#mymagic

She hates coming to him for this, hates coming to him for anything, at all. She’s known a lot of assholes over the years-- after all, she’s related to plenty-- but he takes the cake. Unfortunately, this is a problem few people have the supplies to solve.

A cult or a coven, she’s not quite sure which, has summoned something ancient. Something too old for the usual tricks. It’s wreaking havoc and people are dying. She could call someone else to handle it, but she would rather not have hunters sniffing around her home. Kit and Kai pass for human well enough, but Dana and Robin? No. She won’t risk them.

Which means putting up with Wilder’s bullshit for long enough to get the supplies she needs.

He’s in a mood when she gets there, which is just fucking great. On a good day, he’s tolerable. On bad days, she wonders if any of his clients are morally grey enough to kill a human, because he just might push one of them to do it.

He knows she’s mostly left the business and his opinion of it isn’t one he bothers to hide. She doesn’t think he would even on a good day.

“It’s bullshit. You’re a fucking Holden. Holdens don’t retire.”

He’s right, of course. Most of them don’t. They fight until they can’t anymore. And the ’can’t’ never relates to injury or old age.

“My dad did,” she points out. Temporarily. But it had been nice while it lasted.

His lips curl into a sneer. Not a word she often uses to describe… anyone. And yet… “And how well did that work out for him? If I recall, isn’t your mother dead?”

She doesn’t hesitate to throw the punch. It’s probably not the first time he’s been decked and it definitely won’t be the last. He stumbles away from her, hands catching himself on a table behind him. She’s small; people forget how strong she actually is.

“You don’t get to talk about my parents. Got it?”

He spits blood onto the floor and scowls at her.

“You didn’t have to come here,” he reminds, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as he rights himself.

“You don’t have to sell to me,” she returns. He also doesn’t have to be a massive dick, but she refrains from pointing that out. “But if I don’t come here and you don’t sell, people will die. So do you think you can play nice long enough for a business agreement?”

“You think I care about people?” he answers, gazing at her coldly.

“I think if you didn’t, you’d have a better job.” Or maybe a worse one. Something where he makes more money and maybe more people die. “Most hunters give at least half a fuck about human lives.”

“I think the Mahlendorfs disprove that.” He moves over to one of the tables, picking up a screw driver and tinkering with some metal contraption. “Some of the Bakers, too. I think Rosalyn would kill anyone.”

She can’t say for certain, but he’s probably right. She knows her aunt would be capable of killing Chase if she thought it necessary. Sometimes she wonders if Rosalyn would kill him even if she didn’t think it necessary. Uncle Avery isn’t kind but he’s always struck her as more stable, more restrained. Aunt Rosalyn is one of the reasons Vivian thought it would be a good idea to leave.

“Fine. But I think you fall into the ’care about humans’ category.”

“You don’t know shit about me.” But she knows she’s gotten under his skin, hit some sort of nerve, by the way he slams the screwdriver on the counter. It’s a weird comment for him to react to, but Wilder is a mystery that isn’t worth solving. No one knows much about the man, except that he can somehow be your best friend and your worst enemy in the same day. No one seems to want to know more than that. Vivian isn’t interested in adding another shitty person to the roster of people she cares about. Chase fills up enough of that space.

“I can be out of your hair the minute you give me what I need.”

“Can be and will be are different.” He turns to face her once more, staring her down.

“Give me what I need and I’m gone.” She doesn’t want to be here anymore than he wants to have her around. As fun as it is to irritate him, putting up with his shit personality isn’t worth it.

He’s quiet for a long moment, just watching her. She notices one hand is gripping the table behind him, holding himself steady, and she wonders how much he’s had to drink tonight. She knows he turns to alcohol when his mood sours like this, but she doesn’t bring it up. Pissing him off further doesn’t help anyone.

Finally, the silence is broken by him. “Do you have cash?”

“Of course.”

It’s not hers, but he doesn’t care about that. She hands it over and he counts it out before nodding and raiding his supplies. Eventually he hands her bullets, a jar that she’s sure will explode, and a copied page from what appears to be a spellbook. The last item has her arching a brow and he scowls in answer.

“Look, sometimes science isn’t enough. I don’t fucking like it, but you’re not getting rid of that thing unless you send it back where it came. Shoot it, hit it with the jar, read the spell. Problem solved.”

“Hunters and magic don’t normally mix. You and magic don’t normally mix.”

“You don’t know shit about me,” he repeats. And she doesn’t. Except that she knows what everyone else does; Wilder hates magic just as much if not more than any other hunter. “Look, I sell people what they’ll actually use to do their damn jobs. Most of your family wouldn’t cast a spell, but I’m betting you will because you understand that you can’t shoot away a Chthonic being.”

“And because I’m retired?” Or at least semi retired.

“You don’t have the same issues with the supernatural that everyone else does,” he agrees.

“But you do.” She shouldn’t push him. It’ll work because he’s good at his job. He doesn’t betray people because it would be bad for business. But this is weird and she doesn’t trust it.

“Fuck magic,” he answers. “But if it’s the best option, fucking use it. I’ll invent something better eventually but for now this is what we’ve got. Now will you just get out?”

It’s a weird answer, but she’ll take it. As long as it actually helps, she doesn’t need justification to use it. “You’re a strange one. I don’t think anyone understands you.”

The smile that forms on his lips isn’t genuine or happy. Something about it is unsettling and kind of makes her want to punch him again, but this time he doesn’t deserve it. “Yeah, well, try being me.”

Alexi knew his parents were soulmates only because he knew his mother would never have married at all if they weren’t. She was a practical woman and marriage was impractical for most people. But not for soulmates. They weren’t the most romantic of couples, but he thought they loved each other, in their own weird way. Miguel, at least, loved Eleanor and Eleanor seemed happy to stay with him.

