Magic and Loss

“That sounds great,” he said with a rueful smile. “But there’s no way we can afford it.”

“Don’t worry—I’ve got it covered,” I said, taking out the money Cowpen had given me.

“Where did you get that?” Hexe asked, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Let’s just say it was the councilman’s way of saying ‘thank you’ for saving his life, as well as keeping my mouth shut.”

“I don’t feel good about this, Tate,” Hexe said, frowning at the money.

“Uh-uh,” I said, with a defiant shake of my head. “I know that look. You’re getting ready to give me the big lecture about the Right Hand path and tell me to give the money back and report what happened to the PTU. I realize you don’t want to compromise your principles—but I am not returning this money, and I am definitely not talking to your father about what I saw.

“For one, I’m pretty sure giving back this money will offend Bjorn Cowpen only slightly less than setting fire to his club. And, secondly, since we’re already playing our own little game of ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ with Boss Marz, who are we to insist he go to the authorities? Hell, he’s a chuffin’ councilman; he is the authority in Golgotham! If Marz doesn’t hesitate to physically strike out at members of the Royal Family and the GoBOO, then he must really have some badass mojo up his sleeve. And I, for one, have no desire to find out what it might be. I’ll admit that running into a burning building in my current condition was reckless, but it’s nowhere near as dangerous as what you’re suggesting I do.”

Hexe’s shoulders dropped in resignation, as if all the weight in the world had suddenly settled upon them. “You’re right,” he sighed in agreement. “I can’t blame Cowpen for keeping silent. He’s doesn’t want to do anything that will jeopardize his family.” He gave a sad little smile as he rested his left hand on my belly. “It’s like you said —it’s not just me anymore.”

* * *

As luck would have it, Talisman was playing at the Two-Headed Calf that night. Since the Kymeran punk band had become extremely popular with the younger humans intrepid enough to venture beyond Duivel Street and the Fly Market, the evenings they played the Calf were always guaranteed to be packed to the rafters.

As crowded as it was, I could still easily spot Lafo, standing head and shoulders over his patrons, his bright red hair spilling over the collar of a purple pinstripe zoot suit. Upon seeing us, the restaurateur elbowed his way across the packed room

“Good to see you again, Serenity!” he grinned, shouting over the amplified accordions and electric hurdy- gurdy.

As his friend moved to shake his hand, Hexe hastily recoiled. “No offense, Lafo,” he said quickly, holding up his right hand by way of explanation, displaying the splint. “I had a little too much to drink Jubilee Night and lost my balance stepping off a curb. I tried to break my fall, and ended up breaking my hand instead.”

Lafo’s ketchup-red eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

“I’ll be good as new within a week,” he lied. “I just have to give the bones time to strengthen after being reknit, that’s all. Tate and I were hoping to have dinner here this evening, but it looks like we picked the wrong night.”

“No need to worry about that; most of the kids who show up for the band never set foot upstairs,” Lafo snorted. “Luckily, they all drink like fish, though.”

Upon reaching the upstairs dining room, we were unsurprised to discover only a handful of the tables and booths occupied, as the regular clientele had learned to steer clear of the Calf on those nights Talisman was scheduled to play. Not wanting to call attention to ourselves, we chose a booth toward the back of the dining area and placed our drink and dinner orders.

As we waited for our food, we chatted about work, friends, and our pet, trying hard to have a good time and not dwell on current problems. And, for a while, we actually succeeded in doing so. Then our meals arrived.

“Oh,” Hexe said, his face collapsing as he stared at the roasted kangaroo tail draped across the platter. “I forgot you need two hands to eat this thing.”

“You can have my parsnip casserole, if you like,” I suggested.

“That’s okay,” he replied, as he unrolled the cutlery, fumbling with the steak knife. “I can cut it up into chunks.” He studied his food for a long moment, trying to figure out the best way to attack the problem without it ending up in his lap.

“Darling, do you need some help?” I asked gently. “I can cut it up for you, if you like. . . .”

“No!” he replied sharply. “I’m fine. I do not need anyone to cut up my food for me!” He began to saw at the roo-tail, only to have the knife fly out his hand and land on the floor. His face flushed bright red as he bent to retrieve it, before our server appeared tableside with a fresh roll of cutlery.

“If you like, Serenity, I can take your entree back to the kitchen and have it replaced with a chopped version?” the waiter suggested politely as he retrieved the soiled knife.

“Yes, thank you,” Hexe mumbled, his cheeks turning an even brighter shade of red.

After the waiter left with his plate, I learned forward, keenly aware that we were being watched by the other diners. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” I said sotto voce.

“I said I’m fine,” Hexe insisted as he picked up his pint of barley wine, only to slosh a good portion of it onto his shirtfront. “Heavens and hells!” he snarled, slopping even more out of the glass as he slammed it back down.

I looked away as he attempted to blot the dark, sticky fluid from his clothes with his napkin, afraid of what he might see in my eyes. Hexe was the most graceful man I had ever known; watching him fumble with silverware and spill his drink was absolutely heartbreaking. All I wanted at that moment was to somehow find a way of taking his burden onto myself, so that he did not have to suffer alone. My frustration at being unable to do so was so great it threatened to push me into despair.

“Excuse me, Serenity. . . .”

An unfamiliar Kymeran woman in her early thirties with slate-blue hair and intense, gray eyes was standing beside our table. I had not seen her approach, nor had I noticed her earlier in the dining room, but she must have been there, all the same.

“I could not help but notice the . . . difficulty you are undergoing,” she said with a discreet nod to Hexe’s splinted hand. “Please allow me to introduce myself: I am Erys. I am a glover, by trade. And I believe I have an item in my inventory that would be of immense service to you.”

“Thank you, but I’m not in the market for magic gloves, Madam Erys,” Hexe said with a wan smile.

“Not even the Gauntlet of Nydd?” she countered, her pale gray eyes gleaming like pieces of tin in the muted light of the dining room.

Hexe paused for a long moment, like a fish contemplating the bait on the end of a hook, before shaking his head. “I appreciate your offer, but the splint is merely a temporary inconvenience,” he explained. “I’ll be as good as new in just a few days.”

“Of course, Serenity,” Erys replied, with a bow of her head. “But in case you should change your mind—feel free to come by my shop.” She snapped her fingers, and a business card materialized from nowhere.

“Thank you for your concern, Madam Erys,” Hexe said politely as he accepted the proffered card.

Erys nodded her head and turned to go, but not before flashing me a sidelong glance harsh enough to peel paint. Although I had become somewhat inured to the casual misanthropy of most Kymerans, I was momentarily shaken by the unalloyed revulsion in the other woman’s pale eyes.

“Ugh!” I whispered, once she was out of earshot. “That woman gives me the creeps! And magic gloves? Is she for real?”

“There’s always a market for enchanted clothing,” Hexe replied with a shrug. “Seven league boots, cloaks of invisibility, ruby slippers, that sort of thing. Most of the shops are over on Shoemaker Lane.”

“So who’s this Nydd guy? And why would you want his gauntlet?”

“He was a lieutenant in the Dragon Calvary during the Sufferance,” Hexe replied, staring down at his damaged hand. “He was also the son of General Vlad. When Nydd’s right hand was badly maimed in a skirmish with Witchfinders, his father created a special gauntlet that enabled him to use his hand again.”

“That sounds like something you could definitely use right now.”