A Spell for Heartsickness (The Rune Tithe #1)

CHAPTER 14

B riar didn’t tell Vatii or Gretchen about where he’d spent the night. When asked, he sidestepped these questions with a prim “none of your business.” He didn’t want to put up with even more scolding from Vatii, and Gretchen would be tetchy he’d made so little progress about her tether while distracted.

They found out soon enough. The next day, Rowan appeared with homemade sandwiches for Briar’s lunch break. It wasn’t the only reason he’d come, as his wandering hands and mouth soon made clear. Gretchen vanished in a blushing kerfuffle, and Vatii screeched so loudly in surprise that it stopped Rowan in his tracks.

Briar shooed her with an “I’ll explain later,” determined to enjoy their quickie now that this was something he could indulge.

Vatii laid into him viciously once Rowan left.

“Irresponsible! You will invite destruction on us both, behaving like this!”

“Good grief, it’s only sex, Vatii.”

“Is it?” she hissed. “What about the prophecy? What about Linden?”

“You don’t even like Linden!”

“I don’t. He’s a smug arse, and I wouldn’t mind if his cat went and played in traffic. I don’t like most people, though. And these two are meant to help you. I care more about your future than my fickle taste in the men you fancy! What if this thing with Rowan ruins that future with Linden? It isn’t like we have an abundance of time!”

She had a point. It complicated things to involve himself with Rowan.

“Linden hasn’t opened up much. I still don’t know if…” I feel that way about him. Had he really been about to say that? Linden was beautiful, talented—the talisman was the problem. If only Briar could get a read on him, perhaps his foretold feelings would follow suit.

“Rowan and I talked. We established it’s only casual. No strings attached.”

“Hm,” grouched Vatii. “Why doesn’t that comfort me?”

Whether it comforted her or not was of no consequence to Briar, who found his increasingly regular contact with Rowan very comforting. It became a ritual to share lunch hours. After a week, Rowan invited him for dinner, and that became a ritual, too. To the extent that Briar spent many evenings eating dinner with Rowan, kissing Rowan, sleeping with Rowan, and then having breakfast with Rowan before going to work.

Vatii worried, but she worried less when Rowan started making her a small plate of food, too. Some of her caution was even disproven. Well fed and sleeping better, Briar’s headaches afflicted him less. He only got the shakes on days he worked late.

Gretchen became scarcer, popping in to occasionally ask how his investigations were going. Vatii maintained that Briar and Rowan’s fraternizing traumatized her.

It was only a matter of time before Vatii’s warnings caught up to him.

One day during his lunch, when Briar and Rowan were busily testing how robust his kitchen table was, a knock came at the shop door. Half-dressed and pink-cheeked, they scrambled to pull pants on and arrange their hair so it didn’t look quite so… pulled. Neither had caught their breath by the time Briar opened the door to find Linden there.

“Briar. It’s been some time. I thought I’d pop in, if you don’t mind?”

Vatii, who’d been watching the shop while he “fraternized” upstairs, bored holes into Briar with her gaze. Rowan pretended to peruse the rack of clothes.

“Ah, you have a customer,” said Linden. “I can return later.”

“It’s no bother, I was just on my way,” Rowan said quickly. He inclined his head to Briar. “Be seeing you.”

Linden watched him go with a peculiar, pinched expression. “Are you two familiar?”

Briar tried not to let how familiar show on his face. “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Ah. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he has a strange way about him, the alderman.”

“O-oh?”

“You haven’t noticed, then? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Please, tell me how you’ve been.”

“Great! I finished taking in your clothes. Let me run and grab them.”

“Shall I come up?”

“No! No, the flat’s a mess.” Really, Briar didn’t want Linden sitting at the table he had just been bent over.

He came down moments later with the garments folded over one arm. He’d ironed the trousers into a neat pleat and ensured no loose threads hung on. The clothes gave off an airy, esoteric scent as Briar held them out.

“They’re very fine,” Linden said. “I can’t thank you enough for putting your time into this. You’ve a rare talent.”

Briar preened under the compliment. “You think so?”

“Yes. Perhaps it’s superstitious of me, but it seems fortuitous that we should meet like this.” Linden’s keen, crystalline stare pinned Briar to the spot. He reached out and touched the back of Briar’s hand with feather-light fingers. “I wondered if you’d join me for a drink tonight? To celebrate the completion of this project.”

