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It was Gerard who spotted the lair first; he hissed softly and pointed so that Frank could see it, too.
Frank signaled acknowledgement, and once again Gerard's attention was caught by the sprawl of tattoos across Frank's hands. They were distracting. Frank was distracting, a wry grin and dark hair brushing broad shoulders. He had delicate silver loops threaded through his lip and nose, and Gerard wondered if they were related to his magic. He was pretty sure there was something magical about the tattoos, but he hadn't known Frank long enough to feel comfortable asking.
Mages could be downright squirrelly when it came to questions about their craft.
Frank shifted down into a crouch, one knee braced against the ground.
Two trees, old and gnarled, had grown close, creating a small triangular space between them. It was thickly shadowed, and there were branches and pieces of metal and strips of fabric crudely woven together to create a rough entrance.
It wasn't obvious from this distance, but from experience Gerard knew that the entrance had other, grisly hallmarks of the creature that dwelled inside. There always was.
The lair was small; Gerard would have to bend over in order to get inside. Frank, shorter and more compact, would just have to duck a bit. Gerard knew from experience that even little Horrors were dangerous. In fact, it seemed to him that the small Horrors were more vicious and unpredictable.
Frank was watching him expectantly, and Gerard tapped at his wrist to indicate they should wait. There was no way that they were going to get any closer until Gerard was sure that the den was empty.
Frank nodded his agreement and shifted his pack slightly.
As quietly as he could, Gerard reached down and unhooked a thin braided cord from his belt. Hanging from the cord was a flat shard of spelled plastic, opaque and cloudy. He closed one eye and held the shard up to the other.
To the naked eye, the landscape was a wash of grey, dust and ash. Lifeless except for the bent trees and a clearing of stubby dry grasses, and even those seemed on the verge of dying.
Looking through the shard revealed an entirely different world, one that belied the grey desolation with bright splotches of living color. Gerard could see the brilliant outlines of the trees and the grass, pulsing with subtle energies.
Under the foot of one of the trees was a burrow where a family of buns nested: a doe and her litter of five kits, glowing in electric purples and yellows. There was a hive of bees high up in a tree, vibrating in greens and blues.
With the shard, Gerard could see and when he looked at the Horror's lair, he saw nothing alive.
"Clear," he said softly, and Frank stood up. "Whatever it is, it's not here."
They quietly made their way closer to the entrance. Its resident was absent, but there were still many creatures in the forest that were best left undisturbed. It was better to avoid attracting attention.
At the mouth of the lair, it became clear to Gerard that it wasn't just empty, but it had been abandoned.
There was a scattering of bones, tooth-marked but picked clean of flesh. The Horror had been gone long enough for other creatures to scavenge any remaining morsels of meat.
And the smell… The scent of the putrefying flesh of the Horror's victims and the unnatural corruption of its own body mingled into a stench that was characteristic of a Horror's lair. Here, the scent of the Horror's charnel pit, rotten-sweet and stomach-turning, was absent.
Gerard inhaled deeply and let it out with a sigh. "Gone."
"Long gone," Frank agreed. "You think we should explore and see if there's anything worth salvaging?"
Gerard shrugged. "Might as well. There nothing alive in the den; it's as safe as anything can be out here."
There was very little that wasn't dangerous in the Wilds, and they both knew it. Gerard pulled out the dagger he kept strapped to his leg and shifted his bow higher on his shoulder while Frank drew his sword.
Frank's sword was a marvel; the first night they'd traveled together, Frank had let Gerard hold it. It had been absurdly light in his hand, well-balanced. A combination of metalsmithing and magic had given it an ever-sharp edge that could cut a single strand of hair with no effort.
"It's from the skeleton of a fallen airplane," Frank had explained. "Usually airplanes are picked clean of anything useful by now, but this one had been hidden, undiscovered."
Gerard had whistled softly. Frank must have acquired quite a cache of valuable materials from the airplane.
"That airplane kept my family fed and safe for years," he'd said, a wistful smile flickering across his face.
Gerard couldn't imagine finding such a treasure.
They weren't likely to find anything useful in the abandoned lair, but it was worth exploring, just in case.
