make in a year at the manor. She’d squeezed every curve of her figure into a lavender dress. Since school he’d always appreciated her form, and he admired it for a moment now. Gray eyes, curtained by thick lashes, glanced his way as though she sensed his inspection, but she looked straight through him.
“Juliet Becker,” Jack muttered. “What is she doing with a witchling?”
Kye weaved her arm through his. His muscles tightened at her touch.
“Relax,” she chided. “You know her?”
“We went to school together.”
She looked him up and down. “You do not dress like you could ever afford to go to the same school as a Sophia like that. Not that I’m judging you. I’d never waste money on something I could make myself.”
Jack opened his mouth to explain, but at that moment, the little girl picked up a silver pocket watch, eyes glittering with delight.
“You like it?” Juliet asked her.
The watch sprouted butterfly wings, plated in gray metal, and floated out of her hands.
Jack’s bones turned to ice. Kye gasped.
“Oh dear,” Juliet muttered.
“Street witch!” The clerk, a stout man with a derby hat over his white hair, bounded from the stall. His soft belly shook as his arms flailed. “Rotten little street witch! You bring that back down here right now before I box your ears!”
Jack rushed to intercede, Kye at his side.
The clerk raised a flattened hand.
Juliet slid in front of the girl. She captured the clerk’s wrist in a claw-like grip, her glare as threatening as her tone. “Touch this child, and I’ll order my driver to back over your wrinkled body. Twice, just for sport.”
Jack stopped short. Kye paused beside him, her mouth ajar.
The clerk stuttered. “Sophia . . . Your servant girl needs to learn the way of things . . . a witchling shouldn’t do magic like that. Not even here in Terra District.”
“Thank you for the lesson in etiquette I did not ask for,” she said icily. “If you would like to retain your merchant’s license, I suggest you apologize to my ward immediately.” Juliet dropped his wrist the way she would a piece of wet garbage. “Then I’ll pay for the blasted thing and be rid of you.”
He bowed his head. “I’m so sorry, Sophia. I had no idea she was your ward. Child, please forgive my rash behavior.” He took his derby hat off his head and held it over his chest. Then he hurried back behind his stall and the extra eyes the ruckus drew returned to their business.
The winged watch continued to flap, lifting higher and higher into the air. Juliet recognized Jack then, as she passed the clerk a gold embossed note.
“Oh? It’s you . . .” Her face tried to smile politely and then seemed to think better of it.
Jack nodded at her, stunned. “Sophia?”
Kye glanced at each of them and then promptly ignored them both. She lowered herself onto a knee in front of the child. “Hello, lovely,” she said, her smile as warm and bright as sunshine.
The girl beamed in return. “You’re a witch,” she whispered, looking over the ink on Kye’s arms.
“I am,” Kye whispered back. “You look so pretty in that dress.”
The girl twirled in her blue frock and played with the lace collar. “I do look so pretty.” The girl’s round eyes were darker than they should have been. Jack could not find her pupils in that blackness. She curtsied. “Lady Juliet puts me and Remus and Rabbit in lots of pretty dresses. But I like butterflies better than pretty dresses. Rabbit does too.”
“Remus, Rabbit?” Jack asked the councilor.
Juliet flushed. “Her imaginary friends, I think?”
He leaned in and lowered his voice. “Do you know what your ward is?”
The Sophia chewed her lip, a gesture that reminded him so much of Marnie, he wondered if it was a hereditary trait. “She’s a witch, isn’t she? Like you?”
“She’s a witch all right.” Kye playfully tapped the little girl’s nose. “Not at all like us, though.”
The curl of the girl’s sweet little lips was cat-like.
***
“Her name is Allison Young,” Juliet explained, her gray eyes affixed on the coffee she stirred but did not drink.
Jack sat across from her outside the Terra District bakery not far from the ramps that dumped into the underground trains. His foot tapped out a nervous rhythm under the table. He eyed the Sophia. The Becker family was not known for harboring any kindness toward witches.
What was Juliet’s motive here?
Kye and the little girl shared a scone on a bench nearby. She made funny faces, and Allison laughed. She giggled so hard and so often, the faint corona of glowing magic brightened. Kye had to shield her eyes. The smell of molasses thickened. Jack rubbed his nose to clear it.
“Her father is not a kind man.” The Sophia tasted her spoon and added more cream. “He’s old fashioned, some master from Stejin, with more money than kindness. He hurts her mother. Lady Young is from the island, one of us. We were friendly once, so she came to me for help when things took a turn.”
Jack fingered a crack in the wood of the table. “Where is her mother now?”
