Magic and Loss

“We’ve got a special tonight on Dragon Balm,” he said, pointing to a nearby service counter, where various blends of hashish wrapped in brightly colored foil were offered for sale alongside pot brownies and demitasses of espresso.

“That’s okay,” I said, sidestepping the suggested selling. “I’ll just go look for my friend. . . .”

I moved past the kiosk into the open social room, but did not spot Hexe among the groups of smokers lounging about, talking to one another as they listened to the acoustic hurdy-gurdy player in the corner. Trying not to look too nosy, I pulled back the curtain on the privacy booth next to me to find Giles Gruff reclining on a pillow-strewn bench, his behorned head resting in the lap of one well-endowed, naked nymph while she dutifully massaged his temples, while a second, equally busty and unclothed nymph fed him grapes. Although he was missing his vest, his monocle and ascot were still in place.

“Hello, my dear,” the satyr said, between puffs on his hookah. “Good to see you again—if somewhat unexpectedly.”

“I’m sorry, Councilman,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“That’s quite all right. I’m simply unwinding after another day of butting heads with Mayor Lash. He’s so desperate to outspend O’Fae in his reelection campaign, he’s willing to court a scheming cormorant like Ronald Chess. It’s bad enough I have to combat such recklessness amongst my own people—but to have to deal with the same trait in others is most tiresome. I am the lord of the satyrs, after all, not a congressman from Delaware. But on to a more pleasant subject: I trust my niece Octavia has settled into her new digs?”

“I suppose so, although we don’t see that much of her. She spends most of her time at the fire station.”

“Such is the life of a dedicated civil servant, I fear,” Giles said, pausing to sample another grape. “But then, the females of our species have always been industrious and civic-minded, and for that I am truly thankful, or else the satyrisci would have gone the same route as the woodwoses and ogres during the Sufferance.”

“You wouldn’t have happened to have seen Hexe?” I asked. “I was told he was here.”

“Indeed he is. You should find him in his usual spot—the far corner booth. Now, if you don’t mind, my lady friends and I have some business to attend to,” he said, gesturing to his tumescent goat-pizzle.

I quickly dropped the privacy curtain. I was going to need a lot of brain bleach to erase that particular image from my mental catalog.

I found Hexe exactly where Giles said he would be—sitting by himself in the farthest booth, in the deepest corner of the room, where the shadows were so thick there was no need to draw a curtain for privacy. Judging from the empty wrapper crumpled beside the brass hookah at his elbow, he was smoking Dragon Balm.

“What are you doing here?” He scowled, looking up at me with the same cold, distant eyes I’d seen the night he’d supposedly been mugged.

The last of the anger that had spurred me on my quest disappeared, to be replaced by unease. Although his features and voice were still the same, there was something imperceptibly “off” about the way he spoke and moved—as if I wasn’t talking to Hexe himself, but rather a clever simulacrum.

“I want you to come home, Hexe.” I cringed at the sound of my own voice. It sounded so weak—almost wheedling; like a mother trying to coerce an unruly child to go to bed.

“What for?” he grunted.

“It’s really important that we talk,” I said, shifting about uneasily, aware that the hurdy-gurdy player had halted and our conversation was now perfectly audible to everyone seated nearby.

“Why? You can talk to me here,” he retorted.

I stepped inside the booth and sat down opposite him, pulling the privacy curtain shut as I did so. “Look, I know you took money from the baby stash.”

Instead of looking surprised or ashamed, Hexe merely shrugged his shoulders, his face as unreadable as a mask, while his silver-gloved fingers drummed against the tabletop, as if waiting for me to say something interesting. I wasn’t really sure what his reaction would be when I confronted him with the truth, but I certainly hadn’t expected it to boil down to “So?”

“Hexe, please—this is serious. We need to talk about what’s going on with you, and I’d rather do it at home.”

“What’s going on with me, huh?” he sneered. As he took another hit, the water pipe gurgled as if it was laughing. “I’ll come home when I damn well feel like it, and not because you nagged me into doing it.”

There it was. The “why do you have to be such a bitch?” card. The one that every other boyfriend had played—usually just before the end of the relationship. I felt my heart sink as if it had been filled with lead. I didn’t dare say anything for fear I would lose what little control I had and start to cry. That’s all I needed at that moment—to be dismissed as an overemotional pregnant woman. And I definitely didn’t want to freak out in public, only to find it splashed all over YouTube by the time I got home. Fighting back my tears, I yanked back the privacy curtain and angrily strode toward the door, hoping with every step that Hexe would come to his senses.

I was halfway down the block when I realized he wasn’t going to follow. That’s when I started to cry.

I’d never felt so overwhelmed in my life. The framework on which I had chosen to build my new life was suddenly crumbling underneath me, in a way that was all too familiar. I had committed myself to Hexe to a degree I had never done before. Until now, the trust I had in him was as pure and strong as that of a child. Even on those occasions where I had been leery of the choices he made, I still knew that his decisions were born from genuine concern for both me and the baby. But now—?

I remembered how Lady Syra and Dr. Moot spoke about Esau—about how he had once been a good friend and loving brother—a healer, just like Hexe. But then he lost his wife, and anger and bitterness dragged him down the Left Hand path until he became a misanthropic, racist, homicidal zealot who wouldn’t think twice about killing his own flesh and blood. Was that what was occurring with Hexe now that he had lost his Right Hand magic—?

Just then the image of Hexe’s silver-clad hand drumming its fingers against the table, as if waiting for something to happen, flooded my mind’s eye. Hexe may have been depressed and frustrated after Boss Marz maimed him, but the cold, distant look in his eyes didn’t appear until Madam Erys tricked him into donning the Gauntlet of Nydd. If the Trojan spell on the gauntlet could somehow turn Right Hand spells into Left Hand magic, maybe it was also capable of doing the same thing to the wearer as well.

Upon reaching the house I was greeted at the door by Beanie, who licked the drying tears from my face as I hugged him. It was way past my normal bedtime, and I had to be at work the next day. I changed out of my clothes and crawled into the big, empty bed, feeling both emotionally and physically exhausted. Over the last few weeks my pregnancy had really started to affect my body—my feet and ankles had started to swell, along with my breasts, and my lower back felt like it had been whacked with the flat of a cricket bat. But my physical discomfort was nothing compared to the gnawing fear that I was losing Hexe—not to another woman, but to something dark within himself.

I fell asleep with the sound of his silver fingers drumming, drumming, drumming in my ears.

* * *

Suddenly the lights were on, rendering me as blind as the owls standing guard atop the four-poster. Hexe was standing by the bed, looming over me like a vengeful ghost, his face contorted in munted rage, smelling of tobacco, hashish, and safflower. His gauntleted hand flashed like the scales of a fish as he snatched away the bedclothes, leaving me exposed, wearing nothing but a pair of panties and a camisole.

“How dare you come hunting me down like a nagging fishwife, embarrassing me in front of my subjects?” he thundered.

I clambered out of bed moments before he grabbed the edge of the mattress and upended it onto the floor. Beanie, who had been sleeping at the foot of the bed, gave a frightened yelp and quickly scurried for cover under the nightstand.

“Why shouldn’t I take that money?” he bellowed. “You’re living rent free, aren’t you? I’m just taking what’s owed me!”

“Hexe, please, calm down! Just listen to what you’re saying!” I pleaded as I moved