The low entrance of the lair sloped down into the earth, and Gerard let Frank take the lead. Frank muttered a few words and fire bloomed in his free hand, flickering and throwing weird shadows onto the dirt walls as the passage widened a little.
The ceiling was an upside down forest of roots that reminded Gerard uncomfortably of spider webs. He'd seen a spider corrupted into a Horror, and it still haunted him. His skin crawled at the memory.
The floor was paved with broken bones, pressed into the soft ground. The lair was old, used by generations of creatures, both natural and not.
A few feet further in and they reached the heart of the lair; once a depression in the ground, it was now a haphazardly piled collection of bones and other debris. Most of the remains that Gerard could see were from small animals, but there were some that were clearly human. Not only bones, but scraps of clothing and strange, unknowable things from Before.
Something caught Frank's interest, and he used his sword to clear away some bones. "Oh," Frank said, crouching down. He whispered a phrase, and the fire in his palm split into three brighter flames that slowly floated above them, illuminating more of the area.
"Oh!" Gerard echoed, because there were books. Four of them, warped and ragged and torn, the words faded and smeared. In bad shape, but Gerard had seen librarians use their magic to save books in worse condition than these.
Frank shrugged free of his pack and opened it, pulling out a length of fabric. Carefully, he wrapped the books securely, fingers gentle when he touched the pages. "I wonder what they're about," he said, tapping at the secured bundle.
The covers had partially rotted away, giving no indication of the contents of the books.
"I don't know." Gerard sheathed his dagger and knelt, gingerly shifting some bones around a tangle of cloth. There was a muted click, and Gerard's heart skipped a beat.
He could feel it now, a low thrumming sound that vibrated along his bones. Something alive, but not. "It's a thinking machine," he hissed.
Frank scrambled closer and the two of them pulled the cloth free, revealing a square of black glass, small enough to fit comfortably in Gerard's hand. The glass was spiderwebbed with cracks, and it was caked with dirt. Gerard was almost sure he could see a faint glow shining through the cracks.
Lifetimes ago, before the sky had torn open and let chaos and corruption into the world, these small thinking machines had been everywhere. Those dark energies had twisted so much: living things, machines, and even the foundations of the natural world.
These thinking machines had been nothing more than constructs beholden to the laws of physics, but like the Horrors, they too had been given a sort of perverted life. And in their own way, they could be just as dangerous.
"I can hear it," Frank whispered.
"What is it saying?" Gerard could feel the pulse of the thinking machine, but nothing more.
Frank tilted his head and closed his eyes, listening. A line appeared across his forehead, and his face twisted a little. "I. I can't make out the words. It's just gibberish."
"Okay," Gerard said. He opened his own pack and pulled out a small, cloth wrapped bundle. He unwound the cloth to reveal a metal box, slightly larger than the thinking machine.
He flicked the clasp and opened the box. It was empty. Gerard used the cloth to pick up the thinking machine without letting it touch his skin, slid it into the box and closed the lid, making sure it was securely latched.
Frank visibly relaxed. "Thanks. It was getting kinda noisy in my head."
Gerard nodded. He'd heard that magic users could be sensitive to the energies of thinking machines, and he'd always carried around a special box to dampen the machine energies, just in case.
They sifted through the detritus of the nest for a little while longer, but they didn't find anything of particular interest or value.
The thinking machine and the books were a coup. There were mages who specialized in the old technology, and they would gladly pay a high premium for the thinking machine. And the librarians were always thankful for more books, even ones in as poor shape as the ones they had found.
When they finally backed out of the lair, day was giving way to twilight, a dangerous time.
"There was a good spot to set up camp, about a mile back," Frank said. "Near the river."
Gerard hoisted his pack and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."
There was a loud crack, the only warning they had before the Horror stepped into view. Once upon a time, it had been a bull moose, almost eight feet tall, sleek and strong with a proud spread of antlers.
Now, it was starved and thin, rotting from the inside out, large swathes of mangy skin gone, exposing bloody flesh and bones. Parts of the antlers had broken off, and one eye was a gouged ruin.
The Horror lifted its head and scented the air with loud sucking snorts. Its eyesight was poor to begin with, and the missing eye made it hard for the Horror to see anything that wasn't moving. But there was nothing wrong with its sense of smell, or hearing.
