THE LAST OF THE WICKED by Israel Barbuzano

Author:Israel Barbuzano [Barbuzano, Israel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dark comedy, magic, fantasy, Witches, wicked
Publisher: WHITE MOTH PRESS
Published: 2020-03-07T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

PRIVATE MATTERS

GRINNING AND LIGHTHEADED, Meredith leaned her head on the front door. Though Yurena had already been late to opening time at the Kestrel Library, they’d stretched their goodbyes for a good while, kissing like lovestruck twits at an academy dorm.

Diligently she engaged every lock and chain and made sure the windows were shut, even if it meant the cottage would get uncomfortably warm. Thankfully the temperate season was winding down. In a few weeks Fallow would turn into Yearning, and after that Hallow’s End would begin. It would be a matter of days until the Coren chill brought back the pleasant cool of Wane through Kernel.

Meredith headed back to the kitchen and its dishwashing clatter. Janette was there at the sink, cleaning up the remains of their breakfast—except, no, she was not. Instead, she’d engaged Squarepants and left, no doubt gone straight to her worktable.

“That girl has a work addiction.”

“The dishes are done,” Janette’s voice declared at the sink, tinny and flat. “Powering down.”

Squarepants’ limbs folded upon themselves, transforming the automaton into a jagged cube latched upon the separation between sink tubs. Its dozens of minute wordpaths dimmed from neon blue to the dull steel of the golem’s frame.

Meredith sighed and headed for the lab. It was possible Yurena had been spending too much time around Janette.

With slow movements she opened the door and went in. The musky smell of seared metal overpowered her nostrils as she neared the intermittent buzz around the bend.

Janette sat at her favorite chair this side of the Hollow, face leaning into a set of tinted lenses. The tip of the iron in her gloved hand flashed whenever it touched the artifact she was working on. White wires ran up from the phone at her waist to plug into both her ears.

Meredith went around her, nudged the dragon statuette and an empty spark battery off to the side, leaned over the workdesk and cracked the window open. A sliver of daylight sliced under the pane’s insulating layer.

“Sorry,” Janette said, a bit louder than necessary. “I forgot to open it again.”

Meredith moved Janette’s meticulous notes out of the way so she could half-sit on the sturdy wooden table. Currently held in place by the triaxial brace was the back of a metal-plated stretch-mesh gauntlet, from forearm to knuckles. Janette had peeled off the outer layer and was inscribing tiny glyphs on the inside. The three as-yet unattached mitt-fingers were in varying states of assembly, and much to Meredith’s intense approval tools and parts were neatly arranged in parallel rows by the soundstill’s inputwell.

“Back at it?” she asked. Janette didn’t answer.

The Mistress patiently unplucked one of the earbuds and left it dangling off her apprentice’s shoulder. “Working on Mark III again?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“And your assignment?”

Janette waved a hand without looking up, gesturing at the floor by the side desk. Against the table’s leg rested a bulky object covered with a white sheet.

“You finished it already?”

“Mm-hmm. Dried overnight.”

The Mistress walked over, picked it up and removed the white cloth.

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