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The sun was high in the sky and Martin still hadn’t woken up yet. Jon had lost track of time; he’d been absorbed in one of the books on herbs that had been left on the desk. It was a bit hard to read, mostly because he had trouble turning the pages as a moth. He had to grip the edge with his legs and lift it by flying, which was somewhat labor-intensive since he still wasn’t used to being a moth yet. It made him slow down, take longer to read the text and examine the pictures so he didn’t have to do it as often.
It wasn’t until a stray beam of sunlight illuminated a detailed drawing of a stinging nettle plant that Jon actually realized what time it was. Judging from the sun’s angle it was well after ten, and yet Martin was still asleep. Glancing at the bed Jon could tell that something was wrong, and a part of him was annoyed he hadn’t noticed earlier. Martin’s breathing was labored, his cheeks were flushed, and as Jon watched he let out a great hacking cough. It sounded like it hurt.
With a combination of flying and gliding Jon landed on one of the bedposts and tried to get a closer look at Martin. His coppery bangs were stuck to his forehead with sweat, and upon closer observation it seemed like his shirt was soaked as well. He was clearly sick, but as a moth Jon didn’t know what to do.
He couldn’t communicate with anyone except for Martin, and that was more of a one-sided conversation where Jon responded to questions by squeaking. If he were human again he’d be able to do something besides watching Martin wheeze. He could take advantage of being a mage and cast a healing spell. He could get help, or medicine, or... or... He shut his eyes, frustrated at his own uselessness.
Curse that brooch. He should have known better than to buy anything from Mikaele Salesa, but he had been drawn to the thing. He hadn’t been paying much attention to Salesa’s pitch about it, something about luna moths and art nouveau style, but the green of the enamel had contrasted beautifully with the silver metal and he’d wanted it. He’d definitely paid too much for it, and that was before finding out it was cursed.
Martin coughed again, and Jon couldn’t help but wince at how painful it sounded. He spotted Martin’s phone lying on the nightstand and glided over to it, maybe he could text someone to come over? Landing on the phone he was disheartened to see that nothing happened. The device seemed unable to sense him, which didn’t make any sense.
Decades ago mages had figured out how to harness the ambient magic that was already so prevalent in the world and use it to power technology. Nowadays everything ran off magical energy, phones operated by sensing the innate magic almost all living things possessed. Jon realized what was wrong and felt his antennae droop. As a moth he did not have enough innate magic required to use a phone, it was just metal and glass in his current form.
Anger built up inside Jon as he glanced over at Martin once again, frustrated at how completely powerless he was. He hated his curse. It wasn’t enough that he’d been turned into a moth, that he’d essentially had to relearn how his limbs worked now that he had two extra. It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t speak, that he’d couldn’t even tell anyone what had happened to him. The curse had taken so much from him and yet it was this bit of injustice, the inability to help someone who couldn’t care for themselves, that he found inexcusable.
He remembered the night he’d first turned into a moth, how the cold air of early fall had seeped into him and he’d sought shelter in a basket before he froze to death. He remembered being terrified that the basket’s owner would be horrified to find a stowaway in among the roots and willow bark, that they might try to kill him. He had not been expecting to see Martin Blackwood when the lid was opened. He’d met the apothecary exactly one time before, and he’d left the shop with the intention to never return and a sour taste in his mouth.
Martin had been surprised to see him, yes, but it quickly turned into interest. After scooping Jon out of the basket and admiring his green wings there had been multiple attempts to release him outside, but the night was still cold and the shop blissfully warm so he’d clumsily flown back inside each time. Eventually Martin had given up and let him stay the night, and the night after that, and the night after that. Then some other stuff happened involving sleep deprivation and an almost ruined herbal tea blend resulting in Martin thinking that Jon was his familiar. Now the shop and the flat above it had become a second home to Jon.
When Jon had needed help Martin had saved him, even if he hadn’t been aware of it. Now Martin needed help, and as the frustration built inside him he felt something crack. It was as though there was a dam inside him, the curse restricting his essence, and his anger had started to break it. He felt a trickle of magic seep into his body, filling him with a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. He embraced it, grasped it, and then used it to push against the curse as hard as he could.
When he opened his eyes the room seemed smaller, and looking down he was astonished to see he now stood over the bed. He stared at his hands, flexing them experimentally. He’d forgotten what it was like to have hands, what it was like to not be a moth. He’d somehow turned back into a human. Had the curse broken?
Jon had gotten so used to being around Martin as a moth that he’d forgotten how small humans could look at times. Now, bundled under a threadbare duvet, he seemed so fragile. Someone to be protected. Then Martin coughed and Jon realized that he could actually do something to help now.
His mind was racing, shock at being human again combined with concern for Martin and panic over what he needed to do. Taking a deep breath Jon tried to calm down, to focus on one thing at a time. He could do this. First things first, he needed to check for fever. He placed a hand on Martin’s brow and was horrified at how warm it was. Jon checked the temperature of his own forehead in comparison and frowned, there was a drastic difference.
Fever and coughing were the symptoms Jon knew about but he couldn’t try to treat Martin unless he had a good idea of what was causing them. He muttered a word of apology as he shook Martin’s shoulder. Blue eyes fluttered open and stared at him in confusion.