As long as they stood still and didn't make any noise, Gerard hoped the Horror would move on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Frank slowly moving to draw his sword. Frank was going to get them killed, because a sword, even one as sharp as Frank's, was no match for a normal moose, let alone one that had mutated into a Horror.
Gerard tried to catch Frank's eye, to signal to him to stop, but Frank was too intent on the Horror. Gerard's dagger was only useful in close quarters, and he didn't want to be that close to the Horror, so he concentrated on pulling his bow free of its sling and being as quiet as possible.
As Frank pulled his sword free, it scraped loudly against the sheath, and the Horror bellowed and charged.
It was fast, so fast, but Gerard focused, not on the Horror barrelling straight toward him, but on shifting his stance, notching the arrow, drawing the string, and releasing. He didn't give himself time to be afraid, just let his years of practicing with his bow take over.
His first shot sank deep into the Horror's chest. The second shot was luckier, hitting the Horror square in its remaining eye. It howled in pain and kept coming; in his peripheral vision, Gerard could see Frank bracing himself, sword ready.
The third shot pierced the Horror's neck, and then it was on him. Gerard tried twisting out of the way, but the Horror swung its massive head and smashed into Gerard, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, vision blurring and his breath driven out of his lungs.
He could hear noises, but it was hard to tell if it was the Horror bellowing or Frank yelling. His side was one giant mass of pain, but he made himself roll over and struggled to get his hands and knees under him.
He pushed up in time to see the Horror roar and charge at Frank, a mortal sword-wound carved into its side. The moment slowed, and Gerard could see the flame in Frank's outstretched hand, watched as he calmly spoke the words of his spell, and blinked as the fire grew blinding and spread out, meeting the Horror and engulfing it.
There was a boom that rattled Gerard's teeth and the scent of burning hair, and then he was pelted with bits and pieces of smoldering flesh. Where the Horror had been moments ago was nothing but a singed crater and some unidentifiable chunks of meat.
"Too bad Horrors are inedible. We wouldn't have to hunt for a week," Frank said, and then he fell over.
They both were in sorry shape, but they had to move on. They needed to find a safe place for the night, before the remains of the Horror attracted scavengers.
Every breath was agony for Gerard; he was pretty sure he'd cracked a couple of ribs. He was also scraped up, either from the Horror's antlers or from branches and rocks on the ground.
Frank looked like he'd been burnt, his face red and a little blistered. He was so exhausted that he couldn't walk in a straight line and was trembling, probably from hunger. Gerard knew that using magic took energy, and Frank had expended a lot of energy in blowing up the Horror.
"Here," he said, slowly digging through his pack and pulling out a tin of nut butter. "Gotta get some sugar and protein into you."
Frank opened the tin and used his fingers to scoop out some of the butter and shove it into his mouth. "'nks," he mumbled, and swallowed hard. He continued to eat as quickly as possible.
Gerard looked at the sky, trying to judge how much light they had left. If they moved fast, they could get back to the place that Frank thought would make a good campsite for the night.
Neither of them was going to be moving that fast.
He reached up to scratch at his face and when he saw his bloody hand, he realized he was covered in gore. "Ugh," he said, and tried to wipe his hand clean.
Frank was finishing up the butter, and he looked a lot less shell-shocked. He took a drink from the canteen slung across his body while Gerard put the empty tin back in his pack. "You are disgusting."
It startled a laugh out of Gerard, and he clutched at his side. "Don't make me laugh," he gasped. "Hurts."
"We need to go," Frank said, and he carefully wrapped his arm around Gerard's waist. Gerard draped his arm across Frank's shoulders and together they staggered off into the direction of the river.
Gerard woke to an overcast sky and a deep, throbbing ache along his right side, his head pounding out a sickly counter rhythm. The rest of him felt sore, he was sticky from the dried blood, and nauseated by the smell. He was also weak from hunger, but the idea of food…
The journey from the exploded Horror to this sheltered camp was mostly a blur. The only clear memory he had was when he watched Frank set the wards. It had taken several tries, because Frank was running so low on energy.
