Riordan lapsed into silence, letting himself sit with the complicated and nasty feelings that had been stirred up. The immediate anger and urge to lash out was as worrying as it was familiar. Anger was a tool. It made him sharper, able to push on harder and further than other people, to not give a fuck about whatever stood in the way. It protected him from emotional and mental trauma while letting him push his body past its limits when needed.

Even if he tried to be more peaceful, Riordan knew that his self-protective righteous anger was never going to go away. It was a part of himself, a characteristic made stronger by his animal side. Honey badgers were staunch individualists and completely unconcerned with logic or their own mortality when it came to pursuing their goals and desires.

That thought linked back into the discussion of what the nature of his animal really was. Riordan wasn’t going to solve that today, so he let it drift away. He was just… tired. Done.

Riordan scooted up the bed until he was leaning back against the headboard. Quinn shifted to sit beside him.

“You never did answer my question about how you were doing,” Quinn commented neutrally.

“That’s because I hate admitting that I feel like shit and I’m frustrated with my own magic. And because this isn’t a truly private conversation,” Riordan countered.

Quinn smiled. “Does that mean you’d give me a proper answer if it was just the two of us listening?”

“You tease, but maybe I would. Is that so strange to consider?”

“It’s not strange,” Quinn reassured him quickly, “You are just a very private person. It’s surprising that you would choose to share anything with me.”

Riordan blushed, embarrassed even if he wasn’t entirely sure why. Emotions really weren’t his strength. “You share things with me too and you don’t know me either. I don’t know. You just feel comfortable and you don’t judge me for my shit.”

“Gods, I’d be such a hypocrite if I judged you. I’ve done some really dumb things in my life and I’m younger than you. Your heart is always in the right place, from what I’ve seen. Intentions don’t excuse you from consequences, but it does mean I understand you. You don’t mean harm to the innocent and are almost allergic to being self-serving,” Quinn laughed softly, “Which puts you ahead of many of my co-workers.”

Riordan was practically swimming in the consequences of his actions. Intentions really only went so far. Still, he tried to listen to what Quinn was really saying there, even while teasing Quinn back, “So I’m old and do dumb things, huh?”

Quinn sputtered for a moment before just breaking out laughing and poking Riordan in the side. “I mean, aren’t you? I know that shifters age slower than mages and you look older than me. And you can’t claim that letting a death mage hold you captive in order to try and save their own followers is exactly a smart idea. Good intentioned, but not smart.”

Riordan snorted, batting Quinn’s hand away. “You’re just jealous because I look so good for my age. You are a young whippersnapper at- what is your age, anyway? It’s kinda hard to tell with your fashion sense or lack thereof.”

Quinn gasped, holding his hand to his chest and swooning dramatically. “You wound me. I am impeccably dressed. I’m also twenty… nine? That sounds right.”

“So less than half my age. I guess I really am old.”

Riordan wasn’t usually bothered by that fact. He didn’t look much older than Quinn really. He was a strong shifter, meaning he looked roughly early thirties despite being in his sixties. Those years were a gulf of culture and experience however. For the first time, Riordan had a real glimpse into how alien the world might look to one of the elder shifters. Frankie, Vera and Norris all had to be somewhere between a hundred and fifty to two hundred years old. They lived history.

And compared to Quinn, Riordan had lived history as well. Granted, he had squandered the last two decades on self-recrimination and martyrdom, entirely self-absorbed, but it didn’t change the fact that the world had changed drastically since the time he’d been born.

“Seriously?” Quinn asked, staring at Riordan, “You are that old? I mean, I knew that shifters aged slowly, but… It’s weird, I guess.”

Riordan squirmed inside, distinctly uncomfortable, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Maybe it was just the fact that Quinn was making a big deal out of this. “It’s just the way it is. There are reasons that shifters tend to stick together and that is a big part of it. Everyone else just dies sooner and has different concerns. It’s alienating.”

“Huh,” Quinn said consideringly. He scooted closer, soaking up some of Riordan’s radiant warmth. “I never really thought about it much. I mean, I knew that mages and shifters didn’t mix much, even though the magical community isn’t that large overall. Technically, shifters are just a specific type of mage. It seems like it wouldn’t be so different, and yet, a non-shifter mage lives life at the same pace as a regular human, just with magic layered on top. It’s all secret societies and traditions and ‘don’t use magic around mundanes,’ but it’s not obvious that they are different.”

“Meanwhile, I live life trying to make sure no one questions why I get back up after things that would kill a regular person and why I never seem to age,” Riordan offered as contrast. He paused, pondering, before adding, “Even if a shifter never uses their ability to shift, they are still using magic constantly. Many mages are jealous of the passive effects of the shifter affinity. We end up with deeper magic wells, longer lives, faster healing, improved physicality. But we can’t stop it. Even trying to suppress it feels rather like holding your breath or shutting your eyes and then trying to maintain it. There are limits. And then there’s also a psychological draw towards the company of other shifters, the formation of pack bonds, and the environments of our animal sides.”

