Magical Mafias Book 1

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Episode 9: Devil's Snare

Raw Audio for Episode (edited audio coming later!)

Text of Episode

Thairn had learned something... interesting from her students. In addition to the Evocation tutoring Mickey was legitimately doing, he was giving them Potions advice. Bad Potions advice. The kind that threatened to keep Lucía from being able to brew her potion to win the succession at all.

Thairn first consulted Dara Lynwood in private about the matter, just to check what the substitutions might do. Tried to disguise it as her own curiosity. Thairn had put in a request for lab space, in the hopes of both getting closer to Lucía and seeing what knowledge she could steal for the DOOR's Technology Office. So, Alanna had good reason to be seen asking about potions theory. Dara had given Alanna a thorough answer, one that made it exorbitantly clear that the ingredients Mickey was suggesting to her students would, at best, ruin the potion. Certainly ruin the research and the knowledge Lucía was trying to build.

Thairn constructed her excuses and found private time with Mickey in his chambers.

"You get those seeds already?" Mickey asked. "That was fast."

"No. That will take a bit longer."

"What, then? I'm curious."

"I've heard something."

"Oh?"

"It's about Lucía. You're suggesting potions substitutions to her research students."

"You are good with the kiddos. They've been asking me about whether the other teachers are fae, you know. You have them so wonderfully wrapped up in paranoia, and none of it's aimed at you."

She ignored the attempt at distracting her. "You can't possibly mean to blow Lucía up while I'm still trying to get the information you want out of her, can you?"

"It's not blowing up, at least not at the moment. This first set's just to see if I can manage it."

"You'll just be wasting your efforts. She'll catch on the first time, and you won't get a second."

"Possibly. I take it you've a better idea?"

Don't blow up the person I'm trying to have win the succession was Thairn's idea, but, she wasn't exactly about to tell Mickey that. What to tell him instead, that would preserve Lucía and keep him from knowing that was Thairn's aim? Thairn could simply say she had no ideas, make sure he told her what his more dangerous swaps were, and then pass those along to Lucía. Except there was no guarantee that Mickey would tell her all of them, especially not now that Thairn had expressed her displeasure. And Lucía didn't trust Alanna enough to so much as talk to her yet, much less believe Mickey's so-called lover about something involved with him. The herbs would help, once she got them out of Tricia, but even those would be tricky to wield.

Ah, perhaps that was the key.

"I do," she said.

"Excellent. Do tell."

"I need more reason to get close to Lucía."

"I thought those herbs were your reason?"

"To an extent. But, I won't be able to just go up to her and go 'here's these ingredients you needed, now in exchange, please trust me and tell me all of your secrets.' She needs some rapport with me before I can even get close enough to bribe her."

"Your plan, then?"

Later that day, a sharp, angry knock came to Mickey's office door. Loud enough to echo. He opened the door with full nonchalance all the same, then lapsed into a smile as soon as he opened it. Alanna was his "lover", after all. It fit the lies to be glad to see her.

That it also fit the way his heart beat faster whenever those golden eyes met his, that was a side bonus.

"Taking a break?" he asked. All suggestiveness poured into those words. That, because it fit the illusion. It wouldn't do to actually proposition her, not with the amount of power he had over her just from knowing one secret. She had to be able to say "no", for "yes" to mean anything.

"A work matter, I'm afraid. Could I have a word?"

"Sure. Come in."

She froze. Took a moment before she spoke.

"I, um. I'd rather you come to my office, actually. I... have my notes there." She outright sounded like she was lying, when usually she could cover a lie perfectly.

"Sounds serious."

"It's about Lucía." Said louder than Alanna-the-teacher would have intended. Do you hear this, Lucía? We're going to talk about you. Want to listen? Lucía's office was right across the hall, after all.

"Extra serious, then," Mickey said, in that flippant tone he brought to everything. "Lead the way."

He followed her into her office. Leaned against the wall. His hand feeling out the unsealed wards. He'd been testing this magic touch thing of late, seeing how different spells felt.