Eventually Frank had got the wards up, and Gerard let himself curl up on the ground and slide into unconsciousness.
Now, he tried to sit up, but he'd stiffened up from the beating he'd taken from the Horror and from sleeping on the bare dirt. He gritted his teeth and pushed himself upright, and then had to close his eyes and swallow repeatedly to keep from throwing up.
"Gerard?"
He held up a hand to acknowledge Frank, but refused to open his eyes for fear of losing the battle with his stomach.
"Here," Frank said, and he touched the lip of a canteen to Gerard's mouth, tipping it back. Gerard opened his mouth and let the cool water flow in, swallowing carefully. It helped dispel the nausea, enough that he could open his eyes and look at Frank, kneeling next to him.
"We made it," Frank said with a tired smile.
Gerard snorted. "Barely."
Frank shrugged. He looked around their campsite, a small clearing under a sheltering stand of trees, 20 feet away from the riverbank. "We should stay here for a few days, recuperate. Heal, regain our strength."
Gerard was all for anything that didn't involve moving anytime soon. "Sounds like a plan," he said. He thought about getting his bedroll from his pack, but it seemed like too much effort. He could feel himself listing to one side, like a slowly collapsing structure from Before.
"Gerard, listen, I know you're in a lot of pain, but let's get you out of those nasty clothes and maybe clean you up a bit, get some food into you before you pass out again."
"Good idea," Gerard agreed, and found that he didn't have the energy to move. "You'll have to carry me."
"You overestimate my strength." Frank stood up, held out a hand. "I'm a mage, not a miracle worker."
Gerard bit back a laugh and clasped Frank's hand in his. He let Frank help him to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily for a moment. He closed his eyes until the agony receded a little. "Remind me to duck next time."
"Maybe next time just pick on Horrors your own size," Frank snickered. He kept a hold on Gerard's elbow and carefully guided him down to the river.
Frank made a circular gesture and murmured a phrase under his breath. Close to the shore, a patch of water started to steam gently. "Bath time."
Gerard wanted nothing more than to get out of his crusty clothes and wash away the blood and gore. He could move his arms, but it hurt a lot, and he wasn't sure he could actually take his clothes off. His shirt seemed especially problematic.
His face heated a little. "I think I'll need your help," he said, gesturing to himself.
"Sure," Frank said. With quick, impersonal touches, he divested Gerard of his clothes, throwing them in a pile. "Those are a total loss. We'll get rid of them later."
Gerard kept his eyes focused on a point past Frank's shoulder, resolutely ignoring the instinct to cover himself. He knew he was blushing; he wasn't used to being naked in front of other people. "Mmm-hm."
"Damn, Gerard," Frank said. "Your ribs—"
Gerard looked at his side and inhaled sharply, which elicited a stabbing pain. He was a patchy bruise from armpit to hip, shades of sickly yellow and green, black and purple. It looked bad, and felt worse.
"I have some salve in my pack."
"I think it's going to take more than salve to fix this," Gerard muttered.
"It can't hurt," Frank countered. "We'll wrap your ribs for support, and I've got some meds to help with the pain and inflammation."
Gerard wanted to whine some more, but he recognized that he was just feeling sorry for himself. Cracked ribs mean he was going to be pretty uncomfortable for a couple of weeks, and he wasn't happy about it. He needed to remember that they were lucky to still be alive. "All right."
"Get in the water," Frank said, pointing to the patch of water that was still steaming. "I'll get some soap and join you."
It felt good to wade into the hot water. Gerard could feel his muscles loosening up a bit. There were definitely advantages to traveling with a fire mage.
The water was deep enough that it was easy for him to submerge himself up to his neck. He let himself sink under the water a couple of times, and tried to scrub at the dried gore tangled in his hair. He was reminded, painfully, that he couldn't raise his arms.
"Oh the water is wide," Gerard sang softly, trying to distract himself. Singing always reminded him of his grandmother, which made him feel safe. "I can't get o'er."
"You have a nice voice," Frank said from the river bank.
"Thanks," Gerard said. He looked at Frank, and quickly turned away. He wasn't ready to see Frank naked, even though Gerard wasn't sure that you could call a body 'naked' when it was absolutely covered in colorful tattoos.
