“Finn, you sure you know where we’re going?”Blue eyes rolled behind half-lids as he kept himself moving, the mud sucking at the soles of his boots with a greedy sound that followed every single step. Roots the size of city bus tires were their own hazard, but at least those were obvious and rare.
Mud…Mud was just everywhere.And with Finn leading the pack through the primeval swamp of a fairy tale forest, he was the first to face each bit of it. Of course, he didn’t want to.
What he wanted was to pass out for a week, just long enough to let his body and Cursed Energy fully recover from that nightmare of a fight. If not fully, then at least enough before the burns took him out for good. Unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice here.He was on point because he was the only one who could spot the trail.‘Residuals, McHale-san.’ Eyes half-closed, Finn ignored the fading memories of his shrine-miko sensei and focused on the itch behind his sternum and the sting in his nostrils, that distant trail of roses dipped in blood that called to him. “I’m pretty sure, Emma.”Residuals weren’t something you could really smell, as much as they weren’t exactly something you could really see either — even if they both presented that way. More a feeling that your brain made real, it was close to the sense you got walking into a room somebody'd just left; that pressure-drop of someone was here.
Only in this case, the someone was Cora, and the room was miles and miles of forest with no walls to tell him where the door used to be.
“Pretty sure doesn’t really seem all that sure, Finn.”
And normally, the sheriff would have had a point. Normally, Finn was garbage at tracking.
No matter how much Utahime-sensei and the rest of the Kyoto curriculum had tried to hammer the basics of sensing the greasy hidden fingerprints left behind by jujutsu, he’d always struggled to isolate the flow.
Not today, though.
Ever since the Nightmare fight, ever since he’d basically cooked himself pushing his Lapse past its limit, his senses had been blown wide open. And tackling the purple girl walking three paces to his right had only helped to fine-tune those senses.“I told you, Emma.” Finn grunted over his shoulder, a wad of bloody spit flying from his mouth to hit the roots of an oak. “Ever since I caught her, my magic senses have been better.” It was as close to an answer as he could give.
Despite that, it clearly wasn’t good enough for a certain someone.
"You tackled the girl three hours ago." Emma’s boots hit the ground behind him in a steady measured crunch of Timberlands on turf. “Barely three hours ago.”“Yeah, and?” He ducked under a low-hanging curtain of moss, movement forcing a sharp hiss as it pulled the skin on his ribs. His senses may have been better but the rest of him was still as burned-up as ever, gauze wrapped tight around his ribs chafing against blistered skin; all of it stiff with dried blood and whatever yellowish fluid the third-degree burns were weeping. “Y-your point?”"And now you're…what?" She stepped over a rotted log. “A magic bloodhound?”"Yeah, well, what are you gonna do?” He didn’t bother with a shrug, simply humming back at his boss. “Nearly getting choked out by a homicidal sleep-demon clears the sinuses." “I’m not seeing how that works.”“Magic.”A scoff sounded out, more disbelieving than the last. “You can’t use that for everything!”
"Watch me." Another grunt left him as he dragged a forearm across his sweating forehead. "I’m the magic man here."“I’m also well-versed in magicks.” A lilting voice brushed his ear, Finn not even turning to look at the person it came from as he snapped back. “Nobody asked.”
"When I asked, you said you couldn't track."
"That was then." Finn paused by a tree, head leaned back and nostrils flaring. It was an attempt to catch his breath as much as it was to re-orient himself on the trail, but he wasn’t going to admit either of those. “This is now.”Out loud, at least.
"And now…” Emma stepped right up to him, red leather of her jacket creaking. "You’re tracking Cora with your feelings.”
“Look, I don’t know theory, okay.” Finn hissed the word. I swear to god, this woman gets crabbier the longer she goes without coffee. “I wasn’t exactly big on the books, more the brawling.”
“So…” Emma stopped again, hand resting on the pommel of her shiny new sword. "You went to wizard school.”A sigh slid free. “Jujutsu Tech, yes, and i—”“And didn't study."
"Woman, if you don't sh—" Finn sucked in a breath, chin dropped to his chest as phlegm rattled in his lungs. Arguing with Emma Swan was almost as annoying as arguing with himself in the mirror. "Yes. I went to wizard school. Yes, I didn't study. Happy?"He didn’t need to look back to hear the smirk on Emma’s face. “Ecstatic.”
