I cradled my right hand against my chest and used my left hand to toss a handkerchief in his direction. As it neared him it spun out into a net and caught the end of his staff then stretched to cover his arm. It was a fine net, but it managed to stop his swing and turn his momentum into a stumble. I stepped over him and raced for the front door, shoving my injured hand in my pocket and clenching my teeth against the pain.
There was no sound behind me. I raced around the outside hall, made it through the front door and kept going.
Chapter Twelve
I woke up the next morning sore and mad. Before I crawled into bed last night, I had set my two broken fingers and bathed my hand in a mixture of rosemary and witch hazel. The bruises were diminished and the swelling wasn’t as bad as I feared. The pain, however, was unbelievable. My hand throbbed so badly I thought I could see it ballooning up and down.
I turned on the kettle and poured dried willow bark into a mug to steep while I changed from the suit which I had left on when I hit the sack. I was going to owe the dry-cleaner a bundle for getting out the stains from the fight and deep wrinkles from a night in bed.
I made oatmeal and took it to the coffee table. As I stepped forward to put the bowl down, I put my foot on something sharp. Great, I had a bum hand and now I broke my foot. The human race would have to take care of itself because Quinn Larson was on a path of self-destruction. I picked up the rock, and saw it was my transmittal charm.
I put it on the coffee table; I’d ask Olan what happened later.
As I swallowed the last spoonful of oatmeal, I heard a racket in the backyard. It sounded all too familiar. I went to the window and as I watched Olan and the Morrigan circled and jabbed. Tiny as he was, Olan seemed able to hold his own with the Morrigan. He flew at her and she spun away. Then she attacked from above and Olan back winged to avoid a lethal swipe of her beak.
I groaned and slid my feet into my boots and went out the back door. I wasn’t going to let these two ruin my garden. I had planted every form of magical plant that would grow in the Northwest and I didn’t want to start all over again.
“Stop it now,” I used my command voice. “Take your fight where you will do no damage to my garden.”
Both birds flew apart and perched on branches of opposite trees.
“Better.” I pretended to believe they had obeyed me. “What is this about? I thought you were in a truce.”
Olan swooped down and landed at my feet. “I don’t know what is wrong with her. There I was flying reconnaissance and she came at me from nowhere.”
The Morrigan flickered between shadow woman and crow. That was not a good sign. Whatever had set her off was big enough to make her lose control. I started to believe Olan. I’m not sure he could have made her that angry without knowing exactly how.
I bent down to whisper. “If she is on the other side of this fight, we are going to need reinforcements.”
Olan laughed. “There are other fights in town. She need not be on Fionuir’s side. But yes, if she is against us, we are in trouble.”
I felt the air shift and stepped back. Olan was already in flight.
They came together and feathers flew. I wrapped my fingers in a handkerchief and picked up a few of the small ones that fell from the Morrigan; big power there. I kept my eye on the two birds. Neither was getting an advantage. This could go on all day without resolution.
The screeching and squawking was getting unbearable. I started to think of spells that would separate them for a while when I heard a door slam across the lane, then a gun shot, then another. The two birds flew apart. The Morrigan disappeared from view across the neighbor’s roofline.
“Damn birds,” the old man shouted. “See how you like the taste of shot.” He slammed the door and everything was quiet again.
Olan landed on my shoulder, I noticed he had trouble folding his right wing into place.
It was close to dinner the next day by the time we entered Bank’s Bar. The Real folk had been frequenting Bank’s for sixty years. Before that, the same troll had been running River Run Bar and before that, Mud Hole saloon. It changed every fifty to sixty years, depending on when the humans found it and decided it might be a good place to drink.
The door was marked with a rune in shadow ink, only Real Folk could read it, but it required too much energy to keep the aromas of a bar inside when we entered. Entering wasn’t the problem because we could make sure no humans were around. Leaving was the problem; you just never knew who was outside the door. Now, with the non-smoking rules we were especially careful of letting out the atmosphere. Mark, the proprietor, had asked me to find a spell that could filter the scent of various substances being smoked inside. His idea was to charge a small energy fee to keep the spell working.
I handed him a lump of amber when we arrived. “This will absorb the smoke for about six months. I’ll replace it then.”
“Thanks, Quinn,” Mark’s voice rumbled like ancient stones grinding. “You drink for free now.”
“Thanks, I’ll try not to abuse that. It doesn’t need much power to keep it running, so you don’t have to charge much.”
Mark poured my Kilkenny and looked at Olan before pouring some fifty-year-old scotch into a saucer. Olan looked at me before sipping.
I nodded to Mark and said, “I’ve got it.” Then I told Olan, “From now on you find the payment before you get it poured.”
Mark rumbled a laugh at that. “Some people never have money. I guess there’s some advantage of being stuck in the body of an animal.”
I sipped my beer and glanced around the room. It was difficult to see clearly much beyond a few feet between the slight fog of smoke which was now drifting toward the amber and the candle light which flickered annoyingly, the details faded into the background. We couldn’t wait until the smoke cleared. “Mark, have you seen Cate Witherspoon or Beacon Reed?”
“In the corner, underneath the Shield of Charlemagne.” Mark jerked his head in the direction of the table then left us to attend to a couple of Sidhe waiting at the other end of the bar.
I picked up Olan’s saucer with my good hand, and placed it on top of my pint so I could carry everything to the table. Cate Witherspoon and I were trained by the same mentor, and we’d had a friendly rivalry as students. I had made a move on her fifty years ago and been rejected outright. We had been friendly since, but my heart still sped up every time I met her.
I saw three people at the table as we approached. Cate was in animated conversation with a young wizard I had never met. Beacon, the sprite was observing the conversation while he puffed on a twist of brown tobacco. I smelled sour smoke rising and was doubly glad I remembered to bring the amber.
The young wizard looked up as I approached and then jumped out of his chair as though coming to attention. At his reaction, Cate spun in her chair hand raised to cast a spell.
Beacon roared laughter and choked on the smoke.
I held my hands up in surrender, at least as much as I could since they were full. “Peace. I mean no harm. I just want to talk to you.”
She smiled and pointed to the empty chair. “Hah, Quinn, one day you will creep up on the wrong witch.”
“Pretty girl,” Olan croaked in my ear.
“Shut up bird.” I didn’t need Olan butting in to the conversation and screwing up my reputation with Cate any more than it already is.
“You know Beacon, I think.” I nodded and then she pointed at the young wizard. “This is Lionel; I’ve taken him on as an apprentice.”
I put down the drinks and shook hands with Lionel. “Wow, I didn’t know you were looking for apprentices.”
