Chapter Text
Six’s world was a blur as he left Milo’s apartment. Frankly, he hadn’t even known that Ehzra knew Magnolia, but he supposed that it made sense. Unlike Six, Mags always seemed to make friends easily. She’d managed to get his friendship, after all, and that was years and years ago, long before he’d mellowed out some.
She was one of his longest friends now—at least, out of those who were alive. That though made his chest seize a bit more in panic. What kind of danger was she in? How did Ehzra know? The only conclusion that his mind could draw was that the hunters had somehow found out about her, but did that mean that Ehzra had been captured as well? But then, why send the text to Milo?
An odd suspicion curled around his mind. The only time texting Milo made sense here was to tell Six, but how did the werewolf know that the vampire would be there? His mind lingered on anxiety even as it shakily gave him a reasonable explanation: Ehzra must have known that Milo could text Six. It was the only thing that made sense.
But had Magnolia talked about Six to Ehzra? It made a prickle of unease run up his back as trees passed by in a blur. He thought she knew how secretive he was, so how could Ehzra know? Again, that stupid, logical part of his brain (as small as it was) told him that maybe he’d been at Magnolias and something happened, and since Six had been by earlier that day, he just smelled him. Probably.
This trip seemed to be taking forever, but that was probably because he was actually focused on it. The distance between Milo’s town of Thornberry and Magnolia’s cottage in the middle of Tanglegrove Forest wasn’t much. Perhaps it would be, to Milo, if he were traveling on his own, but for Six, it was generally a quick trip.
The panic creeping into the corners of his vision and his thoughts running wild, however, made it feel much longer.
In less than ten minutes, he spotted the cottage, the windows lit and exuding warmth, offering comfort and invitation. The lush greenery of her plants around the house and the way that it was much healthier than the other woods let him know when he’d made it within her wards. He couldn’t see anything off, or smell any unwanted company, but he knew looks could be deceiving, and the unease that writhed under his skin didn’t let up.
He rushed forward, keeping his quick pace as he pushed her door open. The woman turned, eyes wide, but she didn’t seem wholly surprised. It seemed like, most of the time, her mind was somewhere other than the present, pupils always seeming large and her hazel-green downturned eyes always making her appear to be deep in thought.
“Six? I didn’t expect you back so soon, but I’ll put on some tea?” The witch moved, the flowing earthy-toned fabric of her dress swishing as she paid the vampire no mind. Flowers and ferns, some embroidered but some fresh, were stitched into the fabric, and it made a floral, herbal scent fill the air around her. She was fine, no scent of blood or ill-intent in the air, and Six could only stare, mind whirring. The cottage in the woods smells like herbs and spices and warmth, the same as it had only hours ago. She looked the same as before, when he’d been here earlier in the day, if not better.
Her long, auburn hair fell in curls down to her waist, and herbs and flowers and crystals that Six didn’t know the difference between were woven and placed between the strands. Vibrant green strips could be seen within the reddish brown, and Six was almost certain it was dyed that way. If not, it was green plants within the hair, or perhaps her focus in botanical witchcraft had its own side effects.
“Mags?” Six panted, the door still standing open behind him, and Magnolia turned over her shoulder as she set the tea kettle on her stove. She looked confused by the desperate confusion in his voice, her pale, freckled face scrunched in the way it always got when she was puzzling something out. “You’re okay.”
“I’m great!” The witch agreed brightly, and perhaps she thought that that was the extent of his worries, because she turned her attention back to the kettle. But she’d known him long enough, apparently, because she prompted, after a few moments too long of Six neither saying anything nor moving, “Should I not be?”
“I…” Six swallowed, suddenly feeling like he’d completely overreacted by rushing here. He hadn’t asked any questions, or really even thought it through. “Milo said you were in danger.”
“Milo?” Magnolia echoed, and he knew they hadn’t met, but she definitely recognized his friend’s name with how much he’d talked about him to her. But Six had never mentioned her name to Milo, and he knew that that’s where her confusion lay.
