“Shut your cheeky cake-hole, you Lepre-Can’t.”
Keegan backed off. Huffing, Katie powered down her glamour. “I’m sorry, Cupcake. Really. I was so afraid I’d lose you if I...” She just trailed off.
I sighed. Not a lot of things are sensitive subjects for Katie I’ll just have to ask her about this later, in private. “I forgive you, Katie. I know you thought it was in my best interest, but… please don’t keep anything from me again.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” Katie said, and we exchanged a tight genuine hug. As soon as we broke, Katie began to skip toward the door. “Time to get drinks in celebration!”
Brann gave me a confused look. “It’s still quite early in the—”
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere!” Katie chirped as she flounced out the door.
Brann shrugged, and took the opportunity to continue the matter. “I am what is called a warlock,” he said, methodically professorial. “What I do can be benevolent, or painful and ruthless. I pull my magic from the living world around me, and I can draw it from demons as well. But it’s tainted, and evil. And no, I didn’t sell my soul to anyone to gain these powers, despite common misconceptions. I also draw runic magic for specific effects, such as barrier wards or purifications. I’m lucky your grandmother took me in just as my magic first manifested. She showed me how to control it. Taught me my magic is dark magic. But that didn’t mean it’s not all hexing and cursing people, or calling demons, and collecting souls. One can master the dark arts, but still use the power to do good deeds. She taught me that it’s how you use your gifts that will define you as dark or light. Dante, by the way, is no ordinary pet. He is my familiar.”
“Huh?” I nodded my head to the side as gears began turning in my head. “Am I a warlock too, then? I mean, my magic looks ‘dark,’ but it doesn’t drain anything, so...” So fuck. I trailed off as I realized I had no idea what I was. I didn’t match his description of a warlock.
“I can’t tell you what you are. Your magic has the ‘element’ of darkness. The mystery is, it doesn’t operate the way mine does. Deciphering your limits and classifying your powers will take more research.”
Keegan groaned. “I always hated homework.”
We were cut off by Katie, entering with her own fanfare. “Ta-da-da-da! I couldn’t find any beer or wine, but there’s no shortage of whiskey! Bottoms up, everybody!” The shot glasses and whiskey bottle were trailing behind her like a line of telekinetically levitated ducklings. With precise control, she plopped everyone’s glasses on the table (except for Keegan’s, which mysteriously ended up a foot to the left of where he was sitting) and poured everyone shots (for a moment, it looked like Keegan’s whiskey was going to get dumped on his lap, but the stream bent on an angle at the last moment, and went in his glass).
I goggled at the sight. Katie grabbed her shot glass with a dazzling grin. Keegan buried his hatchet to raise a toast. “May you be in heaven an hour before the Devil knows you’re dead.” We tossed ‘em back, one and all.
Weylyn spoke up next. “I suppose that means it’s our turn, then. As you may have guessed from the occasional jabs directed at us,” he looked at Katie, “Orin and I have a lupine connection to our magic. More specifically, we are wolf shifters. We can turn into our wolf form at will.”
“Does that make you werewolves, then?” I asked.
“No,” Orin said. “Werewolves can’t control their transformations. We can.”
“Most of the time,” Weylyn mumbled under his breath.
All these distinctions are starting to drive me up the wall. “Okay, Mr. Big and Bad. Are there other kinds of shifters out there too?”
Keegan cut in, gesturing with his empty shot glass. “Jaysus, yes! Take your bear shifters. They sleep a lot during the winter and they give the best hugs.” He looked around, expect a big laugh. Nothing. “Cause the best hugs are bear hugs!” he explained, which didn’t make his joke any funnier.
“Are there really other kinds of shifters out there?” I ask.
“Yes. All types.” Orin said. “Even some types of birds.”
“Like crows?” I looked out a window suspiciously. No sign of my avian entourage to call into question.
“Crow shifters? Aye, but very rare these days,” Weylyn said.
“But ravens? Very magical,” Brann added. “According to my research.”
“So, that explains all of you...” I looked around at the people (or whatever the fuck they are) gathered before me. “What’s next?”
“Well, we could start by trying to figure out what you are,” Brann said. He nudged Edna’s shadow box closer to me. “Have you tried to open this?”
“Have I tried? How do you open a solid fucking block of wood?” The lack of response from Brann or anyone rankled me. “I even tried shaking it. There’s clearly something inside, but who knows how to get it?”
Brann flinched in alarm. “You really shouldn’t shake magical objects,” he said with some urgency.
“Yeah, well...!” I decided to take the risk. I began slamming the box on the table. “Who builds a box that no one can open, anyway?!”
“No one. Now stop!”
I looked at him. Then gave it one more whack, just for the bitch rush.
“You’re right,” Brann said patiently. “No one can open it. Except you. That’s what Edna would do.”
I wanted to slam it again, but held back.
“Why don’t we try a different approach,” Katie said softly. “With your magic.”
So I looked down at the gray box. I squinted. I focused. I wished and willed and concentrated. All I managed to do was give myself a slight headache. “So much for my superpowers. I got nothing.” I shoved my glass across the table to Katie for another pour.
Brann pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. He was getting frustrated with my tantrums. “First of all, its magic. Not ‘superpowers’.
