Fire & Ink Page 5

  Knives through his gut. Metaphorical. No less deadly. He'd done this. He deserved to carry the weight. Consequences in his arms, eyes shut, face drawn and colorless.

  Joe asked, surrounded by medical equipment and alert ambulance shelves, "Mind if I test your extrasensory—"

  "No!" Answering on Colin's behalf. Too quick. Too blunt. Most emergency service personnel weren't proper warlocks or witches, but did have basic diagnostic training for magical injuries. At a touch Joe would know, if not what Colin was, at least that he wasn't a witch.

  Something far less ordinary. More valuable.

  Joe sat back and looked at him. The ambulance rumbled up the hill and coasted to a stop.

  "I'm okay," Colin said faintly. "Too sensitive. It'll hurt more if you poke me. Thanks, though."

  David thanked every deity he could think of that his kitten thought faster than he did. And could at least pretend to be well enough to dissuade more care.

  Joe poked around on a shelf, handed over packets. Lemongrass, David noticed—made sense, psychic healing and repair—and pennyroyal. He read that one twice and looked up.

  "Yeah, well." Joe shrugged at him. Colin's eyes were closed. "These're treated by our hospital witches, they'll be stronger than whatever you grow in a kitchen-garden. And you know, I remember this night, one night, a couple years ago, before Baby Eric up there—"

  "I heard that," Eric said from the driver's seat.

  "—even got certified… so I got called out, some big party in the Hills, some kid took too many cypress tears and fireflower drops…"

  David's next breath died in his lungs. Pennyroyal of course was cleansing and stabilizing. It'd be a boost for the healing factor. It would also flatten out disharmony, smooth over frayed emotions, ease tensions. Good for someone injured and needing calm; good for someone in hiding.

  Good as well for someone trying to get them to trust a stranger.

  Added to that came the dawning awareness: a kid who'd overdosed, who'd been at a wild party with other magicians, who might've been memorable…

  He clutched Colin more tightly. Colin opened eyes halfway.

  "Nah, it was a girl, don't look at me like that. There was this other kid, though. Not much older than her, totally high as a kite himself, but he was sitting with her when we got there. Keeping her awake, talking to her, trying to help. And, y'know, that did help." His level brown gaze met bruised feline grey. "She made it."

  Colin, after a second, nodded. Almost imperceptible.

  "He seemed like a good kid," Joe went on, as if to himself. "Good heart, under everything. I remembered that 'cause I wondered what happened to him."

  David couldn't speak. Too many emotions. They crowded his throat, his chest.

  "He's happy." Colin's voice carried gossamer-thin but unbreakable as diamonds, framed by incongruous settings of stethoscopes and splints. "He's got someone he—someone who makes him happy. I know he is."

  David breathed in love like tears, like joy as piercing as grief, like the kiss of Colin's hair against his face.

  "Good to hear." Joe patted him on the shoulder. "You put that in tea and drink it. Don't over steep it, it's strong."

  Colin waved fingers in what with more energy would've been an ironic salute. Joe laughed.

  They got down from the ambulance and up the drive, Colin in his arms. A promise to call if need be. A packet of herbs. A note pinned to their gate—Mrs. Robinson's old-fashioned copperplate informed him that the neighbors would be by with baked goods and appreciation starting tomorrow.

  He carried Colin through the gate, through the house, to the bedroom. His own magic reached out worried tendrils: not quite sentient recognition, welcoming, green and water-blue and primrose encouragement. Tufts of incandescent spice and sun-warmed fur. Home.

  He got Colin tucked into bed—barely conscious, murmuring something inaudible when set down—and sank onto the mattress beside him. Stroked hair out of shut eyes. Caught a whiff of smoke and ash and toil. Himself. His clothes.

  Their pen waved at him from the floor beside the bed, next to the nightstand with its sketchbook and old MacIan's classic volume on Celtic tree lore.

  He thought of ink on skin, hands on skin, and laughter. The pen rolled slightly and hit his foot. His heart tore itself into further pieces. He did not know how to speak, how to mend it, how to beg forgiveness with this awful fractured weight inside his chest.

  Smoke and sweat drifted across his nose one more time. Pointed reminders.

  He kissed Colin as gently as he could. "Will you be fine if I go shower? I'll make it quick."

  "Yes. Just come back." Colin lay without moving much, only breathing, up and down. Framed by deep blue pillowcase cotton, a study in contrasts: dark hair, dark eyelashes, white face. Might've been artistic. "It's better when I can touch you."

  David gulped down emotion, nodded, and went.

  In the shower he let his hands shake, let himself shake, let himself slump against heated tile and come apart for a moment under the kindly cover of pattering drops. He could've killed Colin. He could've—he hadn't even thought—

  Colin had offered, had opened himself up willingly and held out strength for him to take, and he had, he'd taken—

  He'd been no better than Colin's old captor. He hadn't put a compulsion-laced collar around his kitten's neck, but Colin stayed tied to him anyway, and had nearly—

  He was going to be sick. He put a hand over his mouth. Swallowed hard, as fire-flecks tumbled from his hair and circled down the drain.