“Wha-” Martin coughed again, cutting off whatever he’d been trying to say.
“How do you feel?” Jon asked, trying his best to make his tone soothing but it was hard, he hadn’t spoken in weeks.
“Bad.” Well, at least Martin could talk. That and he wasn’t questioning how Jon had gotten into his bedroom. Then he tried to sit up and Jon placed a hand on his chest to stop him, noting that his shirt definitely was soaked in sweat.
“Don’t move, you’re sick.”
Martin stared at Jon, eyes widening in confusion. “You have wings.”
Glancing behind him Jon saw that Martin was right. Green wings sprouted from his back, so large they nearly brushed the ceiling and the tails rested on the floor. He also had antennae and two extra arms, which he desperately tried not to think about. He had enough on his mind as it was. The curse hadn’t been entirely broken it seemed. He was human enough to help Martin though, which was all that mattered. “Does anything hurt?”
“Are you my familiar?” Martin mumbled dreamily. “They have wings too.”
Rather than panic about whether or not Martin would remember what was happening after he recovered Jon decided to press on with his diagnosis. “Does your head hurt? Your throat?”
“Head.” It was little more than a whimper. “Everything.”
“What else? Do you feel warm?”
A small shake of Martin’s head, which must have hurt judging by how he winced. “Cold.”
It was probably a flu then, if they were lucky it would only last a few days. Hopefully nobody would mind that the apothecary’s shop would be closed for the time being, although it wasn’t like Martin could do anything until he got better. In the meantime Jon needed to treat him, which might pose a problem since it was Martin who was the apothecary.
Jon was not an apothecary, he was a mage. Spells were his strong point, not potions. It wasn’t like he had a choice though, Martin was sick and needed help. Hopefully he’d learned enough from watching Martin work over the past few weeks to be able to craft whatever potions or tea blends would be necessary. Apothecary work required more than following the recipe and combining herbs together, it involved imbuing the ingredients with magic to enhance their effectiveness. If done improperly it could turn medicine into poison, which was the last thing Jon wanted.
Thinking back to the last time he’d gotten sick Jon tried to remember what Georgie had said while caring for him. His head had been swimming probably as much as Martin’s was now but he thought he recalled a few things. Before he started messing with ginger root and honey it was important that he got Martin out of his sweaty clothes.
Taking a deep breath Jon tried to avoid meeting Martin’s gaze. His cheeks felt uncomfortably warm and his ears burned. “Can you stand at all?”
“What?”
“Your clothes are all sweaty, you need to change them.” With a groan Jon realized that the sheets were probably damp as well, but he had no idea where any spare linens might be stored. He knew of simple drying spells that might work, if he was able to use magic in this form.
Martin’s movements were sluggish so Jon helped him to get up on his feet, but it was clear that just standing was taking more out of him than expected. It was easy to grab a spare shirt and pair of trousers, Jon didn’t feel comfortable with taking anything beyond that, but it was clear that Martin wouldn’t be able to change on his own. The shirt clung to him, cold against his warm skin, and Jon had to peel it away slowly. Once gone it was impossible to miss the freckles that covered his chest and shoulders, a few even dotted his stomach. There were so many it reminded Jon of stars and he had to shake himself to remember just what it was he was doing. Martin pulled on the clean shirt and shook off his trousers before falling back into bed, energy spent.
With a sigh Jon grabbed Martin’s phone, sighed with relief when he was able to use it, and unlocked it with ease. He’d seen the password hundreds of times. Spellbook apps were common nowadays, there were ones with ingredient lists and ritual requirements as well as apps that would use the phone’s battery as an energy source to cast simple spells. Scrolling through a spellbook he had on his own phone it didn’t take long to find what he was looking for: a charm meant for if someone had gotten caught in the rain or stepped in a puddle. It did the trick, and now that Martin had both dry clothes and sheets Jon could move on to other things. He did make sure to leave a glass of water on the nightstand and placed a cool cloth on Martin’s forehead before he headed to the stairs.
The walls of the shop below the flat were lined with shelves. Jars of herbs and roots were along one wall, tools and empty containers against another, books on a third. A leather-bound tome sat open on the wooden counter displaying a recipe for a burn salve and Jon hastily flipped through the pages. It was full of herbal remedies that Martin often used for potions. “My teacher came up with most of these,” he’d told Jon while working on a tonic for sore throats. “She was brilliant so I don’t feel the need to change her recipes.”
The book had been crafted from thick, yellowed parchment, the words written in a curling script by a careful hand, an ink drawing of the intended result on the opposite page. Jon didn’t care for the beautiful pictures or elegant handwriting, he was too busy looking for what he needed to make. A tea blend that combined stinging nettle, ginger, and peppermint leaves along with some spices seemed like a good thing to start with.
After measuring out the ingredients, grinding them together, and imbuing them with magic Jon had a lot more respect for apothecary work. His hands had shaken so badly he’d been forced to start over several times, and it was harder than he’d expected to enhance the healing properties while pounding everything with a pestle at the same time. In the mortar was what Jon hoped was a respectable tea blend. Maybe if he added enough honey it would overpower the flavor.