"Soap," Frank said, holding up a lumpy bar as he waded out to Gerard. "If you duck your head down, I can lather up your hair, start getting the ick out."
"No, it's fine, I can do it," Gerard said. It was the stupidest thing to say, because they both knew that Gerard couldn't do anything right now.
"Let me help," Frank said.
Gerard wanted to argue, because he wasn't helpless, he could take care of himself— "Fine," he huffed. If he could have crossed his arms over his chest, he would have. He tilted his head down.
Frank started rubbing the soap into Gerard's hair, and Gerard couldn't help but notice how close Frank was.
There was a tattoo on the side of Frank's neck, a scorpion. Gerard had never seen one in real life, just as pictures in a book. It looked pretty nasty, with wicked pinchers and a dangerous stinger. He made himself focus on the tattoo, and not how gentle Frank was as he lathered Gerard's hair.
"Go ahead and rinse," Frank said, and it pulled Gerard out of the meditative state he'd drifted into.
"Okay," Gerard said, and obligingly let himself slip under the surface of the water, shaking his head in an effort to rinse all the soap out. Frank's fingers tangled in his hair, and rubbed at his scalp, and Gerard surfaced, definitely feeling cleaner.
"Now the rest." Frank took Gerard's wrist and led him closer to the bank, exposing more of his body to the air. He lathered Gerard's arm, across his chest to his other arm, and down his sides, his touch careful.
He washed the rest of Gerard clean, the expression on his face detached, and Gerard wished that he could be the same. His heart was racing in his chest, from fear or excitement, he couldn't quite tell.
It'd been a few years since Gerard had had a partner, and Frank's touch was a bittersweet reminder of how alone he'd been. He had his family, of course, and they were important to him. He was especially close to his younger brother Mikey; they'd spent most of their time exploring the Wilds together, until Mikey had settled down and started a family.
But family wasn't the same thing as someone who shared your life and had your back, always and forever. He still regretted the fact that he hadn't been enough to convince Bert, and later Lindsey, to stay.
Frank's eyelashes were absurdly long, and when he lifted his head, Gerard couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and brushed his mouth against Frank's, a fleeting kiss.
Frank made the faintest sound, almost hungry, before pulling away. He looked solemnly at Gerard. "I'm sorry, I can't."
"Oh." Gerard's cheeks flushed and he took a step back. "Okay." Gerard looked away, shivering a little in spite of the magic-warmed water he was standing in. "I'm sorry."
Frank reached out, but stopped short of touching Gerard. "It's not you, Gerard."
"Yeah, of course." He looked at the river bank, trying to figure out how to extract himself from this humiliating situation without making things worse.
With a tiny huff, Frank touched Gerard's cheek, making Gerard meet his gaze. "No, really. It's me. I'm celibate."
Gerard nodded absently, calculating the distance to his pack and clean clothes. "Oh, okay." It took a moment for the words to sink in. "Wait, what?" He wasn't sure he heard right. Maybe Frank said 'celebrant' and not 'celibate.' A person who celebrates? Was 'celebrant' even a word?
Frank cleared his throat. "I'm celibate." The tips of Frank's ears were turning red, and Gerard found it fascinating. "I abstain from sexual acts, because having sex uses up magical energy that I could be using for, well, magic."
"Oh." Gerard didn't understand, but his understanding wasn't required. He dipped his head in an abbreviated bow, which was ridiculous, given that he was standing naked in the middle of a small river. "I'm sorry for causing offense," he said formally.
Gerard was full of unasked questions, but it wasn't his place to voice them. If Frank wanted to share, then he would listen. Otherwise, he would respect the boundary that Frank had delineated.
"It's fine," Frank said, waving his hand in the air. "There was no way you could have known."
Gerard tried to figure out what to say, but everything that came to mind felt forced. The silence between them stretched and grew uncomfortable.
"Well, I'm gonna go get dressed," he said. "Thanks for helping me, you know, de-ick-ify-ing." He started back toward the river bank.
"No problem," Frank said softly, and Gerard told himself that it definitely wasn't regret that he heard in Frank's voice.
***
"I come from a long line of celibate mages," Frank said, a few nights later.
