“Back in Ironhenge,” I start explaining. “We have a different approach to child-rearing.” Hollyhock crosses her legs and leans back to listen.

  “People are allowed to marry whomever they want, but having a child is a different matter. It originated from a mandate a few hundred years ago, blood-feuds, personal slights, or what you call ‘beef’,” I try the colloquialism she taught me. “Between families and houses, had almost destroyed the entire magic society. It coincided with the Byzantine-Ottoman Wars, though I’ve heard that certain events were directly intertwined. Anyway, a truce was called and what was considered drastic measures were taken. Families and houses were broken up. Cerebral altering magic made them forget each other, that they were related. Loyalty to blood was erased. From then on, no matter who you are, if you have a child they will be erased from your memory.”

Hollyhock, the assassin, looks horrified. 

“You...take babies...away from their parents?” She asks. 

“Well, there is a grace period of a year, so that child is healthy, but usually by the time that they can walk they’re taken. Plus I don’t take anyone. It’s done by an organization called the Copper Cloves. They created the spell and only they know how to perform it, obviously, the members are incognito and the whole thing is kept tightly under wraps.”

“The secret organization responsible for taking kids and wiping parents’ memories of them...is called the Copper Cloves?” She asks. 

“The secret organization responsible for, I’m guessing dozens of murders...is called the Bay Leaves?” I ask. She tips her head. 

“Touché.”

“Thank you.”

“Look,” the assassin raises her hands “far be it from me to judge your culture and way of life. But that sounds completely fucked up.”

“It’s been that way for so long, that we just accept it.”

“Okay, but you know that it’s fucked up, right?”

“Dead ass,” I try another colloquialism. She shakes her head. 

“No, it’s one word: Deadass. Not dead ass.”

“Deadass,” I correct myself. She nods in approval. 

“Why do people even bother having kids then?” 

“People be fucking,” I say with a shrug. She bursts out laughing and I must admit, it is nice to see her smile. The assassin wipes a tear from her eye.

“So you have no idea who your parents are?” 

“Well, no. But, I always suspected this one couple,” I answer. “They have this little shop where they made special candies. I went there a lot as a kid. They’d give me free samples sometimes.” Fond memories spring to mind, picking out which treat I wanted to try next, and the smell of sugar in the air. “All I’ve been told is that my ancestors were from a place called Taiwan.”

“Heard that it’s nice this time of year,” she comments. 

“Really!? I’ve always wanted to see it!”

“Oh, sorry. That’s just a thing people say when someone mentions a place. I’ve barely ever left Oleander City.” 

“Ahhh.” I figured as much. 

“So what was your childhood like? Hopefully better than mine,” she adds with a small smile. 

“I would say so. We were raised in shifting cohorts; based on evaluations by our rotating mentors, we get placed in different cohorts that they think would benefit us best. If there’s potential we continue in an apprenticeship with…” I realize I’m rambling. 

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you. Talking about school.” She gives a dismissive wave. 

“No, no it’s dope. I wanna hear about this. Tell me about your magic world, regale me,” she says with a grandiose gesture with her hand. 

“What do you want you to know?” 

“Why can you do magic and I can’t,” she asks with no hesitation. 

“You could,” I answer. “Every living thing has the potential to do magic.”

“I haven’t cast any spells lately, is it ‘cause I’m low in fiber?” She jokes. I laugh a little bit.

“I’ve heard of a few people who were innately capable of magic learning to do so. It would take many years of practice, elevating your perceptions of everything. I think in your case-”

“Nah,” she interrupts me “sounds like too much work. I already trained once in my life. Did you have to do that?” 

“Not exactly. Most of us at Ironhenge have the ability to manipulate magic from a young age.”

“Why?”

“Well, the most commonly accepted theory is that while developing in the womb, the mothers’ magical energy also reaches us.” Gently, I cup Hollyhocks face. “When the brain is forming,” I say while running a finger down the center of her head, stopping at her forehead. “Magic energy pools here in the parietal lobe.”

“Part of the brain that deals with the senses,” Hollyhock replies, looking at me past my hand. Clever assassin. 

“Correct. Exposure to magic makes the brain form a special little lobe to perceive it, and then from there, one can recognize the magic in themselves,” I explain, dropping my hands to my side. 

“So you have magic ‘cause your momma had magic. Seems rigged.” I shrug. 

“Well, it’s just a theory, it hasn’t been proven or disproven yet.”

“Why don't you do an MRI on a person with magic and a person without it?” 

“What the hell is an MRI?” I ask. The assassin shakes her head. 

