Adrian Blackwood (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
witchoftheflesh) wrote2024-08-26 03:07 am
witchoftheflesh) wrote2024-08-26 03:07 am
Entry tags:
BWI Airport, Monday Afternoon
The massive black cat crouched inside his plastic carry crate, fluffy tail lashing with indignity. "I can't believe you stuck me in the middle seat."
"Would you rather I carried you in my lap?" asked the black-dressed man sitting in the window seat beside him. "And keep it down. Normal cats don't talk, remember?"
The cat lowered his voice to an angry hiss, which wasn't much of an improvement. "I'd rather not be on this flying death contraption in the first place. There's no anti-falling ward, no safety charms, no magic of any sort! We're just hurtling through the air in a metal cylinder powered by explosions." He turned his green-eyed glare on the happy family sitting across the aisle. "I'm amazed there are any scalies left if this is how they travel."
"Don't be rude, Boston," the man scolded, though he was secretly wondering the same thing as he stared through the window at the summer clouds drifting far, far below. He'd lost his fear of heights ages ago, but soaring through the sky on a broom you controlled was a very different experience from being strapped into a much-smaller-than-advertised chair while scale-eyed humans he'd never met decided his fate.
That was the part that bothered him most, actually. Some of his sisters hated the magic-blind portion of humanity, but he'd always tried to be open-minded. It wasn't the scalies' fault they'd been born with blinders over their eyes, and the things they came up with to compensate for their lack of magic were ingenious. He'd been legitimately excited for his first airplane ride--at least until they'd left the ground and he'd been thrust face-to-face with the reality that his life would be in the hands of someone who couldn't see for the next six and a half hours.
"I'm sure it's perfectly safe," he said, as much for himself as for his cat."
You could have at least sprung for first class," Boston grumbled, settling onto the plastic floor of his carrier with his paws tucked under his chest. "It's bad enough that we're having to travel this way in the first place, but what sort of self-respecting witch flies coach?"
"The kind who doesn't want to be noticed," the man replied, tightening his grip on the pointed black hat resting in his lap. "Now pipe down before you crack my Nevermind spell."
The people across the aisle were already starting to give him odd looks. The scales in their eyes kept them from seeing the delicate soap bubble of artificial unimportance that surrounded the man and his cat, but the witch could see the magic - and the cracks that were starting to spider across its rainbow surface - just fine. Fortunately, the captain chose that moment to announce they were beginning their descent.
The Nevermind spell seized on the interruption just as he'd crafted it to do, redirecting all the curious human minds toward checking their luggage, finishing their drinks, buckling their seatbelts, and anything else that wasn't the man and his talking cat carrier. Satisfied that he wouldn't have to fight a kick demon in the air today, the witch leaned back in his seat and gazed eagerly out the window for his first look at the city he'd gambled everything to reach--only to discover he couldn't see it yet.
Apparently, mechanical planes didn't go straight down like brooms did. Their descent was a long, slow coast, forcing the witch to endure thirty more minutes of white-knuckled anxiety before the winged tin can finally touched down, its wheels bumping so hard against the pavement that his cat carrier would have slid off the seat if it hadn't been buckled in.
"I am never doing this again," said the miserable voice inside.
The witch wanted to assure him this was the last time, but he didn't dare. Now that they'd landed, the scalies were everywhere, grabbing their carry-ons and hunching their bodies like sprinters at the starting line as they waited for the plane to finish its taxi. The moment the contraption stopped moving, they shot out of their seats, pushing one another out for a spot in the aisle despite the fact that the door wasn't even open yet.
It was clear foolishness, but the witch had to restrain himself from joining in. Now that the plane was finally on the ground, he wanted out of his cramped seat in the worst way. But patience was a core principle of witchcraft, so he blew out a breath and bided his time, waiting until the plane was nearly empty before he dismissed his Nevermind spell, tucked his pointed hat under his arm, and began unbuckling Boston's carrier.
"Finally," the cat huffed as they stepped off the plane into the strange, collapsible hallway that connected it to the airport. "We were so close to death up there, I practically saw the Holy City."
