Page 40 of Memories Like Fangs
Maisie met my eyes as if to ask permission to tell them what happened. I nodded, granting it. She set her lips in a straight line before she turned away from me and the cousins and walked toward the far side of the Vault with Simone in tow. They sat down before launching into the story, far enough that if I wanted to hear them, I would have to strain even my supernatural hearing to do so.
I combed my hand through my curls to push them away from my face. I was grateful I wasn’t the one telling it this time and that I didn’t have to hear it. Living it was more than enough. Still, not having to relive it didn’t make the reality and weight of it any lighter.
Byrd was still not here.
Fuck, I need a blunt.I thought, realizing that I hadn’t smoked in hours.I wish I had one to take the edge off.
Just then, a streak of sky-blue sparkles appeared in front of me from the stacks. When it came to a stop, there was a perfectly rolled blunt on it that was already lit. I raised an eyebrow before I turned back toward the stacks. There, Journee searched the shelves, but they winked when we made eye contact. One side of my mouth quirked up, and I nodded toward them as a thank you.
Taking the blunt from the bed of magic, I watched the magic vanish while I took a nice, long hit. The smoke heated my mouth just before I swallowed it to fill my lungs. When I blew it out, the smoke lingered in a cloud in the light of the snowflake-like stars and orbs. The high immediately soaked into my bones, slightly settling my nerves.
Lifting the blunt to my lips for another hit and focusing on the sound of the blaze eating away at the paper on the other end, I noticed that me and the cousins had been left to our devices. Strangely, it was the first time we could be considereduseless, but it wasn’t the first time we had been sidelined while witches, magic, and older people were at work. Hunters like my Grandma January could use magic to create weapons. But, when we needed extra magic for an assignment, we sought the aid of witches or witch-fae, depending on our needs. So, waiting was nothing new for any of us.
Our childhood, too, was filled with quiet as a priority over fun. We were meant to be seen occasionally and never heard. Because of how lucrative hunting was, we never wanted for anything materially. Any hobbies or toys I wanted, I got. But, to play with them, the cousins and I would have to go into the basement or outside, and even still, we risked being overheard and told to shut the fuck up or called any number of insults. Boredom and ire were the only things we remember from our childhoods. That and my father’s verbal abuse, my mother trying to toxic positivity her way through the worst of it, my Aunt CK instigating bullshit, my Aunt Tess never taking a side, and Cooper always trying to be the exception like the rest of us were weirdos. Tack on the violence and toll of hunter training, and you have lessons that taught us patience and how to fend for ourselves. The four of us learned very early how to stick together and ride out the bullshit. It’s part of what made us so close now.
“Anyone want to hear a joke?”
Well, maybe close to killing each other.
I gave Cody a look that his response deserved. Being the prick that he was, he somehow pressed on as if silence was agreement.
“So, there was once this old abandoned house that everyone thought was haunted. One man came forward one day, saying he was brave enough to spend the night alone there. As he went to bed in the haunted house, he could hear a ghostly voice, ‘I am the ghost of the bloody finger! I am in the front hall.’ The man thinks it could be his imagination. But, the voice gets progressively louder as the ghost inches closer to him. ‘I am in the front hall’ isfollowed by ‘I’m at the bottom of the stairs,’ and then ‘I’m at the top of the stairs.’ Next, the man hears the door creak. After a few minutes, the voice says, ‘I am the ghost of the bloody finger! Do you have a band-aid, young man?’”
Cole, the lovable himbo, burst into hysterical laughter at the story. Nat cracked a smile, but she turned to her brother and asked, “What in the unholy fuck was that? A kid ghost story?”
“I saw it in a joke book once!” Cody shrugged, chuckling. “Besides, the magic hot Libbies said to control Quinn’s rage. Laughter is the best medicine.”
Nat rolled her eyes before pinching him so hard that he let out a high-pitched squeal. Maybe it was the high, but something about it made me smile, even if it was a small, half-hearted one.
Nat raised an eyebrow. “Huh, you are right. Laughter is a cure, and torturing you seems to be the prescription that I’m happy to fill.”
Cody opened his mouth to retort, but Maisie and Simone’s approach shut him up. I hadn’t even noticed that they had finished with their call. “Okay, everyone! Talli, Everett, and Teddy will be here very soon. They are going to be teleporting here, so, Quinn, I suggest you?—”
Before Maisie could finish her sentence, two bright plumes of magical smoke appeared between us, cutting us off from the girls. One was made of coral orange magic, while the other, wider one was pale green with darker sparkles. As soon as they appeared, the clouds of magic and sparks vanished to reveal three people.
On the left, coming from the coral orange magic, was a tall white woman. Most of her shoulder-length brown hair was in two pigtail braids at the back of her head. With her oversized green-and-black plaid flannel long-sleeve and pants set drowning her straight-sized body, she looked more like a teenager. Yet, her at least four decades of age was clear from thefew wrinkles at the edge of her eyes and around her mouth. She was definitely a witch, likely a witch-fae based on how her magic felt dancing along my skin. Her eyes held a worry, pensiveness, and distance that made her seem even more ageless and profound than I had guessed before. This must be the woman Maisie was talking to, Talli.
Two men stood next to her, having teleported from the green magic and obviously coming from some place warm based on their shorts and tank tops. One, I recognized from a distant past where my biggest worries had been making my bomb-ass mac and cheese and making sure my girlfriend was okay. I had seen only a glimpse of him before. Now, I could see he was noticeably taller than the woman next to him. He was lean and also muscular. While his age was indiscernible, he had olive skin covered in tattoos of just about everything and thick chocolate hair long enough to graze his long eyelashes. His striking pale-green eyes glistened with unshed tears, his nose and cheeks red. Like the woman, I sensed he was likely a witch and the one who had teleported him and his partner.
The other guy in the middle of them was another unfamiliar face. While the other two were witches, this man could only be a shifter, and every nerve in me was on high alert because he was a rare, predatory one, which was always harder to subdue. Especially when they werethispissed off. His growl rumbled throughout the Vault, making even the floating candles quake. His massive, dark brown eagle-like wings shook with his fury, the feathers standing on end. He was just as tall as the other male, with more muscles and broader shoulders that were so tense I could see veins popping out from them as his fists were tightly clenched. His skin and longish straight hair were a sun-kissed brown with freckles all over. Yet, his eyes were a hot gold color that reminded me of the embers at the end of my blunt. Iblew out the last of my blunt before lifting my boot to put it out at the bottom. The man’s eyes caught on me and narrowed.
This man have a staring problem or something?I thought with a raised eyebrow. Then, it hit me, the pieces clicking together all at once as snippets of conversations from Byrd ran through my mind.
This was Byrd’s uncle, the griffin-shifter.
Before I could process anything else beyond that thought, however, Everett rushed me in a blur and punched me right in my face.
Friendly Fire
QUINN
Iwas no stranger to a punch. Especially from a supernatural and especially from a man. I had a reputation for being able to take a hit like a fucking tank. It’s why the cousins thought it was one of my hunter gifts, along with knowing how to swing a blade. So, naturally, this punch was nothing new to me.
But, that didn’t mean it didn’t fucking hurt like abitch.
The force of it was strong enough to send me flying down the table that I was leaning against and out the other end. I landed on my back with the wind taken out of me. A white-hot flash seared through my head as I tasted copper. My jaw’s click was too loud in my ears. I could already feel the tiny stabbing of my facial bones, muscles, and everything between stitching themselves back together from the damage.
I had to admit it was a good damn hit.
