Free Mercury Retrograde by Laura Bickle

knew real magic when he tripped over it.
    And he’d fallen in it this time, majorly.
    The women had fled into the darkness after the brawl at the Compostela, not stopping until the moon climbed high overhead and Cal’s ass was sore from his perch on the motorcycle. He expected chicks on expensive bikes would find a motel or crash at somebody’s house, but they turned off the main road and jounced along into the wilderness until the rider of the bike he clung to waved for the group to stop. Cal had had a dirt bike once upon a time, but these gals had the right knobby tires and expensive shocks to handle off-­roading with that much chrome and gear.
    They stopped in a clearing and shut off the engines. There was no light, no sound but the receding roar of engines in his ears. Cal felt queasy, and nearly fell off the bike. Someone caught him, and he was lowered to the dew-­slick ground.
    â€œIt’s okay.” It was a girl, a girl with purple hair. If he were feeling better, he would have thought she was hot and tried to hit on her. Things being as they were, it was all he could do not to hurl in her lap. She must have sensed it, and turned away.
    The ground was spinning the way it did when he drank. Overhead, he saw Hercules—­he remembered Hercules from science class—­spinning around and around in fuzzy streaks. What did Hercules chase in the sky? Was it Draco or Hydra? He couldn’t remember. That line of stars over there, maybe . . .
    Cool hands pressed against his face, and the stars were blotted out by the woman from the bar. Fire flickered behind her. Her arms were bare, and the tattoos of snakes writhed on her arms. He flinched away, tried to shrink into the ground.
    â€œIt’s okay.” She held him fast. Her hands were cold as water on his face.
    â€œWho are you?” he croaked.
    â€œI’m Bel,” she said. “I need you to look at me.”
    He tried to focus on her eyes, but the snakes . . . oh, God, the snakes were going to get him. The ground swam, green eyes swam above him, and those snakes were on his face, on his throat. He felt the mercury boiling within, crawling under his skin. Jesus Christ, he could feel it churning between his ribs, lashing out . . .
    â€œGet away!” he shouted. The mercury dribbled down his cheeks. He could feel it unwinding in his fingers, reaching out over her wrists.
    â€œGet away, please!” he whimpered. He didn’t want to hurt anyone.
    â€œBe still,” she said in a serene and even voice. The ink and the mercury and the stars blurred in his vision, and he felt the other women around him, holding him down. Her lips were working around an incantation as her nails chewed into his wrists and her knee jammed into his chest.
    â€œAs within, so without. Still.”
    The mercury reached out, out to slap her across the face, to fling her across the campsite like it had the security guard.
    But it fell, fell like water from a garden hose when someone shut off the spigot. It slapped down into his lap and crawled through his pants under his skin. It retreated into his marrow, and it was . . . it was still.
    Cal took a shaking breath against her sharp knee.
    She got off him, and he felt hands release his shoulders and legs. One of them was the purple-­haired girl. She grinned at him.
    â€œWhat happened?” He only knew that the stars had stopped spinning above him.
    Bel knelt beside him, and she brushed sweaty hair from his forehead. It was a tender gesture—­the last woman who’d done that for him had been his mother. He blinked up, not understanding, watching the tattoos on her skin move over her muscles.
    â€œThe mercury in you is still. For now,” she said.
    â€œHow did you do that?”
    She smiled and pressed her middle finger to his forehead. “I can teach you. Take a deep breath.”
    He filled his lungs with air. He still felt the liquid