Page 68 of Perfectly Perplexing Zombie

I needed rest—badly. Though my usual requirement was minimal, it was not zero. What I needed did not matter. Rest could wait.

“You don’t look well, Hellfire.” Hamish met me in the park Wendall and I’d visited just a few short days ago.

“Nor do you.” It wasn’t an accusation, more a statement of fact.

Hamish made a sound between a hum and a sigh. “It is difficult finding time when you’ve tasked me with something this interestingly disturbing.”

Fairies often had a way with words. We could diminish a thought with a few well-placed and picked syllables. It was a gift, or perhaps it was more a game. No other species could physically compete with us, and we’d finally gotten bored beating up on each other. We needed a new game to play, and since physical prowess was off the table, we’d chosen words as weapons and wielded them against our newest opponents. We were still the top predator where words were concerned, but our success was not a foregone conclusion. There were precious few members of other species that enjoyed our word swordplay and excelled in the competition. Fairies considered those individuals preciously priceless.

I leaned against the tree Trinket had dangled from. Hamish mimicked my position. “I assume you do not meet the requirement to touch the object either?”

“No. I cannot feign intending Stover no harm. His interest threatens Fairy. Once the djinn’s object is in my hands, my first task would be Stover’s elimination.”

“Same.” I could not fault Hamish, not when I felt the same. “Any fairy would feel likewise.”

“Agreed.” Hamish kept his answer tightly clipped.

I’d been tossing around ideas, each one as worthless as the last. Only one seemed plausible, though it was dangerous in its own right. It would place a lot of trust in Aurelia—trust I did not think wise. Aurelia herself did not believe it wise.

Desiring Hamish’s opinion, I said, “Wendall asked an insightful question.” I couldn’t remember the exact time or day, but I remembered his words.

“It must be his contribution of fairy genetics,” Hamish coolly said.

“Perhaps, although it might be his human naiveté.”

Hamish grunted. “You mean ignorance.”

“The line is indeed a fine one,” I agreed, unsure which reason was behind Wendall’s intriguing question. “Wendall asked if Aurelia’s connection to her object of attachment could be severed.”

Hamish shook his head. “Only the original witch that created her could undo her own spells, and it is my understanding that Aurelia’s creator, just like all the other witches that created djinns, is long dead.”

I stood there, allowing a weighty silence to fall. “Not a witch, but a warlock.”

Hamish stilled, and his muscles drew taught before he finally answered, “Impossible. While a warlock might be capable of dismantling the spells, he would need to understand them to do so. Warlocks are masters at weaving threads of magic, just like witches, but to undo a witch-made spell, they would need to have a witch that could explain some of the finer sigils. No witch would work that closely with a warlock. It would give away too many secrets.”

While I didn’t disagree, I did think Hamish’s thinking was a little too mired in the past. “And if I said I believe I know a witch and warlock that might be able to see past that and work together?”

Hamish ground his teeth, working his jaw back and forth as his mind processed my words. Seconds turned into minutes, and yet I remained silent, allowing Hamish to mull. Finally, he said, “The thought has…merit. However, the risks of success and failure are staggering. Should you fail, Stover will end us all. And if you succeed—”

“A powerful djinn will be set free, untethered and uncontrollable. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Aurelia can be recaptured, and her essence bound again.”

“Witches claim that knowledge is lost.”

“And we are simply to believe them?” I raised an eyebrow while shifting my gaze toward Hamish. “Do you truly believe them honest in that regard?”

“No, but finding a witch that either has that knowledge or knows where to find it would be difficult. Finding one that will admit it will be tedious.”

Hamish was right, but I thought I might know where to start and said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

“You can’t be serious?” Matilda stared up at me.

Her large green eyes were so bright they were almost painful to look into. Wild strands of red hair haphazardly shifted around her shoulders, its golden highlights catching in the sun filtering into her greenhouse. Plants of every kind surrounded us, and the air was pleasantly warm and humid. Matilda’s curly hair frizzed in the dampness, and she eagerly pushed it out of her eyes. Each time she tucked it behind her ear, it bounced right back out.

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