Briar’s throat went dry. “I’d love that.”

Beside them, Vatii shuffled back and forth on the countertop. He understood her disconcertion. If this was a date, it would be best to clear that up right away.

Linden took the hangers of clothes, folding them over his arm. “I still haven’t thought of an event to wear this to, but I will. See you tonight?”

“Tonight,” Briar confirmed dizzily.

“I look forward to it.”

Linden turned to go. Before he reached the door, Briar summoned his courage to ask the question he didn’t really want to know the answer to. “So, is this a date?”

Linden turned by a degree, looking over one shoulder. “Let’s call it a precursor.”

After the door shut behind him, Vatii broke her edgy silence. “What the bloody hell does that mean?!”

Briar didn’t know. He’d never been on a “precursor” date, whatever that was, and it did not clear up the difficulty this presented. If Linden was courting him seriously, then Briar had every obligation to break things off with Rowan. If Linden only wanted a casual affair, that was another thing altogether and would require a different conversation about exclusivity or lack thereof. What the hell could he infer from a “precursor,” though?

It was frustrating. Not least of all because the longer he thought about it, and the more Vatii badgered him, the stronger the realization was: he didn’t want to be courted. At least, not right now. Not yet.

He and Rowan were having fun, and with work stealing so much of his energy, he’d come to prize their time together. Time was something he had little in reserve, but still…

He didn’t want it to end so quickly.

Gretchen popped her head through the wall then, glaring after Linden’s retreating back. She said, “Is all this boy drama going to interfere with getting me out of ghost prison?”

Briar could feel a headache coming on. Whether because of stress or his curse, he couldn’t tell. “Please, Gretchen, not now.”

She stormed out again in a huff.

That evening, tourists stood outside the Swan and Cygnet, steaming drinks in hand, their chatter and merriment oddly conspiratorial in nature. Upon entering, Briar saw why. A corner of the pub was cordoned off with velvet curtains—not a usual part of the decor. They’d been conjured there. Aisling confirmed Briar’s suspicions: Linden had paid to reserve a private space for drinks and conversation.

“Bit excessive, don’t you think?” Vatii said.

It was a lot of effort for a drink and a chat.

Before seeing Linden, Briar pulled from his pocket a small potion bottle, a thimbleful of milky liquid swirling inside with ribbons of red. It hadn’t been easy to brew, requiring three days of steeping in cranberries and cinnamon sticks to ensure its potency. Heartbreak tonics were time consuming and expensive to buy, but he felt responsible for worsening Aisling’s grief. The ring he’d sold her ex-fiancé had been enchanted to heighten emotions post engagement.

He handed her the bottle. She recognized its distinctive color immediately.

“A heartbreak tonic? For me?”

It might have been presumptuous of him—they didn’t know each other well. “If you want it. Maebh told me about Kenneth, so I thought…”

She rolled the bottle in her palm. “I don’t have enough money.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Briar.” She closed her fist around it, and after a contemplative moment, tucked it into her apron, her eyes glazed. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

He couldn’t delay any longer. Aisling led him through the kitchens, where a conjured portal hovered between the refrigerator and the oven. It seemed a lot of effort to make his entrance discreet, but he went through. On the other side, noise from the pub patrons muffled to a distant hum. The curtains concealed the corner from view, but it seemed an anti-eaves-dropping charm had been added, too.

Linden sat in a booth with his back to Briar, phone to his ear. In a tense voice, he said, “I’m telling you, the formula is impossible.”

Briar froze. He could guess this wasn’t a conversation he was meant to overhear. He thought about going back through the portal, but then Linden snapped.

“The main ingredient is nowhere to be found. Do you doubt my credibility? Perhaps you’d like to come and confirm it for yourselves.”

A buzz of noise from the phone implied the response wasn’t favorable. Linden spoke over it, voice lowered to an exasperated hiss. “The risk that my research will result in nothing is mine to bear. I’d appreciate it if you ceased stooping to criticize whatever leisure I find or who with. It does not affect you.”

Briar stiffened. Did Linden mean him? Linden claimed he didn’t share his company often, so who else?

Linden finished the conversation with a curt, “That’s enough. I have an engagement now. We’ll speak more later. Goodbye.”

