Magic of Home: an Uncollected Anthology story (3 page)
He just managed to step out of the way of the ax as Jocko brought it down, attempting to cleave the demon in two. The iron blade hit the alley instead, and the ground trembled beneath Twig’s feet as the power of the blow created a fissure in the concrete.
Two of the trolls backed away, but the third, a smoking wound making a charred mess of her shoulder, swung her mace one-handed.
Gillfoil tried to block the blow, but his magic was nearly gone. The mace caught him in the upper arm, and he shrieked as the blow flung him against the rough brick wall that Twig had used to launch herself into the air.
Twig heard the demon flee the enforcer’s body. The stylized skeleton on the back of Gillfoil’s leathers, the image that symbolized the gang, faded into nothingness, and Gillfoil crumpled like a deflated balloon.
Without the demon that gifted him such an extraordinarily long and powerful life, he was no more than a discarded lump of dying flesh.
The fight was over.
Behind her, Twig heard a second shriek from the malevolent beast trapped inside Gillfoil’s motorcycle. Its protector—its master and tormentor—was dying, and it was alone in the world.
She almost felt sorry for it.
Almost.
* * *
They left Gillfoil alone in the alley. The police would eventually show up, and no one wanted to answer any questions about what had happened to the gang’s enforcer.
One of the changelings gave Twig an address where she could find a Merlin capable of doing the spells Twig needed.
She rode on her friend’s back one last time down darkened city streets toward the waterfront, only now they weren’t alone. Jocko rode beside them on the motorcycle that had belonged to Gillfoil.
In the end she couldn’t leave the beast that Gillfoil had imprisoned inside his motorcycle to the same fate that had nearly broken her friend. Twig had explained to the beast what she intended to do, and she had extracted a promise. In return for its freedom, the beast agreed to leave the city without harming Jocko or the changelings for the part they played in killing its former master, nor would it seek retribution from the being that was her friend.
The beast refused to make the same promise where Twig was concerned.
If it ever came back for her, she figured she could handle it, but she doubted it would come back. Without Gillfoil, the beast felt broken, the tones of its magic discordant and scattered.
This particular Merlin turned out to be a woman, which surprised Twig.
Years ago, before she’d gone on this quest to free a gentle spirit enslaved by evil, she wouldn’t have presumed that any Merlin powerful enough to cast the spell would be a man. Perhaps she’d spent too much time in the company of men who believed all women, magic folk or not, were their inferiors. She wondered what they would think if they knew three changeling women and a slip of a female elf had beaten their powerful enforcer.
The three of them—Twig, the Merlin, and Jocko—made their way to the end of a deserted pier with the motorcycles so the Merlin could cast her spells. The sky was still clear overhead, although a hint of the coming day blushed the skyline a deep rose on the eastern horizon.
From where they stood, Twig could see the shadowy outline of Marlette Island across the bay. The musty smell of seawater and the sight of the tall pines of her kin’s enclave silhouetted against the night sky made Twig’s heart ache for home.
Or at least that’s what she told herself.
The first to be freed from its prison was the beast.
It was hideous to look at, its proportions so wrong that it hurt her eyes. The harsh tone of its magic grated on Twig’s nerves. More spirit than flesh, it fled into the darkness in the west, chasing the waning night. It didn’t pause to look back at them or thank them for their efforts.
Jocko snorted. “Good riddance.”
Twig couldn’t agree more.
Before she moved to the second motorcycle, the Merlin gave Twig a long look. “You might want to say your goodbyes now,” she said. “This spirit has been imprisoned too long, its energy is too weak. It may not be able to manifest once I set it free.”
The Merlin had a kind heart, but Twig shook her head. “Don’t make it wait any longer,” she said.
Goodbyes were for sentimental fools. Twig would take whatever comfort she might need in knowing that her friend was free.
This time when the Merlin worked her spell, a gentle breeze seemed to emanate from the motorcycle. The breeze brushed Twig’s face with the scent of a salt water spray kissed by the sun. The magic that touched her heart was filled with the kind of joy Twig had only known as a child when she’d been rocked, safe and sound, in her grandmother’s arms.
She choked back a sob as her friend’s magic enveloped her, its tones soft and melodious.
Home
, said the familiar voice she’d heard in her heart all these months, and then,
thank you, my friend.
The water spirit held her for a moment longer, and then it left, diving deep into the bay it called home.
Twig swiped at her cheeks, annoyed with her tears, until she glanced at Jocko and noticed that his face was wet as well. She decided not to mention it.
The blush to the east was turning into a rosy glow. Twig needed to pay the Merlin so she could leave before the fishermen and dockside vendors arrived to start their day.
