“Thank you, my love…” Marquis froze, mind reeling. “We need a nanny… Would you like to chestfeed again, or we can find a wetnurse from the shifters, or perhaps—”
Mads popped a hand over Marquis’s mouth and choked out a half laugh. “Let’s tackle things one at a time. Let us wait until their spirit quickens and then we can welcome them and buy things.”
As was tradition. Mads had never been one for mage tradition, and when he’d become aware of Rexford, he’d— Marquis thought back. They’d not even wanted a child so soon back in those days. Children just…happened. Either you had sex during their heat to conceive, or you didn’t. They’d, of course, engaged in one another, but the announcement had been a pleasant surprise and largely overshadowed by Justin’s birth.
“I don’t even have a girl’s name in mind,” Marquis said, laughing.
“I do.” Mads smiled and told an old story of pecan shells, dirty fingers, and a refined, delicate woman who welcomed Mads so wholeheartedly.
“Morgana.” Marquis spoke the name on a breath and stole Mads into the fiercest of kisses.
***
Back on the road again, Marquis was a pitiable mess. He wrapped Mads in a dozen layers of protective charms as they pulled out one of Marquis’s old motorcycles. One he’d named Zephyr. A 1952 model FL that had been painted black, chrome polished, and every spell possible lined within. It used no gas, ran on a thumbnail-sized wish crystal, and purred like a tiger. With a few modern improvements for turn signals, lighting, windshield, and passenger, Marquis rode as he’d not done in years.
The roar of his own coven members flocked him, Rexford’s core enforcers behind. And tucked in a backpack loaded down with more skid gear than strictly necessary, was the plump, warm, and excited weight of his mate familiar. The one who had borne his heir and carried their daughter. But who was to stop a daughter from becoming an heir? They’d never had a witch wandmaker, but perhaps it was time.
The roar of the highway and vibrations beneath him reassured him of a future to come. And from one highway tothe next, out of sight of cameras, they swapped spells, some cloaking themselves from mortal eyes to change their riders and make tracking them that much harder. Even if they had cameras, they’d see Marquis’s bike running down one stretch of highway, missing every camera along the way, and reappearing at another hours away. No middle.
An advance party roared ahead of them, scouts that would search the perimeter and rooms of the bed-and-breakfast to prepare for the humans to come. And if Nelson was correct, they would be there with the promise of trade. What they would have to trade was the question.
They roared into a parking lot some time later, the radio in his helmet giving him forewarning that some of the humans had arrived early, but everything was safe. They really did want to broker peace, it appeared. Marquis just wanted it all to be over with, to be a covenmaster, to loosen his belt and raise a child without the looming threat of death above all magekind laid on his shoulders like some Jesuit cross.
He disembarked and whipped his helmet free, shaking out the spell that filtered air and kept him comfortable. Mads yawned from his backpack, and a rustling told him he’d peeked out. As if to confirm, warm whiskers tickled the back of his neck soon after.I smell shifter. Wolf.
Marquis frowned and searched around. “Perhaps Izohr or their ward.”
It’s not Sailor or Sheila.Mads never would call people by their names. Always with informality, even in familiar form. Undignified, but Marquis relished his ability to be comfortable anywhere.
“The owners are dragons and the staff are ravens.” Marquis shucked his gloves and stowed them with his helmet before marching toward the rather quaint building. The old estate had the scent and lingering magic of having been a clan of some sort,confirmed by the few houses built out on the property.Private cabins.Marquis couldn’t remember who had resided there in recent memory. But then again, he’d taken over after so many deaths had happened.
I’ll keep you updated on the sniffer.
Izohr, as if summoned by writ of being mentioned, sidled up, his heavy step crunching gravel beneath thick boots.
Sheila walked at his side, body held at attention, side brushing Izohr’s legs. Marquis had noticed she’d picked the habit up during her service to the blind omega, Warring.
Smell wolf. Not family.The little one’s confirmation made Marquis suspicious, and they crowded in, marching up the steps in file to fill the lobby of a rather humble entryway, a flustered woman at the front desk rifling papers before standing at attention. “Mages!”
Marquis made his way to the front of the group and nodded at the woman. “We’re early. Apologies.”
“It’s of no matter. My flockleader asked I give you this.” She handed over a rather neatly folded hand-boned envelope with a wax seal. Marquis took it with a nod and glanced over the seal, a mark of theirflock.
While some shifters adopted the human-naming conventions of their collectives, ravens were not one. They felt it undignified to go byunkindnessorconspiracy. Ravens were messengers of the beyond, not evil.
Marquis popped the seal, read the letter, and handed it back to her with a nod. Standard mage request, asking for gems to help children, spells to heal the ill. A sick omega. Like any shifters, they revered them greatly. The illness may very well have been a hangnail for all they worried. “After we’ve seen to business. I’d offer to help immediately, and gratis of course, but we’re in dire circumstances.”
She nodded sagely and showed them to the meeting room.
The meeting room wasn’t quite what Marquis expected. It had obviously been a library at one point, the wood floor creaking beneath vaguely tasteful carpet that had been laid atop. A large mahogany table with ostentatiously carved legs sprawled out, the tabletop well-polished and covered by a custom glass sheet that had been scratched at by bored children at some point or another. Nothing crude, no names, just the strange S that humans seemed fascinated by and a smattering of initials.
The patched, leather-clad, nail-trimmed chairs welcomed them with softly squeaking leather to leather. Marquis took his jacket and backpack off, hanging them on the back of his chair, a rather out-of-place swiveling wingback at the head of the table, backed by the fireplace as if he were some villain scheming away…with his pet raccoon curled in his lap.
It’s like they tried so hard to be fancy and missed every mark.
“It is the way of public venues.” Marquis sighed and got comfortable. Rexford and Izohr sat nearby. Leon sat on Izohr’s shoulder, posture confident and bold. Sheila at his side stood vigilantly, and Izohr appeared every bit the threat and confident leader Marquis knew he would be in time. Despite the friendship that bloomed between Rexford and the half mage, it would inevitably be time for them to split.
Midnite was the first to notice something off, his ears perking as he leaped onto the table, nose twitching toward the door. He hissed low.Wolf shifter?