Briar hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but the ferocity in Linden’s voice pinned him to the spot. Though he’d come on invitation, it felt like a terrible time. He waited a few breaths. Linden gripped his hair, staring at his phone on the table.

Briar cleared his throat. “Are you all right?”

Linden shot up. “Briar. Ah, how much did you hear?”

“Only the end.”

Linden’s normally calm veneer wavered. “It’s my potion work. Apparently, my progress is insufficient.” He rolled his eyes. “My parents, they expect no less than miracles.”

Briar took a seat across the table. “I remember you performing miracles once upon a time.” At Linden’s curious expression, he continued. “I witnessed one of them a long time ago. Your miracle tour.”

His eyes widened. “Which city?”

“A little town called Port Haven. I grew up there.” He didn’t mention that he’d brought his mother for curing, only to find she wasn’t yet ill. It was a dark topic Briar would rather avoid.

“Lovely place,” Linden said. “It had a wonderful seafood restaurant, if I recall. Yes, that would have been one of the last times I could—” He cut himself short. “Well. It doesn’t do to dwell on what we’ve lost.”

“You’ve never felt any sign of your healing gifts coming back to you?”

“No. I exhausted everything on that tour. My parents, well, I wanted to make them proud.”

Vatii rolled her eyes. “Boo-hoo.”

Briar had more sympathy. He didn’t understand how Linden’s parents could be anything less than ecstatic to have a son capable of healing. They’d pushed him to such lengths he’d lost those abilities altogether. He recalled his own mother, dying and devastated she wouldn’t get to see him grow up, saying she was so proud of him. And he’d done little back then.

“I’m sorry,” Briar said. “That’s not fair.”

Linden said, “Ah, but I didn’t ask you here to burden you with my family’s squabbles. We’re here to celebrate the success of this first project, aren’t we? And to get to know one another better.”

Briar allowed Linden to sidestep the topic, which clearly discomfited him. The sentiment didn’t quite leave him, though. I’d appreciate it if you ceased stooping to criticize whatever leisure I find or who with. Linden’s parents clearly didn’t welcome Briar’s involvement.

Linden ordered a bottle of champagne for them. As he poured, he asked Briar questions. Where he went to college, what type of magic he excelled at beyond fashion and enchantments. He asked all with an increasingly languid smile while twirling his champagne flute. For a moment, the bubbles and the private atmosphere warmed Briar enough to forget his confusion over the “precursor.”

“What are you trying to create, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I wouldn’t burden you with it. It’s all very dull,” said Linden.

“I can be the judge of that. Maybe I can help?”

Linden rolled his last gulp of champagne around in his mouth. “Perhaps. But we’ll need more alcohol.”

This was Briar’s cue to get the next round. “What would you like?” Linden said a nice Riesling wouldn’t go amiss. Briar went to speak to

Aisling and nearly fainted at the price of the bottle. It was well outside his budget, but the idea of telling Linden so was humiliating. The cost would set him back—he wouldn’t be able to afford the ghost orchid pollen until after Christmas, weeks away. The only reason he could buy the pollen over food was because Rowan frequently fed him. He consoled himself with distant hopes. Maybe, if the night went well, Linden would offer him another job. A paid one. If Linden’s promotion attracted enough attention, he might never have to feel sick at a three-digit price tag again.

Briar took it to the table and poured them both a glass, managing not to spill despite the slight shake in his hands. If Linden noticed, he politely pretended not to. He took his glass and sniffed, swirling the pale liquid before bringing it to his lips.

With an air of revisiting the grave of a relative with whom he shared a troubled history, he said, “My parents have demanded that I create a… panacea of sorts. A curse cure.”

Briar’s alcoholic haze sharpened into something bladed and acute. “A curse cure?”

“It’s quite the conundrum, yes? Apart from killing the caster—a most sordid solution we needn’t investigate—a curse can only be lifted by the person who cast it, so how to bottle that kind of individual intent and make it universal? So that anyone could drink the elixir and be relieved of their affliction.”

“That is a challenge,” Briar said faintly.

