Shadow Rites

It was petty of me, but I leaned in and sniffed. Then I put my hand on the ring. There was no tingle of magic that might have been meant to ensnare a young witch. This wasn’t a trick. I tilted my head and said, “Dang. You’re just being nice.”

He gave me a small, human smile. “It isn’t impossible for us.” But he sounded wry and cautious. And perhaps a bit sad. I considered the ring. His daughter’s ring. How difficult and momentous it must be to give away something so precious. “If her parents don’t mind, I’m good with it.”

Angie piped up, “Does this mean I have a boyfriend?”

“No.” The word was flat, icy, and powerful.

Edmund pivoted on one foot to face Molly, whom I had paid no attention to until now. She was sitting on the far end of the couch, her hands holding her belly, her face a mask of some emotion I couldn’t even name, something cold and hard and maybe even deadly. I felt the faint thrill of magics race along my skin, raising the hairs on my arms beneath my leather armbands. Death magics.

“I never had a boyfriend,” Angie said.

“Mol,” Big Evan said, his tone gentle and warning all at once.

Edmund swiveled his head to me, turning too far. He clearly didn’t feel the trace of magic, didn’t know how great his danger, but he had heard the threat in her single word. I shook my head without looking at him but stepped to his side, putting a hand on his shoulder, ready to pull him behind me if needed.

“Molly,” Big Evan said again.

Angie Baby slid from the chair and walked calmly to her mother. She put both hands over her mother’s and squeezed. Molly closed her eyes and forced herself to take a breath. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t anything paranormal. It was mother and daughter and that connection I would never have and didn’t remember from my own youth. Wet heat prickled under my eyelids as Molly slid her hands free and wrapped herself around Angie, holding her close.

Edmund dropped away from my hand and landed on his knees, offering the box to Molly. “There is nothing here but my honor,” he said. “My honor is all I have left of who I was, and I would not sell it at any cost. But I would give it. I would promise it to you and to yours.”

“Why?” Molly asked. “That makes no sense for a fanghe—a Mithran.”

“The priestess Sabina has divined much about the state of the world and about our species. She has said that my life is wrapped inextricably with you and yours,” he said to Molly. “And with my mistress.”

That was news to me. “Did she get around to saying why?” I asked.

“All she said were nonsense syllables, perhaps in her mother tongue.”

“And they were?”

“Bubo-bubo,” he said. “Senseless.”

But it wasn’t senseless, nor was it in her mother tongue. It was the scientific name for the Eurasian eagle owl. I had flown in its shape once, for a chance to sit in a tree and listen in on a vamp gather.

Later Sabina had seen me in the tree and she spoke to that owl. It had been eerie enough to make me want to lift wings and fly far away. She said something like “I know not if you are real, or prophecy, or the mad imaginings of an old, old sinner.” My flight feathers shivered and my taloned feet danced on the limb. “If you are prophecy, if you are the breath of God on my stained and darkened soul, then know this, and take my words back with you to paradise. We still seek forgiveness. We still search for absolution.”

Much later even after that, she had said of the raptor, “It came to me, at a time of gathering and blood, when we put Katherine to earth to heal. It cried out its lonely call to me, a bird of the night, a bird of a different place and time. The owl has long been a harbinger of change, of danger, of loss. You are that beast of change and loss. That harbinger of bitter defeat. Of true-death.”

Go, me. I was part of a prophecy. My life was weirder and weirder. Molly was watching me as if reading my mind and I flashed her a grin and shrugged, hoping to throw her off my train of thoughts. But Edmund’s words were enough to make me believe him. I said to Molly. “He’d make a pretty watchdog.”

Edmund inhaled a breath that he hadn’t bothered with until now and said, “I am a far better protector than a dog. Or even a werewolf. And I have pledged you my honor.”

“Y’all are all angst and indecision and drama queens, worse than a bunch of old men on a street corner.” Pointing at Molly, I said, “You deal with this. Get yourself together and chill. And make nice-nice with the fanghead. I’ll be back later and I expect you to be one happy family.” I pointed at Angie. “You. No vamp boyfriends until you are at least twenty-one years old. He’s your protector, not your honey bunch.” Angie frowned mutinously and I frowned right back. “Don’t make me go all big-cat on you.” I pointed at Evan. “You are one cool dude. Keep things together and don’t let them kill each other or blow up my house once I leave.”

Evan might have smiled beneath his fried beard. The fire had burned off a lot, but he was still hairy enough that it was difficult to tell.

My business partners clattered back into the room, dressed in jeans. Or Alex clattered and Eli glided. He had been hanging around the corner with a weapon drawn. I said, “We have a lot to debrief before we all leave, so let’s stop this here.

“Any new thoughts on why Antoine kept Ming prisoner?” I asked my little group. “I mean originally, before his daughter took over.”