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The basement contains others that are far more interesting than Tommy.
Still, when he first senses the magic on the tip of his tongue, he perks up. It has been a while since a witch has come to the shop; Tommy hasn’t had to show himself off in a while.
The shop has moved a few times in the years since Tommy was taken from his nest. Usually, they don’t last more than a couple of months before they have to leave. Something about it being illegal, which Tommy doesn’t really understand.
Upstairs, he can hear footsteps. Whoever the witch is, they’re strong. Magic flicks to life in Tommy’s veins, hungry to be released but prevented by the collar wrapped around his neck. He is the only one that needs to be tethered to the ground; he’s too dangerous to be left with the others. Instead of living in the group cage with the other familiars, Tommy is left in the darkest corner of the room.
Apparently, he scares away customers.
When his master took Tommy from the nest, Tommy had been sad. Soldiers had come in and killed his bearer, and he was left alone to starve and wither in the cold. That was when the man with the white mask had appeared, and had taken Tommy off of the pile of golden coins he’d been hoarding.
All hybrids have the potential to become familiars. Unlike the normal hybrids in the shop, Tommy has his own magic. Part of his heritage means that he can command the elements by himself, without needing a witch to harness his gifts. Very rarely does his master allow him to practice, and when he does, the type of magic that the man wants Tommy to perform always leaves him with a sour feeling in his gut.
The door to the basement opens.
‘—and we have quite the range! Which one of you is seeking a familiar?’
He shifts slightly in the darkness, confused at the question. There is only one witch entering the basement, the other two heartbeats are conduits for magic. Familiars, like him. Except they are standing on two legs like the witch, because he can hear their feet against the cobble.
‘I am,’ says the witch, ‘My father’s offered to buy me a familiar.’
‘Only if they suit you,’ says the familiar, a cheery voice that makes Tommy want to chirp in response, but he doesn’t.
His eyesight allows him to steal a look at the group that have come down.
The witch is young; probably no older than Tommy’s master. He wears a long coat, swishing around his boots. A red hat is nestled atop of brown curls, with a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. Dark eyes scan the room, unable to see Tommy because of the dark.
At his side, the one he called father is the first familiar that Tommy examines. He’s shorter than his witch, dressed in green robes with a large hat upon his head. A large green stone hangs from his left ear, mimicked by the second familiar. While Tommy can’t openly tell what either of the familiars are from staring, he figures that the second one is some sort of bulk-creature. Broad shoulders, thick muscles and a frame that has to squeeze in on itself to enter the room; the second familiar is terrifying.
All three of them are laced with magic, not too unsimilar from Tommy’s gifts. He unwinds his tail from around himself, cautiously creeping closer to the bars of his cell. These are not the kind of customers he’s used to; Tommy isn’t sure if he should be trying to impress. Usually, when he makes an effort to be noticed, it doesn’t go well. His master always tells him off after they leave for being too loud.
‘Are you looking for any particular creature?’ Tommy’s master asks, walking towards the group cages. Other hybrids remain there, trapped by the bars. Most of them are new members that have arrived since this shop was created. When they move shop, most of the hybrids don’t come with them.
Tommy’s not sure what happens to them. His master sometimes makes him go to the surface to dig some big holes in the dirt, but then he’s sent back to his cell and the other hybrids disappear. Tommy wonders if they are sold cheaply before they leave.
‘What do you have?’ the witch inquires, hands clasped in front of his body.
‘Most are passive hybrids. Rabbits, a couple of cats and a dog hybrid. A deer and a cow shifter as well.’
‘Any non-passive?’ the broad, brooding familiar asks. His voice is monotone, almost bored, as he scans the group cage. The animals inside stay quiet, knowing better than to interrupt the process of being sold. Even if they haven’t been here for long, they don’t want to deny themselves the chance of dinner tonight.
Tommy’s master chuckles. ‘I’ve got a snake hybrid. Feel free to have a look,’ he replies, gesturing out to the cages of familiars.
Surprisingly, it isn’t the witch that moves first. The blond familiar walks towards the cages, brushing alongside them and peering in. Even in the darkness, Tommy can tell that the man is counting the numbers of those in the room.
Careful not to draw attention, Tommy sits upright. He places both his front legs at the base of the bars, claws tapping against cobble. His snout rests lightly on the metal, eyes flitting between the group.
