Hexes and Exes Page 11

  “No, you didn’t cry. I only made you vexed. Think. Have you shed tears since then?”

  “When I’ve had nightmares. Or when I’m in the fear chair.”

  He shook his head. “No, you’ve screamed and cried out. No tears.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Only if it means you’ve lost your soul and turned evil.”

  Probably he was trying to mess with me and make me worry I was turning into Alouette Loraline so I might give him tears of fear. That wasn’t going to work. I was soooo past that fear. Mostly.

  “Maybe not crying means I’m stronger. Tougher.”

  “Unlikely.” He studied me, as if trying to decide what to do with me.

  He lifted his wand and pointed it at the door. It closed and locked. “Do you know why I think you can’t cry? I don’t think you have any idea what the world is truly like. Your fairy godmother sheltered you. She’s kept you from seeing what the Fae are like.”

  Not this lecture again.

  He waved a hand at me. “The worst you can imagine is you won’t know what to wear tomorrow. You’re incapable of empathizing with anyone who has experienced anything beyond your realm of knowledge.”

  “That isn’t true. I know the Fae do . . . bad things. Julian tried to. . . .” My throat tightened.

  He leaned forward with interest. “Go ahead. Complete the sentence, Miss Lawrence. Or is it too scary?”

  It wasn’t tears that wanted to explode out of me, but anger. Frustration at my own stupidity. I felt ashamed. “He tried to coerce me with magic to sleep with him. When my affinity resisted his magic, he tried to use my affinity against me and rape me.”

  “And?”

  “I killed him.” I squeezed my hands together in my lap to hide the shaking.

  “Not accidentally.”

  “No. On purpose. I killed him on purpose. And I would do it again,” I said in defiance. “I would kill anyone who tried to do that to me or my students.”

  “Bravo. You said it.” A ghost of a smile touched his eyes, but the spark of happiness that might have once inhabited his face was dead. “And if anyone tries to hurt you again, Fae or Witchkin, you won’t hold back.” He stood, punctuating each word with a stab of his long index finger. “You will defend yourself if you need to. They will say you’re like Alouette Loraline, but it won’t be true. And do you know why?” A flush of pink colored his cheeks.

  I shook my head, too surprised by his vehemence to speak.

  “Because she’s dead. She could have defended herself, but she didn’t.” He kept his face flat, but the way his voice rose belied his façade of neutrality. “You will defend yourself. And if you don’t, everything I’ve done to protect you will have all been for naught. Do you understand me?”

  I didn’t understand him. I leaned back in my chair, wanting to put more space between me and his hostility. “What do you mean that she didn’t defend herself?”

  He tugged at the hem of his jacket and took a few deep breaths, making an effort to calm himself. “Let me tell you a little story.” He steepled his fingers in front of him, staring off into the distance. “Do you remember how much the unicorns hated me? Do you know why?”

  “Because you aren’t a virgin.” I bit my lip, wondering if I should confess everything Bart had told me.

  “No, that’s not why. They would ignore me if it was simply that.” He crossed his arms, scowl in place.

  “Bart said you were a poacher. You killed unicorns for their horns.” That was what Bart had been afraid of—the entire reason he’d made his horn unfit for appropriation.

  Thatch tilted his head, the slight curve to his lips unreadable. “Just so. It’s because my mother used me to try to capture unicorns when I was a child. Have I ever shown you my scar?”

  I nodded. He’d shown me the line on his ankle years ago. He’d told me how silly it was to adore unicorns when they were wild and feral.

  “Baba Nata isn’t the only evil witch in the woods,” His voice was low, so neutral it gave away no indication of what he might be feeling. “Your fairy godmother’s upbringing was a delightful fairy tale compared to other children’s. My mother used me as bait for catching dangerous creatures. Sometimes she tied me to trees to lure them out of the forest.”

  “So you tied me to a tree like your mother did to you?” I asked, crossing my arms.

