Anthony Francis - Frost Moon

So I squeezed my fist tight, pouring a cascade of mana down the vines into my yin-yang, and then shoved my glowing palm at his face.

The Bear King ducked his head back as if stung, snarling, but otherwise frozen, making no move to respond. I could feel his magic, his power sparkling on the edge of my tattoos, and it was far weaker than I expected; surely it took more power than that to change man into beast? The Bear King's eyes tightened in very human rage and his muzzle wrinkled in a very feral snarl, and he began to shake, his claws drawing a squealing whine out of the metal of his throne, tires supporting it squeaking ominously as he shifted his weight. Now I was challenging him, on his own throne; but he was afraid of magic; and there was no easy way out for us without one of us showing weakness. He had to respond to this.

And then it was the Marquis who rescued us, leaping forward to come between me and the Bear King, grasping my hand with one tattooed thumb pressed into my yin-yang to bleed off the power. "And so we have ourselves not just an inker, but one inked! A real magician," he said, crying out to the crowd, holding my hand up high. "Surely she is not afraid to prove herself worthy in front of our King, to prove she has the magic to ink a mark upon a wolf!"

"I accept your challenge," I said loudly, and then more quietly, "Thank you."

The Marquis looked over at me, yellow eyes glinting. "Thank me?" he giggled, sounding less like a half-wolf monster who could tear out my throat than a catty little prima donna… who could still tear out my throat. "You don't even know what the challenge is, much less how to win it. I'll take your flash and your client, and send you home with your tail between your legs, you tall skinny bitch."

"I don't have a tail," I said.

"You don't now," he said. "But… we shall see."

We faced off in the pit. Somehow, the vampires were in my corner, though I doubted whether the sulking Transomnia, sitting on the edge of the pit staring at his muddy pants, was actually on my side. Instead it was Calaphase and the recently returned Revy (short for 'Revenance') who had my back, while the young feral tiger girl and the wolf-chested boy tended the ego of the Marquis as he preened opposite us in the ring.

"What's he doing?" I asked, watching Lord Buckhead speaking with the Bear King.

"Apologizing for you," Calaphase said. "And explaining what Trans did that put you in such a foul mood." Trans looked up sharply, then looked away. "We were contracted to keep mortals away so that the weres could let their beasts roam free without fear of discovery and blackmail, not to make it impossible for those with legitimate business to conduct it."

"This is the kind of legitimate business you conduct?" I asked, watching a werewolf throw down money in challenge to two stags. "I'd hate to see the customer service department."

Revenance snorted.

The sudden sound of wood striking on concrete caught everyone's attention. Lord Buckhead struck his staff twice more upon the rock, then raised it. "Hear me, Man Herds and Packs of Upper Georgia," he cried. "I am Buckhead, fey Lord of the Hunt, whose magic runs through and binds you all. All who wish to run under my protection abide by my rules."

The great hall remained silent as Buckhead spoke, and I took a moment to look around. The "man herds" and "packs" were rough, surely, but I started to notice designer jeans, Members Only jackets, even glittering watches and cellular phones. With the exception of a few monstrosities like the Bear King and lifer weres like the Marquis and the feral girl, most of the crowd was starting to look… normal.

OK, some of them had wolf heads, yes, but otherwise… normal.

Suddenly the hidden meaning behind Calaphase's mention of 'blackmail' sank home. Most of this crowd probably weren't wild dogs, running free on the edge: they were old-school magickers, living normal lives, magic carefully hidden under the old rules and ways, coming here in secret to release the curse of their beasts safely.

"These people," I said. "They didn't contract with you to protect their lives… but their identities? So that no were-whatevers would be needed to guard the perimeter, where they could be seen and exposed?"

"Smart girl," Calaphase said, "she can color between the lines."

"I feel like a shit now," I said. I'd been so pissed off by the hoops I'd gone through to get through the security of the werehouse, it had never occurred to me that the security was in place for a legitimate reason. "I didn't realize how much everyone here has to lose-"

"Why are you apologizing?" Calaphase asked. "Transomnia had no excuse to treat you the way he did, and as for the Marquis… well, werekin can be aggressive."

"You mean they're going to try to take a piece out of me?"

"No, I mean a lot of them are successful lawyers and businessmen," he said, breathing in my ear, expanding his aura ever so slightly. "Count the Rolexes. Twenty-eight days out of the month, these cats and dogs are living in the lap of luxury."

"They have even more to lose then," I said, dreamily. He was trying to roll me.

"But they know how to fight to keep it," he responded. "Fortunately… I can protect you."

The smooth syllables of his voice poured over me like liquid. Or maybe like water over a cat. "Oh, Cally, your warm breath feels so good. And if you could just take a take a bite out of me, right there, I'll be so grateful that I'd punch you clear into next week."

He leaned back with a laugh. "Can't blame me for trying."

"Actually I can, and usually will," I said.

"Thank you, Lord Buckhead," the Bear King said. "Little One. You came to us for help, not knowing our rules, and were treated unconscionably. Calaphase, you and your fangs are on your third warning. I expect that those responsible will be… punished."

"Yes, my Lord," he said. I heard a sudden movement behind me, but did not bother to look back to see Transomnia's reaction. "I will make an example of him."

"Good," the Bear King snarled. "See that you do. See, Little One, we do have rules. And one of those rules is that no one may ink magic upon a wolf or werekin unless they have proved that they have the skills to do it properly."

He paused, and I realized I was expected to speak. "I understand, and approve."

He nodded gravely. "Then you will accept this trial to prove your skill. If you pass, the Marquis will advise you honestly and fairly. If you fail, you will give this wolf to the Marquis… or pass upon doing the tattoo entirely. Do you agree?"

"I agree," I said, then under my breath, "Not like I have a choice."

"You are correct," the Bear King said. "You do not have a choice."

"Never underestimate a werekin's hearing," Calaphase said.

"Help me out here," I said. "What will this trial entail?"

"I have no idea," Calaphase said. "I've never seen a magical tattooists' duel."

"So, girl," the Marquis said, "think you can ink magic? Where's the proof?"

"My work speaks for itself," I said, dropping my coat into Calaphase' hands, better exposing the vines, butterflies and jewels adorning my arms, shoulders and upper back.

"But does it speak loudly enough?" the Marquis cried, doffing his coat to expose an elaborately tattooed chest and arms, throwing his arms wide to the wolf boy and tiger girl.

A man and a woman leapt down on either side of the ring. Both were dressed normally, him in jeans and a rough mountaineer's shirt over a white tee, her in fleece and shorts that looked like they'd taken a hell of amount of outdoor running. They prowled up around me, him catlike, her wolflike, inspecting the lines of my tats, eyeballing the colors, lingering over the more prominent designs. He began sniffing my arm, and I scowled; laughing, he backed off.