While both familiars are powerful, the blond one is older. His human form has some startling similarities to Tommy’s human form, not that he’s transitioned in a while. Most of his life has been spent like this, on four legs in a cell with his collar comfortably around his neck.
‘We’ll have to go away and discuss our decision,’ the witch says, after he’s walked the length of the room.
Tommy’s master doesn’t like this. He tenses, and behind the mask, Tommy knows he’s frowning. ‘I’m afraid I have to insist on a decision. We move around quite a lot, as I’m sure you understand.’
Dark brown eyes narrow in on the shopkeeper. ‘I’m not willing to sign my soul to a familiar until I’ve considered it.’
The witch is stubborn. Unfortunately for him, so is Tommy’s master. Most of the rude customers that come to the shop leave with his master’s magic wrapped around them, or crimson dripping from their clothes.
The growing tension in the room means that the two familiars have walked closer to their witch. The pink-haired one steps into the light filtering down the stairs, indirectly causing his jewellery to be illuminated.
Gold jewellery. A golden broach to keep his cloak clasped, and earrings littering both his ears. Although Tommy is usually very good at controlling his instincts, the moment the gold catches the light, his magic begins to bubble under his skin.
Pressing closer to the bars, his talons scrape against the metal. The sound is barely noticeable, but combined with the huffing sound that slips from Tommy’s chest as he tries to wriggle closer, it alerts the attention of the three customers.
They all look straight at him, or straight into the darkness.
‘You have another hybrid?’
The witch doesn’t wait for an answer, stepping into the darkness and moving towards Tommy. A hand is raised, the sleeve of his long coat falling down to reveal a yellow sweater underneath. Fingerless gloves allow for fire to flick at the tips of the man’s fingers, burning in the darkness.
‘He’s not been broken in yet,’ Tommy’s master says, as the witch sends the light out.
Tommy growls when the tiny orbs of fire illuminate his cage. He’s used to the dark, not to the yellows and oranges that dance around him. They make shadows creep along the back wall of his cell, and highlight Tommy’s dulled scales.
When he’s stopped growling, Tommy realises the witch is staring at him.
‘Oh, hello,’ the witch says quietly, before he crouches down outside Tommy’s cell.
He huffs, smoke slipping from between his lips as he wiggles away from the bars. His tail lashes out angrily, thumping against the cold floor.
‘A dragon,’ the pink-haired familiar says. ‘Where did you find a dragon?’
Tommy’s master shrugs. ‘Stole him from a nest.’
Both familiars stare at Tommy’s master in shock, while the witch just stretches a hand out to the bars. Long fingers wrap around the metal, before he shuffles closer, still crouched down. ‘It’s okay, little one. My name’s Wilbur,’ the witch offers, stretching out the limb towards Tommy.
He growls again, spreading his wings slightly and rattling the spikes along his spine.
‘Behave, beast,’ Tommy’s master commands, and Tommy instantly lowers his head to the floor and smooths back his spikes.
The witch frowns. ‘Shh, no need for that. You’re just a little nervous, aren’t you? Why don’t you come and scent me,’ Wilbur murmurs, all soft encouragement and sweet words. Tommy has never been spoken to like that by a witch before, by anyone before.
‘He’s still feral,’ his master warns, watching with his arms crossed.
Wilbur ignores him. ‘That’s it,’ he coaxes, as Tommy cautiously takes a step closer, ‘Just a little more.’
He sniffs first. When Wilbur’s fingers don’t move, he shoves his snout against them, bashing them and waiting for repercussions.
The witch laughs. ‘You’re a spitfire, aren’t you?’
Up close, Wilbur’s magic smells sweeter. Like the purple flowers in the woods, that Tommy has dreamt of getting close enough to draw back into his hoard. Of the thick trees, or the ground after it’s just rained. He moves closer, pressing his muzzle fully into the witch’s hand, keeping his wings tucked and his tail swishing lightly behind him.
Wilbur takes this as permission to explore. Warm fingertips trace over the top of his snout, following a scar that stretches the bridge of his nose, before moving to brush under his eye. The smile never fades from Wilbur’s face, until he looks at the collar.
‘How much do you want for him?’
‘Wil,’ the older familiar says, ‘We’re supposed to discuss—’
The way he says discuss makes Tommy think that they actually aren’t going to discuss anything. For some reason, now that Tommy can smell Wilbur’s magic, he knows that the witch didn’t come here to buy a familiar.