Food next. He’d had to fill the water glass again so that meant that Martin was staying hydrated, but it was important to eat as well. What did people eat while sick? Soup? Jon went into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets before finding some cans, and it took a few more minutes of searching before he found a pot to heat the soup in, but eventually he had a steaming bowl of chicken noodle. He’d also managed to knock a mug off the counter with his wings, but he’d try to fix it later.
Martin was asleep again and Jon hated to wake him up. He didn’t protest though, and he drank the tea when offered it. If it tasted bad he didn’t say anything, although he didn’t seem fully aware of what was happening. After finishing the soup Jon started off towards the kitchen, intending to wash the dishes he’d used, but he stopped when he heard Martin speak.
“Don’t go.” Martin’s voice was raspy, although it sounded better than it had earlier. “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I have to...” Jon started to say before he saw just how sad Martin looked and understood. Almost a full day had passed and it had been just the two of them the whole time. When Jon had used Martin’s phone earlier there had been no missed messages, no notifications of any kind. How many times had Martin gotten sick and had to endure it by himself? When Jon had the flu he’d had Georgie to look after him, but remembering how miserable he’d felt he couldn’t imagine dealing with it alone. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”
Depositing the dishes in the sink with the intention to wash them later Jon returned to Martin’s bedside. He pressed a hand to Martin’s forehead, although he knew it wasn’t likely for the tea to have started working yet. He just felt like he should be doing... something. Technically what Martin needed now was rest, his immune system was working overtime to fight the flu and while the tea would speed up his recovery time he still needed sleep.
“Don’t go.” Martin mumbled again, stretching out a hand from under the duvet. Jon wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. Was holding a sick person’s hand a normal part of taking care of them? He didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter, did it?
The bed creaked as Jon sat down, taking Martin’s hand in his own and rubbing his thumb over the knuckles in a manner he hoped was soothing. “I’m not leaving.”
Martin’s blue eyes were wide as he met Jon’s gaze. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
In the end it took two more days for Martin to recover. Two days of making tea and potions, of heating soup and making sure Martin felt cared for. That he knew he wasn’t alone. On the last day Jon was spent, collapsing into a chair as his eyes fluttered shut. When they opened again the room was bigger than it had been. He was a moth again, for some reason.
Glancing out the window he saw a sliver of moon was visible in the sky. The new moon, of course. Magic was affected by the lunar cycle, it was the reason most mages waited until the full moon to cast big spells. It seemed like the curse had gotten weaker thanks to the new moon and Jon had been able to turn into a human for a few days, albeit a winged human with antennae and extra limbs. Maybe there was hope he could break the curse after all.
In the bed Martin groaned and sat up. Jon realized that the past few days had caused him to forget how to move as a moth. It took several tries before he was able to get airborne but he managed to hop-glide to the bed in the end.
“Oh, hello.” Martin smiled as Jon landed on the pillow with as much grace as a toddler. “Haven’t seen you in a bit.”
It was foolish to wish that Martin might not connect his “familiar” with the winged man who’d cared for him when he was sick but he did it anyway. He squeaked in greeting and climbed into Martin’s hand when it was offered to him, it seemed so big now compared to how it had been when he’d held it just a few hours earlier. He wanted to hold it again.
“I’m not sure if I saw you actually, I don’t really remember the past few days. I didn’t realize how much time had passed until I checked my phone.” Jon squeaked again, more to say he was listening than anything else. “I had some really weird dreams though.”
Getting out of bed Martin was careful to keep his hand steady, placing Jon on top of the dresser as he started to change. “I dreamt that someone was taking care of me, although I can’t remember what they looked like. I kept calling them ‘the beautiful stranger’ though.” He sighed, taking off his shirt, and Jon couldn’t help admiring him again. The freckles like stars. “I kept expecting them to leave, but they always held my hand until I fell asleep. They made me tea, although it tasted really bad.”
Jon jumped on Martin’s shoulder as he made his way out of the room. “They were really nice dreams and- Ouch!” Martin looked down and Jon realized that he never actually cleaned up the shattered mug, he’d just put it off until later. “This is the mug Sasha gave me. How did it break?” Martin asked, bending down to examine the shards. Glancing at the sink Jon was relieved to see he hadn’t forgotten to wash the dirty dishes. A few missing cans of soup, some emptier jars of herbs and spices, a little extra laundry to wash. Those were the only other traces Jon had left behind, and he hoped Martin wouldn’t notice. He was kicking himself for the mug though. Such a stupid mistake.
“Maybe I broke it and forgot?” Martin mumbled, picking up the shattered pieces and putting them on the counter. A part of Jon was sad that Martin might never realize that he hadn’t been alone the past few days. Someone had cared enough about him to make disgusting medicinal tea and hold his hand until he slept.
Jon knew, though. Jon remembered it all in vivid detail. He also remembered how after the first day it had become less about paying Martin back and more because he wanted to. He was still trying to figure out what emotions he’d been feeling a few hours earlier as he’d watched Martin drift off to sleep. Why his face felt warm and his heart was beating so fast.
He must have gotten the flu.