“It’s impossible. Near as I can tell, all tales of a successful cure are in the same league as Pandora’s box and the Holy Grail. Utterly fabricated. And yet…” He raised his brows, taking another swig of wine. “I’ve heard stories of a genuine version created in Coill Darragh. So here I am.” The wine mellowed Linden’s nature. His words blended instead of ending in clipped consonants. “Complete bollocks, if you’ll excuse my language. I’ve searched and found no evidence whatsoever. Folktales for children, I suspect.”

The proclamation sank in one sick degree at a time. The wine, the private atmosphere, and the hooded look from Linden nearly compelled Briar to speak of his own curse, yet he held back. He knew well the look of pity that people wore when he told them, and he did not want his relationship with Linden to be based on charity, or the idea that Briar needed saving. Intent on earning his own station, he grasped the confession tightly behind clenched teeth.

Privately, he also thought that it felt a bit like fate. Another confirmation Linden was the man from his prophecy. A cursed man’s life entwined with the one who sought a cure.

“Why would your parents give you an impossible goal?”

Linden snorted. “They presented the hypothesis of my inferiority long ago. They would rather be correct in their assumption than admit they were wrong.”

Briar couldn’t help it. “That’s horrible.”

Linden’s fuzzy expression resolved into something curious. Intense. “Pardon?”

“I said, that’s horrible. They’re horrible.”

Linden’s smile felt like a long-held breath, finally released. “Ah, there’s that candor I admire so much in you. No one else would dare speak ill of my perfect, powerful parents.”

“Well, I don’t know them,” Briar said. “But I’m getting to know you. I think you can do it, by the way. Find the cure.”

Linden’s smile wavered. He leaned across the table and laid his hand over Briar’s. His cool fingers warmed against Briar’s skin, a spark of some-thing hopeful in his eyes. Then his expression turned troubled, and he withdrew. “Your certainty is misplaced, but it means quite a lot to hear. From you. Ah! But it’s getting late, and I haven’t even asked you the very thing I invited you here for.”

“Oh?”

“This project of ours. You’ve created something better than I imagined. Not to say that I ever doubted your talents, but you’ve outdone yourself. So what would you say to a collaborative business partnership? Perhaps on a summer line to test the waters?”

Briar’s heart fluttered in his throat. “An entire line.”

“Yes. If it fits into your schedule—”

“Of course! I would love t—I’m honored. Of course, of course I will.”

Linden beamed. “Wonderful! Then all that’s left is the contract.”

He rolled out a sheaf of parchment from within his robes and set it down on the table. Rising, he produced a pen and told Briar to take his time reading it while he fetched another drink for a toast. While he was gone, Briar scanned the pages. It detailed a partnership in which they would create a summer collection of twelve garments, to be promoted and taken to runways both national and international. They would collaborate on design. Linden would provide materials while Briar provided the labor. That seemed fair enough, but under Section C, it dictated Linden would receive ninety percent of the net profits. Briar supposed the basis for this discrepancy was that runways were expensive to put on, and Linden would be providing the capital for their collection. Aside from that, Linden’s name had the clout Briar’s lacked.

Still. It seemed skewed.

At his elbow, Vatii clucked and tutted. “That’s ridiculous.”

The alcohol left Briar fuzzy headed, and he didn’t have the experience necessary to estimate what their profits could be. The amount listed as Linden’s investment capital was significant, so presumably he expected a return on it. Briar put his head in his hands, the persistent ache returning. Pushing for a greater percentage of the spoils felt greedy, but of the two of them, Briar had the most to lose if this venture failed.

Linden appeared with two wineglasses in hand; Briar accepted his with a smile he hoped masked his nerves. Linden offered a sympathetic nod. “Paperwork is hardly my favorite part either. Is everything in order?”

“It looks great, I was just wondering…” Briar wrestled for the right words. “The profit split seems a bit… skewed.”

Linden’s smile didn’t budge. “How much more would you like?”

Put on the spot, Briar wished he’d had longer to contemplate a figure.

Vatii croaked, “Remember what your mum told you about haggling.”

Figure out what you want, then ask for more, and always know when to walk away. He’d watched his mum stare down a car salesman after listing a litany of reasons his car wasn’t worth the asking price. He tried to be as much her son now as ever.

“I want more. Thirty-five percent.”

Linden’s expression didn’t change. “You’ve seen how much I’m investing.”

“Which means you’re pretty confident in our success.”