Still it wasn’t the kind of devoted, intense love that most soulmates shared and he’d never been sure what to make of it.

He’d honestly never been certain soulmates were as real as the world believed. Sure, people were connected to one another, but did that always mean they were compatible? What if the universe was wrong about it? What if one person couldn’t get past the other’s flaws, despite their apparent connection?

Hades never shared those doubts, but Hades was always the more optimistic of the two of them. It was as endearing as it was annoying.

(Who could have that much faith in anything?)

But he couldn’t deny it when he realized what their connection was. It had started when he was young, a phantom pain now and then. The feeling of a skinned knee or bruised arm. The normal injuries of childhood except they weren’t his injuries.

It had taken longer than he wanted to admit to realize what was happening, but what the hell pair of soulmates were connected by pain?

(His mother had raised him pagan so he knew the gods were assholes but he didn’t have to like it.)

He hadn’t really thought much of it after figuring it out. Not until he’d gotten into his first fight at school. Afterwards, he’d felt awful. And then he’d felt awful when he realized his soulmate was suffering with him.

He’d fucked up. More than he usually fucked up. And he hadn’t even met them yet. That had to be a record.

(His dad insisted everything would be fine. His mother said nothing. Kind lies were not her thing, no matter how comforting they may have been.)

He cared about his soulmate, long before they met. He didn’t want to, but it had happened regardless. It was hard to not feel at least concerned for someone when you could feel their pain. That was what he told himself, anyway. Even if it may have been more than that.

He cared more than he ever expected to– more, maybe, than his mother cared about his dad. And that was an unsettling thought at best. They hadn’t met yet and he felt too close, too concerned, too much.

Feelings had never been his family’s forte. Too much of his mother’s blood ran in his veins.

(But his dad still loved her, right? So maybe there was some hope for Alexi yet.)

When he was fourteen, her feet her grief. He felt it as intensely as if it were his own, a heavy weight in his chest, making it harder to breathe. Hades found him crying one day and he didn’t know how to explain why. Hades was beginning to get used to these things, but tears were out of the ordinary in the Delaney household, so it was odd to say the least.

She had lost someone. Who was unclear. Their connection wasn’t that specific. But he knew they were important and he wished he were there to comfort her. He didn’t know exactly how he would go about that, but god he wanted to try. He’d never wanted to try doing anything so badly.

If he could make her feel better, even for a few fleeting moments, it would be worth it.

Eventually, the feeling faded, but he wasn’t sure if she was really okay.

(He didn’t know when he’d realized or decided she was a she, but something about that just felt right.)

Fighting wasn’t always something he wanted to do, but sometimes he considered it unavoidable. He tried not to get into physical fights, he really did. But he had a short temper and a quick fist and occasionally he’d thrown a punch before even registering the idea to do it.

(Would she be able to love him when he kept putting her through this?)

He held back more than he might have without her, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

(Would he be enough? He tried not to ask that.)

His mother threatened to disown him if he didn’t knock it off. His dad recommended anger management. If it weren’t for her, her would have said no. His dad meant well but Alexi hated the idea.

But the last fight had nearly broken his nose and he couldn’t let this be her problem. Scrapes and bruises were one thing, but that was something entirely different. He wouldn’t break any bones if he could help it.

The bruises felt like an old friend, but they weren’t really there, weren’t his but merely the phantom of the real thing and that was terrifying. What was happening? What had gone wrong? And why did she seem to feel so guilty?

Anger was an old friend, too. And one that wanted to make a reacquaintance. He was so fucking helpless. Something was wrong and he couldn’t do anything, couldn’t fix anything. He couldn’t protect her.

Punching something, anything, anyone sounded like a great idea. But the last thing she needed was the feeling of bruised knuckles to match the black eye. Hades had to remind him of that. Thank god only one of them was an asshole.

Worry wasn’t an emotion that crossed Eleanor Wellington’s face very often. Alexi would have said never, but he thought he saw the ghost of it on her face on the day things got bad.

Alexi had been in too many fights, but he’d never felt like this before.

Miguel wanted to take him to the hospital. So did Hades. Their panic was clear and present, even when Alexi could barely focus on it.

Eleanor pointed out that there were no real wounds to be healed. She was right. She was right and she was worried and only one of those was her norm. If his brain had registered a feeling other than pain, the concern from his mother would have scared him. But it hadn’t and all he could do was wonder what had happened to her and if she was going to be okay.

Maybe his brain could register something else, but it worry seemed to be the only other thing.

(What would happen if she died? Would he feel that too? Would he know?)

That scare seemed to be the end of her troubles, as terrifying as it had been for everyone involved. In fact, once she had stopped hurting from that, he wondered if she had died, until there was something normal a few weeks later. Maybe she’d smacked her elbow into something. He wasn’t sure what caused it, but he knew he was relieved to feel something, anything. She was okay. …maybe not okay, but… at least alive. He’d take that as a victory, albeit a small one.

It had never occurred to him that the really small things had never registered until he was moving into his college dorm and for the first time in his life, he felt a papercut that wasn’t his. This couldn’t have been the first time she’d ever gotten a papercut. There was just no way.

“Maybe your connection’s getting stronger,” Hades suggested, as he put some of Alexi’s clothes into the closet, helping him unpack. Alexi would never have trusted anyone else to put everything in its proper place, but Hades knew the ways Alexi organized things.

“Oh,” was the only thing he could think to say in response, because he knew why connections got stronger. He supposed it was to help you find your soulmate, but in this case it seemed like it would be an unpleasant adventure.

“Good luck,” Hades responded, as though reading his mind.