Calladia looked far too chipper for someone about to spend the night in a tree. “Best views in town, they said.”
The eponymous proprietor of Tansy’s Treehouse was a griffin, so it made sense they’d offer accommodation many meters off the ground. Tansy had spoken English with remarkable clarity for someone with an eagle beak, but some garbled screeching was to be expected with griffins, and Astaroth had failed to understand that a cozy room with good views translated to you’ll be sleeping in a flimsy wood shack in the fucking sky.
“There has to be another option,” Astaroth said. “How is this an improvement on camping? You’re just sleeping in a tree rather than on the ground.”
“You haven’t even seen the room yet,” Calladia said. “Tansy said it’s very sturdy and comfortable. And besides, it’s the only one available.”
When Calladia and Astaroth had asked a naiad swimming in a fountain for directions to the nearest hotel, they’d been informed the Annual Griffin’s Nest Mariachi Festival was about to begin, which meant accommodations would be difficult to find. The naiad had directed them to a small shop called Tansy’s Trinkets to ask for a room, since Tansy oversaw a variety of properties in the area.
The griffin who had greeted them at the door had been a cheerful sort, with a glittery name badge saying tansy, they/them, an impressive wingspan, and beads woven into their feathers. They’d shaved curving designs into their leonine fur, and a silver stud gleamed from their tongue every time they cawed.
Tansy had been thrilled to have more visitors and announced that Calladia and Astaroth had arrived just in time, because there was one room left for the night. Or maybe the griffin’s mix of speech and screech had said Sorry to suck rather than You’re in luck, and it had actually been a threat.
“Come on,” Calladia said, tossing the ragged remnants of her braid over her shoulder and hitching her backpack higher. “Let’s climb before it gets dark.”
Astaroth prided himself on being a master tactician. He considered the elements at play and a variety of possible outcomes, then settled on a strategy. “You go first,” he said, gesturing at the trunk.
Calladia shrugged and started climbing. Astaroth followed, gripping each rung tightly before shifting his weight. The climb was harrowing, but the wisdom of his strategy was proven whenever he looked up, because he’d never gotten to see her arse from this angle before.
Eventually, they reached a wide platform built around the trunk. Astaroth hauled himself up and collapsed on his back. “Tansy is begging for a wrongful death lawsuit,” he said. “How is this safe?”
Calladia abruptly started laughing.
Astaroth turned his head to see what had amused her. A building had been erected around the trunk at the center of the platform, and Calladia was returning from the far side, where she’d evidently been exploring. Her grin was huge as she hiked a thumb over her shoulder. “We should have walked around the tree before trying to get up here.”
Astaroth pushed to his feet and headed toward her. On the other side of the building, he stopped at the sight of an ornate metal cage. The cage was hooked to a pulley system drilled into a thick branch. “Wait,” he said. “Is that—”
“An elevator!” Calladia leaned against the wall of their hotel room, clutching her ribs as she laughed. “We didn’t need to climb.”
Astaroth glared at the elevator, his new nemesis. “Very well, we should have looked more closely, but how were we supposed to call it down in the first place?”
Calladia was still chuckling. She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the key Tansy had given them. “I have a suspicion.”
Astaroth eyed the key, which he hadn’t paid much mind to, assuming it would electronically open the door. It was oval-shaped and carved out of soapstone, and at the base was a simple etching: ^ ?.
Calladia brushed her thumb over the ?. Instantly, the cage began to sink through a hole in the platform cut to its exact dimensions. It moved seamlessly, with no mechanical humming. Calladia hit the ? again, which stopped the elevator. She tapped ^, and the cage rose.
“Magic,” Astaroth said, impressed despite himself. “How did they manage that?”
“Binding objects is difficult,” Calladia said as the cage returned to its position. “You have to layer spells to accomplish it, but basically, you infuse magic into two separate things and then force them to share the same resonance. It’s like tricking them into thinking they’re the same object.”
“Like quantum entanglement,” Astaroth said, having a flash of a science documentary he’d watched once while drunk. “Particles linked across a distance.”
As had happened before, one memory unlocked another, and he recalled watching that documentary with a demoness who had dark skin, wild white hair, and black horns. He couldn’t remember anything else about her, but it seemed like a good memory. Did he have a friend?
“Yes!” Calladia beamed. “So you charm multiple objects into acting like one. When I touch this stone, the pulley system responds.”
Astaroth held out his hand, and Calladia dropped the stone into his palm. He turned it over, running his fingers over the waxy gray surface and toying with the runes so the cage bounced. “You’re quite knowledgeable about magic,” he said. “I can see your raw power, of course, but it takes more than that to be an accomplished witch.”
Calladia’s smile turned wistful. “My parents enrolled me in magic classes from a young age, hired private tutors, the works. I didn’t like the expectations that came with it, but I loved learning.”
She was looking out at the trees, but Astaroth had a feeling she wasn’t seeing them. He wondered what road her thoughts were leading her down.
“It’s a hard thing,” she continued, “being good at magic. That sounds ridiculous, and it is, but you learn quickly that magic isn’t just yours, and it isn’t just a skill set. It’s a legacy, passed down through generations. It doesn’t come free.” Then she scoffed and shook her head. “Listen to me, being maudlin for no reason.” She looked around. “Where’s my backpack?”
Astaroth retrieved it and handed it over.
“Thanks.” She pulled her water bottle out of the side pocket and drank, then passed it to him so he could do the same. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter,” she said, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “Let’s check out the room.”
Astaroth wanted to demand she stay there and share all her secrets with him, but that would make her snap and raise her defenses further. He pushed down his burning curiosity and bowed, sweeping his hand toward the door. “Then lead the way, oh fair nemesis.”
EIGHTEEN
Oh, fair nemesis.
Ridiculous.