Page 185 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

“You. Have. Magic. You fucking asshole.” Wren seethes.

“For all we know, that monster is devouring Lillith alive right fucking now, Wren,” Bastion seethes. “There—there had to have been something. Something. To be done.”

I let my head fall into my hands. He’s right. I should have leapt right out of the window with them. Maybe I would have died. I probably deserve it. Jesus Christ. I never anticipated feeling like such a useless piece of fucking shit when it came to finding the woman of my dreams.

I’d had such a different vision of love. I’d had no idea I was going to meet one of the most powerful witches in the world. I don’t regret my love for Lillith. But, fuck, I want to be a protector. Desperately. And when the time came, I couldn’t do a single thing.

I’d been completely useless. Again. I should have just—

Wren pulls me into a hug, surprising me out of my downward spiral. She grasps Bastion by his doublet and forces him to join the embrace, too.

It’s awkward and sloppy. Bastion is a little shorter than me and with Wren at our shoulders or lower, Bastion and I wind up touching at the temples to accommodate for the tight bend in Wren’s arms.

Bastion is so furious that he’s fucking trembling. I can feel the light tremor of it where our skulls meet. I have half the mind to tell him to wail on me a few times. But when I meet his gaze briefly, I realize he’s... crying.

Fuck.

He’s really fucking crying. He’s trying to hold it together, but his grimace squeezes past his lips and tear after tear carves a path down the planes of his cheekbones and the angle of his sharp chin. He looks, for once, like a little kid. Terrified. Terrified and heartbroken.

Of course. Why wouldn’t he be? Bastion, Lillith and Wren fucking grew up together. It was easy to forget when I was feeling protective or even a little territorial over Lillith, but these three were more like siblings than friends. A few of my own tears fall on my cheeks and I brace the back of Bastion’s head, pulling him closer to me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m just a fucking useless mortal. I’ll... get to work on that, alright?”

Wren cups the side of Bastion’s face. “Bash, sometimes bad things happen, even when we do everything we can. Remember, she went in knowing the danger she was putting herself in. She made a choice. We did what we could to protect her.”

“So that’s it?” Bastion sobs. “We just fucking throw our hands up and say ‘oh fucking well, guess we failed.’”

“No,” Wren says. “Because I have an idea.”

ㅤ

My entire body screams in pain. My soul feels as if it’s been scrubbed raw and bleeding. As my eyes creak open, I find myself almost disappointed that I’m not actually dead. Death would be a relief. Death would mean there isn’t more pain to be had.

I reach for my magic. It’s usually right there—right where I need it. Like a familiar friend. Like a song whose lyrics I could never forget. But there’s nothing there—no warm curl into the palm of my hand.

I watch my blanched fingers twitch faintly. They lay in a bed of dull, black hair. My hair, I realize. I look past the tangle of my lifeless tresses, finding gold railing no more than a foot away. I follow the trajectory of each golden bar with my eyes, watch them tangle in an ornamental swirl of filigree before arcing to meet overhead.

I’m in an enormous birdcage.

Or I’ve been shrunken to fit down inside of one.

“Rise.”

The command rings in my ears. Uncomfortable, like the buzz of tinnitus. My throat closes, but I’m just too tired. I’m too exhausted to obey.

“Where is the rest?” my captor snarls. “You’ve given it to someone. You disgusting thing. Who is it? The Golden Boy? The Oracle?”

The raw ache inside of me eases one tiny bit. That’s right. Damien. He’s got just a bit of it. I bled to be sure of it. And there’s some comfort in knowing the piece of magic inside him will never make its way back to this abhorrent monster. He’s so devoid of his own humanity that he probably can’t even fathom the idea of giving it to a lowly mortal.

I can feel the candle of my life flickering, and before it snuffs out, I want to know some things. I force myself to lift my torso with trembling arms and torn, failing muscle.

Gods, it hurts. Everything hurts so horribly. But I’ll rest soon. And there’s a comfort in knowing that.

Once I’m sitting up, it’s only a matter of dragging myself a few more feet to lean against the back of my gilded cage. I face the monster outside. He sits, eerily illuminated in the blackness of his void. His strange eyes mark a waning crescent and more gore spiderwebs between his black-velveted antlers.

Something settles in, as unpleasant as a knife beneath my sternum. A grim understanding of what he is.

“How?” I croak.