“Someplace safe. I delivered her to friends in Magus District. He won’t go looking for her there, I don’t think. It’s wild country still, and a Stejin like him would be fearful of so many witches. He does not know about Allison’s gifts, I don’t think. If he did, he would blame her mother for being lower born, for passing it on to her, making her a witch. I won’t chance that he would hurt the child like he does her mother.”
Jack picked at the crack, widening it. “Don’t take this as insult, but why do you care? She’s a witchling and you’re a Becker.”
Juliet dropped the spoon, splashing coffee. She bristled. “You’re presumptuous, and there is absolutely no kind way to take that.”
“Marnie is a witch—”
“And she is the daughter of my absolute favorite uncle, may he continue to rest in peace.” She smoothed her lavender skirts, shifting her weight. “Marnie tormented me in school. I was never unkind to her because she was a witch. She was terrible to me. You shared classes with us—don’t tell me you never noticed.”
He shook his head.
Her gray eyes formed pointed slits. “She would make my heels break and turn my pencils into slimy things. Put frogs and snakes in my desk. All because of some feud in our family that I had absolutely nothing to do with.”
Jack’s brow pinched together. “I did all those things—most of those things. Not Marnie. She laughed at them, of course, and contributed a little when I goaded her.”
“What in hell for?” she hissed.
He shrugged, ripping free a splinter of wood and rolling it between his fingers. “You’re a pretty girl. That’s what stupid young boys do to pretty girls.”
She gaped at him, then stared into her coffee thoughtfully. After a moment, she met his eyes. “For the record, I loved my Uncle Romulus and hated the way Annette was treated by my grandparents. She and I meet for tea sometimes. If you don’t believe me, ask your lady.” She lifted the steaming mug and took a sip of her coffee. “Too hot . . .” She fanned her face.
“You need my help.”
Juliet scoffed at him. She added more cream to the mug. “I’m a councilor with wealth and resources that far exceed yours, and”—she lowered her voice, craning her neck to make sure Allison was well distracted—“her brutish ass of a father does not intimidate me. If he ever figures me out and shows up at my door, I’ll drown him in court filings, giant rude doorman with muscles even bigger than yours, and the best paid law philosophers this side of the ocean. She is safest with me.”
“She doesn’t know the rules.”
“What rules?”
“Witch rules. How to stay safe and off the gallows. How to act around watchmen, around non-witches and priests, where to keep her hands and her eyes. How to control her magics so they don’t misbehave. Magic is radiating from your ward. Her magic will misbehave.”
Juliet worried her lip. “I know witchlings can sometimes use magic by accident . . .”
Jack tore free another splinter of wood. “She’s doing it on purpose. She transmuted something metal just now, without a spell, a prayer, or any ingredients. And Rabbit and Remus are not imaginary friends. Allison is spirit-touched, and at least one of them is not a lesser being. You need my help—she needs my help.”
Kye gasped, and Jack turned in his chair. The hare in her pouch was alive and well. It wrestled free, bounded down from the bench, stopped to lick its hind legs, then tore off at a mad hop.
Allison clapped her hands. “Well done, Rabbit.”
“That was my dinner.” Kye met Jack’s gaze, hers full of concern. Worry flexed the muscles in his chest.
“She means the world to me.” Juliet watched her ward for a time, her gray eyes misty. “She is so sweet and kind and cheerful. All right. What do we need to do?”
Chapter 4 (Marnie)
“Don’t be afraid to show off for the bishop,” Bran said, placing his suede gambler’s hat on his head but skewing his green emperor’s stole in his hurry. “Throw around your magics a little during the meeting. He’s not like most priests. He’ll enjoy it.”
Marnie followed him through the foyer of LaFontaine Manor, headed for the doors. She adjusted the new badge on her chest, the golden winged lion of her apprenticeship. Its familiar weight put a pang of dread in her heart. Then she slipped on rider’s gloves to hide her mechanical brace, looking down at her chest. “I know we wanted to make an impression, but I shouldn’t have let my mother dress me. This is too revealing. It feels like my breasts will spill out. I should change.”
“You look perfect.” Bran grabbed her hand, dragging her back to his side. “I’ll keep an eye on them for you if it will make you feel better.”
They grinned at each other like fools.
Jack entered then, and Marnie’s delighted squeal reverberated off the paneled walls and vaulted ceilings. She rushed to him. They met in the middle, by the bureau, throwing their arms around each other. She clapped him on the back. He hugged her so tight he lifted her off the floor, sending her maroon dress skirts fluttering.
“What are you doing here? I was just about to write you.” Jack sat her back on her feet. His eyes bulged. “Marnie . . . your breasts . . .”
“I knew it; I’m changing.” She spun away.
Bran stopped her with a raised hand. “We don’t have time. Trust me, you look elegant and not at all indecent. You’re just showing a little more than you are accustomed to, but you look like a Sophia. That is all.”