“Never mind,” she waves the question away. “Hmmm. What’s something fucked up you could with magic? Like, could you make someone’s heart stop?” I ponder the question briefly.

“While I see how you’d find that useful.” She tips her head in acknowledgment. “It wouldn’t be that simple. It would depend on a person’s aura.”

“Do tell.”

“As I said before, everything living thing has magic. Our forms keep the magic we naturally create around us called “auras”. They differ in color, size, density, and movement for all of us. Without a trained eye, they’re invisible. Needing to be drawn out to be seen, so normally they surround us like a second skin; protecting you from minor magical...I guess you’d call them afflictions.”

“Okay, that’s terrifying to think about.”

“But, unless you were depleted your aura would reflexively stop anything from trying to pierce your body.” I tap my chin in thought as I theorize. “It would take a significant amount to get through it though. Would it be worth it as a one-off shot?” 

“I don’t know, depends on how much you need them to be depleted,” Hollyhock says. 

“I’m getting off-topic. What else do you want to know?” 

“What’s your aura look like?” She asks. I raise my hand and let a little of my power seep out. The deep purple magic floats away like smoke. “Our auras radiate off us, like how we radiate heat.” I watch a small plume of my magic rise into the air between us. “Until it slowly comes undone by the entropy of existence.” 

“Bleak,” Hollyhock comments. 

“I was going for “dramatic” but whatever.”

“What does my aura look like?” 

“Excellent question. Let’s find out.” I move closer to her on the couch. Pressing my hand against her chest, feeling her heartbeat inside her. Slowly close my eyes. 

“You looking for auras or copping a feel?” She says, no doubt with a smirk on her face. 

“Hush,” I snip back. She hums an agreement. Truth be told, I’d only need to feel her pulse, which I could do somewhere else. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. 

The heart of an assassin beats underneath my hand, speeding up at the physical contact. Cute. When it settles into a steady rhythm, I pulse magic between beats until I feel the push of her aura resist a bit. Like antibodies rushing to fight a virus, it surges from within her to phase pass her bones, muscles, and skin. 

I open my eyes. 

The first thing I notice about her aura is how bright it is, pure orange. Many people have shades of different colors in their auras, specks revealing the impurity of their energy. But hers, like mine, is one single color. 

It’s dense around her, almost the width of two fingers. Hard to see through. I wonder if this is how all auras look when released for the first time or if just hers is exceptionally strong. But the most jarring of all is its movement. Her aura forms large spikes, constantly shooting out at her surroundings seemingly at random. It would take a master’s level of control to shape her energy to perform in such a way, but since that’s not what’s happening; her aura is naturally this...hostile. 

The spikes advance and retreat in rapid motions, sinking through the couch, the table next to us, and one goes through my head. But since it’s intangible I don’t feel anything and the furniture suffers no damage. 

I watch her aura for a moment.

 It’s said that our auras always reveal who we really are, deep down inside. Hers, attacking everything around her is fitting given her line of work. But the brightness of it astounds me, for someone who works in a surreptitious manner to be this bright is baffling. Though, I suppose it’s not really up to her. 

It’s a shame that fate decided that she should be here, living this life. If she were born and raised in Ironhenge, with an aura like hers, she’d make an excellent sorcerer. 

“What do you see?” Hollyhock asks. I realize I’ve just been staring at her in silence. 

“It’s a vibrant orange. Pure in color, very rare.”

“Orange? Really? Never thought of myself as an orange person,” she comments. 

“It’s not like having a favorite color. It’s a portrayal of your soul almost. Who you are, in your core,” I clarify.

“I’m just surprised that it’s not completely black.”

“You joke but black auras exist. Exceptionally rare. And those who have them are said to have unmatched magical power. But there hasn’t been one in almost a millennium.” Hollyhock scoffs.

“Well, who needs them? I say purple and orange are good enough, she suggests, offering her fist in a sign of hospitality. We touch knuckles lightly and she flashes a smile at me.

The assassin and trade stories as time goes by. I hardly notice the hour until she yawns loudly. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m boring, but I’ve had an eventful twenty-four hours and I’m exhausted,” she says while standing. In an unexpected display of flexibility, she stretches her back and arms in one smooth motion. “Plus, if I learn any more about this magical world of yours, I think my head might explode,” she adds.

“This magical world of ours,” I remind her. “Magic has been around you all this time, you’ve just never known it.”

“Shit, you’re right...It would explain a thing or two I’ve seen.” She turns around and looks at me expectantly. I don’t know what she wants so I sit, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“What?” 

“You’re sitting on my bed,” she explains. I look down at the couch. 

