Wish Magic 101: Stag Heart Pendulum, #3

By Charlotte Munich

Grant me my wish.

 

Vic's on a deadline and things aren't looking good. She has a song to write and a brother-in-law to save from a gruesome death.

 

And, as the brand new protector to the realms' most elusive and sought-after magical object, she's also starting to get some unwanted attention. When the fairy King himself summons her to his realm, she's quickly lost in a sea of ancient myths, uncanny coincidences, and intricately woven political nets.

 

She may be immune to magic, but this time, it's not going to help her much. She might even have to jeopardize her relationship with Tristan in order to save her newfound clan.

 

Power. Love. Magic. Rock 'n' Roll. They all tangle in this tale of longing and dark ambition.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charlotte Munich
• Release date: May 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9791096438976

Book preview

1

Why was it so hot in here? Trying to ignore the thin sheen of sweat gathering on my forehead, I rubbed my moist palm against the soft satin of my light verbena green pantsuit. I grabbed my trusted four-color ballpoint pen and my spiral notebook tighter between my fingers, trying to ease the tension in my jaw enough to hum as I wrote down

From my body, charged with luck

Thick as exhaust from a truck

I winced. This was very, very bad, I thought, my knee bouncing jerkily because I was unable to stop the nervous spasms in my wedge-clad foot tapping against the bathroom tiles.

Sounds of polite conversation and laughter drifted in from the closed gardens just outside, mixed with gentle string quartet music—something Haendel-y, but not by Haendel himself, something by another composer who’d stuck to the realms. And here I was, hiding in Tristan’s downstairs bathroom, and stress-writing a stupid song while gazing at the incredibly grisly-looking stained-glass window.

The cheerful colors, vivid enough to pop out even in the soft white light of the perpetual moonlit night, made the scene representing a human sacrifice even more sinister by contrast. Tristan was always talking about changing it out of loyalty to me, because I was human and still therefore considered as curse fodder by many of his fellow realmspeople. But there were always other, more pressing matters to tend to on the Rentier grounds. And frankly, sometimes, in this peacefully busy routine we had established, I wanted the reminder that dark forces were at work in the shadows and that at the end of the day, humans would always be considered as inferior beings here. That the paths linking every realm to the rest of the worlds had been established through curses hinging on human blood more or less willingly spilled.

I touched my wrist to the cold porcelain on the antique bathtub I was currently sitting on. Breathe in deep, Vic, I thought, looking at my impeccably coifed but wild-eyed self in the bathroom mirror. Seriously, I had never in my life sported such an elaborate updo. From the neck up, with my artfully spun dark locks and the subtle makeup and the earrings, I looked like a lady. From the throat down, I looked like a dandy in pastels.

Okay, back to the chorus.

Fart away, fartafartaway. Fart away, fartafartaway.

I was a coward. I knew that. And though I owed my friend Sam a really good song about farts, it was by no means an emergency.

But see, things were just too freaking weird outside. Tristan was currently throwing this giant garden party to thank his socialite friends for their excellent advice regarding my problems. And I was supposed to be there, since that network of shrewd, over cultured, over-sophisticated realmswomen had pretty much saved me and my band from a life of servitude. Indirectly they had, at least, when they’d recommended that cutthroat divorce and pet management lawyer whom Tristan had been paying buckets of money to save my pretty face. So, I guess I should really, really show some gratefulness and go outside and smile.

And I was going to. In a minute. Yes. I just needed a very short break. It was so very freaking weird, this garden party.

The door to the bathroom swung open and I sat up, my heart speeding up.

Oh, sorry, said the intruder.

He was a man of about thirty-five with russet hair standing on his head, round little horn-rimmed glasses and dark brown eyes. He wore an understated albeit very good tux and he looked refreshingly un-realmsy.

Realmspeople tended to lean towards frills, glitter, over-the-top jewelry and makeup, anything to disguise their true nature under the pretense of revealing it. They seemed to spend their whole lives in costume. Half of it was magic, glamour. And the rest was just accessorizing gone crazy.

In my short months orbiting around Tristan, I’d found that the simpler the statement, the more powerful the man or woman. I had never met this man.

