Caged Bird Act 10

For the next couple weeks Dove stayed in the little cosy inn near Mookaite. She felt perfectly safe inside, and as far as she had heard, there had been no more attacks. But the failure to find Foxtrotter or track down the sorcerers (or werewolf) that had done this, didn’t help Dove’s state of mind. She wondered why she had stayed, after seeing Thorne in the same place as her. She had paid a month’s worth of tenancy, and had quickly developed a love for Mrs Chevey, her kindness and comfort were what she needed. Showering, and meeting her reflection in the mirror left her staring into her own eyes for what felt like hours every time. Into the reflection of thick, pale grey hair, and lime eyes that stared back at her. What did he see that night? Was it something familiar? Was she something he desired? She had to know. Did he think about her like she did? And as the days passed, Dove sought distractions through painting, reading, and taking up the company of sweet, old Mrs Chevey, the paranoia of Thorne being after her was worn away bit by bit. Nothing else worrying had happened to her, and she figured she was concealed through the innkeeper’s magic anyway. She was safe.

However, there was a recurring thought every time she went to sleep. Waking to find that tall, long-haired figure above her. And her breath being snatched from her body, as the heat curled in her belly threatened to overcome her.

But he didn’t come back. Now, Dove was confused on how she felt about this.

She obviously did not want the Jaggar Thorne to be in the same room as her again. He was dangerous, he was mad, he was a lot stronger than Dove. He was something bad, wasn’t he? He infiltrated your mind, and left paint-drops on blades of grass at the scene. She didn’t know why sometimes when desire came over her, the fleeting image of dark, matted hair, huge arms, and hot breath in her ear came to mind. Something about that night latched onto her brain. She didn’t want to be that scared again, but Circe, the way her name sounded on his tongue. It was like she was craving lava but couldn’t bear to leap from the volcano. Couldn't bear the thought of being burnt.

She tried, oh, she tried, to erase the need for that kind of utter control he had over her again, but Dove couldn’t. She feared it was becoming an obsession. She needed normality. Another job, even though she’d borrowed (stolen) gold coins from her parents. Friends. Something to do.

It was a golden Sunday morning; early May’s glow awakened Dove and invited her to finally join the outside world. She was visiting the twins today, on their day off. After showering, she shared a plate of crumpets, and a pot of tea with Mrs Chevey. Dove appreciated how grounded and normal she felt. Seeing Kitty and Peggy would certainly take her out of her psychotic thoughts too.

Walking down the little path that leads to Mookaite, Dove’s heart thumped as she neared Foxtrotters, remembering who had seen her standing in the shadows just over a week ago. Her stomach was a ball of nerves, but she walked on by and tried not to look around. There were more and more brown posters of the men who had been spotted kidnapping the old sorcerer. Thorne grinned and snarled at her from the posters that dotted walls and doors. She felt hot and tried to think of anything but the most wanted werewolf in Britain. The door chimed as she entered Mooney’s. The girls had told her to come straight through, to the flat directly above it, and this was where she ascended now, climbing the steps and knocking on the door. But the door nudged open, as her knuckles rapped it.

This was odd. The flat was horribly silent, and the door unlocked.

“Moons? You home?”

Dove’s voice trickled through the empty flat, and nobody responded. If this was a prank, then Dove was going to be pissed. She walked around, and the place was a bit of a mess. Like they’d just up and left, out of nowhere. There was a half-drank mug of tea on the table.

As Dove walked around the flat, she thought she’d better leave and just send an owl and ask where they are, if they want to meet another day instead.

But before Dove left the living room, Peggy came bolting through the door, scaring the shit out of the poor witch.

“CIRCE’S SWINES, MOONEY-”

Dove stopped, as she saw how dishevelled the girl in front of her was.

Her face was very unlike her, worried and unhappy.

“Dove. Sorry. It’s Bobby.” Their older brother.

“Something happened when he was on a stake-out. I just came back for Dragon liver; I know we have a jar somewhere…” Peggy started rummaging in a cabinet until she picked up an empty jar and cursed.

“Circe, are you okay? What happened to Bobby? Why do you need Dragon liver? Is he hurt badly?” Dove followed Peggy into one of the adjoining bedrooms.

Peggy stopped and looked at her. “He was attacked. By a werewolf.”

Dove’s stomach dropped.

“His face was slashed, they’ve healed most of it, but Maggy wants to make another potion. We left as soon as we got the message.”

Ah, Maggy. That made sense. The eldest Moonan.

The blood drained from Dove’s face. “A werewolf,” she said numbly.

Her mind whirled. It wouldn’t be her werewolf, surely. But Dove couldn’t believe herself. He was wanted, for Circe’s sake. Suspected murderer.

“Fucking hell.” Then a thought occurred to her.

