Those Words I Dread (Tales of the Tuath Dé #1)

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Noah found Julien’s apartment door open when he returned home from work, and when he looked inside, his dinner and his yoga bag slipped from his hands and fell to the ground.

“Julien!” he cried out before he could help himself, and he rushed into the apartment and dropped to his knees at the hunter’s side. He pushed the other man’s blonde hair out of his face and tried to rouse him, but he only laid still on his back. Noah’s breath left him at the sight of Julien’s broken wrist, the flesh reddened and swollen and his hand twisted to an unnatural angle.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” He was almost afraid to touch him. “I told you not to do anything stupid,” he said, and he leaned down to check the hunter for breath. Steady breaths, and no sign of injury that Noah could see aside from his wrist. Was he unconscious or asleep?

Noah perked up at the sound of footsteps on the stairwell outside, and when he spotted the dark blue uniforms in the hallway, he rushed to his feet and shut the door in a panic. He stood with both hands on the door, listening and praying that this was a horrible coincidence, but then he jumped at the loud banging knock a few moments later.

“VPD,” a man’s voice said clearly through the door .

“Oh God,” Noah whispered to himself, silently cursing Julien’s relentless stupidity. He had warned him. He had told him.

“We had a report of gunshots,” the voice pressed. “We’re going to need you to open the door.”

Noah clicked open the door just enough to peek out, attempting to put himself between Julien’s sprawled body and the officer’s line of sight. “Evening,” he offered, knowing how shifty he must have looked. Noah didn’t even like police on a good day.

“Heard anything suspicious tonight, sir?”

“Uh, nope, just the usual poverty-stricken neighborhood problems here,” Noah rattled off too quickly. “Don’t know anything about any gunshots, sorry, you gentlemen have a good—”

“How long’s that window been broken?” the officer cut him off, putting a hand on the door to keep Noah from closing it. As he leaned to get a better look, Noah instinctively turned around, and then he found himself pushed backwards into the room as the officer forced the door open.

“Hands on your head!” the man snapped, his hand already on his sidearm, while his partner knelt at Julien’s side to feel his pulse.

“He’s alive,” the officer confirmed.

“Of course he’s alive! Nobody got shot!” Noah insisted, lacing his fingers behind his head as the officer spotted Julien’s gun on the floor. This was bad. This was so bad. They were definitely going to be curious about the amount of guns in the apartment, and they were definitely going to think that Noah had broken Julien’s wrist and knocked him out—though how they supposed he had beaten up a man almost twice his size, he couldn’t imagine. They were going to ask questions about how they knew each other, and who Julien was, and maybe even talk to neighbors who saw the two of them carrying a number of black garbage bags out of the building the previous night. Oh, this was so bad.

The officer on the floor was already talking into the radio on his shoulder. Noah raised his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, a steam of obscenities running through his head, then he took a deep breath. He dropped his hands from his head, and at his word, a gust of wind tore through the apartment with Noah at its center, sending both men flying backward and crashing into the walls. Noah pulled their guns from their hands without touching them, letting them clatter to the floor at his feet. When the men tried to get up, he forced them down with a word, pinning them to the floor and silencing their shouting voices with a gesture.

“Fuck,” he swore, panic setting in now that their eyes were on him in the quiet room. “Just, this isn’t what it—fuck!” He trotted into Julien’s bedroom and pulled the bedding from the mattress, then gingerly laid the blanket over the top of one of the officers, making sure he still had room to breathe. He covered the other man with Julien’s sheet and stood in the center of the room, then lifted his hands and let them fall helplessly to his sides with a heaving sigh. This was so, so bad.

Noah did a quick sweep of the apartment for anything that might have Julien’s name on it, then made a renewed effort to wake the hunter up. He shook him, slapped his face, and shouted at him, but got no response. With a huff, he lifted Julien by his uninjured arm and attempted to pull him to the door, the larger man hardly seeming to move.

“Oh, for the love of—you are so fat,” he hissed. Noah carefully positioned himself and heaved Julien’s torso onto his back, lifting to his feet with a strained grunt. He took slow steps to the front door and poked his head into the hall to check for witnesses, then carried on, Julien’s toes dragging along the concrete walkway behind him. “You had better be so grateful,” he muttered. “You stupid, stupid—you had better be okay,” he finished in a smaller voice.