  “No. Not like my mother did to me. I set up protective spells around that tree so no creature could injure you. The werewolves and chimeras in the forest wouldn’t be able to harm you . . . so long as you stayed where you were. But of course, you’re never one to listen to directions.” The grimace on his face smoothed away as he went on.

  “The only creatures who would have been able to walk through my wards were unicorns. I knew they weren’t going to hurt you. They like virgins.” Every word was pronounced slowly with importance. He was working carefully to keep his voice monotone and his face expressionless.

  Something was up with the creepy Mr. Spock vibe.

  “While you spent your childhood going to kindergarten and helping your mum bake cookies in a convection oven, my early education included important lessons like, ‘Don’t Disobey Your Mother or Else She Might Push You into the Oven Like She Did with Your Big Brother.’ There’s a certain . . . smell to human hair burning that clings to your clothes. It’s quite unpleasant.” He rubbed at the sleeve of his jacket absently.

  Oh God. He couldn’t be serious. But he wasn’t smiling. My stomach churned, and I tried to swallow the sour taste in my mouth. Forget the Raven Court and his issues with the Raven Queen. He had issues with his mother. No wonder he was so messed up.

  “When you were five, you learned your ABCs and spent quality time with a mum and dad who loved you and protected you. When I was five, I spent my every waking moment trying to figure out how to protect my younger sisters. Because I didn’t want Odette or Priscilla to be gored to death, I volunteered to be used as bait for catching werewolves, hydras, and goblins so mother could harvest their parts for potions. For alchemy. Many of these ingredients she bottled up and sold to apothecaries and academies. Perhaps you see a certain irony in my position at this school, considering my mother was once the school’s supplier.” The smile on his face was stiff as if it were the carved wood of a mask.

  It wasn’t like Thatch to share anything personal. When I’d asked him questions about my mother, he answered in monosyllabic sentences, usually consisting of the words “no” or “leave.” He’d always gotten angry when I’d questioned him about his own life. If this was what he’d been hiding, I couldn’t blame him. I had a feeling the worst was yet to come.

  “My mother used me to lure unicorns and kill them. She was adept at many of the higher arts, including clairvoyance. She waited until one stallion was alone and isolated before she set up her trap. The Singing Stallions—and their compatriots—might be many things, but they aren’t stupid. When members of their herd disappeared, they understood poaching was the cause. They investigated what Mother was doing and how she accomplished the task.

  “I was fortunate the herd only stabbed me and slashed at me with their horns to scare me. Had I not been a child, a pure and innocent virgin, I don’t doubt they would have killed me. But their honor wouldn’t permit them to put me out of my miserable existence.”

  If Thatch carried the burden of his childhood around on his shoulders, I was surprised it didn’t show more. But then he was always so careful and controlled about what he permitted others to see past his armor of snarkiness.

  “Rather than hobble home and face my mother’s wrath, I stayed in the forest bleeding. She was in a rage when she came to collect me. She blamed me for her failure to appropriate more unicorn horns.

  “That was the first time she tortured me to the brink of death with pain magic. She had drained my powers plenty of times for her own personal gain, but not as severe as this. I tried to run away, but where can an eight-year-old Witchkin in the Unseen Realm run
away to with two little sisters in tow? I was snatched by the Fae and ‘adopted’ into one of their houses. You and I would call it slavery. The Raven Court could have murdered me and eaten my heart, drained me, or tortured me, but my new mother took a special interest in me and my . . . gifts.”

  Chills skated up my spine. He had to mean his affinity. The Raven Queen had adopted him for his pain magic.

  “In her way, my adoptive mother was kinder to my younger sisters and myself than my own mother. She recognized my affinity for what it was. She understood me. She trained me to use forbidden magics. When I did well and pleased her, she even treated me with kindness. I was her special pet.” He smiled, but mirth didn’t touch his eyes. Felix Thatch could have passed as Fae right then, beautiful and dangerous, a creature without a soul.