Marnie felt the cool push of Jack’s magics melding with hers. As her knack for transporting grew, her ability to sense magic on her skin sharpened, and Jack’s was ever eager to greet her. It swept over her flesh like a cool mist, prickling her skin as it settled. Blending with her magics, it warmed and solidified and nudged her gently, first across her shoulders, then down her back and around her stomach in a way that left her shivering.
She swatted at it like she’d shoo away mosquitos. “That tickles,” she sniggered.
“It hasn’t seen you in a while,” Jack said.
Marnie’s laughter picked up, doubling her in half. Magics swooped down her boots, between her toes, up and down and around her ribs. “It’s so . . . vigorous—Jack! Make it stop,” she squealed.
“I can’t,” he said, grinning. “It’s curious where you’ve been, I think.”
Giggling like mad, Marnie fell into him. Jack propped her up.
Bran hurried to open the door, letting in more fresh air. The magics slowed in the breeze, then settled, and Marnie could finally catch her breath again.
“What is that smell, Jack?” She sniffed, pressing closer to him. “You smell amazing! Is it a new spell?” She breathed deep, filling her nose with the scent of rose water and cranberries and molasses. “And look at you, so dapper.” She snapped one of his suspenders, glancing over at Bran. “Dear lord, I think he combed his hair.”
Jack mussed his tresses and smiled sheepishly. “Your mother convinced me to make a decent impression at the constabulary—I don’t have a lot of time either. I need notes to pay a fine, and even more to stock the cottage outside of Glint with better supplies.”
“What fine?” Bran sat on a corner of the bureau and straightened his stole against his charcoal shirt.
Jack explained in a hurry, beginning with the fallout of striking the pastor of Glint. Marnie’s skin crawled when he mentioned Juliet’s ward and the little girl’s rejuvenation of a dead hare. Bran stiffened beside her.
“A witch friend of mine will be staying in the cottage for now.” A gecko ran inside and scurried across the floor. Jack closed the door to keep other critters and bugs out. “We’re going to tutor the witchling when we can. I’ve encouraged Juliet to keep her away from the public eye, and we’ll use the cottage for lessons. It’s secluded enough.”
“I’ll take care of the fine and the supplies,” Bran said. “I wish we too had more time, but you found us on our way out. Marnie, you’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to apologize to the bishop for Jack’s aggression. He’ll be expecting it.”
Marnie glowered. “That pastor deserves worse than a black eye and a broken socket!”
“I wholeheartedly agree.” Bran laid a soothing hand on her arm, then he smoothed his knuckles over the bared skin below her sleeve, and Marnie couldn’t stop her heart from jumping. He smiled like he knew what he was doing to her. “Unfortunately, we seek to align ourselves with Ren, and so I need you to play politics with me. You must apologize, and you must sound sincere. No curse words or hand gestures. Don’t roll your eyes.”
“Fine,” she groaned. “If it’s so crucial for witch-kind, why don’t we bring Jack? Have him apologize in person. I’ll send an attendant to stock the cottage.”
Bran looked their friend over. Jack’s large feet were dirty. His cheeks were darkening with fresh whiskers. He’d be scruffy again in no time, and his honey hair curled up around his ears.
“Jack is . . . unpolished,” said Bran. “He’s too rough around the edges to be effective here. It should come from you.”
Marnie laughed. “But I’m all of those things, too. I speak rashly. I’m ill tempered. Technically I also assaulted the same pastor not that long ago. I just used a stick and some rocks instead of my fist. And if you think I’m apologizing for that—”
“At times you can be rash. But you’re . . .” Bran fidgeted with his hat and smoothed the back of his hair. “Jack, help me out here.”
“You’re a gorgeous woman,” Jack said plainly. “People put up with those things from you—especially men—because you’re lovely to look at. So lovely, they mistake your brashness for charm.”
Bran nodded. “Precisely. Well said. Thank you.”
Marnie snorted at them. “That’s utter nonsense.”
Bran rubbed the stubble on his chin, partially hiding his curling lips. “Incredibly accurate nonsense.”
***
The parsonage in Silk District was a sizable, white-washed building with a clay-tile roof, built alongside the church, an edifice of careful brickwork and stained-glass windows sporting the naked tree symbol. A young novice priest answered the parsonage door and ushered them through a brightly lit foyer, into a sitting room. The novice appeared to be Marnie’s age, nineteen, with a prominent nose, his black hair curly.
Marnie carried a handbag because her dress was too fitted to be useful. She had wanted to make an impression, but she still felt exposed. Her witch ink, shaped like a Sidra star, peeked above the low neckline.