Noah had nowhere to take him. He just had to get him away. He moved as fast as he could with the hunter’s large body on his back, taking quick, labored steps to his own apartment door. This was so stupid. But he didn’t have a car, he didn’t have any family in town—not that he would have wanted to bring a monster hunter to their door in any case. This was his only option. Noah managed to get his apartment door unlocked and dropped Julien onto the sofa, then darted back to the hall to retrieve his dropped belongings.

As soon as he was shut inside, he raced into his bedroom and snatched his pencil case from his bag, fumbling with the sticks of charcoal as he returned to the door. He started to draw a large circle on the wall around the entrance, but he had to drag a folding metal chair from his kitchen to stand on so that he could finish the top curve above the door. He sketched his chosen symbols around the edge of the circle and at the center, muttering to himself as he racked his brain for the right words. He couldn’t make the door invisible, per se, but he could hide it. If he could just remember the words, he could create an illusion on the opposite side of the wall, making it appear flat and concealing the door itself. Someone could still touch it if they knew it was there, but Noah hoped the illusion would be enough to protect them from intruders at least until he could figure out something better.

Noah pressed his palm to the center of the circle, pausing to make sure he had the incantation right in his head, and then he shut his eyes to whisper it. A low pulse flowed from the door under his hand, making him sway on his feet, and he opened his eyes to peer at the circle. It seemed intact, which was a decided improvement over his last attempt.

He turned back to look at Julien, still snoozing on the couch. It must be sleep; at least, Noah hoped it was sleep, since if he was just unconscious, he would almost definitely have some sort of brain damage by now.

The witch gave a small sigh and stacked up what pillows he had under Julien’s dangling arm. His fingers were beginning to look quite purple. Maybe it was better if he was asleep until Noah could fix his wrist. If Noah could fix his wrist.

“Fuck,” he whispered again, and he gathered up anything he thought might be helpful. All he had was herbs and stones—not even a real magical knowledge of how to set a broken wrist, let alone a practical one.

Noah set down his armful of supplies and pulled a dusty book from its shelf, wiping the cover with the bottom of his shirt as he knelt beside the sofa. With book in hand and a variety of ingredients at his disposal, Noah was at least able to set the bone and wrap it with some herbs and small chunks of agate, which he hoped would be helpful to the process. Now all he had to worry about was the fact that Julien was still, despite all the witch’s prodding, fast asleep.

He tried a number of spells that he knew off-hand and some that he had to look up, but nothing would rouse the hunter from what was clearly an enchanted sleep. Had the gean cánach done this? Noah didn’t like his chances against fairy magic. Was it even possible to undo a fairy curse, if that’s what this was? Was Julien going to waste away, or would he stay healthy and handsome until the spell was broken? Noah imagined him pricking his finger on a spinning wheel.

A faint heat burned Noah’s cheeks as that daydream reached its inevitable conclusion. If it was an enchanted sleep, then—Maleficent was a fairy, after all, wasn’t she? Now he was taking cues from Disney movies. Noah scooted closer to the edge of the sofa on his knees, looking down at Julien’s peaceful face, and he brushed aside a lock of the hunter’s dirty blonde hair. He bent down close on the pretense of checking his breath, but he paused very close to the other man’s face, his heart thumping rapidly in his chest. He licked his lips, hesitating, and then he let out a groaning laugh and pushed himself to his feet. He paced the living room with his hands in his hair, puffing out his cheeks in a sigh. Ridiculous. Even if there was the slightest chance of that actually working, if he ever was going to kiss Julien—and that was the biggest “if” he could think of—he didn’t want it to be while the hunter was unconscious.

Fine. Time to break out the big guns. Noah gave a final huff and let his hands drop, then stepped into his bedroom and opened the dresser drawer. Candles of every color rolled to the front of the drawer, and he picked out every white one he could find. He nudged the drawer closed with his elbow and clicked open the chest of incense on the floor, digging out the scented sticks he needed and kicking the lid closed on his way out. He set up the candles wherever there was flat space and tucked the incense into the frog-shaped holder on his coffee table.

Noah went to the kitchen and took the large box of salt from a cabinet, then poured a wide circle around his sofa and coffee table, enclosing Julien inside the ring. He paused as he set the box back on the counter. Iron. Iron would be helpful.

