Page 50 of Jinxes and Drumsticks

Bastion and I... We’ve had this on-again off-again thing for years. We have really great sexual chemistry, but we’re too incompatible when it comes to everything else. It was an honor last year when he asked me to act as the goddess in his ritual. It was a thrilling and powerful thing to engage in ceremonial sex magic with him, but the aftermath left a sour taste in my mouth that almost ended our friendship and ruined sex with him thereafter.

It felt so good to be worshipped by him for once, so when the reverence he had for me in the throes of that ecstatic trance state faded, I realized I needed something more.

“Bastion. What brings you out of your little corner of the underground?” I ask as he sidles lazily up to the counter and leans his weight on his elbows. He peers into my cauldron, likely trying to figure out what I’m working on. He’s a gifted practitioner, and often supplies helpful input whether it’s desired or not. But today he appears to have little to say. For once. At least not about my cauldron.

“A little birdie tells me you have a new devotee,” he says, his lip curling with wry amusement. “And also that you’re bereft of one ultra-powerful protection spell.”

I scowl at him. “I’m going to kill Wren,” I say.

“Don’t. She didn’t actually tell me; I caught some little glimpses of one of her premonitions,” he says with a casual flourish of his hand. “I thought I’d try to help you out.”

I squint at him. “Why? You never want to help me without asking for something in return.”

“Lilipad, we’ve been friends since we were children. I regret that our past intimacies have soured that,” he says. “You hardly ever come around since Beltane last year. Is it so hard to believe that I might miss you?”

“Bash, you know I adore you. But you’re not really known for your warmth and care. You tend to lean more into the aloof mysterious type, despite your choice to dress like a court jester.”

He rolls his eyes. “Please, you know how highly I regard you. I don’t think I need to shower you in platitudes to communicate. I did ask you to continue our lines together when we were kids. Remember?” he says.

“Oh, yay. Someone wants to breed me and leave me.”

“Well, now that you have a new plaything, we hardly have to worry about the longevity of a marriage.”

“No, we just have to work out how to co-parent,” I say flatly. My stomach sours with guilt. The factory is closed. There’s no uterus to house a fetus anymore.

He has no idea how far off the table this idea is. And I’m dreading the day I have to tell him that.

“I’m happy to take on the burden of care if you’re not prepared to give up your youth,” he says.

“I’m sure.”

“I’m getting sidetracked,” Bastion says. “I came here to help you.”

“Yes,” I say, happy to change the subject. “Pray tell. What have you brought me?”

Bastion reaches into his interior pocket and produces the world’s tiniest spell book. Seriously, the damn thing is the size of my palm. He sets it on the counter top and the worn gold foil of the embossed letters reads, in all caps, THE TINY BOOK OF COPIOUS KNOWLEDGE.

When I pick it up and thumb through, the text is tiny. It’s the size of the lettering on the back of a credit card. And the information is dense.

“It was my father’s. Man was a proper twat, but you know as well as I do that he loved collecting rare tomes. I took a few glances through this one and found some interesting notes on an adaptation of a cord cutting spell that might interest you.”

My stomach falls. I don’t want to do a cord cutting with Damien.

Bastion takes my hand and squeezes it. “Relax, Lilipad. Read it before you panic. It’s not as bad as it sounds. Although...I do wonder...”

“Wonder what?” I ask. The shift in his tone telegraphs some of that unsolicited advice.

“Well, it’s just that Wren seems to be under the impression you’re carrying quite the torch for this fellow.”

“Okay, and?”

“Is that wise?” he asks.

The bell for the front door of the shop jingles. Damien stands in the entryway. I snatch my hand out of Bastion’s and smile at the man I’m presently devoutly obsessed with. I don’t miss how his eyes bounce between me and my old friend. I wonder how it looked just now. Not suspicious, I hope.

“Oh, hello,” Bastion says, nonplussed. “I’m Bastion Bramblethorn, a friend of Lillith’s.”

He approaches Damien and shakes his hand.