  “The second time I encountered the unicorns in the forest, I was no longer a virgin. They probably would have ignored me, but they could smell the scars they’d given me with their horns. What they couldn’t sense was the power sharp and vibrant inside me. They harried me, and possibly that’s all they intended. But I killed one of them with pain magic. I tortured and killed that unfortunate beast—and I took pleasure in that revenge. I presented the carcass to my Fae mother, and she rejoiced that my heart was so black I would kill a unicorn.” He folded his hands in front of him. “I was ten.”

  His words stole away my breath. He’d been ten, and he’d already lost his virginity? That was so incredibly sad and horrible. Had he been molested? Or maybe he’d been forced to have sex with another child. Or an adult. My stomach twisted into knots.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Like most children, I wanted to please adults. I wanted my adoptive mother to be happy with me. Every day I prayed she’d be in a merry mood, that she would hug me and pat me on the head and show me affection, and it wouldn’t be one of the days she kicked me like an unwanted puppy.”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, but it remained lodged there. I was so fortunate Abigail Lawrence had loved me and sheltered me from the Unseen Realm. If I didn’t think Thatch would shove me away, I would have hugged him right then.

  “Eventually, I outgrew the desire for those weak human emotions. I stopped needing my adoptive mother to love me. I stopped wanting affection. I didn’t particularly care for the burden of possessing a heart or a soul or anything that made me human.

  “So I bargained with her. As you might have heard by now, a bargain with Fae will cost you.” He stared off toward the empty birdcage. “I persuaded my fairy godmother—if one wishes to call her that—to release my sisters from her bondage in exchange for my soul.”

  My words came out a whisper. “So you don’t have a soul?”

  “One would think that.” He arched an eyebrow. “But no, she only took half my soul. I wouldn’t be any use to her if I was completely void of a soul. I would be too much like a Fae and then where would the fun be in toying with my emotions? The detail about souls that most Morties—and many Witchkin—don’t realize is they can grow back. It’s incredibly painful. And they never heal quite right.” He tapped a finger over his heart. “There is always a little void, raw and naked that won’t mend.”

  This explained so much about him. If I could have given him a handful of my own joy and happy childhood memories I would have done so.

  “I made a bargain with a Fae. Thinking I was clever enough to trick my fairy godmother, I ran away. Or I thought I had. I didn’t know she simply had grown indifferent to my presence and didn’t care whether I left or remained. She allowed me to escape—only because she deemed it would benefit her. Years later she called me back and questioned me about the school, about the defenses, and the teachers. She . . . persuaded me to tell the truth. Thenceforth, I became known as a Fae spy.”

  A spy. Yes, he had been called that. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his hands. His fairy godmother had been the Raven Queen. His every word revealed a deeper secret, a darker truth about himself.

  “If it hadn’t been for your biological mother,” Thatch said. “I might have continued to serve the Fae.”

  “Is this why the other teachers say you work for the Raven Queen? They still think you’re a spy because of something that happened in high school?”

  He drummed his fingers against the desk. “Still no tears? Surely your heart must be shriveled and black if you aren’t weeping after that.” With his flat affect and monotone, I could never tell what was going on in his mind. I couldn’t tell how much of that story might have been made up to make me cry or how much had actually happened.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Even so, I had to ask.

  “Is that story true?” I asked. “All of it?”

  “Alouette Loraline was the first kind person to me, the first adult who treated me as a human being rather than an object to be used. She didn’t ask anything of me. She didn’t want magic or favors. Her generosity and charity toward others rivaled any saint from ancient times. I try to remember her as she once was, not who she became.

  “She taught me what it was to feel and to . . . love.” His face flushed, and a wistful smile laced his lips. It might have been the first genuine smile that had graced his face in a long time.

  “Like every other boy in her classes—and some of the girls as well—I had a crush on her. Unlike them, I was permitted to spend time alone with her as she trained me in my affinity. Not completely alone. My sisters were there as well. She taught all three of us in secret.

  “She showed us how to conceal our magic. She taught us it was possible to do more with our affinity than to hurt and kill. Odette’s specialty was blood magic. Because of Alouette Loraline’s instruction, Odette painted elaborate spells with her own blood instead of animal blood or another human’s.