"Instinctive magicks." To his side, that same voice lilted again — as light and as floaty as her footsteps — as Mal spun around and made a small noise. Walking backward over the uneven roots without looking or slowing down, dark purple hair spilled over her shoulder as she looked at Finn. "Sounds like fae craft to me, Sir Sorcerer."
A hand found the bridge of his nose again. "Fucking fairies again."
"You have something against fairies?” Thin arms crossed themselves over her immaculate leather jacket. “What, pray tell, is wrong with my kind?"
“Fairy.” Emma stopped walking. Finn heard it before he saw it, the particular scuff of a boot planting hard. "You're a fairy."
It wasn’t a question.
"I just said that." Mal brushed a speck of dirt off her sleeve. “Pay attention.”
"You don't look like a fairy."
"And what, by my father’s flames," The words drew themselves slow out of her mouth, as if she was already bored of the conversation, "does a fairy look like?"
"Wings, for one." Emma stepped up, one hand aimed at the girl’s back. “I don’t see any of those fluttering behind you.”
"Not all fairies have wings." Mal blew a stray lock of hair out of her face. "Rather bigoted of you."
“Oh.” The rasp of steel on leather cut through the noise of the woods as Emma’s sword came free of the scabbard by a good three inches, thumb tight on the crossguard just above the glowing blade. “Is it now?”
"Em. Hey. Hey, Em." His fingers found his nose again. "Look at me.”She didn’t, but that didn’t stop Finn from talking. “Not to be that guy, but going right to the sword after someone calls you a bigot… not really helping your point."
“You be quiet.” Emma shoved the blade back down, metal clicking hard into the sheath.
"I'm just saying, from a messag—"
"Quiet."
He shut his mouth. Fair enough.
"Do not concern yourself too much, Sir Sorcerer." Mal offered a bright smile his way, the look almost entirely too wide. "The uneducated cannot help their impulse for violence. It is a tragedy of their birth."
Finn turned his head to stare at the girl in purple, green eyes sharp at the corners as she smiled at everything with the amusement of someone who liked starting fires just to see things burn. He had a lot to say about her, but one in particular he wanted to ask.
"Why do you talk like that?"
Mal’s smile didn't move. "Like what, Sir Sorcerer?"
"Don't give me that, purple.” Finn stepped over a puddle of stagnant dark water. “You know exactly what I'm talking about." The do nots and the shalls, stitched right up against something that sounded like she’d walked right out of a mall. It just didn't sit right together, like two different radio stations bleeding into the same signal. "You're throwing 'honestly' and 'like' right in the middle of 'pray tell' and 'by my father’s flames'. It's weird."
“You wish to know?”Finn blinked. “Yes?”“O-kaaaaayyyyy.” She held up her right hand, a tiny spark catching in the center of a gloved palm. “It’s not much of a story.”The spark flared brighter as she laughed, the sound short and delighted, flame spinning to life into a hissing orb of green fire that looked like a window.
The green fire in Mal's hand folded outward, an image inside distorted and staticky enough for Finn to Imake out the sharp colors of a car commercial; a silver sedan winding its way up a mountain road.
“Scrying is something of a skill of mine.” The fire came and went, flickering and fading before Finn could catch more what it had to show. “I’ve been getting more practice with it over the last eight or so months.” Smoke unraveled off her bare fingers, as toxic a green as the fire that was just there. "Since the Queen's curse shattered here, I’ve been pulling the threads. Trying to look into your world and find my family."
Mary Margaret gasped her way forward, the woman pushing past a heavy fern. “You can do that?” Wide eyes stared at the witch-girl. “You can see Storybrooke?”
"To a degree." Mal closed her hand as her lips twisted into a frown, last trails of smoke vanishing in between her fist. "I can see across realms, but when I look into yours, most of what I find is something called television."
“So useful.” Finn didn’t even bother holding back the sigh. So, that’s why she sounds like she’s on Disney Channel. "Fairy magic is so powerful you can almost watch basic cable on it.”
"Excuse me." Mal rounded on him fast enough that Aurora, a few steps behind them, flinched even further back. "Do not mock my craft. I have magic Cora herself struggles to counter, illusions strong enough to match any witch. I can walk a room unseen and no soul would ever know if I did not wish them too."
Finn shifted his weight off his bad leg. "I’d know."
