Bitten in Two

“Chil . I’m not gonna jump you,” Sterling said, his voice as smooth as icing.

“Oh. Good.”

“Although an apology would be cool.”

I stared.

He said, “You know, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be black.”

“I never said there was!”

“You said—”

“I’m sorry, okay?” I pressed my lips together before they spat out something that would aggravate him al over again.

“I need you on this mission. I need you to concentrate on what’s happening now, not on the past. Is that possible?”

“I’m here.” Some irritation in the way his teeth ripped into the khobz. But I’d take it.

“You got here quick. I appreciate that.”

His eyebrows went up. “You have changed. Wel , me too.” He leaned toward me. “I’m better. At magic. At music.

You want to know why?”

“Um—”

“Because at their core they’re the same. I’m making my way to the source now. And when I get there?” He paused, his amulet swinging hypnotical y, his eyes glittering like I should prepare for hefty news. “I’l be a Bard.” I sat back. “Dude. There hasn’t been a Bard roaming since…” I thought back. What had my History professor since…” I thought back. What had my History professor said? “I dunno, 1715?”

“Olfric the Hand was the last Bard, and he was murdered by Calico Jack Rackham and his pirate crew in 1718.” We both looked over our shoulders at the mention of pirates, who had strongholds in North Africa guarded, so it was said, by badass magic and wicked beasts. They’d never been a national security threat, so we hadn’t dealt with them directly. But we’d heard horror stories, and I sure as hel didn’t want to take any of them on. Especial y when they’d made it part of their code to exterminate the Bardish from the face of the earth.

I whispered, “Why would you want to be a Bard?”

“As a warlock I’m at the top of my game. Musical y I’m final y pul ing it together.” He lowered his voice.

“Sometimes when I’m playing, I think I can hear the universe singing back to me.” He made a pil ar of his fists on the table and rested his chin on them. Staring at the grouping of purple candles at its center he said, “That’s real y why I’m here. Because I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“What?”

He turned his head, letting his cheek rest on his hand. I watched his dark lashes sweep against his cheeks as he closed his eyes, wincing against the admission. “Nobody ever stood up to me before. For obvious reasons. I mean, we destroyed a fucking house.”

I nodded. “I was just thinking that we should probably be banned from property that has any value. At al .” Tiny smile that dropped right off his lips as he said,

“You were right. I needed to stop whining and start working.” He sat up and glared. “I stil think I’d have been a better man if I’d been born black.” His eyes softened. “But that’s probably because the only people who showed any kindness to me when I was a kid were a Jamaican named Tel er Keene and Skinny Day, who was African American.” I nodded. “Where’d you grow up?”

He looked through the curtain-framed opening to the sparkling blue of the fountain, then up to the ornate metalworked balconies. “Louisiana. First in a Catholic home for orphans. Then I spent a couple of years in juvie.” He glanced at me. “I may have been a kil er even longer than you.”

What do you say to that? Especial y when the guy revealing al these intimate details once tried to col apse a roof on your head?

“Why are you tel ing me this?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I’ve got a pretty thick skul . Skinny always said I was so hardheaded that I could drive nails with my eyebrows. But I’m not fool enough to turn my back on the few people brave enough to throw an honest opinion under my feet.” Again with the smile. “Especial y when it comes with the offer of a new instrument.”

“Never let it be said that I’m above bribery.” He swung his legs onto the couch, crossing them in front of him so he could face me as he spoke. “Cassandra said Vayl’s got a pretty serious problem.” My bottom lip started to tremble, so I bit it. “Yeah. About that. We haven’t been able to discover what could’ve caused it.”

He nodded. “During my flight I thought about al the dead ends you’ve been trying to make into highways. And then I realized there was one road you hadn’t considered.” He draped an arm across the couch’s metal backrest.

“Maybe this is a curse.”

I shook my head. “Curses are personal. My understanding is that you need the victim’s hair and clothing, stuff like that, to pul it off.” Sterling said, “That’s true. They’re also al about timing, meaning they can only be cast in special circumstances.

For instance, has Vayl been in New Orleans in the past three months?”

“No.”

“Has he kil ed an innocent or cursed someone else recently?”