Chapter 6: Lucas - Bound to Ruin

LUCAS’ APARTMENT, HAVENPORT, DELORNIA

Fuck, I’m going to be late. I yank my boots on, tying the laces in efficient tugs before standing up and snatching my leather jacket. If the walk home is any indicator of the weather, then I need to be prepared both for a tsunami and a blizzard. I squint out my tiny, misted-over window. The sun seems to be out. Hopefully it will stay that way.

I slide the soft leather on, and the magic tingles my rings. Years ago, Tor meticulously picked all the stitching out and re-wove in blessed threads. Her magic blankets me in a comfortable temperature. It’s saved my ass on more than one occasion with the protections she embedded in the lining. Little runes, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, cross-stitched with beautiful precision.

I should’ve known she was a blueblood just by looking at the tiny stitches, but back then I let myself be blind to all the signs of her past.

It only takes seconds to cross my small apartment to the front door. It’s basically a box to sleep in if I don’t stay over at the bookshop. The stained walls I never bothered to paint are bare, except for a few shelves and hooks to hang my tools, charms, and weapons. The kitchen is empty. The wood floor is scuffed and unpolished. When I left the Guild and my lush apartment paid for by Dimitar, I had no desire to live that way again. A bed to sleep in, a locked and warded place to keep my shit when I’m in town are all I need.

I quickly slip a few blades on my person. I’ve learned to always have a non-magical weapon on hand. Versatile for any situation, there is no lock I can’t pick with a knife, and weavers rarely expect to be stabbed. My keys jingle when I slide them into my pocket. My brows furrow when paper crunches. I withdraw a letter with my name neatly scrolled on it.

Valen. I’d snatched his letter where he’d left it for me on Tor’s worktable the night before and completely forgot it during the chaos.

The letter twirls in my fingers before I toss it in the trash. Fuck him.

I make it two steps before turning on my heel and stomping back. The envelope opens easily, a little seal of protection wisping away under my fingers. The paper is thick and expensive. I unfold it.

Lucas,

I crumple the paper with a snarl. I can’t do this. Not after he tried to take Tori and leave me behind.

But if I don’t, Valen will be on my mind all day. That’s almost worse. I wouldn’t be able to sate my curiosity until tomorrow, unless I bring it with me, which is out of the question. No, I need to read it now to get it over with.

I can do this. It’s like ripping off a bandage. I press the wrinkled letter to my chest to smooth it back out and try again.

Lucas,

I will make this brief.

I snort. How considerate of the long-winded asshole.

Lucas. Yes, Lucas. You have managed to force me to call you by your name without ever needing your clever little threads, for I could not say goodbye to you any other way.

Oh fucking hell. I can’t read this. I slap the paper down on my thigh and pace, my other hand raking my hair back and snarling in the strands. I grip it for a second, breath held, before releasing both with a gasp.

I lift the letter again.

Our time was short, but you managed to brand yourself within my soul. I fear being with you, near you, will only make this anguish worse. It is unbearable, this pain.

Lucas.

I can hear him whisper my name, low and desperate.

My eyes close. I’m taken back into that dark spare room of Nora’s when he first kissed me, and holy fuck was it one hell of a kiss. That mouth of his isn’t fair. Something that can be so cruel, so wicked, should not feel so damn good. My chest aches and my hand splays over it to rub soothingly. This shouldn’t feel like a breakup. It’s not a breakup. It’s a parting from a brief acquaintance. Our threesome didn’t even include penetration.

It still hurts. Like the masochist I am, I open my eyes to finish the last few lines.

It doesn’t matter how much I adore you, or how much I find myself dreaming of you, I can never have you. It’s a cruel fate that I loathe, but it’s the fate I choose.

I will remember that night, our night, together for all the years of my long life.

Hate me if it will make it easier.

–V

I blink. The letter crackles as I flip it back and forth. That’s it? No apology whatsoever for anything?

I snarl, “Fuck your letter, you asshole piece of blueblood shit!”

I crumple and throw the paper, but it’s not enough. The paper is too small and the impact of it into the trash too dissatisfying. My chest pumps and my fists curl. I want to throttle him. That coward. Unbelievable.

I don’t know what I expected. An apology is clearly asking too much from the arrogant dick. Maybe an explanation of why he tried to take Tori but leave me behind, though I doubt anything he could say could mend that rift he tore between us. I almost wish he told me he used me just to have sex with Tori again. At least then I’d just feel stupid for believing he could have felt anything for me. This? This is torture.

“Cruel, heartless bastard,” I grumble, grabbing my flat cap and storming from my small apartment. The door slams behind me and I stomp down the hall. Because of him, I’m even later to breakfast with Nora.

