Hidden Island Chapter 44, part 2 of 4

Hidden Island
Chapter 44, part 2 of 4

"Oh, that's worse than I thought,' the Angel muttered. The pain from a nasty leg cut faded abruptly. "Anyway, that madman created a ritual to disconnect his soul from his body but keep them bound together so he wouldn't get lost in the Ways and did the same thing to his swords."

"Mumm," Caine nodded.

"He may have gotten the fundamentals wrong, but he still managed to do an impressive job emulating the mechanics of how our binding works," the Angel mused. "All alone, though. No voice in his head besides his own. No wonder he went mad."

Caine coughed as he tried to laugh. "No jokes either."

"How did you figure it out?" the Angel asked.

"Threw the ghost sword," Caine said. Talking still hurt, but breathing was getting easier. "It came back."

"Ah, I wondered what that was about," the Angel said. "Clever. Try walking now."

Slowly, he managed to stagger into the Old Man's study. Every slow step was a kaleidoscope of pain. Each thing the Angel soothed and healed straightened his gait but drew attention to other wounds. He could breathe shallowly with minimal pain when he reached the Old Man's mantle.

Beneath the empty stand where the swords had been crossed were the sheathes. He grabbed one and dragged it off the mantle as he passed.

"What was all that about the gods?" the Angel asked.

"Remember... how much he hates them?" Caine muttered. Breathing and talking was getting a little easier as the Angel worked. "Blames them.

Warden mostly."

"Ah," the Angel said sadly. "Because of what the Magistrate did to the N'madi."

"Yeah," Caine grunted.

"Did you ever try to tell him?" the Angel asked.

"Tried," Caine coughed. "Didn't go well."

"Yes, I can see how being told a god is dead would raise more questions than it answered," the Angel sighed.

"He didn't believe me," Caine muttered. "Doesn't matter. Wouldn't bring his people back anyway."

"He carried around so much suffering for so long," the Angel said sadly. "So senseless. And pointless."

"You're being an asshole again," Caine muttered.

"What?" the Angel said defensively. "I simply mean that his life would have been better if he'd been able to let go of that anguish."

"People don't let go easy," Caine said.

"Yes, so I've noticed," the Angel said pointedly. Caine could feel the accusation in his mind. "This kind of thing is why mortals aren't meant to live so long. There's only so much a soul can take."

"Exactly," Caine countered. "So be nice about it."

The Angel sighed. "I suppose I still have that to practice. Mercy is my nature, but kindness often seems... counterproductive. I think... it is like empathy. I only know it exists because I can feel it through you. I was never meant to know it, and now that I can, I have to try to figure it out."

"That's all anyone can do," Caine muttered. "The important thing is, never stop trying."

"It has become a duty thanks to you," the Angel said, slightly annoyed. "I might not fully understand it, but now I couldn't stop working for it if I tried. I hope you appreciate how difficult it is to strive to understand something completely outside your original perceptions."

"I do," Caine said. "Plenty of stuff. I only know the cause of you. It's hard to handle. So, thanks for trying."

Caine wasn't splitting his focus between the Ways and the mortal realm, but he was a creature of two worlds.

When the angel separated from him just enough to reach out and grab the spirit blade out of its physical host, he could still faintly see the gold and green glow. It was pretty, but it gave him a headache, like crossing his eyes for too long.

In the Ways, the angel looked more closely at the spectral saber. "I wonder if he knew about our weapons before he made his."

"Maybe," Caine said. "Mary might have told him." Breathing was getting easier as his lungs and heart repaired themselves. The pain was dulled by the Angel's presence and getting better by the moment, but now it was starting to itch. That was something nobody ever mentioned about magical healing. Itchy lungs were a special kind of agony.

"I wish you'd just ask her for them back," the Angel asked.

"She's not going to do me any favors now," he said before coughing up a scratchy lump of something and spitting it on the ground. "Besides, the whole kit is still trackable. That's why I gave it all to her. Isn’t no one better at hiding from the church?"

"I'm just pointing out that fighting angry necromancers was a lot easier before you gave all our tools to the queen of all witches," his partner said flatly. Nobody could condescend like an angel.

Caine leaned against the wall to catch his breath and slowly slid the saber into its sheath. It took him two tries.

"We have this now. It'll do."

"True. It's even flaming," the Angel chuckled inside his head. "It's the wrong color, but beggars can't be choosers. I have missed the feel of a proper sword in my hands."

