By Fairy Means or Foul: A Starfig Investigations Novel(42)

“A dypari for your thoughts.” Quinn’s pale face made his restless night obvious to anyone with eyes.

“I think you should stay here. I can come back—”

“No.” He didn’t shout it, though he might as well have.

“Quinn, be reasonable—” I reached for his hand, but Quinn yanked it out of my reach.

“You’re not going alone. I told you, I need to be there.”

“I’m not sure you do. Chances are you’re close enough to Rottingvale that Brandsome would never know the difference.” Before I could say more and Quinn could protest, Krofom approached with a teacup filled to the brim with another breakfast blend. His gaze found mine and once again his pupil became a spiral of color and then after a moment went opaque before he intoned,

What water extinguishes, A mage’s touch reunites.

Surrender!

A flame’s rebirth scorches both those it attacks, And those who wield it.



Krofom blinked, his eye clear once again, then without another word spun on his heel and scurried away, the cup of tea still in his fist. Coward.

I threw my hands up. “What the fuck was that?”

Quinn smirked. “Our future.”

“Oh, well, it’s all clear now. Fucking cyclopes and their riddles.”

“See, you need me. I’m supposed to be there.”

“That’s debatable. You’re not a wizard, remember?” I ran over the lines in my head again. A damn stupid prophecy if you asked me. I could get a better one from a soothsaying gnome and those hacks couldn’t tell the future if it was presented in a scroll from Longvision Futurama herself.

“Well, what other wizards are around these parts, do you think?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw firming.

I sighed. Short of enacting the clause and locking him in a room, no way he would be persuaded. I was tempted, only cyclopes were known for their accurate—if jumbled—predictions.



We walked for several hours before the ground began growing soft and wet. Dew covered the plants and the air felt damp. An unnatural green-hued fog covered a large area up ahead. Quinn and I exchanged looks. We hadn’t spoken much on the way since I was still pissed off about caving and bringing him. There were so many things that could go wrong. How would I protect him? Would I even be able to protect myself? I possessed formidable defenses against dark magic, but I’d never come up against zombies before. Their bite was supposed to be lethal. Chances are I had immunity, but with my fairy side that assumption could turn out to be faulty. And Quinn was definitely in danger.

We stopped at the edge of the fog, a shiver running down my spine. Every protective instinct I had went into overdrive.

“Quinn, I really don’t think—”

“Hey, Starfig, don’t wuss out on me now. We got this. Everything will be fine.” His voice didn’t even tremble—much—when he said it.

I nodded. I wasn’t worried about me. My skin felt too tight and smoke began streaming from my nose. If only I could actually shoot fire. I rummaged around in my pack until I found my pouch of Sir Blaive’s grave dust. In theory, it would torch any undead it touched. Useful when dealing with creatures that didn’t like the light or fire. I wouldn’t want to count on it, but Quinn insisted I take part of his stash. He held his own pouch in hand.

“Stick close, Quinn. And promise me, if things go badly, you’ll do your best to get out safely.”

He threw back his shoulders, straightened to his full height. “We’re in this together.”

“Quinn . . .”

He stepped into the fog and disappeared. Fuck. Rushing after him, I pushed into the thick mist. I couldn’t see anything. Where was Quinn? I threw my hands out in front of me and felt around blindly.

“Quinn,” I whispered.

“Here,” he whispered back. Why we were whispering I hadn’t a clue, but the ominous presence of the mist just made whispering feel appropriate somehow.

I continued to fumble around, until I gripped what I thought was an arm.

Quinn yipped.

“Just me.” I pulled him to me so I wouldn’t lose him again. “Hey, how come you aren’t humming?”

“What?”

“Humming. It’s the way you self-soothe, right?”

“I don’t need soothing.” He scoffed.

“We’re about to go into a zombie infested swamp. What’s your definition of need, then?”

“I’m afraid. Not upset. It’s different.” He patted my arm like I was a child in need of comforting.

Right. Naturally. Human emotions were complicated. Too complicated for me to dwell on right now.

Quinn leaned into me. “I can’t see a thing. How are we supposed to find Burningwood’s manor?”

“Wait just a minute. My eyes are adjusting.” I could make out some large gnarled shadows—trees? Not much else.

“Well?”

“Nothing that’s going to help us.” I peered around at the mist. It glowed an eerie celadon color. Definitely not natural. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in your bag to disperse magic fog?”

I didn’t really expect an answer, but Quinn said, “No, unfortunately. It would be a simple spell if I boasted an ounce of magic”