He went back to the bedroom, tossing aside dirty clothes and empty water bottles as he searched. He finally found the small box he sought and pried it open, revealing a small collection of various bric-a-brac he had collected over the years—including an old railroad spike he had found in an empty lot some time ago. When you’re a witch, collecting random interesting bullshit frequently pays off, and this was one of those occasions.

Noah carried the spike to the living room, carefully stepping over the circle of salt on the floor. He set it down gingerly on Julien’s slowly breathing chest, and then he set about lighting the candles and incense. He clicked off the lights on his way back to the sofa and sat cross-legged on the floor, taking a deep breath as he settled. It was hard to focus, as anxious as he was, but he shut his eyes and tried.

He wasn’t certain how much time went by with the incense filling his nostrils as he whispered to himself in the dim room, but he slowly became aware of the air around him growing hot. He could feel sweat forming on his brow the longer it went on. The cheap wind-up alarm clock in his bedroom ticked so slowly that it sounded like a sledgehammer, each second booming in Noah’s ears. Eventually it blended together into a heavy, deafening drone.

The room felt tighter, closer somehow, as though the air itself was closing in on him. His head pounded as he struggled to stay upright, and when he thought he couldn’t bear it anymore, something cracked. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and had to catch himself on his hands as he fell forward. He opened his eyes to a dark room full of snuffed candles and cold incense, sweat dripping from his chin as Julien stirred in front of him.

Noah let out a breath of relief as the hunter opened his eyes. “Thank God,” he chuckled.

Julien only stared at him in a daze for a few long moments. “Noah?” he croaked, his voice dry and weak.

“Just wait,” the witch insisted, and he pulled himself to his feet and rushed to the kitchen to fetch Julien a glass of water. He kneeled on the floor beside him and helped him drink, setting the glass aside once he’d had his fill. “Your wrist is broken, and you were asleep,” Noah said softly. “But you’re all right now. Except for being stupid,” he added as an afterthought.

“The creature,” Julien started. “I underestimated it. I thought it would be weaker. It came for the boy—I think he’s been affected. He seemed defensive of it. They’re…more than friends, I think.”

“More than—oh. Oh,” Noah said, his eyebrows lifting. “Well that’s…something. Isn’t a gean cánach supposed to seduce women ?” He desperately wanted to ask how Julien felt about the idea of two men being more than friends, but this didn’t seem like the time. He would definitely use it as an excuse to ask later.

“I don’t know for sure that it’s the toxin.” Julien shook his head. “If it is, it’s too late for him anyway.”

“Wait, wait,” Noah interrupted. “What do you mean, he came for the boy?”

“I used him to lure the creature here. I thought I would have an advantage.”

The witch put a hand to his forehead. “Julien, you kidnapped someone? What is wrong with you?”

“I need to get back there before they try to run,” he said, apparently choosing not to address the question.

“You need to not do anything else stupid today,” Noah objected. “This thing already broke your wrist. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you.”

Julien sighed. “He may have been weak. I’m sure I cut him with the iron knife. But he was so fast, I—” The hunter swore. “I need to try again before he recovers.”

“Tomorrow, okay? At least give it until tomorrow.”

Julien frowned at him, but he was already settling back into the couch cushions. “I am…a bit tired.”

“Give your wrist a night’s rest. I tried to help, but it’s still going to take a while to heal. You need to take care of yourself.”

Julien sighed. “Fine. …Thank you, for your help.”

“Anytime,” Noah smiled. He could bring up the police in the morning. They had probably gotten up by now; he had only intended to keep them pinned for a short time. Who knows what they had told their fellow officers when they got free. There hadn’t been anyone coming to break down the door yet, so at least his illusion seemed to be holding.

“Are you hungry? I mean, I dumped my supper on the ground because I came home and you were unconscious on the floor, so I’d have to scrounge something up, but that’s doable.”

“It cast some spell on me,” Julien grumbled. “Some sort of—I’m not sure. There was a kind of smoke. I barely realized what was happening before I was asleep. How long would I have slept if you hadn’t helped me?” he asked quietly, and Noah wasn’t sure if he was talking to him or not.