"Oohkay," Gerard said. It was late; they'd settled into their bedrolls for the night. Gerard was flat on his back, because it was the only position that was even remotely comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Frank, but his face was shadowed by the flickering of the campfire.
"I'm just saying, it's not that weird or unusual. A lot of magic users are celibate."
Gerard wondered if pretending to be asleep would get him out of this extremely awkward conversation. He tried a snore, nothing over the top, just a generic I-am-asleep sound.
"I know you're awake, you faker," Frank said. He flicked a small pebble at Gerard.
He sighed. "Frank, it's your magic. You get to decide what's the best way to use, or not use, it. What I want, how I feel about it, is irrelevant."
"I know that. I just wanted to make sure you know that it isn't because I don't find you attractive or anything. I do. You're totally attractive, you're gorgeous and funny and smart, and I'm sure you're not used to people telling you 'no.' But a relationship is not something I can have without jeopardizing my craft, y'know."
There was so much ridiculousness to unpack there that Gerard didn't even know where to begin. Frank seemed to be under the impression that Gerard had had a long series of bedmates, when the truth was that Gerard could count the number of partners he'd had on just one hand. "It's fine." He blew out a breath and rolled his eyes, trying not to react to the 'gorgeous and funny and smart' part of Frank's statement. "It will be a long and difficult process, but I'm sure someday I will get over my broken heart."
Frank just flicked another pebble at him in response.
In the morning, they took stock of their situation. They both were adept hunters; Gerard with his bow and Frank with snares. They weren't in any danger of starving, but they were running low on some sundries that made exploring the Wilds easier. There were a number of towns within reasonable distance that served as trading posts, and they could find what they needed there.
Gerard unrolled the his map in the space between their bedrolls, weighing down the corners with rocks. The map was made of thick paper, yellow with age, the geography etched with dark ink. A librarian in York had allowed him to view an old atlas, from Before, and Gerard had spent two weeks painstakingly copying the details onto his map.
Things had changed since the atlas had been published, and over the years, Gerard had added important details: town names, water sources, places to avoid.
"We're here," Gerard said, indicating their location. "Elizabeth is the closest town." He tapped at a point on the map. "We can follow the old roads. South to Elizabeth, then west toward Bridgewater."
Travelling along the roads had its own risks and rewards. Frank nodded. "I have kin in Elizabeth."
Gerard grinned. "Me, too." It never failed to amuse him how small the world actually was. He rolled the map up and slid it back its storage tube, and when he started to stand up, he caught Frank staring at him.
He raised an eyebrow and Frank's face flooded with red. "Sorry," he muttered, getting up and feeding the fire so they could cook breakfast; it was Gerard's turn, and his griddle cakes were something to behold.
They took their time getting to Elizabeth.
There were plenty of ruins to explore along the way; Jersee and York had been major population centers Before. What had once been a dense urban area had been reclaimed by nature; buildings crumbling into ruins and forests creeping across roads, obscuring the work of generations of people.
They didn't find anything worth salvaging because everything worthwhile had been taken ages ago.
There was one building, in better shape than most. The ceiling was gone, and all but one wall had fallen. Barely visible on the remaining wall was a mural, paint peeling and cracked. People engaged in acts that were incomprehensible to Frank and Gerard.
"I wish we knew more about life Before," Frank said. "I see things like this and can't even imagine what it was like."
Surprisingly, there were a great many books from Before, but they didn't yield much understanding of the world back then. There was little commonality between Before and now; how to comprehend 'money,' pieces of paper that somehow had value, when nothing similar existed anymore.
"Me, neither. But I suppose that people from Before aren't so different. The details might change, but I think overall, people are the same."
"Maybe." Frank touched the wall. "Still, I wonder."
"Yeah."
Frank and Gerard met other people as they travelled. It was common to exchange news and gossip, and they spent many evenings sitting around a campfire talking about how the mayor of Linden got into a huge public fight with her wife, and how Parsippany had been troubled by bandits in the nearby woods until the residents had banded together to chase them away.
There were whispers of Horrors, too. Ghost stories and cautionary tales all rolled into one. A bear, altered almost beyond recognition, devouring a careless family. A once beloved family pet, twisted and broken, seeking revenge for its owner.