"Pray to the Old Wives that you never see that," the witch replied, slipping his hand into the left side of his long black coat. The right concealed over a hundred pockets, each of which was spelled to jump to his fingers with a thought, but the left was for quick use items—wallet, phone, that sort of thing. It was quite full at the moment with all the documentation required for commercial air travel, but a little digging turned up the cell phone he'd purchased at Logan earlier that day.
The phone rang twice, and then an amused voice that sounded like it belonged to a teenaged girl answered. "Look at you, using modern technology. I take it you've arrived at your destination successfully?"
The witch glanced at the colorful "Welcome to Baltimore!" advertisements covering the connector hallway's flexible beige walls. "I'm here."
"Proud of you. Your chapero--err, chauffer is already waiting for you in the Portalocity Lounge." He could practically hear her grin. "I believe there's a sign involved."
"We both know that you haven't misspoken since before I was born." The witch sounded amused and exasperated--a common mix of emotions when talking to one of the many, many women who made up his family.
"Well, we can't all be out having adventures, Adrian." She still sounded amused, but the reminder of why Adrian was here and what was riding on it had him straightening his spine a bit, his own amusement fled. "Payment's been taken care of from the family coffers, but it would be great if you could start sending money back home as soon as possible."
"I will," the witch promised and hung up.
"Did she hire a bodyguard out of an abundance of caution or because she...?" Boston asked from his carrier.
"Cute that you think Aunt Muriel has ever given me a straight answer in my entire life," the witch snorted as he slid the phone back into his pocket. "Now be quiet. I can't do a Nevermind while walking, and this place is packed." The cat grumbled but didn't say another recognizable word as the witch began marching down the disembarkation tunnel toward the sunny, crowded airport terminal. Time to find a bodyguard with a sign. "Could have given me a little more of a description, Aunt Muriel," he muttered.
And just like that, his phone chimed with an incoming text. He dug it back out of his pocket and saw the message was just a phone number and a name. Yelena Belova.
[Adapted from Chapter 1 of Hell For Hire by Rachel Aaron. NFB for off-island, and for the grumpy Russianbabysitter bodyguard.]
"Would you rather I carried you in my lap?" asked the black-dressed man sitting in the window seat beside him. "And keep it down. Normal cats don't talk, remember?"
The cat lowered his voice to an angry hiss, which wasn't much of an improvement. "I'd rather not be on this flying death contraption in the first place. There's no anti-falling ward, no safety charms, no magic of any sort! We're just hurtling through the air in a metal cylinder powered by explosions." He turned his green-eyed glare on the happy family sitting across the aisle. "I'm amazed there are any scalies left if this is how they travel."
"Don't be rude, Boston," the man scolded, though he was secretly wondering the same thing as he stared through the window at the summer clouds drifting far, far below. He'd lost his fear of heights ages ago, but soaring through the sky on a broom you controlled was a very different experience from being strapped into a much-smaller-than-advertised chair while scale-eyed humans he'd never met decided his fate.
That was the part that bothered him most, actually. Some of his sisters hated the magic-blind portion of humanity, but he'd always tried to be open-minded. It wasn't the scalies' fault they'd been born with blinders over their eyes, and the things they came up with to compensate for their lack of magic were ingenious. He'd been legitimately excited for his first airplane ride--at least until they'd left the ground and he'd been thrust face-to-face with the reality that his life would be in the hands of someone who couldn't see for the next six and a half hours.
"I'm sure it's perfectly safe," he said, as much for himself as for his cat."
You could have at least sprung for first class," Boston grumbled, settling onto the plastic floor of his carrier with his paws tucked under his chest. "It's bad enough that we're having to travel this way in the first place, but what sort of self-respecting witch flies coach?"
"The kind who doesn't want to be noticed," the man replied, tightening his grip on the pointed black hat resting in his lap. "Now pipe down before you crack my Nevermind spell."
The people across the aisle were already starting to give him odd looks. The scales in their eyes kept them from seeing the delicate soap bubble of artificial unimportance that surrounded the man and his cat, but the witch could see the magic - and the cracks that were starting to spider across its rainbow surface - just fine. Fortunately, the captain chose that moment to announce they were beginning their descent.