When he sensed the scrying spell bend the wards, he cocked his head at Alanna and passed a significant look to the door.

"Right." She stood, movements fraught with false nervousness, closed the door and flared the wards on. They were too poor of quality to push the scrying spell out. He should probably offer to replace them, once she no longer needed them to be subpar.

"I've heard what you're doing," Alanna said.

"Oh?" Mickey perched in the chair she reserved for the students. "What am I doing, dear Alanna?"

"The students told me the 'advice' you've been giving them about the potions they're researching for Lucía."

"And?"

"And? How could you do that? I know you've this petty rivalry or what-have-you, and I suppose you think this is just a prank, but research is this woman's life, you're going to ruin the data--" Alanna wouldn't have prioritized the data over all the other terrible possibilities, but it was what mattered the most to Lucía, so it was what Alanna mentioned first.

"You don't know enough about the situation. Alanna, this may sound hard to believe, but I need that data ruined."

"Why? Just because you don't like her?"

"Far beyond that, I'm afraid."

"Then, tell me."

"This isn't something I'm supposed to tell you. Or anyone at this school who doesn't already know. It'll scare the kiddos. And probably you."

Alanna ripped off her gloves. "Do you think I'm scared? Do you think I'm capable of being scared? After everything I've gone through?"

His gaze fixed on her hands. What did they actually look like? She rarely exposed the glamoured scars around him. Said it was best to leave the glamour deactivated whenever possible. They'd felt nice, when he'd held them.

Right. Dramatics. He swallowed, visibly. Broke his gaze away with clear effort. Met her eyes with an expression both tender and melancholy.

"I just don't think you'd like me very much if I told you the truth."

"Too much of my life has been infected with glamour and lies, Mickey. If you don't think I'd like you if you told me the truth, then you owe it to me all the more."

He looked away. Ran fingers down the carvings of his cane. Like he was deep in thought.

"Do you know how I got my position in the Conclave?" he asked. "How my family got enough influence with them to trial this school?"

"I take it your response isn't going to be 'a merit appointment.'"

"Well, that's the name they put on it. Our family's merits being mostly bribery, blackmail and the black market."

"The black market."

"That's where Lucía comes in. Do you know what kind of research she does? That you want so dearly to preserve?"

"Her work combines a lot of fields--"

"Oh, yes, a lot of fields. How to smuggle, that's one. How to roofie people we don't like in interesting ways, that's another. How to make addictive drugs you can't say no to and can't stop buying more of, that one's my favorite, what do you think of that one?" Fuck. Bleeding too much reality into this performance. But the vicious bitterness it lent his tone played its role well.

"Is that what she's having the students research, then? Drugs?"

"I don't know. What she's researching is a secret. But I don't have any reason to assume it's different from her usual."

"What if one of these swaps gets her hurt? Or the students hurt? Someone could die."

"Oh, don't worry about that. I only intend to interfere with the research--no killing."

"How will I know? How can I trust you?"

He stood. Left his cane on the chair, a sign of goodwill. Approached her, brushing his palm against her cheek, as he would a real lover. Her eyes closed, and she leaned into the touch. Realistic enough to feel far too right.

"You can trust me," he said. And meant it, for all he shouldn't be meaning any of this. "I'm done with people getting hurt because of us."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"I'll tell you what I substitute." The lure, for Lucía. "Okay? It'll help me, actually. You can rein the kiddos in if they go off-script. Does that sound good?"

"Then, tell me. What was the last one?"

"Thorn-apple. There's two plants named that way. She wanted them using Devil's Trumpet, it's a deadly mindfuck of a plant. I told them to use hawthorn. Far more harmless." All of it true. He'd let Lucía have this one.

Alanna nodded. Reached, tentative, to hold his hand. The first touch of her bare palm he'd felt since that first night. He laced his fingers through hers. Ran his thumb down smooth, soft skin. Her body warm against his as she pulled in close.

She felt so right in his arms.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me. I know we haven't spoken much before." Alanna was usually a painfully overconfident presence, but she had a meek air today. Lucía couldn't tell if it were real or fake.