  No. No, he'd not—it hadn't been that bad. Persuasion, trying to convince the lump of lead in his stomach. Colin chose to come back to him. Colin had chosen this. He'd never taken his kitten's choice away.

  He'd just have to be more careful. So careful. So grateful for this gift.

  He swore this to the chattering splash of water. To steam and his own tattoos and foaming soap. He offered it as an oath, a vow, a devotion. If it'd make him clean, he'd go out and beg absolution. He'd never touch Colin's power again if his kitten asked for that.

  He got out of the shower, shaking his head like a dog, sending drops flying all directions. He hurt with guilt, with the knowledge that this guilt meant they were able to save children, with the understanding that Colin had held nothing back and would've kept shielding him if he'd had to run back in.

  He sat down naked on the side of the bed. Colin opened eyes, welcoming and weary, and reached out to tap at his arm. David laughed through anguish and got into the right position, half-propped up against pillows, his other half cradled securely in his arms, more or less atop his chest.

  He rubbed Colin's back. Stroked all that tired soft hair. His magic did live in his hands: what he drew could heal, could blossom into life. Worn out, hurting, he pushed a wavering star-speck of life that way. What he had to offer. Himself.

  "My witch," Colin murmured, half-awake, languid against him. "Save it."

  "My turn. Want me to make your tea?"

  "Not yet. I like you right here. Mine'll refill. With time."

  "Yeah, but right now." He petted Colin's hip, traced the reality of his spine, the presence of his skin. Fading ink-sigils, earlier teasing marks scribbled with love. Surprised, he wondered suddenly if any of them'd worked: he'd drawn protection as well as passion. "You're barely here, aren't you."

  "Oh… somewhat better than that. It's already started rebuilding."

  David didn't know much about shapeshifter biology, either. Once again, no one did. "That fast?"

  "Not fast as such, but immediate. It's like… after you donate blood… sort of. Your body naturally makes more blood; mine makes magic." Colin nestled in closer. Stuck his nose into David's neck. Depleted but untroubled. "It's not a perfect analogy. It'll work faster than that. More so if I rest and don't use it much. The more it comes back, the more it will come back."

  "So me jumpstarting you a little does help."

  "…well. Yes. I was rather hoping you'd miss that implicat
ion. Also, jumpstarting? I'm a cat, not a car."

  "Nice heated seat," David pointed out vaguely, walking one hand down to his backside, earning a tatterdemalion grin. Colin was still Colin. He wanted to weep. He ought to go make tea. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Always, witch." Colin peeked up at him. "I trust you. I hope that wasn't your question. It shouldn't be a question."

  "No. But that's why, sort of…" He'd started, now: no unsaying words. "I didn't… you didn't… you wouldn't've let me… keep going, the way I was using you, would you? You'd've stopped me?"

  Colin went even more still. Then sat up—David hadn't thought he had the energy for that—and twisted around in his lap, flexible as the baby panther he was. They ended up face to face. "You think you're acting like him. The person who—who trapped me. You're not."

  "I kept pulling from you. I could have hurt you. I did hurt you."

  "Yes." Colin's eyes narrowed. Cat-vivid, spell-silver, maybe more serious than David had ever seen. Colin Rue liked pouncing on him and got excited over whipped cream and laser-beam star-shows.

  This burned more true than stars. More certain. "You did hurt me. But I knew it would hurt."

  "You—"

  "I chose that. To protect you. To help you protect other people. I made that choice. Because I can, not because you bound me or compelled me. You're not the person who took my choices away, and don't say you are, because then you're saying I can't make my own choices now. I do. I am. I'd do it again. And you'd do it, too, so don't even try saying you wouldn't."

  David Stanton, faced with this breathless marvelous truth, in his arms and in his heart, Colin's eyes on him and knowing him, said, "I love you."

  Colin's mouth dropped open.

  "Um," David explained, nerves now eating him from the inside, "I… love you? I said it before, when you—I didn't think you heard me and anyway it doesn't matter, and I don't want you to think you have to say it back, I just had to, I have to have said it at least once in case—in case—I hadn't said it and—"

  "David," Colin said. "David."

  "I'm sorry," David said, and shut his eyes.

  Hiding in his own misery, he missed Colin shifting weight, leaning in. His eyes snapped open at the brush of lips over his. Colin smiled, nose to nose with him, so close David could see individual stripes of grey and twinkles of silver in otherworldly irises. His heart pounded.

  "When did you say it before?" Colin was still smiling. That smile filled up the world. Transformed their book-messy bedroom to boundless paradise. "I would've remembered that."

  "You were—you weren't awake." He lifted a hand. Found his kitten's face, cupped in his palm. Real. "I thought I'd lost you. I thought I'd killed you. I kept thinking, why didn't I just tell you? Every time I thought it, I should've told you. Every time I ever looked at you."

  Colin started to speak, stopped, blinked at him. "Every time? You've been thinking—it wasn't only right now, because I got hurt?"

  "Ever since you came back," David said. "No, ever since we met. Since you hid under my car. In the rain. I love you."

