Chapter 1.9 - In which Percy is scolded excessively

Percy

Month 9, Day 27, Monday 1:55 a.m.

Disturbed, Percy set the talisman atop his bundle of filthy clothing. “Did that hag put some sort of glamour over the talisman to make me think it was actually worth it?” A compulsion magic would explain why he had dropped his suspicions and actually tried to purchase it.

But that still wouldn’t explain the tattoo. As he looked closer at the ink lines, he noticed some things that shouldn’t have been. The insect’s abdomen was too thick, and its antennae were feathery and had no bulb at the end.

This was not a butterfly. It was a moth.

Percy shuddered and shook his hand as if the motion could remove the tattoo from his skin. Now matter how concussed he was, he would never have chosen such a design. And while bizarre, the obvious answer was right in front of him. “Did the talisman create the tattoo?” he wondered aloud.

That hag wasn’t just a scammer in that case, but some kind of sick, vindictive thaumaturge. He wasn’t entirely sure what blood magic was defined as, or what it could do, but the thought that she could be a practitioner sent the hairs on his everywhere rising up with a chill wave of deep-seated anxiety.

Everyone knew that blood magic was both evil and incredibly dangerous. Most thaumaturges who turned into the monstrous, ghastly creatures known as Aberrants—and then tried to mindlessly and horrifically kill everyone around them—had been practicing blood magic before something went horribly wrong.

Percy tucked his arm to his side to hide the tattoo, then hurried through the hall to the room he shared with Gideon, quickly donning his sleep clothes hanging his shoes up to dry.

Mom was herding the girls back to their room, and as she passed she sent a pointed look to their dad that said, “Deal with Percy,” as clear as any words could.

Percy’s dad tucked a now-asleep Gideon back into the top bunk, then clapped a hand on Percy’s shoulder and shook his head with sage disappointment. “You really shouldn’t make semi-permanent choices when you’re drunk, son.”

“I wasn’t drunk!”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “Then you got tattooed with a butterfly in a noticeable spot…on purpose? Was this on a dare?” He narrowed his eyes. “Was a girl involved? You know you can’t let people push you around just because they’re pretty,” he said, the undertone of amusement spoiling his advice. “I’ve told you before, you can’t trust some girl, no matter what promises she’s made. They just want to take advantage of your sweetness and naivety.”

Percy’s father was an equal opportunity worrier, and Percy had lost track of the amount of times he’d been warned off of girls who would be after him only for his pretty face and nubile body.

But this time, some of Percy’s stress seemed to come across, and his dad sobered. “What’s wrong, son? Did something happen?” Unlike his mom, his dad actually stopped to listen for a response, rather than rambling on with a dozen other questions, so rapid-fire that Percy couldn’t get a word in edgewise to respond.

“Don’t tell Mom,” Percy entreated.

Dad’s eyes narrowed, but after a pause, he nodded. “As long as she doesn’t need to know, we can keep this between us.”

Speaking in a hurried, low voice, Percy explained what had happened, from beginning to end, occasionally tripping over his words and having to take a pause to calm his tongue.

Dad was obviously concerned, but he didn’t start pacing or patting Percy down to make sure he was all in one piece, both of which were things Mom had done before. “We’ll go to a healer first thing in the morning. I’ve got the address of one not too far away. And if that one isn’t very knowledgeable about curses and blood magic or whatever this is, maybe he’ll be able to recommend someone who is.” After a pause in which Percy let out a received breath, his dad added, “If necessary, we will go to the coppers. Perhaps they will be able to track down this hag.”

It felt great to know that someone competent and meticulous would be working to fix the problem. When Percy was young and his bad luck was starting to become both dangerous and depressing, with no hope in sight, it was his dad that had come up with the physical training and vigilance exercises that helped him to manage. Still, Percy hesitated. “A healer’s going to be expensive, isn’t it?”

Something in Dad’s expression sank, and he pulled Percy close, careful to avoid any obvious injuries while tucking Percy into his chest. “You are more important than coin, son.”

The bedroom door down the hall closed, and his mother’s returning footsteps, slippered and almost silent, made their way back toward Percy and Gideon’s room.

Dad pushed Percy back with both hands on his shoulders, threw him a quick wink, and said, “Don’t argue with me!”

Percy blinked at him, nonplussed.

“One more word out of your mouth and we’ll make it three months. Do you have any idea how worried your mother was?”

Percy’s eyes widened as he realized Dad was covering for them, pretending that he had punished Percy to satisfy Mom.

“But, Dad!” Percy whined, grinning.

“I thought I said no arguing! I didn’t raise a whiner! I’ll have you scrubbing every inch of this floor with a toothbrush, and offering to do the same for all our neighbors, while explaining exactly what stupid decision got you into this in the first place.” Dad seemed to be enjoying the act a little too much, his voice raising without care that he would wake Gideon. “This is my house, and as long as you’re living under this roof you’ll abide by our rules, boy!”

Percy’s mom hurried in through the bedroom door, placing a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Honey, it’s all right.” She eyed Percy with worry, and he tried to settle his expression into something appropriate. “Don’t wake the girls,” she continued, tugging gently on Dad’s shoulder. “It’s late, and Percy needs his rest if he’s going to make it through work in the morning.”

Percy winced at that reminder. He had never made it back to the pastry shop.

As she pulled Dad away, Mom made a shooing motion at Percy behind the man’s back. Percy grinned as he heard her murmuring, “Mortimer, is such a harsh punishment really necessary? Calm down for a moment and think about it. Percival just had a moment of wildness. He’s still young, you know. Don’t you remember when you were his age? You know how hard he works, how much stress he’s under…”

Percy muffled a giggle as he climbed into the lower bunk of the bed and cocooned himself in his blanket.

Author Note: I'm torn between calling his parents "Mom and Dad" or "his mom and his dad." It's a matter of how close I want the third-person storytelling to be. Feel free to chime in if you have an opinion on which feels more natural.