"It's fine. I saw your application for the lab space. Interested in potions?"

Alanna didn't answer. Lucía walked over and opened the door to the sitting room. Led Alanna in and set the wards in a tight lock. Still recalling the spiderweb shreds Mickey had left of her lab set.

Alanna checked them herself. All tension.

"Potions?" Lucía asked again, to prompt her.

"Y-yes. I was interested, that's why I..." She worried at her gloves. "But that's not why I'm here."

Interesting.

Lucía tried not to smile. "Would you like some tea?"

Alanna startled.

"I do have some manners," Lucía said, "For all Mickey might have told you otherwise."

"I appreciate the offer." Stiffly. "I... I can't..." Her voice strained, small, when usually she was neither. "I don't take drinks from anyone. Not after Faerie. Not even Mickey can get me to have a drink with him."

Interesting. Lucía would still find some way to get to Alanna, of course, if she needed to. But such personal habits would make it easier. No having to fuss over drug interactions the way Mickey required, with all the alcohol he drank--damn the stuff--not to mention the times he'd throw in deathwish or some other random, interfering additive. Didn't even have the decency to use addictive additives, if you didn't count the alcohol.

"I see," Lucía said aloud. "Understandable." She waved Alanna over to a cushioned chair. Took her own seat, hands folded. Assessed Alanna with a long look, taking in small details. A careful poise. Even so distressed, Alanna held the collected grace Lucía found far too familiar, because she had to maintain it herself. She could respect that. All the more when Alanna's back straightened, her fists clenched.

When Alanna's voice came out clear and sharp. "Mickey is tainting your potions research."

"I know."

That did its job of throwing Alanna off-guard. "How?"

"I'm aware of what particular ingredients should do. And what results make no chemical sense."

"Did you know it was him?"

"I suspected. I knew it was a teacher, since the student work was what went awry. One who didn't like me, obviously. I suspected Vernon, but..." Lucía her head. "Vernon knows the science. Mickey just knows how to get people to do what he wants." Looked at Alanna, sharp, watching for the slightest sign. "Like you."

Alanna flinched. "I'm not doing what he wants now."

"No, you aren't." Lucía didn't trust it, but she did find it interesting. "Why?"

"I'm not going to deny that I have feelings for him. But I can't just stand by while he plays games with dangerous chemicals. Even if he can justify it to himself."

"What's he told you, to justify it?" Lucía knew, of course, she'd heard every word, but she had to know what Alanna thought to know how to handle this.

"That you make street drugs. And other things." Alanna held herself very still, as if waiting for when the blow would strike. "I looked into it. Some of my students are closer to your family than others. They see me with Mickey, and they think I know... everything. As do a few other people."

"What did you find?"

"You do." Alanna's fingers pressed into her gloves. Worked along the shape of one scar. "You make drugs, and you make potions that let us fight... them."

Ah. Of course. It always came back to the fae, for someone like Alanna.

Lucía gave a grave nod.

"I don't know how I feel," Alanna said. "About what you do. Drugs aren't like the ways the faeries take you. There's no trick. One knows what one's doing. I'm not going to go poison a batch of brandy just because Mickey never stops drinking."

"And Mickey's poisoning my brandy?"

"Not poison. Not yet. He says he's trying not to hurt anyone."

"Then what is he trying to do?"

Alanna took an audible breath. "Hawthorn. One of your potions called for thorn-apple, so he told the students to use hawthorn."

"I see. That explains a lot." Exactly what Mickey had told Alanna in her office. Meaning Alanna wasn't lying. She really was bringing his secrets to Lucía.

"Was he telling me the truth? Is that really harmless?"

"It ruins the research. Shouldn't be toxic, this time. But like I said, he doesn't know the science. He doesn't understand how these interactions work."

Alanna clenched her fingers. "I don't want to leave him over this. I know that sounds horrible, but..."

"But?"

"Look, he promised he'd keep telling me the swaps. If I pass them along to you, will that fix the damage he's doing?"