“Well, technically, some werewolf he met today said it—Ehzra, which, hey, when did you meet that mutt, anyway? Why don’t I know about him?” Six wasn’t trying to let things steer there, especially as Magnolia gave him a disappointed glance over her shoulder as the kettle started to shriek.
“Is that jealousy I hear, Six?” The witch teased lightly, attention turning back to her kettle as she took it off the heat and poured it into two mugs. Much like Milo, Magnolia didn’t seem to feel right about leaving a guest with nothing, even when it wouldn’t do much for Six. The smell of chamomile, citrus, and an herbal blend that Six had long since forgotten filled the air as steam curled upward from ceramic.
“I, what, no, me? Never,” Six sputtered, denying it despite the sharp feeling in his chest at his friend not telling him something. It was selfish, he knew, though he tried to justify it; werewolf venom was lethal to vampires, and it was a matter of safety. “That’s not the point anyway,” the vampire huffed, and the witch had a twinkle in her eye as she stirred in honey to their mugs.
“You wouldn’t want me telling him about you, would you?” Magnolia gave a tinkling, bright laugh at the look on his face that bounced off the wooden walls, full of life. A stark contrast to Six’s brooding, glowering stare. “Besides, I haven’t seen Ehzra in a while. A year, maybe? I’m not sure why he’d think I was in danger.” Her expression turned wistful and she picked up a mug to hand it to Six, seeming thoughtful.
But as she held it out, she gave a sharp gasp, eyes seeming to cloud over for a moment, and her grip on the mug loosened. Six lunged forward to catch it, telling himself that it was just because Magnolia would be devastated over losing the mug (it was a favorite of hers—painted and glazed by hand to illustrate flowers and herbs). The skin on his hand sizzled as boiling water spilled over the rim as his catch jostled it, and he gritted his teeth.
He set the mug on the counter, his hand red and steaming as he shook away the lingering pain. His attention turned to Magnolia, and she looked unsteady on her feet. Forgetting about the throbbing in his burned hand, he steadied her, forehead creased as her breathing became a bit shaky. He bent to her height, eyes flicking across her face and looking for any sign of what to do.
Was this a vision? Was she having one, again? She’d had so many today, but the others hadn’t been nearly this intense. Her hazel-green eyes focused on him suddenly, that cloudy tint clearing, and there was a grave, serious expression on her face. It felt out of place on the usually bright, carefree disposition she exuded, and Six felt his unease return full force.
“You need to go get him, he’s scared,” Magnolia told him, and it chilled Six’s already frozen insides and made him swallow hard.
“What did you see?” Six whispered, dreading the answer even as he stood back up straight.
“It’s hazy, something’s shielding him from me,” Magnolia murmured, and Six wondered if that was because it actually was being blocked or if it was a lack of ability. Nothing against her—she was a very powerful witch, and he knew it from personal experience—but scrying and foresight were not things she did often. She seemed to think for a moment, then shook her head to herself. “Just go, Six, before it’s too late. The details don’t matter if you make it in time.”
There was an urgency in her voice as Six backed up and turned, all but bolting out the door. His mind started to piece together things that should have been obvious. But he’d let that anxious paranoid voice in his head cloud his reason. The text should have been the only clue he needed. Of course Magnolia wouldn’t have told Ehzra about knowing Six, so even if she had been in danger, Six wouldn’t have known.
And there were warding stones and runes and magic barriers around Tanglegrove Forest that would have protected Magnolia. She could feel people entering her home and if they were people she knew or not. She probably had things to turn away unwanted company anyway, these days.
And then there was the fact that he’d felt something off in Milo’s apartment. His friend hadn’t said there’d been anyone by, but Six smelled something different there than before that he ultimately chalked up to a candle that had been burning on the counter, innocuous. Milo hadn’t been lying to him; Six had checked his eyes, and he was good at reading people, generally, from everything he’d gone through in his life.