“Until you were old and wizened,” Noah grinned, hoping to lighten the mood and distract himself from the soft, grateful look in the older man’s eyes. He hopped to his feet and moved to the kitchen, searching his cabinets and fridge for anything that wasn’t crackers or beer. “You should definitely be grateful.”

Julien sat up slowly and watched him over the back of the couch. “I am grateful,” he said, a sincere frown on his face.

Noah’s smile faltered, and his hand tightened on the refrigerator door. He bit anxiously at one of the piercings in his lip and shook his head. “I’m kidding. It’s not…a big deal, you know? Just…being neighborly,” he finished in a softer voice. He hid his head in the fridge and took two beers from the door. He held them up for approval and popped the caps off at Julien’s nod, handing him one of the bottles and turning back to his empty kitchen.

“Well, I’ve got some eggs,” Noah shrugged. “Or there’s enough bread left for some grilled cheese. Pick your poverty dinner poison.”

Julien took a long drink of his beer before answering. “Do you know how to cook?”

“I know how to cook eggs , Julien,” Noah scoffed. “Just shut up. I’ll make something.”

Julien relaxed on the sofa while the witch made simple omelets, listening to him hum softly as he worked. They ate together, Julien on the couch and Noah on the floor near him, neither of them entirely satisfied by the meal but neither one complaining, either.

“So why do you do what you do?” Noah asked when his beer was almost empty. “You know, kill things. You seem to get hurt a lot, and there clearly isn’t any money in it.”

“It’s the family business,” Julien answered with a small shrug. “There are many Fournier men, and this is what we do. I was born for it.” So he hadn’t been kidding about having target practice as a kid. What kind of family trains up their kids for such dangerous work on purpose? Noah couldn’t imagine.

“Well that’s…a little depressing, actually,” he said after a moment.

“Pourquoi depressing?” The hunter drained his bottle of beer. “There are many monsters in the world, mon raleur, and the more I kill, the better.”

“How many of you is a lot?”

“I have six brothers, as does my father before me.”

“Holy shit,” Noah laughed. “Fertile family, huh?”

“I’m not sure it wasn’t on purpose,” he mused. “As the seventh son of a seventh son, I’m said to have been blessed. There must be some truth to it, as I’ve always been able to see through creatures’ illusions. Beyond that, I’m not sure it means much.”

“Well that’s a sort of magic of its own, isn’t it?” Noah smiled.

“Perhaps,” Julien grumped. “But I won’t be lumped in with monsters.”

“How do you classify a monster?” Noah watched him with a soft frown. “Does something have to be…you know, bad, or…does anything magic count?”

Julien looked down at the witch without answering for a moment. “It depends on the magic.”

“Magic like mine,” he pressed, regretting the words almost as soon as they were out of his mouth.

The hunter sighed as he reached down to set his empty bottle on the floor. “You aren’t a monster, Noah. I hope you know that. Some witches are dangerous, but…I do not believe you are. You have the potential—all witches do—but you have a good heart.” He shifted on the sofa, avoiding the younger man’s gaze. “Aside from that, you are…my friend.”

The word dropped a hundred pounds of weight on Noah’s shoulders. His friend. “You really…think of me that way?” he asked in barely more than a whisper. He didn’t want to hear the answer. He didn’t want that final confirmation that his feelings were baseless, hopeless.

“Of course,” Julien answered carelessly, offering the witch a small smile.

“Of course,” Noah echoed, nodding without looking up at him. “But what if—” he started, but he stopped himself, and instead of continuing, he gathered up their plates and empty bottles and carried them to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” Julien insisted, completely misinterpreting the younger man’s meaning, as always. “I’m not going to hurt you. ”

“Yeah,” Noah agreed, though a pit had formed in his stomach and a lump in his throat threatened to choke him. He swallowed it down and washed their plates, setting them upside down on a towel on the counter. “It’s been a long day,” he said when he found his voice again. “You should rest. You can have the bed if you want; I know that couch is a piece of shit.”

“This is fine. You’ve done enough for me, Noah. Thank you.”

“Sure. Now get some sleep. Some real sleep,” Noah clarified, and Julien offered him a resigned nod as his eyes drifted shut from exhaustion.

The witch sat on the floor beside him, listening to the faint snore that told him the hunter was resting naturally, and he leaned to let his head rest against Julien’s shoulder. “Idiot,” he muttered, a small sigh escaping his lips.