No, I’m sorry, I stuttered. I just . . . needed a break. I gathered my things. I’ll leave you to your, ah, business. Gah. How awkward. Must stop writing fart songs now. I blushed.

The man laughed.

No, you don’t have to leave the room. I was just looking for a quiet place to take a short break. I’m an introvert myself. I need to get away from the crowd sometimes.

I nodded. Yeah. There was that, too.

He sighed deeply, looked at his hands. They were long and square and dusted with so many freckles I had to stare at them, too. And he was shaking ever so slightly.

I know how bad it can get, I offered.

He nodded, and then, he tilted his head towards the notebook I was holding.

You were writing? Please don’t let me disturb you.

I sat back down on the tub. He glanced around, went to the toilet, lowered the lid and sat down, sighing again. He rested his elbows on his knees and looked at the tiled bathroom floor for a moment, lost deep in thought.

I hesitated. Something about the guy made you want to spill your guts. He was probably a good listener. Or it was some kind of charisma—not glamour, something else. The real thing. You wanted to talk to him, see if you could make him smile.

It’s alright, I said. I was just goofing around. I lost a stupid wager to a friend and now I have to write him a really good rock ’n’ roll song about farts.

Oh. He looked surprised, and then, delighted. Rock ’n’ roll, eh?

I nodded.

Oh, he said, You’re Tristan’s friend. The band singer.

Wow, that was refreshing. I’d been called a pet, a little friend, Tristan’s new girl. Being referred to with actual respect to my real status and profession was a real boost to my ego.

That’s me, I smiled gratefully.

So, what have you got so far? he asked with a disarmingly crooked smile, gesturing towards my notebook.

Oh. No. That’s really bad.

He frowned. Well, wouldn’t it be the hallmark of a good fart song to be very, very bad?

Ah. You may be right about that. But it would need to be the right kind of bad, and I’m not sure I’m there yet.

I handed him the notebook, though.

I never showed my work in progress to anyone. Not even Tristan. Not even Linus, my drummer and my best friend.

Stunned by that realization, I watched him read through the scribbled lines and guffaw.

Heh, I see what you mean. It is really bad.

He wasn’t being mean, just honest, and I had to laugh along with him.

But that Aladdin’s lamp joke, though? I feel like there’s something there. You know?

I nodded, because I could see what he meant.

Yeah. But it’s too elaborate. I’m trying too hard to make it work. It’s still lacking a kind of… grace, so to speak.

He nodded, his eyes unfocused, as if my words of wisdom about bad jokes had led him to thinking about something that was a lot more important. Yes. Yes. Exactly, he murmured.

I let him have his thoughts. I knew what it was like to go chasing an idea down the rabbit hole and not want to be disturbed. I waited for him to emerge again, which he did only seconds later, with a big, goofy grin.

Thank you for that. I needed a good conversation with a stranger, and you’ve been most helpful.

He handed me my notebook and I took it back, baffled. Alright. It’s… been a pleasure.

He stood up. Let me return the favor, he decided, before offering me his arm. Come on now. Time to face the crowd.

I hesitated, but my new friend oozed so much confidence and optimism all of a sudden. Looking at him, it became impossible to think that the guests outside could do anything to me or my ego. I was above all that. Besides, these were Tristan’s friends. Mostly not his deadly enemies. So.

Alright, I said, taking the kind stranger’s elbow and following him out of my hiding hole.

His arm felt warm and steady and his smile didn’t falter as he walked me down the corridor, to the door leading outside. He seemed to know his way around Rentier Hall. At least he obviously knew about the charming walled garden by the left wing.

We emerged outside in the moonlight, a small distance away from the party taking place on the lawn.

It was a fine June evening and everyone was dressed in summer clothes. Feathered hats and crinolines swayed gently in the summer breeze. The guests were mostly women, which hadn’t surprised me. Tristan was the heir to a big estate and he had yet to marry, and judging from the gossip, these women seemed to be blazing through husbands at alarming rates. Some of them were bound to be currently available or at least looking towards their next marriage endeavor. They all thought me competition. The looks they’d cast me earlier hadn’t been too fond.

My new friend bent to talk into my ear. See? he murmured. How bad can it be?

Then, a woman in a purple lace cape adorned with feathers glanced our way and almost dropped the cup of ice cream she’d been holding. It crashed near her mauve silk slipper with a pitiful crack.