"It will let me mitigate it." Lucía contemplated. "And maybe... if I give you that lab space, and you begin visibly studying potions, he might seek your advice. I could give you advice to give him. That would make things better for me."

Alanna gave a hesitant nod. "Please. You can't tell him any of this. I don't want him to know."

"I won't. We women have to stick together, don't we?"

It wasn't long before Thairn found herself knocking at Mickey's door again. She had her excuses to keep seeing him, and her reasons. Only some of which involved the way his face lit up when he opened the door to see her there, or the flutter she felt in response.

"Decided not to leave me after finding out I'm in the mob?" he asked, once the door was closed, amusement lighting his warm brown eyes.

"Only if you keep your word to help Alanna betray you to Lucía."

"On my honor." He swept a bow. "Or it would be, if I had any."

She effected a gasp. "You mean to tell me I'm alone in a bedroom with a dishonorable man?"

"And an incorrigible rake, no less. Haven't you heard my reputation by now?"

"Oh? Did you earn that the same way you've earned ours?"

"I couldn't tell you that, could I? Then I'd be showing you all my cards."

"But you've already seen mine. Or gotten your hands on them, anyway." She made sure to show her amusement visibly. He'd been apologetically professional about that first day's search, after all. Wouldn't do to make him think it had offended her. Especially when the resultant bargain was bringing her so much profit.

"True. Well, then, I'll confess. I have earned my reputation in the entire."

She lifted an eyebrow. There was quite a lot to that reputation.

"Alright, alright, touché. I've earned the part of my reputation that paints me as terribly loose. The rest, all that death and mayhem... well, we can talk, if you're really curious, and I may or may not lie."

She tutted at him.

"Oh?" Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Have I lost your regard?"

That caught a snicker from her. "Hardly."

"Good." He stretched out on the bed next to her. "I like your regard." With a softness to that tone she did not miss.

"If you had lost it?"

"I'd be very sad. Still a rake, but a sad one."

"Incorrigible indeed."

"Quite. Though, in my opinion, it's the one thing I do that doesn't need correcting." He stretched. "There's something to be said for a good time with someone who wants nothing more from you than to have some fun together."

The perfect opening. She should propose that fun together, get him closer. Make sure he kept trusting her. Seek out secrets.

Be exactly what put that bitter wear to the lines around his eyes, as he added, "Not that that's guaranteed."

"No?"

"Oh, no. Though I can't say I never play influence games myself. Do you?" A sheepish smile, as if he'd just realized the implications of the question. "Not a come-on, just curious."

She had the embarrassing feeling of being caught with a hand in the cookie jar. And he wouldn't believe her if she lied too much, she was certain.

"I have," she said.

"Oh, I bet you have stories."

A smile quirked her lips, almost against her will. "I do."

"Want to trade? I bet we can each strip enough details not to reveal too many secrets."

"A dangerous game."

"Not nearly as dangerous as the ones we've been playing."

"I suppose." She settled herself back on his pillows, trying to hide her smile with her knuckles and knowing she wasn't succeeding. "You go first."

He shuffled up to put his head on a pillow. Closed his eyes and set his hands in the air like he was composing the story.

"Once upon a time, there was a gorgeous man who was under the terrible misunderstanding that having the finest ass this world has ever seen would win his family of pied pipers special favors..."

Illa had been playing furniture for a good several scenes by this point. Being a footstool had its upsides. Access to private spaces. He was ignored while he was there, or used in ways that didn't require his attention. It was almost meditative to just bear up under someone's boots while letting the swell and noise of the scene and conversation flow through him, the back of his brain on watch, pricking his attention whenever something interesting came up.

It didn't quite fit Rhett's rep, though, so he'd had to play it bratty for a while. Mouth off when he was supposed to shut up, until finally tops started gagging him for the scenes after a little negotiation. The gag wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world--he wasn't a fan in his personal life--but he couldn't afford to let them question the character of Rhett.

