Master of Smoke

moonlight.

    They didn’t smell like liars or crazy people. There was none of the acid reek Eva had come to associate with people who were just pulling her chain, nor was there the frightening stench she’d smelled from the schizophrenic who’d wandered into the shop last year.
    These people believed what they said—and it sounded an awful lot like what Cat had told her, right down to the stuff about King Arthur. Besides, when they looked at David, there was genuine affection in their eyes, despite the overlay of fear in their scents. Given how big and furious he was, she really couldn’t blame them for being alarmed.
    “They’re telling the truth, David.” Eva turned to examine the glowing golden chains that bound him. The fetters looked like really good film special effects, but David couldn’t seem to break them. What’s more, she could feel the magic radiating from them like a current of electricity tingling across her skin. “Weird as that sounds. You really did rescue the son of King Arthur? It wasn’t just a dream?”
    “Apparently.” He studied the witch warily, his pointed ears gradually rolling forward as he sniffed delicately, sampling the strangers’ scents.
    The blond woman started to reach for him, then stopped as his eyes narrowed. “May I touch you?”
    He considered her a moment, then nodded. “If you free me.”
    The big armored man took a half step closer. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Belle.”
    “That’s because you’re a professional paranoid, Tristan,” the woman said lightly.
    “Wait, Tristan? As in Tristan and Isolde?” Blinking, Eva gave the woman a closer look. “You’re Isolde?”
    “God, no,” the woman and Tristan said in a chorus so fervent, Eva was surprised into a grin.
    “I’m La Belle Coeur,” the woman explained. “Everyone calls me Belle.”
    Eva still remembered a little high school French. “The beautiful heart?” She frowned. “But what happened to Isolde?”
    “She’s dead.” Tristan’s harsh tone did not invite further questions. He turned toward his partner and flipped up his visor, apparently so he could glower at her. “So are you going to help the kitty cat recover his memory, or what?”
    “Is that what you want?” Belle met David’s gaze.
    For some reason, his blue eyes flicked over to Eva’s face, and he hesitated.
    Eva remembered something Cat had said. “If our enemy does not kill us, sooner or later we will be one again. Will you think we’re not David enough then?” A chill crept over her, but she shook it off. “David, as long as you can’t remember who you are—as long as you can’t control your powers—you’re at Warlock’s mercy. What if you turn into a house cat again? What the hell would we do?”
    “He likes being a house cat.” Tristan folded his arms and leaned a thick shoulder against the vinyl siding of the apartment building. “It makes people underestimate him.”
    “Except this time I could not turn back.” David’s tail lashed in agitation.
    “And Team Fido tried to gang rape me and eat him,” Eva added. “Which they’d have done, if he hadn’t managed to turn into the Incredible Hulk with fur.”
    The knight winced. “Yes, I can see how that would suck.”
    Eva snickered, amused at the thoroughly American phrase spoken in Tristan’s precise English accent.
    “You’re right—I need my memory,” David said, his eyes meeting hers. “I have to control my magic.” He looked at Belle. “If you can help me, do it.”
    Belle murmured a chant, dissolving the spell that held Smoke chained. She reached out and touched the cat’s big head with one hand while she fished out the pewter cat with the other. Smoke’s fur felt thick and surprisingly soft under her fingertips. She closed her eyes and called her magic, wrapping it firmly around the pewter cat. Because Smoke had created the spell when his mind and powers were whole, she should be able to use it as an anchor for the spell to reintegrate him.
    Then she dove into his consciousness like a cliff diver plunging into the ocean.
    Belle had contacted Smoke’s mind before, in a particularly rough patch during Logan’s teenage years, and she vividly remembered the Demigod’s thrumming power and the great depths of his consciousness.
    The mind she touched now was nothing like that. Belle frowned. It felt as if holes had been ripped in his psyche, as if he’d been savaged by some kind of magical shark that had devoured