Wild Magic

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The shop of Fedunzi the Silversmith was closed tight against the dark, heavy shutters over the windows and a half-starved hound chained beside the door. Dossan looked round the corner, saw the dog and drew back, chewing her lip. “Fa, can you sleep him like you did the rat?”

Faan looked, scratched at her ear. “I ‘spose. He’s a lot bigger.”

Ma’teesee wriggled her body impatiently, scuff-danced around in circles, saying nothing.

Faan glanced at her, irritated, then went back to her problem. “I’m kinda tired, Dossy. Why don’t we just leave it, paint something on the school wall?”

“No. Nobody but young ’uns pays any ‘tendon there. I want to start the old ’uns talkin. You know. Don’t take much.”

“Or last long.” Faan rubbed her back along the wall’s rough bricks. “You ought to come talk with Kassian Tai.”

“At the Beehouse? I can’t, Fa. Things at home are…” She shrugged. “Do it, huh?”

Faan kept her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on her heels, hands resting on her thighs; she grimaced at the scummy dirt between the silversmith’s house and the next one over. “I’ve got to clean us up, too, ‘member? Takes it out of you…” She reached into a pocket in her belt, squeezed out an odd shaped pearl a water elemental had given her and tossed, it to the ground in front of her knees. It lay there white and shining in the moonlight… shimmering •… she focused on it, began whispering the power-words the Sibyl had helped her find, embarrassing words she didn’t want the others to hear.

Dossan looked repeatedly around the corner. As soon as she saw the hound lower his drooling jaws on his forelegs and shut his eyes, she caught up the paint bucket, beckoned to Ma’teesee, and went running for the front of the shop.

Dossan tapped Faan on the shoulder.

Carefully, sliding from the trance as the Sibyl had taught her, Faan let the spell evaporate into the night. The hound surged onto his feet and started howling.

Ma’teesee darted around the corner, dropped the brush into the bucket. “Buzzit!” Her whisper was urgent.

Faan scooped up the pearl, staggered as she tried to stand. Ma’teesee and Dossan caught hold of her arms, heaved her onto her feet, then they ran into the maze of wynds between the houses, spurred on by the continued belling of the hound and the old man’s hoarse yells.

With Ailiki trotting before them, they reached the River unnoticed, tossed the bucket and brushes into the water, and huddled under a gatt while Faan worked another spell and peeled the paint off skin and clothing. She was so tired by the time they were clean, Dossan and Ma’teesee had to pull her onto her feet and hold her up for a few steps until she was in the groove again.

There was a crowd milling about in the lane, muttering. Fedunzi had slammed his window down and retreated into a stubborn silence, refusing to answer the yells of the Shinda guards or the hammering on his front door.

ZIZI+MURDER was scrawled in huge glyphs across the front of the shop, a phallus and testicles painted on the door in swooping lines and FEDUNZI RAPES BABIES.

Dossan poked her elbow in Faan’s ribs. “See?” she whispered.

“Vema, vema.”

Ma’teesee grabbed a handful of shirt on both the others, tugged them back. “Le’s bouzh, Tchi’ka. I wanna hit m’ bed ‘fore th’ sun come up.” She didn’t wait for them, but went darting off toward Vallaree Wynd and her mother’s house.

Dossan went with Faan until they could see the Bee-house ahead.

And two figures strolling toward it from the direction of the Sokajarua.

Faan’s hand tightened on Dossan’s arm. “That’s trouble,” she whispered. “You better go.”

Dossan nodded. “Um… see y’ tomorrow?”

“Verna,” Faan said absently. She heard the soft scrape of Dossan’s feet, then she went slipping through the shadows of the Lane, intent on reaching the Bee-house before Reyna and Jea got there.