The front door screeches when I yank it open, and I stumble back. Holy fuck, it’s unbearably hot. Tori’s magic within my jacket shifts and my upper body cools, but my legs and face immediately begin sweating. I weave through the few pedestrians who braved the streets, their feet dragging and fans waving.

Two blocks down, I take a right and stumble into a torrential downpour. I pause, arms out in bewilderment. Lightning forks across the dark sky and thunder claps so hard that I feel it in my chest. I take two steps back, and the sun blazes down on me with its insufferable heat. There are no clouds in the sky, but the pedestrians before me are drenched, newspapers splayed over their heads. Shadows of falling rain shift in and out of focus.

My clothes are completely dry, but when I step forward, they soak again. I sigh hard and trot down the sidewalk. I can handle illusioned rain. What I can’t handle is⁠—

Snow.

I stumble, arms waving to keep my balance as my legs sink knee-deep into a thick wintery wonderland straight from my nightmares. I huff and grit my teeth, pulling my cap down and buttoning up my jacket. My southern blood is too thin for this. My teeth rattle, and my rings glow. Threads wind around me to form a shield. It helps, but I don’t want to push it too hard and attract unwanted attention. My threads are endlessly useful, but way too easy for Dimitar to recognize.

Although… my head swivels. I don’t see a Magistrate officer pair in sight. They were practically crawling the streets with the Guild last night trying to figure out what to do with all the clashing storms.

The door to Café Francesca jingles, and I stomp my boots clear of snow, but there’s no need. All the ice shimmers away, leaving my khakis dry like I didn’t just fight my way through rain and snow to get here.

The quaint little café is near deserted, though it’s usually jam-packed at this hour. Only a few brave enough to venture out are huddled together at little tables. The soft white and pink pastel paneling along the walls hurts my teeth, but they sell the best coffee and pastries in the city.

I frown when I don’t spot Nora. Am I early? I check the large, ticking clock on the wall behind the front counter. No, definitely late. Perhaps she didn’t feel like waiting for me.

I saunter closer to the counter, head on a swivel as I go.

The front door bangs open, several patrons jumping in their seats. Nora Estrella, magician and apothecary extraordinaire, poses backlit in the doorway to make the grandest of entrances, one hand high on the frame as she cocks her hip, her professional black waist dress and pleated white blouse immaculate as always.

She flicks her wand and the powerful shield that encases her pops like a bubble. The torrent of frosty air blowing in carries Nora’s signature scent of dried herbs and ashy smoke throughout the café. She strokes back a few loose curls from her twist and cries, “Francesca, tell me there’s whisky in the coffee this morning. I beg of you to save me from this misery.”

Francesca is already busy at work prepping Nora’s usual. The older woman chuckles, her gray hair tamed in a bun. “I’ll see what I can do, love.”

“Bless you. I’ll have your arthritis ease ready by tomorrow. So sorry it’s delayed. I was pulled away from my cauldrons.” The door clangs shut loudly, and Nora struts in, her boots clicking on the colorful tiles. She tucks her wand haphazardly back into her twist on top of her head. Only Nora would carry around something so irreplaceable in her hair. I find myself beaming as Nora approaches and tugs me into a tight hug. “Hello, my wayward friend. Forgive me for being late to our Thursday morning coffee. I am utterly exhausted and have only a moment to spare you.”

I keep my hand affectionately on her elbow. “I was about to say the same.”

“Wonderful, we shall both be terrible together. Francesca! Breakfast to go this morning, please.” She turns back to me. “Get me off my feet. It’s been a night!”

She leads the way to the booth in the corner, the one we always sit in on Thursday mornings when I’m in town. The pistachio green velvet seats are the most comfortable in the shop, and the soft pink sconce glows with an electrical bulb. I raise my brow. It was a crystal last time we were here a few weeks ago, though it might as well have been a lifetime for how much has happened.

Nora collapses heavily down on her side. I ease into my seat with more control while scanning the café, noting the patrons, exits, and snow-covered windows. Silk-thin threads slither out of my rings, running along my hands, up my body, to slip out from the cuffs of my khakis. They weave between the tiles, searching for any magical signatures, brushing against the shoes of the other patrons to ensure there’s no magician token hidden on them.

Francesca places two steaming mugs of coffee before us with a warm smile. “I’ll be back with your breakfasts.”

She places a warm hand on my shoulder, the weight aching my heart from long-dead memories I buried within it. “Good to see you again, Lucas.”

I give her my most dashing smile. “Good to be back. Can you make sure there’s a bear claw in mine?”

“Of course. I’d never forget. A fresh batch is cooling in the kitchens now.”

“You’re the best, Franny.”

Nora is gulping her coffee like it’s a mug of beer. She gasps when she finally resurfaces. “My savior this morning.”

