~ Sylas ~

Jaxon doesn't relax until we're nearly back to Covey Bend. Then, with the city well behind us, and once he's absolutely sure we weren't followed, he pulls to the side of the road and stops the car.

"Fucking hell," he says, releasing his breath in a long sigh and leaning his forehead on the steering wheel.

I listen to the silence a moment, then speak. "You okay?"

He cracks an eye and glances sideways at me. "Yeah. You?"

I take stock. I'd been startled and worried, of course, but my fears had been short-lived. I'd accepted Aurelio's assurances, while Jaxon had not. He'd remained taut as a drawn bow the whole time, expecting and ready for the worst. Given that he knew his brother far better than I did, I wondered if I hadn't fully registered the danger we'd been in.

"I'm alright," I say, and then hesitate.

Jaxon has parked on the shoulder beside a stretch of open field. A rusted barbed wire fence attached to rotten posts guards its border, and beyond, green hills sweep towards the eastern sky. In the middle distance, a group of cows, like black and brown dots, wander at will. I watch them for a few breaths before breaking the silence again.

"How did he find us?"

Jaxon takes a moment to answer. "He's clever, and well-connected."

"You're clever, too," I argue. "And you've been so careful. Do you think it's possible...Nic?"

This time there's no hesitation. "No. I trust Nic and Yumi with my life. More – I trust them with your life. There's no way Nic would betray me like that. Not on purpose, anyway. An accident, though..."

He trails off, then sighs.

"We'll find out soon enough," he says. Then he restarts the car and pulls back onto the road, rolling down the windows until we've left the smell of cows far behind.

✧ ✧ ✧

"Jaxon, stop!" I shout. "For fuck's sake, what are you thinking?"

I'd assumed that Jaxon would question Nic, and knowing him as I do, I'd assumed he would question him rather directly. I had not assumed the questioning would involve sharp objects flying through the air.

Jaxon had questioned me like that, once – the night we'd met. He'd asked if I'd had anything to do with his father's death, I'd said 'no,' and then he'd thrown a knife at my throat.

He'd missed – not because he had poor aim, but because I'd told the truth and the knife was his Sign, guided by magic to detect a lie. If 'no' had been the wrong answer, our acquaintance would have been a very short one.

Now, Nic is being subjected to the same test, and it's not going so well for him.

Jaxon had walked into the kitchen, where Nic was rolling out the top crust for a savory beef and mushroom pie, and asked if he'd thought something might be off about the client we'd gone to meet that morning. Nic had said 'no,' in so many words, and then Jaxon had stuck his knife through Nic's hand.

Then he'd pulled it out again, and asked if Nic had set us up, and now he held the knife ready to throw as he awaited Nic's answer.

Hence, there was a lot of screaming and yelling going on.

"Jaxon! Please – just put it down!" I plead. I'd moved to stand between him and Nic, while Nic clutched his injured hand and bewailed the ruination of his pie. "Please – whatever he did, he's your friend!"

"If he betrayed us, we need to know, Sylas," he insists.

"Then ask without the knife!" I shout. "I think the justice process is supposed to include a few more steps between questioning and execution!"

"I'm not aiming for anything vital," Jaxon says, as if that makes it all okay. "The punishment has to fit the crime, or the truth-spell won't work."

"It's alright, Sylas, sweetie," Nic huffs and rests his good hand on my shoulder. "Let him do what he's gotta do. I'll be okay. Unlike my pie. That was dinner, you big dookie." He glares at Jaxon.

"Nic..." I twist to look at him. He'd wrapped his bloodied hand in a towel and leans heavily against the counter, sweat beading his brow.

He gives me a pained smile. "Go on," he nods to the side, "it's really okay."

Reluctantly, I move away from him.

Jaxon meets his eyes, adjusts his aim, and speaks in a careful, deliberate tone. "Dominic Honeybird, I'll ask you once more: did you knowingly send Sylas and I into danger today?"

Nic lifts his full chin defiantly. "No, Jaxon Quincy Spellwright — you incredibly dense, stupidly impulsive, stabby wrecker of perfectly delicious pies — I did not."

The knife buries itself in the wall behind Nic's right shoulder, having missed him by a fraction of an inch.

I sag with relief. Jaxon covers his face with one hand and leans on the back of a chair.

Nic moves to sit in another, cradling his injured hand.