The Nevermind spell seized on the interruption just as he'd crafted it to do, redirecting all the curious human minds toward checking their luggage, finishing their drinks, buckling their seatbelts, and anything else that wasn't the man and his talking cat carrier. Satisfied that he wouldn't have to fight a kick demon in the air today, the witch leaned back in his seat and gazed eagerly out the window for his first look at the city he'd gambled everything to reach--only to discover he couldn't see it yet.
Apparently, mechanical planes didn't go straight down like brooms did. Their descent was a long, slow coast, forcing the witch to endure thirty more minutes of white-knuckled anxiety before the winged tin can finally touched down, its wheels bumping so hard against the pavement that his cat carrier would have slid off the seat if it hadn't been buckled in.
"I am never doing this again," said the miserable voice inside.
The witch wanted to assure him this was the last time, but he didn't dare. Now that they'd landed, the scalies were everywhere, grabbing their carry-ons and hunching their bodies like sprinters at the starting line as they waited for the plane to finish its taxi. The moment the contraption stopped moving, they shot out of their seats, pushing one another out for a spot in the aisle despite the fact that the door wasn't even open yet.
It was clear foolishness, but the witch had to restrain himself from joining in. Now that the plane was finally on the ground, he wanted out of his cramped seat in the worst way. But patience was a core principle of witchcraft, so he blew out a breath and bided his time, waiting until the plane was nearly empty before he dismissed his Nevermind spell, tucked his pointed hat under his arm, and began unbuckling Boston's carrier.
"Finally," the cat huffed as they stepped off the plane into the strange, collapsible hallway that connected it to the airport. "We were so close to death up there, I practically saw the Holy City."
"Pray to the Old Wives that you never see that," the witch replied, slipping his hand into the left side of his long black coat. The right concealed over a hundred pockets, each of which was spelled to jump to his fingers with a thought, but the left was for quick use items—wallet, phone, that sort of thing. It was quite full at the moment with all the documentation required for commercial air travel, but a little digging turned up the cell phone he'd purchased at Logan earlier that day.
The phone rang twice, and then an amused voice that sounded like it belonged to a teenaged girl answered. "Look at you, using modern technology. I take it you've arrived at your destination successfully?"
The witch glanced at the colorful "Welcome to Baltimore!" advertisements covering the connector hallway's flexible beige walls. "I'm here."
"Proud of you. Your chapero--err, chauffer is already waiting for you in the Portalocity Lounge." He could practically hear her grin. "I believe there's a sign involved."
"We both know that you haven't misspoken since before I was born." The witch sounded amused and exasperated--a common mix of emotions when talking to one of the many, many women who made up his family.
"Well, we can't all be out having adventures, Adrian." She still sounded amused, but the reminder of why Adrian was here and what was riding on it had him straightening his spine a bit, his own amusement fled. "Payment's been taken care of from the family coffers, but it would be great if you could start sending money back home as soon as possible."
"I will," the witch promised and hung up.
"Did she hire a bodyguard out of an abundance of caution or because she...?" Boston asked from his carrier.
"Cute that you think Aunt Muriel has ever given me a straight answer in my entire life," the witch snorted as he slid the phone back into his pocket. "Now be quiet. I can't do a Nevermind while walking, and this place is packed." The cat grumbled but didn't say another recognizable word as the witch began marching down the disembarkation tunnel toward the sunny, crowded airport terminal. Time to find a bodyguard with a sign. "Could have given me a little more of a description, Aunt Muriel," he muttered.
And just like that, his phone chimed with an incoming text. He dug it back out of his pocket and saw the message was just a phone number and a name. Yelena Belova.
[Adapted from Chapter 1 of Hell For Hire by Rachel Aaron. NFB for off-island, and for the grumpy Russian
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So now she was in a tank top under a wrinkled linen shirt and cut off shorts. And military boots. She looked around the portalocity lounge and frowned. There was an old sign about a school? And so much glitter. Everywhere.
And now she was noticing that Fanny was shedding like crazy. “Seriously? We’ve been in hot weather for five minutes,” she complained as she watched clumps of hair appear in her hand from her dog. "Can't you wait at least a day?"
She shook her head and kept holding up the sign she told Melina she'd be holding for the shipment of black wood. Yes it said "Pantalones McGee." That's what Melina gets for letting Yelena choose the name.