  “Priscilla was the musically inclined one. When she danced and sang, that’s when her affinity excelled. She was most powerful after her dance classes if she had held someone’s hand or she’d waltzed with a young man she liked. It was after dancing she was the most dangerous if she didn’t channel her energies correctly. It was your mother who figured out what triggered her and trained her to control it.”

  I thought of Imani last semester at the All Hallow’s Eve celebration. Imani’s magic had burst forth unexpectedly when she’d been dancing with a boy she’d liked.

  Thatch’s explanation of his sisters’ affinities was the first time I’d ever realized there could be more to the Red affinity besides pleasure or pain. I could see how touch or the human body was involved in these, each flavor of magic differing from my own. We were as diverse as a group of Elementia who might use water, wind, fire, or earth to fuel their magic.

  Thatch’s wistful tone drew me back into his story. “Once when I was still in high school I wrote a poem to confess my feelings to Allouette. A knavish thing to do, I know. Every day for an entire month I told myself I would leave the poem on her desk. I tried to build up my courage. Every day. Then I finally did, and I feared what she would say. Would she reject me? Of course she would. She was an adult woman, courted by powerful Witchkin, men with titles and grand estates in the Unseen Realm. Rumor had it she attended Fae balls and might even have a Fae lover.

  “Alouette never found the note. My peers did. It became just one more thing they taunted me about. Don’t look at me like that.”

  I tried to erase the pity from my eyes. This was the first time he’d opened up to me, and I didn’t want to do anything that would make him stop.

  “When Alouette walked into the room and found my peers reading the poem out loud, I used a spell to burn the paper. The flames caught some of our alchemy supplies on fire and destroyed expensive school equipment. In the chaos of putting out the fire, my classmates momentarily forgot about my love poem. At least—they forgot until the next day.

  “I got in so much trouble for the fire. Miss Loraline—that’s what I called her in those days before she became headmistress—she made me sit in her room in aftersc
hool detention for weeks. . . . It was wonderful.” The dreamy look on his face faded.

  He blinked upon seeing me and cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t have known I had a heart capable of loving again if it hadn’t been for her. I studied science in the Morty Realm because of her. I learned methods of tracking magic and sensing the differences between various kinds of affinities so that I could spot Red affinities when I came across them. I did anything she asked so that I could be useful to her. I became a teacher because of her, and I fought to teach at this school because of what Alouette believed in. I admired her and loved her even more when I became her colleague and dare I say, equal.

  “Even after she turned, I didn’t care. I’d loved evil before. It tore out your soul and left scars, but I could tolerate pain.” He rested his chin on top of his steepled fingers. He gazed into the distance, completely lost in his story. “Most Fae and Witchkin are infertile. So it was with your mother. But she wanted a child. She was willing to use any means to create one, even if it took black magic. Which is where I came in.”

  He had told me previously my mother had used him for his magic. He hadn’t been willing to tell me anything about the Fae Fertility Paradox, her research, or how he’d been involved in any of it. I held my breath.

  “Certainly you’ve heard the rumors of how she drained me. How she . . . tortured me. I’m sure Jeb and Khaba would have you believe I’m a poor, unfortunate victim of Alouette Loraline’s perversions. But the fact is, I consented to what she did to me. I offered her my magic, knowing how difficult it would be for me to control what I became. I knew she might kill me in the process of getting what she wanted, and I was willing to be her sacrificial lamb. So long as she loved me, I would do anything she asked.” The dull melancholy in his eyes sharpened into steel.

  I hated my mother. I could see why he loathed her for using him.

  “I could have forgiven her for draining me.” The flowing rhythm of his voice turned harsh, each word a jab of anger puncturing his façade of calm. “I could forget she left me for dead. I was under no pretense that she would change and my love for her would restore the goodness of her heart that had once been there or any other such rubbish. I knew she was in love with someone else, and I didn’t even fault her for that. But there is one deed I cannot and will not forgive.” His jaw ticked. “And that is for dying. For letting herself be hunted and killed without putting up a greater fight.”