Chapter 3, The Known Comforts of Karaage

I kept glancing at the file so often, Robert closed the manilla folder and pushed it to the edge of the table. He looked to me, then down to my bowl of Karaage, siracha and red cabbage. I got the message.

“How’s the Tonkotsu?” I murmured, taking a bite of my own meal. Robert took a half-hearted gulp of the garlicy broth. He shrugged.

“Bit weak, I suppose. The noodles here are always to die for, though,” He said. His eyes were distant and I knew he was trying to restrain himself from staring at the manilla folder.

The restaurant was at its busiest at midday, with waiters dancing through throngs of ramen-hungry Sydney-goers. A Japanese pop bands latest album echoed about the place, everyone too busy and enveloped in their conversations to notice the Familiar and her Witch.

I nibbled at my Karaage more. My mother’s voice rattled about in my head.

To waste food is to disrespect all around you. The money spent, the chef who made it and yourself.

I decided focusing on finishing my bowl was a better use of my time than anxiously glancing at the folder. Robert finished his food and set his bowl down. With a deep sigh, he flicked through the folder and looked back to me.

“His name is Alistair. He’s an incredibly rare breed of Familiar. A black mane lion, specifically. From reviews, reports and all the information I’ve been able to gather he’s a hard-worker, reliable, strong and capable. Most importantly, he’s responsive. I know you don’t fancy a familiar that wants to breathe down your neck, but you also need someone who can be there in a moment’s notice if danger comes sniffing around. If you like him and think he’s a good fit, then go to Holfast and forge your bond in Vestus.” Robert said, wiping some of the broth from his beard.

The breath caught in my throat. A pinching fear swelled within me.

Casca. The Vestus. To forge a new bond…I will have to return to Holfast. To the scene of the crime, where they’re searching for suspects…

In the very council chambers she was trying to steer clear from, there was a shallow pool where the ancient bond between a witch and her familiar was forged.

The last time I was in that pool, the glowing green waters reaching my ankles, I was standing before Robert. I’ll need to be able to trust this Alistair enough to keep my secret. I couldn’t even bring myself to trust Robert with it. But…if I can’t fully forge my bond with Alistair, then I’ll be without immediate protection.

Can I protect myself, while I figure out if I can trust him?

I groaned inwardly and bit my lip. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. As I ate the rest of my Karaage, I tried keenly to concentrate solely on the food and not betray the panic twisting about inside me.

I gave Robert a hug as we parted, and promised to meet Alistair at central station the next day.

~

In the nicer suburbs of Sydney, there was a particularly odd massage therapist. She worked from a home studio filled with incense, and oils, mysterious balms filling terracotta pots and sage hung from the roof. She’d gone through University and had all the human certifications. Yet, she had few customers. Few, but well paying. Because they knew the healing magic in her fingers, the cold that flowed from every massage stroke that seemed capable of soothing any ailment.

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I skipped up the tiny staircase leading to her floor, and couldn’t help but feel that familiar pinch of jealously. I pushed it down, willing it to go away. It was common amongst witches to share a touch of jealously for their fellow witches magic in contrast to theirs, in the same way you might be jealous of someone else’s life in the lenses of Instagram. You got to see all the good parts, but never the messy bits.

“Aika?” I called out, knocking softly on the door. Aika answered the door in a huff, ushering me in. Inside the sweet and herb-scented air of her apartment, I realised her rush. A client lay on her massage bed, ice crystals glistening on his pink skin and coal-black scales trailing down his spine.

“There’s some fresh coffee in the pot,” Aika continued the massage, a blue frost forming on her fingers as she worked.

“Thanks,” I said, shrugging my backpack off. I poured us both a cup of straight coffee, and watched her work. I’d always admired the more elemental witches as their magic was always far more visually spectacular. As Aika worked her way down the client’s back, she flicked her black, cat-like ears in concentration. Ice formed on her black tail, yet it didn’t both her. Aika was short but had all the litheness of a cat, the fur on her ears and tail the same raven black as her hair. Her long hair fell like a waterfall of darkness down her back, bangs sweeping over crystalline blue eyes with dark irises that would occasionally shrink into a slit in harsh light. Her father, a feline Familiar had those same black ears and tail, but the blue eyes were from her mother. They were an odd tale amongst the Sydney Witches, a story of a witch and her familiar not only falling in love, but they had a child together. As a result, Aika had experienced a long, arduous road to become a certified ‘true’ witch in the eyes of Holfast’s council. It made her the perfect candidate to be my best friend, and the only one I trusted with my deepest secret.

I finished my coffee and washed out the mug. A tingle of familiar anxiety buzzed through me, but I ignored it. I pulled out a haphazardly wrapped package from my backpack and put it on the counter amongst a mess of empty vials and browning flower stems and petals.

“I’ve soaked the lavenders in my own speciality tonic. Hang them over your bed and mix some in your tea and it’ll help, but you’ll feel the results after a couple days,” I said, unwrapping the package. The smell of mint and ancient dirt sprung from the lavender I’d collected only the day before. I yipped a little as Aika gave me a hug, her skin freezing cold. Instead of touching more of her skin, I gave her a hearty pat on the head.

“You’re welcome!” I said with a soft smile. Aika twitched her ears in thanks and gave the lavenders a deep sniff. Her happiness faded for a moment, a sadness settling over her pretty features.

Magic was a tricky thing. Most of the time the greater the risk, the greater the reward held true. A couple of years ago, Aika had been performing a particularly difficult spell. One small mistake had led to a permanent weakness in her once feline-strong eyes. Only with tonics and tea I happened to be very good a brewing helped. To try and brew a potion to fix it permanently would be too great a risk with her familiar-witch background. A pang of hurt always struck me when I saw that same sadness in her. I’d always suspected she tried performing that spell to prove her worth as a Witch.

In a lower voice, I leaned down to her ear. “I’m going to go see him, how’s he been?” I whispered, eyeing the client with suspicion. Aika brushed her tail over my arm reassuringly.

“He’s been going alright. I think he’s a little bored, but other than that he’s good. He’s been eating more,” She whispered back.

I left Aika to her client, grabbed my backpack and slipped into her bedroom. In the corner, a small ladder led to a hatch in the roof. Quiet as I could I went up the ladder and into the attic above.

The space was surprisingly big, the air stuffy and filled with dust and air mites. But it was safe.

Safe enough for my brother.

Amid a mess of comics, takeaway boxes and a mattress, a young man sat flicking through an issue of The Amazing Spiderman.

“Liam?” I called out softly.

He turned to look at me, and through the gloom I could see him. Bright blue hair, sharp canines and elf-like ears with a second pair of red eyes tattooed beneath his real ones. And in his mess of blue hair, a pair of bone-white stag horns.