‘Not for sale. I still need to train him, and his magic is useful.’
The witch tenses, looking back over his shoulder at Tommy’s master. ‘You’ve been using his magic? Unbonded?’
The man shrugs. ‘He’s a good power source; a near endless—’
A choking sound is coughed up half way through his sentence, and Tommy watches in confusion as the same sticky red substance that he’s seen on customers now appears on his master. As the man stumbles, it reveals the pink-haired familiar holding a knife.
It’s odd, because whenever Tommy is cut with a knife, it stains the ground golden.
‘Techno—’
‘He was hurting the kid,’ the familiar mutters at the older hybrid, before he’s watching as Tommy’s master topples over and doesn’t move again.
Almost like some of the soldiers that came to raid his first nest. Tommy’s not sure how to feel about the situation, but Wilbur’s hand is still on his muzzle and he isn’t too upset about it.
‘We have protocols,’ the blond man stresses, but he seems to be pleased with the fact that there’s no longer a heartbeat coming from the man on the floor.
Tommy has seen hybrids have their hearts stop, and he never sees them again, so he presumes that’s what’s about to happen with his master.
Unsure of whether he’s actually going to be bought or not, Tommy chirps. It’s a rough sound, considering he’s not usually allowed to make sound, but it draws the attention of the other three.
‘He sounds like you,’ Wilbur teases, back to stroking along his snout.
‘You little shit,’ the blond man snaps back, before coming to stand outside the cell by Wilbur’s side. ‘Hi, mate. I’m Phil.’
He’s warier with the familiar. When Phil’s hand stretches out, Tommy grumbles under his breath in complaint.
‘He’s nice, I promise,’ Wilbur assures, so Tommy takes his word for it and shoves his snout into Phil’s hand.
‘He’s so cold,’ Phil whispers, sounding sad.
The pink-haired man, Techno, snorts. ‘Dragons need sunlight to warm up.’
‘Get him out of the cage?’ Phil suggests to his witch, and Wilbur rises up instantly.
Tommy keeps an eye on the brunet as he approaches the bars of the cage, placing a hand against the locked door and then cracking it with a burst of magic. The door swings open, and Wilbur’s boots echo out as he takes a step in.
‘I’m going to undo these chains for you, okay?’ Wilbur says, pointing to the ones that keep Tommy bound to the wall.
He waits patiently. Phil is still stroking his scales, careful not to run any the wrong ways, so Tommy doesn’t protest when Wilbur uses his magic to break the iron around his ankles.
When he reaches for the collar, Tommy bristles. His spikes rattle, a low hiss escaping his lips as he threatens the witch that reaches for his security blanket.
‘I know, I know. It’ll feel better in a minute, I promise.’
‘Try not to get eaten, loser,’ Techno states, as Wilbur cracks Tommy’s collar.
It falls to the ground with a thud, and Tommy is left with nothing keeping him in the cell.
He pauses, then rapidly bobs his head up and down and swishes his tail back and forth in what he thinks is a motion of thanks. He’s not particularly sure, because he didn’t get to spend much time with his bearer and the others like him, so—
‘Awe, guys look! He’s so cute!’ Wilbur coos, clapping both hands together.
Tommy stops his dance and growls.
‘I don’t think he likes being called cute, mate.’
‘A little baby dragon, so adorable and—ah!’ Wilbur yelps, thudding back to the floor as Tommy pounces. He’s hardly big enough to do much damage, so Tommy settles for sitting straight on the man’s chest and snorting in his face, smoke fogging up the man’s glasses.
Behind them, the two familiars are laughing.
‘Very funny, a little help?’ Wilbur pleads, even if he’s scratching under Tommy’s ear.
Phil shakes his head. ‘This is on you.’
‘I’m not building another extension to the house, just because the two of you can’t stop adopting people,’ Techno warns, and while Tommy doesn’t really understand what they’re talking about, he’s happy to lie down over the witch and bask in the warmth radiating from his skin.
Tommy’s master never let him do this.
‘He can stay with me,’ Wilbur blurts, looking at Tommy with the softest look he’s ever seen. ‘Right, sunshine? You want to come with us?’
To stay in his cell, or to go with the witch whose magic so happily sits alongside his own?
Tommy chirps in reply, willing to take a risk to see the outside world.