“The scars will stay there from the infected blood, but I know how to make them fade, at least. I was Mr Shorttail’s assistant, remember?”

Peggy's eyes lit up. “We do need Manticore Meldrop too. Viv, if we go right now, you think we could pick up the bits we need?”

Dove smiled, “Mr Shorttail won’t mind, I’m sure. I don’t technically work there anymore, but I was a favourite of course.” The two left Mookaite Park, and waded through the bluebells to the shining bloomspillar, familiarly winking to its visitors. Dove and Peggy linked arms, and with a crack of energy, they are redirected to Skelton’s bloompillar. The alchemist was down a sloping, bumpy hill. The two walked on, and Dove sunk into her thoughts.

“Did Bobby say anything else? Does he know who attacked him?”

“I didn’t get to say much to him. He was getting treated by Maggy. Her restoring magic is impressive, but we hardly know how to treat werewolf scratches.”

“I’m assuming a practitioner is out of the question?”

Peggy’s eyes flitted from Dove to the sky. “Maggy thought it was best to avoid any attention. We don’t know what could happen. People could talk.”

“And people do.”

They shared a look, as they neared Mr Shorttails. They hurried into the small alchemist that sticks out on a street corner, plum trees hanging next to it. Mr Shorttail turns around as the bell rings, and his face splits into a warm smile.

“Dove, what a nice surprise. I thought you’d left Skelton?”

Dove smiled in return, “It’s nice to see you, Foster. I’m actually just here in need of some ingredients, for healing potions. Came to the best man I know for it.”

Foster Shorttail’s eyes gleamed momentarily. “You know where to find them, dear. No need for payment either. I’d say you’ve earned it.” His characteristic smile carried a warmth that even spread to Peggy, who had been so sombre moments before.

Dove and Peggy shared a smile. “Thanks, Foster!”

They left Mr Shorttails alchemist with a full bag of helpful items. They walked under the plum trees, back up Skelton Hill, and Peggy took Dove’s hand as they bloomed to River Shanti, a little south of Little Grebe. Dove felt strange. She hadn’t visited since a couple summers ago, when the twins had a group of friends over. They partied and drank, 16 years old, completely naive, before the Sanctuary riots, before anything bad.

They opened the door, and Maggy Moonan bustled over to them, “Peggy, did you find it? Oh! Dove! You got those for us?”

“Hi Mags. I was an assistant at Mr Shorttail’s, I thought these would be helpful for a scar inflicted by lycanthropy,” Dove quickly explained, stepping into the warmth of the house. There were patterned blankets everywhere, a clock ticked, and the smell of cinnamon was faint, but sweet. Peggy handed the bag to her older sister.

“Oh, perfect! This’ll save us a wham! Bobby is just through here, in the kitchen. Oh, Hyde and Frey should be here anytime as well. They’d know how to deal with this. Stay as long as you want, Dove.” She grinned, crooked teeth and bright eyes.

Bobby was sitting at the table, Kitty across from him. Heather stood, looking rather worried, which was quite natural for her. He smiled at her but looked quite solemn still. A long red stripe went from Bobby’ left eyebrow to the corner of the right side of his mouth. It was dark, and he looked up at them as they came through. It was as if he was trying to ignore the pain, but Dove saw it in his brown eyes. Even with the scar though, he was beautiful. He had golden dagger earrings, a black lip-piercing, and long, tousled golden hair, matching his shining jewellery. She felt attracted to him instantly, and their eyes met.

“Ah. Definitely an upgrade from Chiaroscuro’s doctor.” Bobby grinned at Dove, and she laughed.

Maggy snorted and emptied the bag onto the table. “Thank you again,” she whispered to Dove, who smiled at her warmly. Maggy got to work, mixing the various potions. Bobby took each lotion and balm, applying them to the scar. His features softened as the pain clearly eased. The redness wasn’t as angry, and it faded to a thin, silver line. Still there, but not nearly as noticeable.

“That’s better Bo. You can hardly see it.” Kitty said.

“Also, this’s Levany. You’ve weirdly never met. You can thank her for the healing balms,” Peggy said, leading them both to take a chair at the kitchen table. Dove smiled at him again, as she sat next to Kitty.

But Bobby didn’t smile this time. He stared, clogs turning in his mind, brow furrowing.

“Levany?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, Apollo’s sun.”

He stood up, suddenly looking very worried.

“Is Henry Levany your father? The one in charge of Supernatural Beings Legislations?”

Dove’s stomach dropped. “Yes. Yes, he is. Why?”

“Fuck,” Maggy was looking at Dove again.

Bobby went to the counter and picked up a brown poster. The ones that had been plastered on walls.

Dove didn’t even have to look. She knew who it was.

“This is him. The werewolf who attacked me. Thorne. He said your name.”