It gave Gerard a thrill to watch Frank across from him, his face animated as he gesticulated to emphasize a point. And maybe, Gerard suspected, Frank enjoyed watching him back.
*
They were a day or two away from Elizabeth when Gerard noticed that Frank was uncharacteristically subdued. "You okay?" he asked. "You're awfully quiet."
Frank wouldn't meet his eyes. "Yeah."
Gerard waited for elaboration, but none was forthcoming. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
"You not feeling good?"
"I'm fine."
Frank was looking straight ahead, so Gerard felt it was safe to roll his eyes. "Okay." He tried several other conversation gambits, ones that usually had Frank chattering away happily, but they all fell flat.
He gave up and left Frank alone. Gerard totally understood the need to occasionally brood, though when he'd been growing up, Mikey had always managed to tease him out of it.
Frank looked tired, so Gerard suggested they stop for the night a little early. They set up camp without a word; they'd been traveling together long enough that they had an easy routine. Frank would build a firepit and start a fire with his magic, Gerard would lay out the groundcloth and set up their bedrolls. Once the fire was going, Frank would set up the wards while Gerard started cooking.
Except this time, Frank built the firepit and then…stopped, a stricken look on his face. "I'll get the wards up," he said abruptly, and disappeared into a patch of trees.
Gerard shrugged, and pulled out his tinder box. He wasn't as good as Frank at starting a fire, but then again, he wasn't a fire mage.
Once the fire was going, he set up a tripod and hung a pot over the flames. He used his dagger to chop up the wild potatoes they'd found yesterday, added some of their dried beef, and a handful of spices.
There was a bruised onion at the bottom of his pack; he cut off the soft parts and sliced up the rest for his stew.
Frank slunk back into the camp as Gerard was stirring some dried beans into the pot. He sat down next to Gerard, legs crossed, fingers fidgeting on the laces of his boots.
"I think I've lost my magic." The words were mumbled, and Gerard had to strain to make them out.
Gerard fumbled the spoon he was using to stir the pot; it disappeared into the stew. "What?" He had no idea what Frank was talking about.
He kept his head bent, like his boots were the most fascinating thing in the universe. "My master always taught me that any kind of…spillage…of energy was detrimental to my craft."
"…And?"
Frank cleared his throat. "…And there might have been some…spillage last night."
"Wait." Gerard could feel a grin stealing across his face. "You jerked off!"
"It's not funny!" Frank snapped. "My magic's gone."
"No, it's not."
"It is."
Gerard tipped the pot of stew over, dousing the campfire.
"What are you—"
"Re-light the fire," he said, gesturing to the smoldering mess. He blew on the tips of his fingers, because he'd singed them a little when he'd touched the hot pot.
"I told you, I can't!"
"Do it," Gerard snapped.
"Fine," Frank growled back, and he pointed decisively at the banked fire while mouthing the words of the spell.
FWOOM
Gerard was blinded by the fireball that engulfed the pit, his eyes stinging from the heat. He could smell burning hair, and ran his hands over his head to make sure he wasn't on fire. When his vision cleared, he could see that there was a crater where the firepit had been, and his favorite pot was a melted puddle of metal. "Well," he said, satisfied.
Frank looked dumbfounded. "But—my master—" He looked to Gerard. "I don't understand…"
"Frank, your master was…let's say old-fashioned. Very old-fashioned. Once upon a time, most schools of magecraft did indeed feel that it was better to abstain from strong feelings and instead channel them into the magic." He smiled. "That was a long time ago."
"But—" Frank took a deep breath. "But how did you know that?"
"Oh, yeah." Gerard chuckled. "My brother Mikey's a mage. He was pretty popular and used to 'get around' a lot before he met his wife, and settled down." He shrugged. "That's why I was so confused when you mentioned that you were celibate."
"Oh." Frank suddenly eyed him with intent. "So I don't have to remain celibate if I don't want to? It really won't affect my magic?"
"Nope. You can do what you want."
"Hmm." He leaned toward Gerard and pressed their mouths together. "This is what I want."
Gerard's heart fluttered in his chest as he pulled Frank closer. "Me, too."
-fin-