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He did notice the sign and snort, but he didn't approach. Instead, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to the number he was provided.
Call me Pants. Pantalones was my father.
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"Hey. You," she called out and tilted her sign up and down. "Pantalones, I'm over here."
Fanny immediately started to walk to the end of her leash. New person! Who had no fur on their clothes! This had to be fixed immediately.
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"So I see," he called back in a deep baritone, absolutely not moving. Look, it wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you. "And who are you?"
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She gave the leash a tug and Fanny finally pulled her attention away from the man and the hissing cat. "Let's go, Fanny." Good luck not getting fur on you, Adrian. This akita's fur goes everywhere.
Not even waiting for him, Yelena started moving towards the baggage claim. She kept her eyes open for any kind of trouble anywhere but so far the only thing to note was the family at the baggage claim complaining about a set of missing golf clubs.
"Where's your bag coming in from?"
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Despite the humans crowding all around him, he couldn't help a sigh of relief as his fingers curled around the smooth, familiar wood. Even by his high standards, the broom was a work of art: an arrow-straight piece of lightning-struck oak with a raven carved into the top of the handle and a fine cone of broom grass bound to the bottom. It was also extremely angry with him.
"I'm sorry," the witch whispered at the fury pouring into him through the carved wood, trying not to let anyone overhear him. "You were too big for the overhead bins. I had to check you." The broom's anger intensified as the image of a crowded, depressurized cargo hold forced its way into Adrian's mind. The baggage handlers had thrown the broom in there like so much trash! It had nearly been crushed!
"Stop being dramatic," he scolded softly, pulling a leather carrying strap out of one of his spelled pockets and threading the broom's handle through the loops at the ends. "You were crafted by the Witch of the Bones herself. Surely you can take a bit of rough handling."
The broom responded with a stab of ire so intense, he had to check his palm to make sure he wasn't bleeding. Rather than responding further - Bran was clearly in a mood and was just going to have to work through it on its own - he slid the strap over his shoulders to secure the broom to his back, then retrieved his pointed hat from where he'd stowed it under his arm and placed it purposefully on his head. This plus the black coat and the broom drew some strange looks, but the witch didn't spare them a glance. He simply grabbed his wheeled trunk and secured the metal briefcase atop it. When he was sure the luggage stack wouldn't topple over, he picked up Boston's carrier as carefully as he could and returned to Yelena. "This is everything," he said.
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When he finally wheeled everything over, Yelena had her arms crossed and she was tapping her foot impatiently. "Nice hat. You going to do some housecleaning, or did Halloween come early this year?"
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"Which one of those is mine?" Yelena asked, nodding to the chest and then the metal case. "You give me that and we'll be on our way.
Seeing that Yelena was talking, Fanny was taking the opportunity to slowly come up to Boston's carrying case and do some sniffing. Was this a friend? Would it like to play?
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"Yours?" Adrian was looking at Yelena like she was speaking gibberish. "Why would any of these be yours?"
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"Look, I'm supposed to take some black wood to this place. Just give me the black wood and we're done," she said trying to be patient. "Then you can get off to Boarwarts. Okay, Barry Plodder?
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He surreptitiously glanced around. It was very unlikely the cabal had managed to get someone here this quickly, but Adrian wasn't taking any chances.
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This was turning out to be a completely different job than she’d anticipated. Moving a package was one thing, but guarding someone? That was a whole other headache.
She let out a huff and briskly shook Adrian’s hand. "Yelena. Okay, clearly there was a miscommunication," she said, and Adrian could probably sense that Yelena was shifting into a more serious mode. Fanny was now close at her side as her eyes darted around the room, assessing every possible threat. "I was told I was moving a package of black wood. Not a person. So, instead, I’m hauling your ass to the island."
Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Merry Christmas to me."
Nothing in the room seemed particularly dangerous. Just people trying to get through the airport or head home. She quickly calculated the safest route out to the parking lot, switched the leash to her other hand, and gave a quick whistle for Fanny to heel. She then grabbed Adrian’s arm and started leading him toward the exit.
"Take off the hat. It attracts attention," she instructed.