“Hm, a third is steep,” said Linden. “Twenty percent.”

“Thirty-three,” said Briar.

“Twenty-five.”

Briar didn’t respond. He thought his heart might cave a hole in his ribs, but he waited in the awkward silence.

Linden unfolded his hands. “I do admire your boldness. Thirty, then.”

A wave of relief and triumph both. “Done!”

Linden snapped his fingers, and the line about profits was erased. It never ceased to boggle Briar’s mind that Linden didn’t have to touch the tithes at his belt to use them. With a pen, he wrote the amended figure and turned the parchment for Briar to sign.

Contract complete, Linden lifted his glass to toast their partnership. They finished their wine, discussing ideas for the collection, but it had gotten quite late.

Linden slid toward the end of the booth. “I’ve had such a good evening, but I’m afraid it’s time I turned in.” With one hand, he reached out and covered Briar’s on the table. “However, I must tell you how pleased I am we get to work together again.”

His hand lingered a moment longer. Long enough for Briar to recall through the slosh of alcohol what Linden had called this night.

“So… the precursor? How’d I do?”

Linden’s radiant smile snuffed out. “Briar…”

“Sorry. Too bold?”

“No, not at all, I’m flattered.” He took a step closer, the proximity bringing with it the scent of sandalwood and cauldron fire. The blue of his eyes looked darker, more contemplative, as his hand touched Briar’s cheek. A flutter of cold went through him. Not butterflies, but a nervy fear. Fear of breaking away and of leaning closer, because the name Rowan tangled his heart in complicated knots. So he remained still. His breath fell against Linden’s bare wrist. He saw Linden’s slight shiver, barely disguised, and then his flash of self-reproach as he broke away.

“I’m sorry, Briar. My parents…” He looked askance at their empty glasses. They wouldn’t approve. It went unsaid. “Perhaps, for the sake of professionalism, it’s best we remain friends.”

A queer combination of relief and uncertainty overcame Briar. That Linden’s parents wouldn’t approve failed to surprise him, but it seemed strange that Linden caved to their pressure. He didn’t strike Briar as obsequious in nature. Beyond that, he’d thought for certain Linden was the man from Niamh’s vision. He matched the description exactly: cool, enigmatic, difficult to know. His cure, if he ever found it, could save Briar’s life.

Yet, Briar was relieved. “Of course,” he heard himself say.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Linden fastened his cape and took a pinch of gray dust—powder ground from bat bones—from a pouch at his belt. He tossed this in the air to open a second portal, the icy decor of his flat sparkling beyond. He stepped through and, on the other side, turned.

“Ah, before I go, be sure to leave through the kitchen, won’t you? Best not give the press anything to gossip about.”

At Briar’s mute nod, the portal shut, and he was left alone.

He went through the remaining portal into the kitchen, and it dispelled behind him. As he made to leave, Aisling mimed a zip over her lips. Something about the way she averted her gaze… Briar knew Linden had already insisted upon her discretion.

It stung like a papercut, forgotten about until you squeezed a lemon.

Linden’s preoccupation with privacy reminded him of Celyn’s reluctance to be associated with him. It wasn’t the same; Linden’s celebrity status attracted cruel rumors, and this had nothing to do with Briar and everything to do with the disapproval of Linden’s parents. Otherwise, Linden wouldn’t have entered a business partnership with him.

Despite his hurt, Briar had to admit the dominant emotion he felt was relief.

“I can keep seeing Rowan,” he said to Vatii as they left the Swan and Cygnet.

“I thought you’d be more excited that you have an ongoing collaboration with your childhood idol,” Vatii said.

“Well… that too.” But that required a lot of work, and Briar already had so much to do.

These thoughts fled his mind at the sound of a scream splitting the night.

It silenced the pubgoers who’d spilled into the street. More screams followed. A center of pandemonium separated the crowd, people backing away from a crooked figure on the ground.

The power of the forest pulsed in the air, in the burn of the mark on Briar’s arm. Dread curled in his heart.

Maebh appeared, pushing through the crowd. She crouched next to the figure, who shook fiercely while holding her arm. Briar’s stomach turned.

The arm was desiccated, ending in a nearly mummified and unmoving hand. And through it, sunk beneath flesh, twisting up over her limb, was a dark, thorny vine.