  "You know," Colin said, "for a witch, you're sort of bad at telling whether people're dead. I'm not dead. You didn't kill me. I love you."

  "I was—" And then his brain caught up, and then he said, "You what?"

  "You didn't kill me," Colin said again, "I know my limits, and I know you felt me break our link when I finally had to, after I knew you were safe, right before I couldn't stay awake anymore, and I love you. My witch."

  "You…"

  "You're the best person I've ever met." Colin reached out, swiped a thumb tip across skin. David hadn't realized he was crying. "You picked me up and took me in when you didn't even know me, and you told me I could be a good person, too, and I think I fell in love with you right then. Someone with your heart—with the kind of heart that could look at people and see the good. Someone who'll talk about tax audits in bed if that's what the other person wants. Someone who saves me the other halves of his sandwiches because he thinks I might like them, and I do. I love you."

  David caught his hand. Clung to it while the moment filled up with wonder. "You love me."

  "Even when you're kind of slow on the uptake." Colin winced at his own habitual cat-shaped brattiness, hid it with a crooked smile. Dream-vines nodded at them beyond the windowpane, guarding and purifying the night. Battles won, danger vanquished, heroes alive and talking. Saying miraculous words. "I meant slow about thinking I was dead. Not—I never imagined you'd love me back. But you said it. First."

  "Oh no," David breathed, "Brian was right—"

  "Why are we talking about your little brother, and what was he right about?"

  "I'll… tell you later. I thought—I thought you weren't happy, you wanted more, you deserve—"

  "I wanted you. I want you. I thought you wouldn't—I don't have anything to offer, I'm running out of jewelry, I ruined your second-favorite shirt in the laundry last time, I'm—"

  "But I want you!" Hands in Colin's hair. Tender and frantic: kisses, assurances, affirmation in every way they could come together. So many ways. Physical and not. Intertwined and stronger for it. "My life's so much fucking better with you in it. Everything you are. I love you."

  "My life's better with, um, you fucking me in it—" Colin was laughing, exultant, catching breath. "Yes, yes, all of that, yes. What I was trying to tell you earlier—the idea I had—"

  "An idea like me keeping you in bed for a week?" Cradled close. Secured. No doubts admitted now, even without knowing the next words. Love like roses, like rain, like renewed spring-drenched ground. He could feel it coursing between them, could drink it in and know it to be true. Singing in his veins. "Resting. Being fed whipped cream. And magic."

  "There'd better be other reasons I'm in bed for an entire week. Reasons involving the use of your hands. No, it was after you—we—helped Pris out today. What I was doing." Colin nibbled at his lower lip, let it go: not anxious, not here amid transparent weightless revelation, but sorting out words. "You know I like to read. And I told you I used to—before everything, back when I was a kid, even, I liked writing stories…?"

  "Oh, wow," David said, "oh, wow, yes, completely yes, you'll be an amazing author, of course you will, you can do anything."

  "You don't know that!" Colin, cheeks pink, moved to bat stray hair back behind his ear. David did it for him. "I think it's a children's book. Maybe more than one, but this one, first. About a magical lion and the friends he tries to help. Even if he doesn't always get it right. But the friends show up to help him out when he needs that."

  "I love you. So much."

  "If it's a children's book, if there're illustrations—I don't know whether there's a good human magical copying process, but if you did the originals, infused with your ink, it might work. So kids could pet a lion's mane, or taste an orange-currant tart, or—or feel less alone." Colin blushed more but their eyes held each other, and the world erupted with possibility.

  Stories brimming over. Leaping up and eager to be called into existence, to speak to children across time and space, to populate the universe with magical lions and onyx-winged ravens and orange-currant compassion. Colin finished, "Emotional infusions, I was thinking, too. Enhanced connection. Like a hug. From a book."

  "Yes," David told him. "Yes."

  "It's an idea. I thought I'd try. Something I could do."

  "And I'll be here with you." He ran his hand through his kitten's hair again. "I love your idea. I want to help. And also I'm serious about you resting. Don't push. But yes." He could see it. He could see it unfolding.

  "I can write in bed. With whipped cream. You did promise. Love you, witch."

  "Yes," David murmured one more time, kissing him in their bed with the night-blue sheets, in their home with tired but sturdy shields and mint and catnip at the gate, where their neighbors and no doubt his brother would collectively descend in the morning with gossip and gratitude and homemade casseroles and char
ms. Kissing Colin with his heart and soul, as their wayward pen cheered from its spot on the floor. "I love you, too."

  FIN

  About the Author

  K.L. Noone loves fantasy, romance, and happy endings; she has published short fiction with Ellora’s Cave and Circlet Press, and in Marion Zimmer Bradley’s Sword and Sorceress anthologies. With her Professor Hat on, she teaches college students about Shakespeare and superhero comics, and has published academic articles on adaptations of Beowulf, Welsh mythology in popular culture, and Terry Pratchett’s Discworld novels. Come say hi at @KristinNoone on twitter or @greenwoodoutlaw on instagram!