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Look, he didn't like it, but you didn't argue with professionals in their own fields. The three Old Wives would leave the protection of the Blackwood to let him know about himself if he tried.
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Fortunately, the short-term parking lot was just a quick walk across the road from the baggage claim. She spotted the perfect vehicle.
"There's my car," she said, calmly walking up to a Chrysler minivan. "One moment, my key isn't working."
Without missing a beat, she pulled out some tools from her duffel bag and quickly broke into the minivan with practiced efficiency. She had planned to steal a car all along. She didn't expect she'd have company.
But the two child car seats in the back and the diaper bag made it clear:this definitely wasn’t Yelena’s car.
"Can you tell me who might be coming after you?"
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A fucking coven of warlocks trying to drag him back and make him one of them, but again, not something he could just say.
He looked at the car seats and the diaper bag and then back to Yelena with big, sad eyes. "You're gonna bring this back, right? Handling two kids that young isn't easy and to have their car stolen, too seems just unnecessarily mean."
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She popped open the rear of the minivan. "Fanny, let's go girl."
The dog jumped in without hesitation.
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Which was the exact opposite of the dynamic, but it gave Adrian a fierce satisfaction to flip it on them. Hopefully The Spider felt that blow to his dignity somewhere on the astral plane.
He was taking some cash out of his wallet and shoving it into the glove compartment. Hopefully that would help take some of the sting out of having their car stolen in the first place.
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As she got Fanny settled in the back she reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a revolver, her gloves and her staff. As she got into the driver’s seat she gave Adrian an odd look. “You know how stealing stuff works, right? Put your money back.”
She put the revolver in easy reach and nestled the staff between the door and the driver’s seat. She then reached under the dash and started to hotwire the car. “Leave one fingerprint behind and you’ll have a warrant out for you.”
The car roared to life.
“So are the demons real or are these worshippers just delusional?” She asked as she pulled out of the parking spot.
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Just to make sure there was no useful way for the coven to use it to track him down with magic, even if they did get ahold of a bill he'd been handling.
"Also, best of luck trying to trace my fingerprints. I'm not in any of their systems."
Her second question made him startle. "Wait. You know about demons?" He peered closer at her, looking for the telltale scale over her eyes and startled again, harder. "Your eyes are open?!" he sputtered.
There was an equally startled "What?" from inside the carrier.
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Yelena’s expression clearly indicated Adrian was a bit weird. “Of course my eyes are open! Don’t be ridiculous. How can I drive if my eyes are closed?”
She then looked in the rear view mirror. “What the fuck? Do you have a talking cat?!
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"I'm not letting you out so you can try to stare at her eyes while she's driving," Adrian told him. "And clearly it's true! She just asked if you could talk, and you'll notice neither of us have been kicked."
Boston made disagreeable noises, but settled back into his carrier with ill-grace.
"And yes, I have a talking cat. He's my familiar. Boston, Yelena. Yelena, Boston." And then, full of curiosity, he couldn't help but ask, "How long have your eyes been open? How? Does my aunt know?"
Surely Muriel would have seen a trap like this, right? Right?
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She looked in the rear view mirror at the pet carrier. “Hi cat! Hey Fannny, do you want to start talking too?”
Fanny did not talk but let out a little grunt as she continued to pant and she’s in the back seat.
“That’s okay! You are still best dog ever.”
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He waited for the recognition. Not of him, of course, but of the Blackwood. Even if she hadn't figured it out before, there was only one Blackwood coven and they were well-known for being the only producers of potions, magical cosmetics, and other luxury magical goods that were highly prized in the Holy City, which was why they were allowed into the Boston Anchor Market despite being heretics, instead of being stomped into oblivion by Gilgamesh and all the forces of Heaven.
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“Is that supposed to mean something?” Yelena asked. “Because that witch of the flesh thing makes it sound like you do porn.”
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He paused for a moment, pride warring with already missing home before he put that out of his mind.
"Blackwood witchcraft is a braid of three parts," he explained. "The bones, the flesh, and the soul. Every witch uses all three, but we dedicate ourselves to just one. Those who bury their bones are witches of the past. Those who bury their souls are witches of the future. I will bury my heart as a witch of the present, and my entire magical tradition revolves around life and the body." He shrugged. "Which does occasionally involve fertility rituals and dancing naked under the moon, as well as being magically and morally opposed to ruining anyone's good time, which is all the stuff we have a reputation for."
