Page 22 of Bound and Tide

The morning sun was far too bright the next day. That happened when snow coated the ground, but the amphivirate didn’t help. Grogginess clung to her mind and joints, willing her to remain in bed, but the shop wouldn’t open without her to unlock the doors.

After a hurried breakfast, she swept off the night’s dusting of snow from the stoop. A deep breath of chilly air did little to help wake her. She waved to Percival as he shook out the entry rug of The Sleepy Salmon. The leatherworker’s son and daughter were already outside throwing poor excuses for snowballs at one another. Evangeline’s surliness burnt off under the sun’s rays as she watched the children laugh and run. This was what mattered, after all, this street and these people who she’d watched grow for decades right out of copperlessness and into those who could offer help to so many others.

Her gaze lingered down the road until it settled on a figure at its end. Disheveled and slouching, she might not have recognized Xander if she hadn’t so intimately learned every plane of his face in the previous week. He rubbed sleepily at an eye, his coat torn and hair a mess, notably not coming out of the inn she knew he stayed at.

Evangeline drew in a sharp breath. Her feet almost took her right to him, but she held fast against moving—he had clearly had the night of his life. She leaned on her broom and set her jaw hard to stare daggers at him. Then she corrected—why in the realm would she be angry with him? He could do whatever he bloody well wanted.

He dragged himself to the stoop, sagging lids blinking. “What a gift your visage is, Red,” he said with none of the nickname’s usual arrogance. This time his voice was quiet and almost…almost sweet.

That convinced her shoulders to relax as he tried to present himself as a man who was not hungover. She clicked her tongue, looking down on him from the top of the shop’s steps. “Shamelessly returning from a night of frivolity, I see.” Well, that hadn’t sounded nearly as indifferent as she had meant.

“Hmm?” Xander assessed himself with a slight scowl, hair falling away to reveal a cut on his forehead. His cheek was bruised as well, and he was favoring one side as if someone had gotten the best of him in the worst way.

“What happened to you?” She grabbed him by the chin and tugged his face closer, startling him out of his daze. “You’re bleeding.”

“Still?” He reached up to the wound on his forehead and swore when his hand came away stained. Closer, she could smell his breath, no lingering alcohol, and could see his lazy smile wasn’t nearly as cavalier as she was used to.

Sliding her hand up his jaw, she traced a finger over the blotchy purple across his cheek. He winced. The thought of him being bruised by someone else inspired a wildness that swirled inside her like arcana. “Who did this?” she bit out.

Xander’s eyes lost their half-lidded nonchalance. “My fault,” he said with a quickness then swallowed. “Though I would like to blame quite a few others.”

Evangeline studied him a moment longer, waiting for that brief apologetic alarm to return, but when it didn’t, she rolled her eyes and released him. “Come inside,” she ordered, and held the door open for him to cross the threshold.

The moment he did, all Abyss broke loose.

Evangeline yelped and Xander stumbled as a swell of water squelched out of his coat and covered everything in the entry.

“Oh, elven god, what is that?” Evangeline pulled the door shut behind her and jumped over the briny puddle that was definitely not just a puddle.

Xander groaned and held out his hands, the water coating them grey and slipping about like oil. “Forgot about that. What is wrong with this bloody shop?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the shop, it’s doing its job—you’re the bloody problem.” Evangeline hurried to the counter and shuffled through protection jars she always kept on hand. A quick glance back at the entry revealed that the water was most definitely moving on its own and reforming itself into something she did not want to see completed. She quickly cast off the latch on one of the jars and swept back to the wet blobs to throw a handful of herbs at it.

Squeals ripped through the shop, and the forming figures exploded into puddles once again.

“What in the realm is that?” Xander wrinkled his nose.

“An arcana-blocking blend.”

“And it works on infernals? Impressive.”

“Infernals?” Evangeline stepped back from the puddle. “You brought infernals into my shop?”

“Not as bad as letting an infernal into your—” He was caught by a yawn as the water struggled to reform at his feet. He kicked at it, and it squealed, splashing in half. “Behave, all three of you.”

“Three infernals?”

“They’re only imps. Annoying but harmless.” He wiped a hand down his face and leaned back against the wall. Well, if he wasn’t concerned…

The puddles coalesced into strange little creatures, but it appeared Xander was right. Only a foot or so tall, each stood with hunched backs and short limbs held close to their bodies, four-fingered hands hanging limply, though one was missing an arm, and webbed toes anxiously slapping against the floor. Their heads were a little too big for their bodies, and their eyes were a lot too big for their heads, and as their skin solidified, it took on the deep grey-blue color of the river at dusk.

When they didn’t skitter off through the shop and cause a ruckus, Evangeline latched the jar of her anti-arcane herbs and cocked her head. “Where did they come from? I mean, besides the infernal plane.”

“I exorcised a boat.”

“You what?”

“Actually, I think it was a ship. My ship. Or, it was. Gave it away this morning.”

---