Francesca winks and holds a finger to her lips before leaving us. I wrap my hand around my mug, my rings glinting as my threads inspect the liquid. I nod towards Nora’s half-empty cup. “Whisky?”

Nora’s dark eyes sharpen. “Do not judge me, Lucas Flint. I am in no mood for it.”

“I would never.” I take a slow sip, and my thin threads weave a near-imperceptible barrier around us, muffling out voices. Only Dimitar’s inner circle or Tori could catch the subtle glint in the light. “Trouble at the apothecary keeping you busy?”

Nora points a menacing finger. “Do not start.”

I bat my eyes innocently. “Start what?”

“Dimitar may not be able to stop our friendship, but I’ll tell you exactly what I told him. Our two relationships are completely separate. I tell him nothing of you, and I tell you nothing of him. I’m not a spy. I am your friend, and I am Dimitar’s most valuable healer and potion master. That’s it. So keep your sneaky little probes to yourself.”

I sip my coffee slowly and inspect Nora carefully, lingering on the dark circles under her eyes that even her best brews could not fully hide. “I’m guessing Ivan is in need of you. I’m sure what you learned from me came in handy to save his life.”

She glares. “You sneaky bastard.”

“I’m just pointing out that your divide between us is not impenetrable. Dimitar is clever enough to connect the dots.”

Her full lips purse as she chews over my logic. “Why don’t you ask your little spies?”

“I tried. They didn’t show up last night. Am I right? Ivan survived The Arachnomicon’s bite?” If Dimitar’s second in command is dead, Tori and I might need to flee the city. Ivan has been by Dimitar’s side since he seized power. The fallout will be catastrophic for Tori.

Nora sighs, and I smile victoriously. She spins her cup between her hands. “He’s in rough shape. I’ve been at his bedside nonstop. I have no idea how you survived, but I recognize the damage that was within you as the same he’s fighting with.”

She pauses and chews on her lip. I wait, my gaze trained on her. Her fingers brush against her wand tucked into her twist, and my rings tingle with the fresh wave of magic from Nora. My brows lift, and she lowers her voice needlessly; no one could penetrate both of our wards. “Be careful.”

“Sounds boring.” I smirk, and she glares.

“I’m serious. Dimitar is planning something. There are whispers about him taking meetings with someone even his inner circle don’t know. Do not tell me what you did to piss him off. The less I know the better for me.”

“How do you know it’s me who pissed him off?”

“Because he only gets this violent when it’s about you, idiot. By the way, I chiseled that amulet you fused on him free of his chest. I was sure he was going to transform and slaughter the whole room by the time I was done. I’ve never seen him so enraged before.” She pauses, frowning towards the window.

I turn, my heart pounding, half expecting to see Dimitar staring at us. About ten Magistrate officers with their Guild partners are piled on a truck that is battling its way through the magical snow, a train’s cowcatcher attached to the front shoving the snow free.

Nora mumbles, “I wonder where they’re going?”

“Probably another weird magic flare somewhere.” I turn back to Nora and carefully choose my words to try to pry information from her. “I’m sure Dimitar is planning something while the Order is in-fighting like this. That asshole would never let an opportunity to get more power and influence over the city slip him by.”

Nora glares at me and hisses, “Lucas Flint, do you want me dead? I have no desire to see how far my goodwill with the Amur is stretched. I like my lifespan long, thank you very much.”

“Fair enough.” I go silent when Francesca approaches with two bags. I smile widely, my threads dissolving to nothing with Nora’s lowering ward. “Thank you, Franny.”

She places both bags down on the table, and I pay her extra. She beams at the coin. “Be safe out there, my dears.”

“We will,” Nora and I answer in unison.

Nora giggles, expression brightening when she meets my gaze. We’ve done this weekly breakfast for the last decade, since we both graduated the Guild’s academy. I tried to end it when I left the Guild, for her safety, but she refused. She might be better friends with Astoria than me nowadays, but we’ll always have breakfast together when our work allows it.

I reach for her hand and squeeze. She squeezes back. In a hushed tone, she adds, “Please, Lucas. Keep your head down. That goes for Aster too. I’m too fond of both of you.”

Our hands release, and she plucks her bag up. Her shield shimmers into place and she slides her wand back into her twist. I take my own bag and head out towards Peripetia. I pause, scanning the streets. Two men slip into the shadows and my eyes meet theirs for the briefest of moments. My lip curls, and I do not move until they have fully retreated. Dimitar’s spies again. I’ll need to make an example of them to get Dimitar to stop sending them after me. Later, though. Tori is waiting for me, and my magic wraps around the bag to ensure her bear claw stays warm and safe from the elements.