Still looking at us as if transfixed, she grabbed her nearest neighbor and pulled on the long, ample sleeve of her yellow silk caftan, so unexpectedly that her friend spilled her cocktail into the lawn. Then she, too, turned her head towards us and her jaw dropped in slow motion.

Everywhere in the garden, conversations stopped dead as people saw us and stared with their mouths agape.

What was going on now? I started looking around nervously for Tristan.

At last, I spotted him, on the opposite side of the walled garden, talking with his friend Bougainvillea Preciosa Sue next to a statue of Apollo. Bougsie, as she’d begged him to call her, was nodding and laughing as he talked. But then she must have noticed something was wrong, for she turned around to look in our direction and her throaty laugh died. I could distinctly see her mouth form the words Holy shit.

Not that I can read on people’s lips much, but holy shit is common rock’n’roll scene talk, at least as far as my band’s concerned.

Tristan saw us at last. With a reassuring pat on Bougainvillea’s arm, he left her with naked Apollo and rushed towards us.

People had started whispering now and some of them, the ones nearest to us, were nodding as we walked. Or was that a curtsy?

Oh, no, what now?

Is there perhaps something you’re not telling me? I asked the friendly shy guy walking by my side.

He just guffawed. He was visibly enjoying himself. Now Tristan had almost reached us. He stopped in his tracks a few feet away, a guarded, wary look on his handsome face, and dove into a deep bow, startling me.

My King, he greeted the ginger stranger.

My brain froze.

‘My King?’ As in The King? The king of all the realms? Everyone’s big boss, the guy they were all so afraid of?

I looked up at the man, frowning, and grumbled, Oh, fart, my filters all off from the shocking surprise.

The King just snickered.

Only in the realms.

2

Iglanced at the stranger towering over me. Holy bandoneon, this was really the King? The guy who ruled over all the realms from afar, the guy whom even rotten badasses like Astor Carradine spoke about in hushed tones?

He had nothing impressive on him, I decided. Except for his height. And maybe the really excellent cut of his tuxedo. Back in the bathroom, his smile has been warm and maybe even a little bashful. Plus, there were all these freckles, peppering his skin everywhere, lending him this boyish charm and making it almost impossible to take him seriously.

This was their king?

A tiny gesture from him, and everything that had stopped around us unfroze with a flutter. The guests resumed their gossiping and their savoring of puzzling yet delicate ice cream flavors, as idle and busy as hummingbirds. Everything would have seemed normal without this tension in the air, as if they were just giving the monarch some space, yet somehow I could feel them listening in on our conversation while they kept talking about their rainbow poodles, their rainforest gardens and their philandering husbands.

My King, Tristan said again, bowing even deeper.

I took the apprehension in his voice like a punch to the stomach. Realmspeople were usually very good at hiding their emotions and every personal detail about them. And if Tristan sounded so weary, it had to mean danger. I tried to keep my features neutral and my arm relaxed and above all my hand familiarly looped around the King’s forearm, while I listened very carefully.

There was some small talk at first.

It’s quite a lovely party you have going here, Rentier, the King said with appreciation. But then, you always throw the best parties. It’s in your DNA to be able to replicate such delightful moments ad libitum.

Tristan nodded gratefully. Thank you, Your Majesty, we do our best.

Parties were a major thing in the realms. I’d been there to watch the whole preparation and I’d lost count of the people involved after the third landscaping team arrived. There was a whole temp cooking team for Emma, Tristan’s caretaker, to lord over, not even counting the pastry and sorbet chefs (plural) Tristan had hired.

And it’s an honor to have you here, Tristan added, still bowing.

And since you’re so kind to always send me an invite, the King went on, this time I decided that I would visit.

Again, Tristan nodded. I’m so grateful, Your Majesty.

And I had the utter delight of meeting this young lady, the King continued, nodding at me. Whom I’d heard so much about, from so many trusted advisors.

I tensed. Was he talking about his omnipotens in the North, Astor Carradine? Astor was one of the King’s four seconds in commands. He was also a twisted, evil bastard. He’d murdered Tristan’s sister Marianne and more recently, he’d tried to kill us both. If he’d started distilling poisonous words into the King’s ear, it was not a good sign.

