Page 32 of The Hocus Pocus Handbook

“Oh my. I’m entirely spoiled for choice today, I see.” The faint trill on the word entirely indicates the intensity of Macha’s intrigue. “I had no notion that Winter’s hound was so…” Clicking her tongue, she circles him with predatory fascination instead of finishing the thought.

Kerboros withstands her scrutiny without moving. “Your interest is noted.”

Good. Neutral is the best way to handle Macha. She doesn’t respect those who beg for her favor, but she’s also easily offended. There are those who have approached her and remain trapped in the form she chose for them when they irritated her, mainly wild fae without an innate ability to shift.

“I’m suffering greatly from all this lack of attention,” Zeph says then.

Macha turns her regard in their direction, angling her head. “Hmm.”

“Is that a good hmm?” they ask.

“There’s a puzzle to solve,” I cut in. “I hope you can figure it out.”

It never hurts to appeal to her wits. Or her vanity.

“I’m willing to listen, though I make no guarantees.”

Succinctly, I explain how the Summer delegation has gone missing and none are able to track them using any type of magic known to Winter. “You’re the most powerful person in any realm,” I say. “So I thought…”

“That I could track for Lord Winter?”

Oh no.

I shake my head quickly. “Not at all. But maybe you could give us a hint? You’d know if unusual magic was used anywhere near your domain.”

I’m taking a risk. If Kerboros tells Lord Liskaal that I’ve implied Macha is the real power in the Winter realm, it won’t end well for me.

I’m about to start gnawing my nails when Macha speaks. “I may be willing to have a look, but…I require incentive. Tribute, if you will.”

This is the best possible result, but I don’t know what I can provide that she doesn’t already have. But I still say, “I’m willing to negotiate.”

“You can’t pay the price,” she says silkily while staring at Kerboros.

He tenses. Yet he can’t ignore our mission objective either. “What do you require?”

I hope it’s not blood.

“Nothing you cannot spare, Winter hound, though I should name you spider. A memory. You know the one I want, seeing as you relived it recently in my snare.”

Despite the fact that I’m used to Macha, her tone sends a shiver through me. I don’t know if this is a good idea. The loss of memory is like death to a fae because they’re eternal, and they carry time with them. Kerboros must be old beyond my imagining, and if he yields this to her, it will be the same as surrendering a little bit of his life.

I wonder if I could persuade her to accept a lock of hair instead. Kerboros has gorgeous hair. Long and dark, shiny, and threaded liberally with silver. It looks like it would be extremely soft, basically the only part about him that does. His skin is warm copper in this light, with the faintest patina of green from the canopy above. I wonder how I look to him—odd, when I rarely consider my appearance at all. In fact, I have been known to paint myself entirely in mud from head to toe.

I had good reasons at the time.

Giving him time to consider is the right move, I don’t speak because this is his decision, between him and Macha. I won’t interfere. If he thinks this is a bad idea, I won’t press. We can figure something else out.

A powerful feeling simmers inside me; I don’t want anyone to hurt him ever again. He’s started to feel like someone I should risk myself to protect. On the surface, it’s ridiculous. He’s a renowned warrior, deadly with a blade, and famous for having an even sharper tongue. His words cut deep, and he wears solitude like an icy crown. But inside him remains a boy terrified and alone in a dreary cell.

I might be the only one who knows that about him.

If Kerboros looks to me for help, I’ll see if I can turn Macha from this notion. I do have a flair for words and an affinity for bending people to my will, usually by sapping some of their anger. But Macha is a force more than a person; I cannot feed on her emotions. Mostly, she feels…watchful, to my attenuated senses. Is that even an emotion? It’s certainly not a feeling that offers me any sustenance.

“I’m already under a compulsion,” Kerboros says in a graveled tone. “A secondary constraint would—”

“No. You must take my word for it, but that is not my intent. You will gain no tether to me, should you make this bargain.”

Again, I repress the urge to intercede. My hand twitches with the urge to touch Kerboros, to pull him away from Macha and her tricksy ways. Bargaining with the swamp witch, he’ll never win. She keeps her beauty by stealing from others—life, time, memories, magic—and her loveliness is legendary.