But what if he’d been drugged, or influenced in some way? It wasn’t impossible, and though the wounds on Six’s hands were already healing, the one on his chest from that special stake in the forest had scarred over instead. It was odd. He’d always healed from things, and the herbal mixture hadn’t sone much. The blood from Milo had done more, but…
The thought chilled him. Oh, hells, Milo. The boy would be weak from the blood loss and the bit of venom he’d used. If he was attacked somehow, he’d be helpless. The cold, cynical part of his mind whispered that Milo would have died either way, since he wasn’t much of a fighter.
No, he wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Six wouldn’t allow himself to think like that. It was an oddly optimistic though to cling to that he’d attribute to his time spent with the human, if morbidly so, that Milo would at least be alive. Maybe he could get there in time and protect him, like he’d failed at so many times before.
He was at full speed as he went up to Milo’s building, and he felt another stab of fear in his stomach as he started climbing the stairs. The scents he’d smelled earlier were much stronger now—smoke and vanilla and salt, and he couldn’t pick up on Milo’s heartbeat.
Please, he thought desperately, or maybe begged some unknown deity, please, anything, anyone but him.
But his pleas went unanswered and when he arrived, Milo’s door was still leaning against the wall. There was coffee on the floor, and the sickly sweet smell of it made him cover his nose. It was overpowering, that same salt and vanilla mixed with the scent of coffee. The liquid was spilling onto the hardwood from a paper cup.
Milo wasn’t here, but he found himself calling out his name anyway. Silence answered, and his dread only grew.
Something had taken him. Why? Milo was probably the most innocent person Six had ever met, and there was no way that he had enemies. Was it because of Six, somehow? He thought he’d been careful, but what if the people he’d tried to outrun all these years had caught up with him? Had known that he’d be able to take them now, in close quarters, and had chosen something he cherished to use as a weapon against him instead.
He pushed the panic that made the corners of his vision crackle with static and looked around. He didn’t see Milo’s phone, so with any luck, it was still on the boy somewhere. What if it had been dumped somewhere, though? Usually, he’d follow some kind of trail with his senses, but something was blocking him, stuffing up his nose and dulling his wits.
He opened up his own phone, working on finding his friend. He could do this. Maybe they want you to find him, the voice in his mind whispered, and he couldn’t argue with it. The Find My Friends hadn’t been deactivated. It was almost too easy. He didn’t even need to find a computer to trace signals or run programs or anything to find his friend.
His chest seized as the blue dot zeroed in on a location. The docks. Milo had been taken to the docks.
He suddenly found it incredibly heard to breathe, which he found incredibly unfair. He was dead, after all, so why was breathing still difficult for him? He hadn’t had an asthma attack since he’d turned, at least, but this was different. What was happening to him?
A panic attack, dumbass, a snarky voice that sounded annoyingly like himself snipped and Six wanted to laugh at how ridiculous this was. Wanted to mostly because he still couldn’t draw a proper breath. He hadn’t had one of these in a long time either, maybe also since before he’d turned. What had he done before, to calm down?
That thought didn’t help him much, because now all he could see was the face of someone who was dead now. The face of Her and her quiet, gentle voice and her calming words that could persuade him of anything and pull him back to the present.
He willed himself to just breathe. It sounded so simple, and yet every time he tried, he felt like he was choking, his lungs feeling tight, which, again, was incredibly unfair, in Six’s undead opinion. But time eventually made everything lighten, and though there was a fuzz around the edges of his vision as he stood—and when had he gone to the floor? He didn’t remember that—he’d have to make do.
“I won’t let you die,” Six swore to Milo, though the human was far from him now. It was too similar to that past, and if they had him, Six would do anything. He’d even give himself back to them, if it meant his sweet Milo would walk free. His caring, gentle human who was all rounded, soft edges and compassion and forgiveness. “I’ll be there soon, you’ll be okay.”
He wouldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t lose someone else that he loved.