Tristan was looking deeply unhappy now as he nodded once again.

Yes. Victoire is a delightful pet indeed. He was sounding both offended and offhanded, as if he couldn’t decide if he was how he was going to defend me best, by pretending I was nothing or by conceding to the King how much I meant to him.

Anyway, the King was looking him straight in the eye and with a knowing smile on his royal face. There was no ignoring the change in Tristan’s eye color, a change that had occurred because of his relationship with me. Everyone had been commenting about it at the party. It had been one of the reasons I’d been hiding in the bathroom. I was worried the obvious affection he had for me made him a target for gossip.

If I had such a pet, the King agreed, I would keep her close to me, very close.

There was an edge of threat in his voice now. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t scared to death of this guy.

I thought I heard someone gasping behind me, and the conversation certainly lagged between Bougainvillea Preciosa and her friend Amanita Clarificcia Santokali (if I could remember her name correctly) about that new varnish she had tried at the very good nail bar where the pets were so rude.

It was all just padding, of course, because they were clearly listening to us. And I still didn’t know what to make of them. Friends or foes? They had seemed friendly enough with Tristan before but again, maybe I was in the way.

Tristan was nodding again, worryingly complacent all of a sudden. He’d never struck me as a servile man and it only scared me more.

I was wondering if I could have a word with you? the King asked politely.

Tristan cleared his beautiful voice. We can go in my study if you’d like.

He gestured to the building and the King smiled. And off they went, leaving me there all alone in the garden and completely flabbergasted.

Bougsie and her friend didn’t waste time. A ruffling sound behind me was my only warning before they swarmed me.

Do you know what that was about? Bougsie asked in hushed tones, her thinly penciled eyebrows lifting towards her blond locks.

She was a squat woman with few natural charms, but she played them to the maximum. You could tell she had money and she was clever as well as pampered. She probably used a great deal of glamour to hide her bony features and her very, very high forehead. I could only guess at the end result, because I was somewhat insensitive to glamour myself, and my mind tended to filter most of it, unless people really, really raised their defenses.

Anyway, her exceedingly strong features made her rather likable to me. Tristan had warned me that she carried a lot of clout and that she could be poisonous when she wanted. She had left a couple of husbands after draining them of all life and savings. He’d spoken about her with the respect and fear you’d show a very clever vampire who’s never hurt you but could still stab you in the back one day.

I shook my head, too stunned to speak.

Oh, dear, Amanita Clarificcia exclaimed. She doesn’t look too good. I believe she’s in royal shock.

She turned to Bougsie, which made the dead paradise bird on her head sway gracefully as it caught the evening breeze.

She was a tall woman with a small head in which a very crooked nose was the dominant feature. She had straight dark hair and lovely green eyes. This was how I saw her, at least. I wasn’t sure what she looked like to other people, because of the glamour she had to be oozing.

What they looked like didn’t matter much, though. They were being kind, polite, and a little manipulative.

Come over to the buffet, Amanita decided. "You need a refreshment. It’ll do you a world of good. Have you tasted the sorbets yet? And we’ll commandeer a chair from Mina Xenia, she doesn’t really need it. She’s only pretending to be pregnant with that duke’s child, you know. And then, you can tell us everything."

I blinked at her. What got to me most was my completely ridiculous overreaction to a realms social event. So I’d seen the King. Big freaking deal. I shouldn’t be shaking and walking on wobbly legs just because of that.

Sure, he was Tris’s boss’s boss, and the top guy in that insanely dysfunctional pyramid of power that I didn’t fully understand. But I’d never bowed to anyone in my life and I wasn’t going to start now. I was the lead singer in a rock’n’roll band, dammit. And my band was the one that had fired Hell Hunt. Yes, the Hell Hunt Records. We had left them. The news had made the music headlines in my world and people in the industry were still freaking out over it after two months.

Bottom line: I curtsied to no King and took no bullshit from anybody.

But still, my palms were sweaty and my nape was covered in chilly stress sweat too. The skin on my arms under Bougsie’s neon pink nails was covered in goosebumps. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have agreed that I was in shock, star-struck, and even worse—afraid.

"Get her a