"Oweeee..." he moans. "Sylas, get the first-aid kit for me, will you, hun? It's in the cupboard in the bathroom."

"It's not that bad," Jaxon says, as I go in search of it. "I aimed between the bones. There shouldn't be any lasting damage."

"Says the guy holding the knife," Nic retorts. "When I stab you, you can tell me 'it's not that bad.'"

"The day you stab me, Nic," Jaxon replies, "I won't be saying anything."

"True that," Nic agrees.

I return with the kit, open it, and start rummaging for antiseptic and bandages, but Nic slides it away from me and pushes it towards Jaxon.

"Don't worry 'bout that, sugar," he says. "Jaxi did the damage, he can fix it."

Without complaint, Jaxon sits and reaches for Nic's hand, unwrapping the stained towel and administering treatment with practiced efficiency.

The three of us sit in silence for several minutes until Nic's hand is neatly bandaged.

"Still hurts like a motherfuckin' whore," Nic says, flexing his fingers, "and dinner's on you, now, sweet cheeks," he adds, addressing Jaxon. "No steak and porcini pie for you. I even bought that dark ale you like. Teach me to go outta my way."

"I'm sorry," Jaxon says, sounding uncharacteristically chagrined. "I... I honestly didn't expect you to get hurt. I just wanted to be sure. But what the fuck, Nic? What did you know?"

Nic sighs. "Tell you what, hot stuff. Order us some takeout — I want Thai, and nobody's arguing — and I'll explain myself like a civilized man. Over dinner."

✧ ✧ ✧

By the time the takeout arrives — an exorbitant spread revealing the depths of Jaxon's guilt — and we've transferred the food to plates and platters, and sit around the table, sharing everything 'family style,' Yumi has returned. She sits between me and Nic at the square table, and glares death at Jaxon, who sits opposite.

I get the feeling Jaxon is lucky she wasn't home earlier, or Nic might not be the only one in bandages.

"Mmmh," Nic moans around a bite of spicy shrimp soup. "You wouldn't think a place like Covey Bend would have good Thai food, but Manee sure knows what she's about."

"Knows a lot about poisons, too," Yumi says, sliding her spoon and fork together as if sharpening a knife, and keeping her eyes fixed on Jaxon.

Wisely or not, he ignores her.

"So. Why did my knife go through your hand, Nic?" Jaxon asks.

"Um, because you stabbed me?" Nic replies, looking at him through his lashes. Then he rolls his eyes. "Your exact words were, 'Did you think there was something 'off' about the client.' I said 'no,' because I thought you meant did I think he was strange in some way, and actually, he seemed like a very normal kid. Too normal, which I did think was suspicious — the 'normies' aren't the ones who Spell themselves into uncomfortable situations, generally speaking. Use your head, Jaxon — your big head, for once. Wording and intention matter."

"I know that," Jaxon snaps. "Why do think I use actions instead of words? My magic's so weak, I've never been able to master spoken or written spells."

"Not weak," Nic says, shaking his head. "Different. You're different, Jax. You always have been. And you've never accepted that."

"I—"

"No." Nic cuts him off, waving his hand. "I don't mean who you love, or how the rest of your family is. I mean you. Your magic is different. Not less, or weak, or anything like that. Have you ever missed, with that truth-spell of yours? You know how much time, and study, and preparation most Crafters would have to go through to even attempt something like that? And yet you just hurl that little knife of yours, trusting every time that it's gonna fly true." He shakes his head. "That kinda natural magic — that intuition — isn't normal. You're a...well, you're a 'well' of untapped power, probably. An inkwell, if you catch my drift."

"You're saying I need Sylas," Jaxon says.

Nic meets his eyes with a solemn gaze, and takes another measured sip of spicy shrimp soup.

"I'm saying you need to figure yourself out, and accept whatever that is, before someone gets hurt. Someone else, that is," he adds, flexing his bandaged hand.

Jaxon looks at him, and I sense some communication passing between them.

Then Jaxon nods, very slightly, and turns his attention to the food, and the rest of the meal passes in relative silence.

Afterwards, Jaxon and I retreat to our room, and Jaxon is quiet and subdued. We shower separately, and he only smooths his hand up and down my back a few times as we lie together in bed, before he goes still and succumbs to sleep.

I lie awake a while longer, my mind replaying the day on a loop, until I, too, drift off.

In the morning, though, Nic and Yumi are gone.