It wasn't the best view of the mob's workings that Illa could imagine. It was hard to see the full dynamics of the Wingless from this angle. But mob business did come up, got passed around in rumors, and Illa gathered it all dutifully. He'd gotten some sense of the social networks, the connections, the rivalries. Outside of scenes, he spent a lot of time talking to Greg and Bev. They were both flagrant gossips, though Greg kept the real secrets better buttoned-down than Bev did. Greg had a good sense for a borderline Illa was still learning to read.

Illa's latest realization was that Greg played furniture in scenes Illa was never invited to. Especially Gabriel's and Eric's joint scenes. Illa thought at first that it was a matter of trust.

But Bev punctured that idea, "Oh, no, honey, it's that they fuck." All matter-of-fact and sugar-sweet.

"They fuck Greg?"

"Probably sometimes." Bev shrugged. "But mostly each other, I'd guess."

Which was about as clear as she got on the subject. Illa had tried to ask more, but Bev had shrugged and said she didn't know, since she wasn't no one's furniture unless you counted a Sybian. Which was... a mental image.

Illa ended up talking to Greg about it directly. It felt less risky now that he could blame Bev.

"Yeah," Greg answered, easy. "You said no sex stuff, right? They're trying to respect that."

Which was an obstacle Illa had anticipated, but not in quite this way. "I don't mind being around sex," Illa said, honestly. "I just don't want to be the subject." It spoke volumes that he--trusted?--the people around here to accept the distinction, as long as he was clear about it.

"So, you don't mind if they get into it with each other?" Greg asked.

"No, they can get into it with each other all they want." Might even provide useful information, though Illa wasn't sure what useful information he would derive. Thairn would probably know. Too bad she wasn't available to consult.

"Then yeah, if you're fine being around it, they'll probably let you play furniture for a joint scene. That what you want?"

"Yeah." And then, because Illa needed a good cover. "I want to get to know Eric better, but he's a little scary, you know? I'm used to Gabriel. Figure this'll ease me in."

"Yeah, Eric's a little fucked-up. Not towards the subs, though."

"Who, then?"

Greg shrugged. "You know. Rival mobs. Morleys. That kind of shit."

Illa filed that away.

"So, this scene," Greg said, before Illa could draw out more information. "I'm not sure how much a footstool's gonna get used. Thought about being a pillow?"

"I said around it, Greg, not under it."

"Ah, true, true."

"Maybe they could rest toys on me? I could be a toy rack."

"Probably, though you'll have to tell them what toys you don't want sitting on you."

"Good point." It was starting to feel almost like he was negotiating through Greg. Which was actually far more comfortable. Greg was easygoing, for one. But, more importantly, Greg didn't make Illa want to give him everything, unless that "everything" was "a lot of shit over letting last night's jar of polish dry out". Illa would eventually express his wants and needs to Gabriel and Eric, assuming Illa got into one of these scenes (and wasn't it strange, to feel like he could express them?). But for now, it was easier to workshop it with Greg. Especially since Greg knew these scenes and what Gabriel and Eric wanted from them.

"Floggers, maybe?" Illa tried. "They could sit floggers on me. And I can hold rope."

"Oh, you'd probably make a good rope rack. Gabriel might do you up in a corset, something he can pull off you fast."

Which might compress Illa's wings, but he'd be fine with that, Gabriel made him feel--

Illa touched his collar. Thairn. Remember Thairn. Don't fall under.

"What will you be today?" Illa asked, to shift the subject.

"Chair. I make a good queening stool, too, but Gabriel's not up for that." A wistful look. "Sometimes if I sit very still, Eric rewards me by sitting on me special..."

Illa shook his head. Starting to relax again. It was bizarrely pleasant, being around Greg's constant, flagrant enjoyment of his lifestyle. Most of the subs in this strange mob were like that, pretty happy. If they weren't, they didn't stay, unless they needed something. And if they just needed something, they got shuffled off to other roles that were more work-to-eat than service-to-play. Even Illa was happier than he'd expected to be.

A dangerous emotion. He'd keep an eye on it.