“You’re going to sleep here?”

“This ain’t a mansion and I only got one bed. You’re the guest so you get it.” She beckons me to rise with her hand. “Up, up, up!” The assassin demands. I stand, placing myself right in front of her. 

“Don’t tell me the big, bad, Bay Leaf assassin is afraid to sleep in the same bed with a woman,” I tease. In Ironhenge, communal rest areas are common. Sleeping next to a total stranger isn’t unheard of, but I’m assuming it’s different here. She steps closer, her arms akimbo. I match her posture to further annoy her. 

“I ain’t never been scared to sleep with a woman.” She raises her chin a bit and so do I. “How ‘bout you?”

“Yes, scared that she’s all talk and,” I step closer ”no action.” Our faces inches apart. 

“I think you know.” Not to be outdone, the assassin closes the modest distance between us. Her chest brushing against mine. “I’m about that action.” 

I may not know everything about this outside world, but flirting is universal. The room is silent but her actions say enough. She tries to keep a cool face but I catch those smoky quartz eyes of hers flit down to my lips. It’s only for a split second, but that’s all that needed in moments like these. 

But moments like these are so easily disturbed, shattered by a knocking on her door. 

Her eyes go cold, calculative, no longer focused on me. 

Stalking over to the front door, she reaches into a bookshelf. Her hand finds what she’s looking for without diverting attention from the door. She pulls a book titled “Sparks Between Us” to reveal it’s just a cover for a small gun hidden there. 

Suddenly I wonder how many other weapons she has hidden in plain sight. The assassin holds the gun behind her while she peeks through the door viewer. She groans in annoyance, all the tension in her body melting away in an instant. Tucking her gun into her back pocket and opening her door. A worried woman standing there. 

“Daisy,” the woman calls her by her fake name. “I’m sorry to bother you this late but my son just got back, and that creepy guy is trying to steal his bike!” She rapidly says. Hollyhock makes a noise like a frustrated guliti, clenching her jaw. She holds up her pointer finger at me,

“One moment.” She turns to the woman. “I’ll take care of it,” she says with finality. With that, she goes down the hallway and out of sight. Leaving me standing in her apartment, with a stranger looking at me. 

The woman gives an awkward wave and I return the gesture. 

“Hello! Sorry was I interrupting something?”

“Yes,” I answer bluntly. Normally I’d have more grace but I’m slightly too annoyed to care. The woman picks up on this. 

“I’ll just,” she quietly says while closing the door. 

Left alone, I decide to change into something more fitting to sleep in. 

Lying on her bed, wondering what I’m going to do next, Hollyhock comes back. She puts her gun and fake book back. Another groan escapes her mouth. 

“Okay, now I’m really exhausted,” she says. “Damn falecido.”

“Come here then,” I call from her bedroom, without a hint of innuendo. Neither of us seem to be in the mood. She looks at her couch forlornly. 

“Alright, since you’re desperate to sleep in my big, strong, arms,” she jokes. Kicking off her shoes, she doesn’t bother changing clothes.

“Whatever you want to tell yourself,” I counter as she climbs onto the bed. Her weight makes us sink further into the soft mattress. The assassin gives me a pillow and grabs one to hold to her chest. Another gun with a long barrel was hidden under it. 

“Excuse me,” she picks it up and tosses it very expertly onto her dresser across the room. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to throw a gun like that?” I ask. 

“ ‘S not loaded,” she drowsily answers. “G’night.” Her eyes close and she curls up to fully embrace her pillow. I close my eyes to slowly wind down. A bit of panic settles in me at the intense quiet. 

I thought this before, but Hollyhock sleeps like she’s dead. Her chest is barely moving, the rest of her is eerily still. Though I know rationally she didn’t just die in her sleep I still check her breath, holding my hand inches from her mouth. A whisper of a breath goes over my skin. 

‘She’s alive.’ The worry in me settles. I’m about to put myself to sleep when something springs to mind. 

Something Hollyhock said before she came to bed, it’s been bothering me all day. The man they call “falecido”, has an unusual magical presence about him. It’s as if he can manipulate magic, but there’s something off about him. 

‘Besides his fixation of stealing bikes.’ If he has innate magic, what is he doing here? It’s unlikely that he wouldn’t know if he has magic. There’s more to this than I’m seeing. 

I quickly look at Hollyhock, who’s still asleep. She’s recently been in contact with him. I mentally rifle through the spells I can use to help track him. Two will prove useful. I prepare the first, drawing out Hollyhocks aura. It’s still chaotic even as she sleeps. Jutting out to pierce everything around her. 

