Free Incarnate (A Spellmason Chronicle) by Anton Strout Page A

counter.
    “Apparently, the arcane community is hunting me down,” I said, reaching into my coat pocket and pulling out the now-withered vine Stanis had pulled off my body last night. “Some witch or warlock tried to snare me with some creepy little living plant trap up at the Cloisters. The witches and warlocks of Manhattan seem to be on to us. We’ve got to be more careful.
I’ve
got to be more careful.”
    “Now you’re talking sense,” Rory said, her mouth covered with chocolate like she was a four-year-old. “It’s about time the madness stopped.”
    “Oh, we’re not stopping,” I said, correcting her.
    “We’re not?” she asked, wiping her mouth off with the back of her hand.
    “No,” I said. “We’re just going to be a bit more cautious.”
    “Speaking of which,” Marshall said. He wiped his hands off and popped out from behind the counter, heading off toward the back of the store. “Wait right here.”
    “There are
cruffins
,” I said, finally picking one up for myself. “We’re not going anywhere.”
    While Marshall vanished into the back room of the store, I bit into my treat not really knowing what to expect. An explosion of flaky layers and muffin textures filled my mouth. Each bite’s deliciousness added to the last, building to an overwhelmingly sweet but savory explosion. I couldn’t consume it fast enough and by the time Marshall came back to us, I had greedily scarfed the whole thing down.
    “Oh. My. God,” I said. “It was worth waiting in line for.”
    Marshall stopped. In his hands he held a black velvet bag that was just slightly smaller than your average plastic grocery one.
    “Please tell me there are cruffins in that bag,” Rory said, as she hopped down off the counter.
    I stepped closer, licking my fingers clean. “What is that?”
    Marshall held the bag up to his chest as if he were about to clutch it. “After you two staggered in all bloody and wet last night,” he said, “I was worried. I guess your recklessness got to me, so I decided to do something about it.”
    Marshall extended his arms, offering the bag to me, and I snatched it from his hands with the excitement of a kid at Christmas, startling him.
    “Sorry,” I said. “Sugar rush.”
    “What did you buy for us?” Rory asked, clapping her hands together with the same kind of false excitement, which I found adorable.
    “I didn’t buy anything,” he said. “I
made
these . . . for the two of you.”
    “It’s not even Christmas yet,” I said.
    “I know,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you made it
until
the holidays, what with the way things have been going with you lately.”
    I gave Marshall a grim smile and pulled the drawstring open. Inside were two small bundles of dark gray cloth. I pulled both of them out, the fabric reminding me of a cotton jersey material that at the same time also felt impossibly coated with something weather-resistant.
    I laid the now-empty bag down and shook out the cloth, which upon examination was really more of an infinity scarf that ran in a circular sleeve that was wider along one side of it.
    “You made us hoodies?” I asked, throwing the second one over to Rory.
    Marshall shook his head. “Just hoods,” he said, practically giddy. “Try them on.”
    I slid the cloth sleeve over my head and wrapped the scarf section around my neck before pulling up the hood.
    “It’s comfy and all,” I said, “but I don’t get why you got us matching outfits. You
do
know it’s generally bad form to gift a woman clothing, right?”
    Marshall pointed over at Rory and I looked at her. She had also put Marshall’s gift on, and despite the daylight streaming in through the front of the store, I couldn’t see Rory at all within the shadows of the hood.
    “Your face is gone!” I said.
    “Yours, too,” she said, reaching for mine.
    “Is it?” I reached for her, my hand vanishing into the darkness within the hood until I ended up grabbing Rory’s nose