“I don’t have much,” Twig said, “but whatever I have is yours.”
The Merlin shook her head. “Not necessary.”
Twig wasn’t sure she’d heard right. Merlins who dabbled in unlicensed magic tended to be an unethical, greedy bunch.
She glanced at Jocko. The Merlin was the changeling’s contact, which meant Jocko might have a better idea what was expected. He’d wiped away his own tears, and while he wasn’t exactly scowling, he didn’t look happy either.
“There’s always a price,” he said.
“Yes, there is,” the Merlin agreed. “You’re not the ones to pay it. You’re the ones who put things right.”
Twig got it.
There was a price, all right. Since Gillfoil wasn’t around to pay, the Merlin would be seeking her due from the rest of the gang. Twig wondered if the water spirit had told the Merlin where to find them.
After they parted company with the Merlin, Twig and Jocko rolled the motorcycles down the pier toward the street. The motorcycles were innocent machines, used by Gillfoil as prisons, yet Twig felt uneasy climbing on the back of the motorcycle she’d ridden to Moretown Bay. The metal felt stiff and unyielding without her friend to give it heart.
Jocko didn’t appear to have the same misgivings. He sat astride his motorcycle—and it was clearly his now—and gunned the engine, smiling at the deep, throaty, vibrating roar.
Wait a minute.
He was
smiling
.
“That looks good on you,” Twig said, shouting to make herself heard.
His smile got wider, but he let the engine idle. “Where are you headed?”
It was a good question.
Twig didn’t think she could withstand the emotional upheaval of returning to her kin’s enclave on the island, not just yet. She certainly couldn’t go back to the gang, not that she wanted to.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m kind of without a home at the moment.”
Jocko gave her a long look. The smile on his face was reflected in his eyes. He always did like a good fight.
“You’ve got a home,” he said at last. “You always did.”
That wonderful ache settled in her heart again.
Somewhere along the line, Jocko had figured it out. He’d guessed why she’d left Moretown Bay to join the gang and why she couldn’t tell him the reason, and he’d forgiven her.
She smiled back.
“Then let’s get a move on,” she said. “It’s been a hell of night.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Award-winning author
Annie Reed
describes herself as a desert rat who longs to live by the ocean. Since she hasn’t yet convinced her family to relocate to a nice chunk of beachfront property, she’s done the next best thing—written a series of stories set in a contemporary Pacific Northwest city where magic and reality go hand in hand. Private investigators Diz and Dee populate Annie’s more lighthearted stories, while denizens of a much rougher neighborhood lurk in her
Tales From the Shadows
.
A talented and versatile writer whose fantasy, science fiction, and mystery stories have sold to a wide variety of publications, including five of the first seven volumes of
Fiction River’s
inaugural year, Annie is also the author of the Abby Maxon mystery novels
Pretty Little Horses
and
Paper
Bullets, as well as
A Death in Cumberland.
For more information about Annie, go to
www.annie-reed.com
.
THE UNCOLLECTED ANTHOLOGY STORIES
The Magic of Home
is part of the innovative
Uncollected Anthology
series.
Every three months, these talented authors pick a theme and write a short story for that theme. But instead of bundling the stories together, each author sells their own. No muss, no fuss—you can buy one story or you can buy them all. (We’ll be honest; we hope you buy them all!)
If you’d like to keep reading more fine stories featuring this issue’s theme—magical motorcycles—click on the links below:
Tong Yi works for
Huli
Transport, a company that specializes in rides and transportation for those who aren’t quite human.
When the newest job comes up—delivering a message to Zhang Guo Lao, one of the Eight Immortals—Tong Yi assumes the job will be tricky because the immortal likes to play games.
He has no idea that Zhang Guo Lao isn’t the only one interested in “dancing” with him.
The Faerie Folk come when the veil between the worlds is thin, spinning their sticky-sweet glamour and stealing children away. The only thing standing in their way: a motorcycle gang made up of broken, lost people who managed to escape from the Faerie Realm after their own abductions.
Riding her enchanted steed, sworn to protect children, Alis mourns the loss of her own daughter, taken by the Fae. Abandoned by her husband, shunned by her friends, Alis now knows no family but her fellow riders, knows no joy except when she’s riding.
But freedom comes with a price…
Malek—the serpent from the Garden of Eden—counts himself among the local gods. The last time he rode with the others under the moonlight, his one and only apprentice died a terrible death. So when the invitation for the next midnight ride arrives on his doorstep, he refuses.
Until a human girl he cares about becomes the gods’ target.