Far as Gabriel was concerned, Rhett was integrating good. Rhett'd left the Morleys and grown into self-expression. At first he just tried to start shit, spunk that made Gabriel just want to beat it out of him until it put that stupid grin on Rhett's face, but now, Rhett was really starting to live here. Said what he wanted and didn't want, who he was and who he wasn't. Greg kept an eye on the kid, said he'd made friends.

Rhett still spent most of his time in the tenement building. At first Gabriel was wary about letting the kid go out--if Rhett really was on the run from the Morleys, it was dangerous for Rhett; if he really was a Morley spy, it was dangerous for everyone else in the Wingless. But, outside of group trips, Rhett pretty much just went to the doctor or on grocery runs, to the point where Gabriel was starting to worry the kid was too much of a shut-in.

Grown man, though. He could make his own decisions. And it was deadly out there for an ex-Morley, especially with Malachi rustling up whatever trouble he could find. For all that Rhett had come enough into himself to be hard for his family to recognize, no longer the person the family'd made him pretend to be.

Rhett had more info for Gabriel on the Malachi business, once Rhett got over being too damned terrified to tell Gabriel about it. Gabriel's own fault. Greg'd taken Gabriel to task over it in his own way, all sad, soulful eyes. Gabriel'd apologized proper once Rhett was comfortable. Rhett's response all salt and spice to cover the fear still lingering there, "If you feel so bad, why don't you bite me?"

Gabriel had, right on Rhett's throat above his collar, until Rhett's smart-ass mouth went slack, whole body relaxing into the pain as if it were taking away the threat instead of bringing Gabriel closer. That had been a different scene from their usual. No sass, no struggle. Just surrender. Gabriel felt grateful to have earned it.

And now Rhett was asking about time with Eric and Gabriel, despite Rhett's own preferences. (Which Rhett had given on the first day, bold and straight, and Gabriel was proud he'd felt okay to.) Says he doesn't mind being around it, Greg'd told Gabriel, which didn't exactly sound enthusiastic. But then, Rhett took every furniture scene he could get, and once the gag was on, he got quiet and meditative. So, maybe Rhett thought it was worth it for a chance to play that game. Especially with Gabriel, whom he always seemed to seek out.

Gabriel checked in with Eric--"Yeah, it's fine, ain't you the boss of this scene, anyway?"--and made sure Greg was lined up to be another piece of furniture, since Greg seemed to make Rhett feel safer.

Rhett made a fine tool rack. Gabriel did him up with a body harness first, covering Rhett in criss-crosses of rope. Rhett taunting him the whole time, tighter, would ya? and am I pretty enough for you yet? Gabriel just let it fade into the background, though it did give him a chuckle. Focused on the rope. Made sure it wasn't touching the wrong spots on Rhett's chest–-if Rhett preferred his shirt on whenever possible, he probably didn't want knots over his bindings. (Athletic tape, Rhett said. He must have already been pretty flat, because the tape made him a washboard. Something Gabriel envied.) Gabriel also made sure the ropework anchored around the hips and thighs instead of the groin, even if that wasn't Gabriel's usual way.

Rhett did not shut up until Gabriel connected the front and back harness diamonds to each other. Took more rope than expected, pulling tight until it dug into Rhett's shirt. Rhett's words fell off into a sweet, soft sigh. He swayed a little.

"You alright?" Gabriel asked.

Rhett nodded. Looked to Gabriel and, God, those brown eyes. So damn piercing. Gag wasn't even on, and Rhett wasn't saying a word. Complete submission, just like that other time.

Illa leaned his neck back against the wall, enough to jar the collar. Thairn's headspace had come back to him earlier, when Gabriel had jostled it. But now, Illa could only feel it dimly.

Remember the mission. He kept himself straight, still. Receiving everything and giving nothing away. Looking for observations, notes, anything helpful.

Gabriel doffed his shirt to reveal what looked like a tight tank top--no, a chest binder--with a slight curve where the compression couldn't work perfectly.

So, there was another reason people made assumptions about Illa.

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