Or, at least, the women in his family did. There were no male Blackwood witches save him.
Damn the warlock cabal.
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Meanwhile, Yelena’s side eye was not going away. Neither was that awkward pause that happened when Adrian stopped talking.
“Okay. I am just going to say that was a lot of exposition,” Yelena deadpanned. “Do you tell everyone you’ve known for five minutes that you dance naked? Not that I’m judging. You dance the night away and… fertilize all those rites. I’m sure it is very helpful.”
She pulled up to the pay window and grabbed two twenty dollar bills from the glove compartment and tossed them at the guy in the booth. “Lost our ticket! Thanks!”
The guy in the booth couldn’t care less. The bar went off and Yelena drove out of the parking area and immediately got on the highway.
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He was growing slightly uneasy now. Muriel had never made a mistake, but the agents of Gilgamesh were tricky...
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Honestly if he had said he just did porn this would be less awkward.
"Also, newsflash: who hasn’t heard of magic? Dr. Strange is an Avenger and some kind of wizard. Everyone knows about magic. Plus, there’s a talking raccoon out there, so your cat isn't that weird."
She took the next exit and pulled into a gas station. "C'mon, we're switching cars."
It took her two seconds to decide the next car they were stealing. "C'mon Fanny and Boston! This is going to be fun."
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Bran shivered in his hands. "Not yet," he soothed. "We're not safe yet. Soon, though, okay?" The broom rustled, like an aggrieved huff, but settled down.
"I wish to get out of the carrier," Boston declared. "This is an undignified way to travel."
Adrian looked at the car they were taking. This one, he had no compunctions about stealing. "Absolutely not," he said. "This thing is a death trap." He barely knew anything about the world the scalies inhabited and even he knew that. "You're staying in your carrier until we're in something safer."
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“We’re not far from the island,” Yelena called out, now trying to get a reluctant Fanny into the car. “Fanny. What’s wrong? Does the car smell like douchebag? It’s just for a little bit. Just get in.”
After getting behind the wheel and staring the “car” Yelena made a face. “This is just disgusting.”
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She pulled out onto the road and dialed the local police. “Hello? I’d like to report a stolen vehicle. I watched the guy steal it and abandon it at a gas station.”
She then rattled off the description of the minivan, the license plate, the gas station location and a “description” of the guy who “stole” the minivan. The description being the guy who owned the car she was currently driving.
What? He had it coming.
“So why are you going there?”
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There were several reasons, and while Adrian would happily spill at least most of them, Yelena clearly had a preference for short and sweet. And a penchant for not answering questions herself. "Supplying a store there with Blackwood products," he said vaguely. "We're...expanding outside of our usual markets."
Which just added to the danger he was already in. Because the only other markets were Gilgamesh's Anchor Markets, and if he or his loyal followers got wind that the Blackwoods were selling anywhere else, there would be Hell to pay.
Literally.
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She rolled down the window and chucked her burner phone into traffic as a precaution. Which was fine but now the window wasn’t rolling up. “Fantastic,” she said with an Eyeroll. “It’s already broken.”
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See how helpful she is?
Fanny started to whine in the back. American Akitas as a breed were known for not putting up with douchebaggery. “Not much longer sweetie!”
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In response to her acceleration one piece of the trim came loose and flew off.
“I don’t think that piece was important.”
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"So, the Avengers? Dr. Strange? A talking racoon? What are you talking about?"
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She faltered for a second an after one breath and regained her composure. “They saved a lot of people. They’ve a bunch of super powered who stop aliens and whatever. You have to know them. Iron Man. Captain America. Thor. Hulk.”
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And sometimes Adrian paid attention to either of them!
"What kind of 'super powers' are you talking about? Like Gilgamesh's Princes, or warlocks, or...?"
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She was silent for a second as she pushed the car a little faster.
“So maybe we’re both not where we used to belong.”
Melina did say that she planned to use this as a safe house from Dreykov. Yelena was beginning to think it was way off the beaten path.