"Well." Mal looked him up and down, her nose wrinkling with a huff. "You're weird."
"We waste daylight.” Mulan stepped forward, the warrior’s boots completely silent on the dead leaves. “The trail will fade."
"It's not fading." Finn shook his head. "We're fine."
He said that, and he did mean it, but it was only so true.As they walked, the trail Finn was following kept doing that thing where it felt strong and solid for all of twenty or thirty steps just to thin out to nothing. More than a few times, he had to stop and plant his boots just for that tickle in his chest to spark up again and give him the next stretch.As much as nobody else bothered to mention it, Mulan made sure to drift up to his left more than once, arms crossed and saying nothing.Needless to say, he got the message.
Limping over a protruding root, Finn looked to his right — the fairy girl smiling back at him as she climbed her way over a rocky outcrop. “So… what’s it like?”
Mal paused on the rock. “What?”“Being a fairy.” He rasped the words. “The fairy dust or whatever, what’s it like?”“Why do you ask? She tilted her head, gaze trailing him up and down. "Looking for relatives?"
"Me and Tinkerbell, second cousins, yeah." Finn snorted. "Just making conversation."
Those green eyes sparkled his way as if she had heard a joke funnier than the one he actually made. "You sang to me when you thought me cursed by sleep, Sir Finn.”
“...okay?”
“You’re fae yourself.” Mal stepped forward, landing from the rock with that same lightness. "At least somewhere partly.”
He waited for the laugh, that tinkle of bird-song as she held the back of her hand to her mouth like she usually did. Nothing came and he just found himself staring."That's a joke."
"I mean, she’s not wrong."
Finn whipped his head around as Emma pushed a heavy pine branch out of the way, eyes on him. “I mean, I don’t know about the fairy stuff, but you’ve got some pipes on you, kid. It’s kinda crazy.” She sounded almost embarrassed to be volunteering it, arms crossed over her chest as she stared back at him. "You've got — I don't know, something about your voice. Didn't used to notice it and now I can't not."
He almost slipped on moss, mouth hanging open. “Wait, what?”
"I've heard fae sing. The choirs in the forest are enough to lure any into the fairy realms." The princess was quiet as she spoke, eyes still on Mal with clear suspicion. Even still, there was a crack of real warmth under the formality. "Near my father's border, when I was small. You'd fit among them easily."
His eyes dropped down to his hands, mouth half open as he tried to run back through his own thoughts; trying to find anytime that he could have noticed his own voice change.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t think of a damn thing.
But…“Son of a bitch.” He dragged a hand back through his hair, thick red locks sticking stubborn to his fingers with sweat but still falling perfectly back like he’d just styled it with gel. “Henry was right.”“I better not be the bitch you’re referring to.”“No, shush. You’re fine.” He didn’t even look up at her as he waved a hand Emma’s way. “Just can’t believe it.”“Who is this Henry?” Aurora voiced the question.
“Kid back home.”“My kid.” Emma cleared her throat. “He means, my kid.”“Yeah…” He rolled his eyes. “I mean, Emma’s kid back home. Anyway, he called it months ago or something. Said I was a fairy and my god…” A sigh slipped free and loud. “Little brat’s never gonna let me hear the end of it if he finds out he was ahead of the game like this.”
"Damn." Finn turned, his whisper hitting the bark of a pine.
"No need to be so horrified" Mal crossed her arms as she walked backwards again, making sure to face him. "It explains much. Though it does not explain everything."
Finn picked up his own pace, forcing his legs to move. "And what do you mean by that?"
"I am born from powerful magic." Manicured fingernails, the same purple as her hair and clothes, went up for Mal to inspect. "On both sides of my family. Yet, you outstrip me in simple raw power. How is that?"
Finn blinked back at her. “...elaborate?”
"You have magic in spades.” Mal dropped her hands, green gaze pinning him down. "It does not operate on the rules of this realm and you wield it with instinct and bluntness that even fae blood does not answer for. So, Sir Sorcerer, what exactly are you?"
He sighed — the sigh of someone who'd walked five different people through curse techniques in a world that had no earthly business understanding the words, and was apparently gearing up to make it six.
"Alright." A hand scrubbed down his face. "So… it’s not magic, not exactly, not like what your people do. Where I trained, they call it Cursed Ener—"