I whisper the incantation I need for the first spell, showing the remnants of all magical energy she’s been in contact with. When the spell activates, a rainbow of colors appears before her aura. The spikes hold onto little pieces of other auras, even the magical energy of some of the objects I brought with me. 

‘Fascinating. I wonder if she could-’

I’m not here to speculate what magic she’d be good at. I search through the myriad of colors, recognizing quite a bit of my own deep purple. Most of these are inert, save mine and one other. It’s a sickly green that makes my skin crawl, the same way it did when I first came across the falecido. 

I pull the energy towards myself and prepare the second spell. It’s a simple tracking spell, pointing me to the source of whatever magical energy I put into it. 

I quietly and quickly get up, slip on a pair of Hollyhocks shoes, and head outside to hunt my quarry. 

In hindsight, I should’ve grabbed something to wear on top. Walking around this late in a silk camisole is drawing the attention of the few people still out. The spell only points straight in the direction I need to go, so I have to navigate around the numerous buildings of this city.

He seems to have to settle for the night, the tracker pointing in one solid direction for a while now. 

After quite a bit of walking, I come across a small park. The sign declares this little slice of nature as Parsnip park. 

Small palm trees, wild grass, and a few benches dot the what can barely be called the landscape. 

I find the man I’m looking for in a pile of empty bottles that smell of alcohol, lying face down on a filthy blanket that I wouldn’t wipe my shoes on. 

He doesn’t stir as I approach him. 

I draw out his aura, the sickly green miasma raises only from his torso in thick vapors. 

‘As I suspected, this isn’t his aura.’ I crouch and prepare a bioelectric reactive spell. It takes shape as a small pyramid in the palm of my right hand. 

“Witch-Hazel and the falecido? What will people think?” The raspy voice of Hollyhock says from behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin in surprise.

“FIELDS OF ELYSIUM!” I curse aloud, clutching my chest.  I didn’t notice her standing only three feet from me. I vaguely recall Tamara saying she was one of her best killers. I suppose she wouldn’t be an effective assassin if she couldn’t be stealthy. She tilts her head to the side. 

“Fields of Elysium,” she tries the expletive out. A quick shrug indicates it’s not to her liking. 

“What are you doing sneaking up on me?!” 

The assassin puts a finger to her lips. 

“Are you trying to wake up the whole neighborhood? I’m sure you don’t want everyone knowing about this secret date in the park,” she jokes. But she has a point. 

“Right, I don’t want to wake him up.” Hollyhock scoffs. 

“Him? He’s toasted,” she observes. The assassin kicks him in the side, he groans but otherwise doesn’t wake. “Earthquake wouldn’t wake him up. So whatever witchy things you have planned for him will go unnoticed.” 

“Speaking of unnoticed, how did you find me?” I ask her. 

“Would you believe me if I said I put a tracker on you?” She says with a straight face. I immediately examine my body to find it. “Nah, I’m fucking with you. I woke up the second you got out of bed. So I just followed you. You’re not very quiet,” she adds. 

“I see, I’ll try to be quieter in the future.” She dismisses it with a wave of her hand. 

“If you told me where you were going, I could’ve driven you. You wouldn’t have had to walk into that porno store.”

“That was embarrassing, but I didn’t want to bother you. I thought it would be best if you got some rest.”

“Hey, you moved into my place, I bought you new clothes and dinner. I’ll let you know if you’re bothering me,” she says with an oddly genuine smile. “So what’s so important that you had to disturb this,” she gestures to the man “fine, upstanding citizen, in the middle of the night?” 

“Well,” I kneel back down and prepare my spell again. “I have a feeling that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

“So he’s more than a bike stealing drunk?” 

“We just have to find out, don’t we?” The spell reforms in my hand and I bring it to the crown of his skull. My energy instantly traces the outlines of his brain, showing where the electricity in his brain should be spiking. 

“What’s this?” Hollyhock asks. 

“I’m mapping the electrical output of his brain,” I answer. “It’s low, minuscule.”

“He’s sleeping, shouldn’t it be?” I shake my head. 

“No, the sleeping brain has much more activity than this. He isn’t dreaming, his body isn’t doing anything it should.” I point out different spots. “All these should be lighting up, but they’re not. Unless he just slipped into a coma, and even then there would be more activity in the medulla here.”

“Maybe he died,” she says with a shrug. “‘Bout time.” 

“No, his brain is still active. Just barely. And his aura isn’t natural.”

“So what’s it all mean?” The assassin asks, crouching next to me. 