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"What?" Boston demanded. "What are you laughing about, Adrian? Did you not hear her? Parallel dimensions! We could get lost! We could ruin timelines! She could be lying, or crazy, or leading up into a trap! Why are you laughing?"
"Just...Aunt Muriel," he said. "Just like her to send us to a parallel dimension and not say a word."
"We don't even know it's real!"
"True," Adrian said, sobering. "But even the idea is entertaining."
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“Ask Fanny! She knows I’m telling the truth. Fanny, if I’m telling the truth sit there and pant.”
Fanny in what could possibly be considered a response looked at everyone in the car and panted.
As she turned the corner on the road and near the shore, Yelena saw a causeway there that she swore hadn’t been there a moment before.
“I think we found our island.”
The car began to slow down on its own half way across the causeway. And weirdly enough it was now totally covered in rust.
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"Over under of this thing collapsing into a rusted heap before we clear this causeway?"
"I don't take suckers' bets," Boston replied primly. "Just like I don't take character references from dogs."
From the back, Bran rustled hopefully. Look, if their current conveyance failed, it only made sense to use the other one they already had. The one that had been made with care and craftsmanship by the Old Wife of the Bones herself!
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Just like how the care came to a complete stop on the causeway. And then all the wheels fell off.
“Well if you don’t trust me, Cat, fine. I don’t get paid to not deliver Pantalones here to the island. Where I’m going anyway, she replied and got of the car and then got her stuff out of the back as the entire car got… rustier?
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Typical cat.
He once more pulled his belongings from the back seat and then also helped Fanny to avoid any of the particularly rusty or sharp spots as she climbed out - just in time as the undercarriage began to fall apart.
"Not yet, Bran," he said and the broom's rustling got louder, more annoyed sounding. "We still don't know what's happening here or the rules. We didn't come this far just to mess it up by being impatient at the very end. I know this process has been a trial for all of us," he continued patiently as he slid the strap over his shoulders to secure the broom to his back. "But we made it! This is what we've been working toward for all these years! If we can't handle a bit of...transportation irregularities, we might as well turn around and go home."
"We could, you know," Boston said, looking up at him through the holes in his cat carrier. “They sell tickets back to Massachusetts."
"Absolutely not," he informed his familiar. "The coven is depending on us. So we're going to follow our lovely escort and assume that she's not lying or walking us into a trap."
"And if she is?" Boston asked.
"Then we handle it," Adrian replied. "But until then, I'm going to trust in Aunt Muriel's judgment and that, on the whole, people are better than not." A pause. "Warlocks and sorcerers notwithstanding."
"And loyalists."
"And loyalists," Adrian agreed.
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Fanny was grateful for Adrian’s help getting out of the douchemobile. He no doubt got a tone of fur on his black pants.
“You can put your hat back on,” Yelena said as she leashed up Fanny and threw her duffel bag over her shoulder. “Does it talk too? Maybe tell us what house we belong too?”
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"My hat doesn't talk, no," he said. "And I already have the house I'll be moving into." He unconsciously patted the suitcase.
And if either he was great at faking responses or Yelena's reference went straight over his
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"Well, I heard there was a tiny house craze but that's kind of taking it to the extreme."
Of course she couldn't let it go without a snarky response.
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She looked down at Fanny who was rubbing up against her leg and just leaving fur everywhere.
"You're going to need to step up your cardio, Fanny."
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Bran, who had only just started to rustle in excitement, sunk back down into the straps. Sulking.
"I wish to get out," Boston announced from his carrier. "We are no longer in the deathtrap."
"You really want to climb all those stairs?"
"Cat carriers are demeaning."
With a sigh, Adrian set Boston's carrier down and opened the door. "If you get tired, I'm not carrying you," he warned. Boston ignored him. Bran rustled again.
"Neither are you, Bran."
More sulking silence.
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Yelena immediately reined her in. "I don't blame you, Cat," Yelena agreed. "And if he won't carry you, I will."
She was still giving Adrian a side eye. Still. "Are you talking to the broom?"
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"Yes," Adrian said with a nod. "Bran. I can't take credit for him though. He was a gift from my Aunt Lydia."