Linda Robertson - Arcane Circle

He scratched under Errol’s bearded chin and said, “Don’t mind him. He’s harmless.”

“I doubt that,” the doc muttered behind me.

After polite introductions and a quick update on Johnny, I asked, “Errol?”

“Aw, he prances around and swings that horn like he’s Errol Flynn swashbuckling with a sword. You don’t mind me naming them, do you?”

“Not at all. You’ll be tending them. They’re yours as far as I’m concerned.”

“Elementals? No way. You’re the witch. They’re yours. I’m just the happy ranch hand.”

The doc was gaping, taking in the scene, the animals—even Mountain’s obvious vampire bite—when a young dragon slithered forward, sniffing excitedly. The veterinarian backpedaled, but I steadied him with a firm grip on his shoulder. “These animals fought in a battle today. Many of them have minor injuries. Some are worse. Would you check them over?”

The dragon stopped sniffing and a forked tongue shot out. It tasted the air like a serpent’s tongue before receding back into the creature’s eel-like maw.

“I don’t even know what to do with a … a … a …”

I gave the doc’s shoulder a little squeeze.

“Dragon.”

Mountain laughed. “Neither do we.” He offered his hand, palm up, fingers wiggling, and the dragon leaned to get some of that chin-scratching for himself. “But we’ll find out, won’t we, Zoltan?”

I raised my brows at him and repeated the name.

Mountain chuckled. The dragon raised his head higher and flicked his gill fins straight out. “I don’t really need to explain that one, do I?”

“How many of them are there?” the veterinarian asked.

“Fifteen unicorns, twelve griffons, twenty-six phoenixes, and five dragons,” Mountain answered promptly. “I’m going to suggest we need two barns and one aluminum coop. Don’t want anything that’ll burn around the phoenixes. If you want me here tending them, a studio apartment attached to one of the barns would work for me.”

“What are we going to feed them?” I was willing to accept an answer from either of them.

The veterinarian shrugged. Mountain said, “We’ll just have to figure that out. I suppose dried corn like chickens eat would work for the phoenixes, and oats and grains for the unicorns. The dragons are water creatures so some kind of fish for them. And griffons … would that be bird food or giant-feline food?”

“You’re going to need goats,” the doc said. “They’re part falcon or eagle, not the type of bird to eat carrion. Both lions and birds of prey hunt.” He appraised Mountain. “Not sure I’d want the job of feeding them.”

“They’re all pretty tame, really, Doc.” He pointed over his shoulder at a griffon. “All but that one, anyway.”

That particular griffon was one of the most beautiful animals I’d ever seen. His feathers were raven-black, as were his front bird-legs, one of which he kept lifted with claws curled in. The rest of him was Bengal tiger, gold and orange and black. The tip of his tail had flaring feathers on it.

He stood with his hooked beak pointed west at the setting sun, but when Mountain gestured at him, he craned his neck toward us and his golden eye slitted. The other eye was missing, as were the talons from the foreleg he was favoring.

“You’re losing daylight, Doc.” It was November, and daylight saving time officially changed the clocks last night. In a few more hours, the darkness would be full.

I left Dr. Lincoln and Mountain to their task and walked back to the house, but that little reminder had slapped me in the face. In a few more hours I’d know for certain the consequences of staking Menessos.

When I returned to the attic bedroom, Johnny was sitting up on the edge of his bed. He’d loosened the adjustment on one of his screaming skull guitar straps and was using it as a makeshift sling. He had just finished the cereal and set the bowl on the floor.

“Nana and Beverley are going to pick up some pizzas. What would you guys like on them?”

“Nothing for me,” Kirk said. “I called someone to pick me up.” Our ex-military sharpshooter had been in the battle, too. He hadn’t napped afterward, as the dark circles under his eyes could attest.

“You wanna eat first?” Johnny pressed.

Kirk shook his head. “I just want to go home.”

Johnny conceded and thanked him.

Kirk walked to the door, gave a solemn nod, and left us.

Warmer now, I draped my flannel on the foot of the bed and sat gently on Johnny’s not-so-bad side. I had to mind my feet so I wouldn’t kick the bowl, the cereal box, or the empty jugs for both the milk and the juice.

“You hungry enough for pizza?”

“Always.”

“Your appetite’s fine, Frankenstein. I think you’ll survive.”

“Use my phone. Samosky’s is programmed in. Just press seven and send.”

Of course he’d have the Homestyle Pizzeria on speed dial. It was the closest one. I lifted his phone from the table and flipped it open. A picture of me sleeping appeared on the screen. “When did you take this?”

“Days ago,” he said slyly. “When you were sleeping with your head in my lap on the couch.”

That was right after I’d killed a fairy in self-defense. No wonder I wore a mask of worries, even in my sleep.

While I placed the order, Johnny tried to study his stitches, groaned, and gave up. It must have hurt his torn muscles to arch his neck that way. When my call was complete, he took the phone back, snapped a picture of his chest with it, and appraised the damage. “Ick,” he said, and put the phone on the table. “I learned something today.”

“How to make self-portraiture look easy?”

“Ha. No. It takes a bad chest injury to get you alone in my room.” He sniffed, affecting distaste. “Can’t say I’m keen on doing it again.”

“Do my ears deceive me? You don’t want to ‘do it’?”

That lopsided grin flashed once more. “Point for you. I meant I don’t want to have to get my Frankenstein on every time I want to be alone with you up here.” His arm encircled my waist. When he gave me a little squeeze, he grimaced.

I leaned against him. “There you go again. It’s all connected.”

“Ain’t connected to my pants,” he asserted. “That part feels fine.”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I hummed, unconvinced.

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll submit to a hands-on inspection.”

I laughed out loud.

He lay back across the bed. “Go on, feel for yourself. Tell me what you think.”

Slithering down to lean on my elbow beside him, my palm rested teasingly on his thigh. Peering into those deep blue Wedjat-lined eyes I couldn’t help discarding the humor of the moment for solemnity. I’d been so scared of staring into those eyes, once upon a time. Now they had the power to make me melt.

I couldn’t imagine life without him. “I think I almost lost you today.” Saying those words made my worst fears rise, real again in that instant. My heart lurched in my chest and a big lump swelled in my throat. A long silent moment passed while I reminded myself that those fears had been averted.

“Kirk told me what you did.”

Frozen, unable to tear my gaze away, I couldn’t maintain it, either. My eyelids slid shut. My lungs pushed a held breath through my tight throat, and a pair of fast and rebellious teardrops rolled down my cheeks.

I hadn’t just staked Menessos.

I’d wrapped him in my arms and kissed him.

For good or ill, my actions were mine. Own it.

Eyes opening, I nodded because I didn’t trust my voice.

Johnny took my hand from his thigh and used it to draw me closer to him. It wasn’t the action of a jealous boyfriend. Maybe Kirk didn’t tell him about the kissing part.