Caine's shoulder left a long smear of blood on the wallpaper as he forced himself to limp towards the door again. He took a deeper breath and coughed. His lungs still itched, and fluid was still in them, but he was sure their holes were sealed.

"Stop that, you'll tear them," the Angel said. "I'll let you know when they're ready."

"How are you holding up?" Caine asked.

"Not well," the Angel admitted. "I'm thrilled you convinced Alexandra to let us drink from the font earlier. That reservoir is all used up now. Now, I'm afraid I'm more drained than I was before. I should be able to get you back to primarily healthy, but after that, you'll be healing hard for a while.

Consider not getting stabbed so frequently."

He let out a painful laugh. "No promises."

Bella rolled onto her back and exhaled. "This is not easy."

Next to her, Quinn had his green hand on Jack's sternum and his forehead pressed against her temple. They looked like they were sleeping, and Jack had a bad dream.

"I'm going to give them a bit of time on their own," Bella said. "She was trying to reject me earlier. She wouldn't let me close enough to see her, destabilizing the entire ritual."

"Agreed earlier, she," Friday said. "Did she lie?'

"No," Bella said. "Like I said, she has trouble believing she can have what she wants."

"Which this ritual depends on," Friday finished. Bella nodded.

"How can I help?" Friday asked.

"Just put your hand over ours after I go back in," Bella said. "If I've done this right, she'll think you're Will. A lot will hinge on whether she believes Will rejected her, so reassure her."

Friday tilted her head. "My grandfather would love this, which usually means it is profoundly unethical."

Bella sighed. "I don't know how to break the enchantment before it changes her forever."

Friday nodded. "Think you that William will be angry with me?'

"For impersonating him inside Jack's head?" Bella raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Friday pushed.

"It's just a fantasy," Bella shrugged. "It's an illusion inside another illusion. I'm not sure it could get more, not real."

"It is a fantasy we are trying to make Jacqueline believe," Friday countered. "If this works, will Jaqueline not have expectations of William."

"I don't think so," Bella said. "This ritual isn't supposed to make her believe anything after it's over. It's just supposed to make her believe while it's happening. If it works, she'll wake up and know it wasn't real, just like any dream, but the enchantment will be gone."

"Ah," Friday said with a grin. "The way you explained the ritual, I did not know it was oneiromancy."

"I don't even know what that means,' Bella laughed.

Friday tilted her head. "So skilled at what you do. Makes it easy to forget you are a hedge witch."

"What? No, I'm a terrible herbalist. I can't even grow weeds," Bella admitted.

Friday laughed. "Hedge Witch is what my people call a spell worker who is largely self-taught," Friday explained.

"Oh," Bella said, trying not to feel judged. A pang of heartache flowed through her, but she pushed it out of her mind. Now wasn't the time. "Yeah, my lessons were... interrupted."

"Come very far despite such a setback, you. Would love to hear about that later, I," Friday said with a friendly smile. "Might be, could fill in some gaps, I."

"I don't get many opportunities to discuss the craft. I'd like that," Bella said with a nod. "Ready to go in?"

Friday scootched a bit closer. The two witches needed a spoon to stack their painted hands over each other.

Bella wiggled a bit, enjoying the soft warmth of Friday's breasts on her back.

Friday giggled. "Need to focus, you. No distractions."

"It isn't my fault you're distracting!" Bella protested.

Friday kissed her softly behind the ear, causing a shiver down Bella's spine. "Thought I that turning these distractions into magic was your specialty.

Only doing what I'm told, I."

"Yes, you are," Bella breathed. The feel of Friday's body and her breath on Bella's neck created a new warmth between her legs.

With a practiced redirection of her will, that energy drained into the runic pattern to join what Friday's blood sacrifice had already provided. It wasn't a significant addition, but every bit helped. The energy tried to ground itself. The word kept it contained. It tried to change into other, more stable energy. Light. Sound. Heat. The runic circle inside the ward forced the energy to remain in flux, full of endless potential. The focusing runes on their bodies were a path of least resistance. Through them, the energy had something to turn into. The spell Bella and Friday had built was a set of instructions that diverted natural energy, reduced it to the raw formless stuff of creation, and gave it somewhere else to go from a singular purpose to infinite and back to singular.

Bella entwined her fingers with Friday's, and together, they reached for Quinn's hand. The world faded.

"Mistress," Quinn's voice echoed from somewhere in the darkness.

Jack's heart clenched for a moment, then relaxed. Quinn would accept this. He always received her.

She opened her eyes. "Quinn."


To be continued