Magic and Loss

As Hexe escorted Bartho to the front door, I headed upstairs to change out of my work clothes and take a shower. Twenty minutes later I returned to find Hexe sitting at the desk in his study, balancing the checkbook. I bent over and nuzzled his neck, savoring his unique scent of citrus, moss, and leather as I did so.

“So how was your day at work?” he asked, reaching up with one hand to stroke my hair.

“I made a dragon leg,” I replied. “You know—same-old-same-old.”

“Is that so?” He chuckled as I sat down in his lap.

“And how was your day?” I asked between kisses.

“Fairly.” Smooch. “Uneventful.” Smack. “I lifted a minor curse off a client.” Smooch. “Someone afflicted him with crossed eyes.” Double smooch.

I glanced down at the open checkbook and the stack of bills that sat beside it. “So—how are we doing?”

Hexe heaved a sigh, prodding the calculator as if it were a poisonous toad. “Well, between your day job, the rent from the boarders, and what I bring in from my steadier clients, we’re making ends meet. But just barely.”

“Why can’t we use witchfire to light the house like they do at the Rookery?” I asked as I scowled at the most recent ConEd bill.

“Witchfire might not be metered, but it’s not free,” he replied. “Sorcerers can drain themselves pretty quickly, if they’re not careful. The braziers at the Rookery are communal fires—each Kymeran who rents a booth there contributes a flame to the kitty. That’s why they burn as brightly as they do. The GoBOO allowed gas lines and electricity into Golgotham because it frees up occult energy that normally would go toward ‘public utilities.’ Of course, there are those who claim that dependence on human inventions weakens us far more than lighting our homes with witchfire.”

“So much for snapping your fingers and magically making the rent and keeping the lights on,” I sighed.

“Hey, I’m just a wizard, not a miracle worker,” Hexe said with a wry smile. “ConEd has no more qualms about shutting off a past-due warlock than they do a plumber in Queens.”

“Is this a good time to talk, or would you guys rather be alone right now?”

I looked up to see our housemate and friend, Lukas, standing in the doorway of the study. The young shape-shifter had been living at the boardinghouse ever since he ended up in the backyard after escaping from Boss Marz’s fighting pit, months ago. Despite the fact he was a boarder, I was actually surprised to see him, as he now spent most of his time working at Dr. Mao’s apothecary and acupuncture parlor. Of course, the fact Lukas’ girlfriend, Meikei, was also the boss’s daughter might have had something to do with that.

“You’re not interrupting anything—yet,” Hexe replied. “What’s on your mind, Lukas?”

The young were-cat frowned and lowered his gaze to his scuffed Vans. “I owe you guys everything,” he said uneasily as he scratched at his sandy hair. “I mean, if it weren’t for you, I’d either be pit-fighting or dead right now. You know I consider you guys more my family than the one I was born to. . . .”

Hexe quietly motioned for me to get out of his lap. “Lukas—what are you trying to say?” He frowned.

The young bastet’s cheeks turned even redder. “I—I’m moving out.”

“What?” I yelped. “You’re not going back home, are you—?”

Lukas shook his head. “Of course not!” he said emphatically. “I’m not going back to the Preserve. It’s just that—well, Dr. Mao has offered to make me his apprentice, and that means moving into the spare store room at the apothecary.”

“Sounds to me like the old tiger wants to keep an eye on you and Meikei.” Hexe chuckled, sending Lukas’ blush all the way into his hairline.

“You don’t hate me for leaving, do you?” The youth asked nervously.

“Oh, Lukas, you silly kitty cat!” I exclaimed as I threw my arms around him. “Of course not! You’ll always be the little brother who shape-shifts into a cougar that I never had!”

“So you’re not mad at me?” Lukas raised his shaggy unibrow in surprise. “You understand why I have to move out?”

“Of course we understand,” Hexe said. “I wish you luck on your apprenticeship, my friend. That old were-tiger can be tough at times, but if you serve your master well, you’ll learn more about herbs and acupuncture from him than you ever thought possible. Besides, it’s not like you signed a lease with me.”

“I’m moving out tomorrow, if that’s okay with you,” Lukas said excitedly. “It’s been great living here. I’ll miss you both—and Beanie, too.”

“What about Scratch?” Hexe asked archly.

“Yeahhhh, him, too, I guess,” Lukas replied. “Just don’t tell him I said that, though.”

As Lukas headed upstairs to pack his few belongings, Hexe let out a sigh and allowed the smile to drop from his face. “Well, that knocks next month’s budget for a loop,” he said sourly. He picked up the checkbook and studied it as if it were one of his grimoires. “I’ll have to advertise for another lodger. It’s time- consuming, but there’s no getting around it. As long as Mr. Manto doesn’t drop dead on us anytime soon, we’ll squeak by.”

I slipped my arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Don’t look so stressed, sweetie. We’ll manage to muddle through, just like we always do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he replied, returning my embrace. “But we’re going to have to tighten our belts even further.”

“I propose we loosen our belts,” I smiled saucily.

“I don’t know if that will help with the bills,” he said, as his hands slipped under my blouse. “But it will definitely take our minds off them.”

As we headed hand in hand up the stairs to our room, the opening bars of Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “I Put A Spell On You” suddenly came out of nowhere. Hexe fished his cell phone out of his pocket and grimaced at the caller ID. “It’s a text from Captain Horn—I mean, my father.”

There’s an old saying about closing doors and opening windows. Four months ago my parents disinherited me. At the same time, Hexe finally learned the true identity of his biological father. I liked Hexe’s dad, and Beanie positively adored him—every time Captain Horn came to visit, Beanie would bring him one of his favorite plush toys, so they could play tug-of-war. Hexe, on the other hand, seemed to be somewhat ambivalent about the whole thing.

“The Captain wants us to meet him at the Calf for dinner—his treat. I wonder what’s up.”

“Why does there have to be a reason for him to invite us to dinner?” I replied with a shrug. “He’s not just ‘The Captain’—he’s your dad. That’s reason enough to take you out to dinner for most people.”

“I suppose you’re right,” he agreed grudgingly. “Besides, it might be some time before we can afford going out to eat again.”

* * *

The Two-Headed Calf, Golgotham’s oldest tavern, was busy as usual when we arrived. Upon entering the downstairs pub room, we were greeted by Bruno, the new bouncer. He was heavyset and stood seven feet tall, his unibrow marking him as a shape-shifter—in his case one of the berskir.

Ever since the Calf found itself with a four-star listing on Yelp, more and more humans continued to make their way into Golgotham to sample its “authentic atmosphere” alongside the locals. It was this lucrative, potentially volatile mix of clientele that resulted in the now-famous Golgotham Race Riot. In the months since the initial conflict, the Calf’s proprietor, Lafo, had hired the were-grizzly as a means of nipping another such clash in the bud. So far it seemed to be working.

“Good evening, Serenity,” Bruno growled in welcome, running a pawlike hand through his unruly brown hair. “Good evening, Miss Eresby.”

Chorea, the Calf’s hostess, stepped forward to greet us. Although she had set aside her leopard skin and chiton in favor of AA and saving her marriage, she still wore the garland of ivy that marked her as a maenad. “Welcome, Serenity.” She smiled. “Captain Horn is waiting for you in the dining room.”

“Thanks, Chory,” he said. “You needn’t bother escorting us.”

As we made our way across the crowded pub, I spotted the Calf’s owner, head chef, and chief bottle