“This man is dead. He’s been dead for quite some time. And someone brought him back with magic,” I answer. 

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I’m being quite serious. I think this man is a revenant, a halfway gone soul brought back to fulfill a purpose of some kind.”

“Like stealing bikes from kids?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it is. Whoever performed the spell would know.”

“Who did it?”

“Believe it or not but I don’t know every magician in the world.”

“Well, you should.”

“Do you know every assassin in the world?” 

“Maybe I do, you don’t know how many there are. So what do we do about this guy?” 

I look him over. 

“There’s nothing to do. The magic that brought him back keeps him alive. It’s very potent too. That’s why he’s survived all these years, despite the residents of this city trying to kill him.”

“So there’s no way to kill him?”

“Not unless the magic runs out. Or maybe if his body suffers irreparable damage.”

“Like an explosion?” 

“Yes, I suppose an explosion would do the trick.” Hollyhock raises an eyebrow like she just got an idea. “Don’t blow him up,” I scold. 

“Fine. But why does he talk like that?”

“Let’s see.” I adjust my spell to send out ultrasonic pulses to get a more detailed look. “This is just a guess, but whoever did this poorly restored the left hemisphere of his brain, or it was badly damaged already. His constant bike stealing and alcoholism must be proclivities from when he was alive. Can’t imagine the purpose of having him do this.”

“So it’s a shitty job?”

“It’s either a pretty good rush job or a really shitty regular one,” I clarify. “Though one typically doesn’t rush a necromancy job. Then again, I’m a witch, a wizard would know more.”

“What does you being a girl have to do with it?” She asks. I stare at her, narrowing my eyes so that I might understand what exactly she’s saying. Then it hits me. 

“You think that only women are witches and men are wizards.” Less of a question and more of an observation. 

“Yeah,” she answers matter-of-factly. 

“Wizards and witches are just proficiencies. Jobs. There are female wizards, male witches, nonbinary sorcerers, and a whole spectrum of identities with various other jobs.” 

“I get it, the magic world is a diverse one. So you don’t know a spell to undo this?”

“Why are you so hellbent on killing him?” I understand she doesn’t like him, but this seems beyond personal. 

“Cuz before I joined the Bay Leaves, I found a bike that I was gonna sell, but then this motherfucker,” she kicks him again and he doesn’t wake. “Stole it from me! Could’ve got like fifty bucks for it too. Instead, I had to eat trash out of a fucking dumpster from a seafood place, and I fucking hate seafood!”

“Tragic as that is, I’m not going to kill him. Truth be told I don’t know many necromancy spells.”

“But you do know some?”

“Yes, but we can discuss that later. You need some sleep,” I say, realizing how tired I am. “We both do,” I add. She stands up with a groan.

“Yeah, guess you’re right. Not like he’s going anywhere.” She smacks her neck. “Let’s go before these mosquitoes eat us.”

“What’s a “mosquitoes”,” I ask. She offers me a hand up and I accept, grabbing her calloused hand. 

“Ironhenge sounds like a paradise, besides the whole baby-napping thing. A mosquito is a flying insect that sucks blood for food,” she explains. 

“Oh, so like a vampire?” Hollyhock blanches at my comparison.

“Please tell me you’re messing with me,” she skittishly asks. The assassin looks around like one might attack her this very moment. I know I should tell her that most vampires prefer much cooler climates than Oleander City has. But she also seems to be on the precipice of a nervous breakdown. 

‘Maybe I shouldn’t overload her with too much knowledge of the arcane.’

“I was joking,” I lie. 

‘Hopefully, this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass...or the neck. Okay, I’m tired.’

“Deadass?”

“Deadass,” I reaffirm her. The relief on her face is instant. 

“Thank God. I don’t need to deal with that shit.” I didn’t see it before, she’s holding a jacket that she swings around my shoulders. 

“Let’s go,” the assassin leads me back to her apartment. 

We walk for a bit before she asks,

“So now what are you gonna do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s an undead guy walking around this city when there shouldn’t be. Somebody had to do it. It’s kind of a mystery, ain’t it?”

“It is rather strange, I hadn’t heard about anyone leaving Ironhenge to do...this. Maybe I should look into it. 

“So nobody just pops out for a quick resurrecting the dead?”

“Absolutely not, we have very strict rules about using magic in the outside world,” I explain. 

“Have you broken any of them?”

“Several,” I answer with a shrug. “But I don’t really give a shit.” Hollyhock loudly laughs. 

“Oleander City is already corrupting you!” She slaps me on the shoulder and pulls me closer. “You’ll do just fine here!”

Chapter 6 End