Books Are Overrated

“I don’t know what to do with you, Flit Fox,” I muse.  “If I let you go, you’re duty-bound to run off and tell Mab and Oberon we’re here, and what you’ve told us.”

Flit cries some more.

“You can’t even promise me you won’t, because you’ve already made a big deal about how good you are at following orders.”

I’m genuinely a bit flummoxed.

“I could kill you, I suppose,” I say, as if it was no big deal.

“I have an idea.”  The voice is Adrian’s.  I turn, and see that the wizard is awake.  He’s standing up carefully, leaning against the wall and keeping away from the edge of the rooftop.  “I mean, loose lips sink, and all that, but I think I could keep our friend’s mouth shut as long as we need it to be.”

He holds up the Eye.

Flit gasps.  “Rahab!” she hisses.

Adrian chuckles.  “Worse than that,” he swaggers.  “I’m gonna go all Vulcan on you.”

He kneels over Flit Fox, who doesn’t resist.

“Why waste a firebolt?” I ask.  “We can just stab her.”

“Not that kind of Vulcan.”  Adrian presses his hand on Flit Fox’s face, with his pinky upside her nose and one finger at the corner of her eye.  Flit’s nervous, and flickers in and out of showing fox as he does it, but the knife at her cheek keeps her still.

Adrian takes a piece of chalk from his pocket and draws lines around his own hand on Flit’s face, including a circle around her mouth.  “Per Thoth te ad silentiam adiuro,” he mutters.  He plucks a bit of hair from Flit’s tail, and then he backs off.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“That’s it,” he says, and puts the Eye back in his pocket.  He carries that thing around like it’s a cigarette lighter.  He has no idea what it is.  I’m not comfortable with my guesses, but unlike Flit Fox, I keep them to myself.

“Talk!” Eddie snaps, and pokes Flit again with the iron.

Smoke sizzles from her cut cheek, she hisses.  He mouth opens and shuts, but she doesn’t say anything.  She can’t.

Mike holsters his shooter.  “Look, I don’t want to give anybody ideas,” he says.  “But won’t she just write down what happened?”

“Fairies can’t read,” Adrian smirks at me.

I smirk back at him.  “Fairies choose not to.  Books are overrated.”

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I'm a writer. This is my blog.
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