“Oh!” Quinn said, clearly realizing something, “No wonder Xavier’s magical restraints don’t automatically suppress passive abilities. He mentioned it could be psychologically bad, but I didn’t get it before. It seemed an odd choice to leave any magic to a prisoner.”

Riordan tried to unpack that sudden shift in topic. “Xavier?” he asked cautiously, “Who is that and why is he being restrained?”

“No, he makes the restraints,” Quinn corrected, “Xavier De la Fuente is one of the three new agents assigned to this case. He’s an enchanter who specializes in anti-magic magic items, which really seems like an oxymoron. The other two are Hendrika Heeren, who is here as our ranking agent and diplomatic liaison, and Vergil Creighton, who is our admin and paperwork guy.”

Those names had meaning. Riordan really wished he knew the names of the North American mage houses and their various branches, alliances, and agendas better. He’d only been in America for a relatively short time before the event that led to the execution of his old team and his own exile. He’d been perfectly happy to leave all the politics to his team’s leader and their shaman. He hadn’t wanted to know.

Riordan really hated his past self’s willful ignorance sometimes.

“Where do you fit in all of that?” Riordan asked rather than delving into magic politics at the moment. Talking with Quinn was too nice to ruin with that right now. He’d ask Vera or Frankie later. “Are you and Ahlgren sticking around?”

It was Quinn’s turn to look uncomfortable and he made a gesture halfway between a nod and a shrug. “For now, at least. There’s some things I can clean-up better than even Xavier when it comes to death magic specifically. I’m going to try and stay as long as I can, to help you understand yourself, but we might get sent away at a moment’s notice if an emergency comes up. I’m still their top death magic specialist.”

“And maybe you can get some help of your own on the way.” Riordan held up a hand to stop Quinn from objecting. “Which is only right and proper when seeing any potential cure to a terminal illness. I really do hope I can figure out something to help you out of what happened to me.”

“Thank you.”

Riordan nodded. There wasn’t much more they could say about that at the moment. As much as Riordan wanted to dive right in and understand everything about how his new magic worked, it just wasn’t going to happen. Understanding things took time. Mucking about with magic before they figured out what specifically drained the corruption from Riordan might just mean that they made things worse. Even if he asked the tree spirit to try the same thing on Quinn, the exact circumstances in which Riordan had become corrupted and corrected were impossible to reproduce. Therefore the results would be different as well. Maybe it would be enough to save Quinn, maybe not, but either way, it would have unknown side effects.

Spirit magic worked best when the caster was able to clearly outline for the spirit exactly what they wanted done and limited it to that and only that. Which came back around to understanding what had been done to Riordan and which parts of it mattered for dealing with the corruption versus being unnecessary side effects from the spirit’s choice of how to save him.

The possibilities were, unfortunately, too many to usefully speculate on at the moment.

Quinn broke the silence again. “I should go. Adam is watching me, but I don’t want to make the rest of the agents nervous by pushing the limits of my leash too much. Being on my best behavior gets me more slack in the areas that matter.”

Riordan automatically bristled at that analogy. Most shifters hated the very idea of being leashed or caged. Their human side meant that they weren’t purely wild, but they were very much not domesticated. Still, he understood the necessity of Quinn’s situation. He liked Quinn and trusted him to be working for the greater good.

However, that trust ended where the death corruption began. Quinn did an amazing job of keeping the corruption’s effect in his body instead of his mind and soul, but it still leaked. He was still crazy. He still craved death magic and power. The cravings were just manageable within the scope of his job at the moment.

“I’ll see you around then,” Riordan said, getting up from the bed to see Quinn out. Even if the cabin was so tiny that it was almost pointless, it felt more proper that way.

Quinn paused by the door. “We’re meeting with the law enforcement in the morning. Assuming that meeting goes well, then we’ll be going to the various crime scenes afterwards, starting with the burnt cabin near the ritual site. If you are able to join us there, that would be greatly appreciated. The tree spirit is rather restrictive on access to its tree currently and we’d like to check the ritual site. While we’re there, we can see about recovering Daniel’s body as well.”

That was morbidly practical. Riordan disliked the idea of working with the agents so suddenly and closely after trying to avoid them, especially when they were itching to arrest him too. At the same time, it might help if they got to observe that he wasn’t a threat, at least in the manner of crazed death mages.

He grumbled, “Would your team have a proper manner to move and preserve his body?”

“I can make sure we have something,” Quinn assured Riordan. “I have charms to prevent rot. I might be able to reverse some of it even, depending on the conditions. And who knows what Xavier has? Enchanters have the craziest stuff.”

“Then, assuming I get permission from Frankie and Vera, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Quinn smiled. “Yes, I look forward to it. Good night, Riordan.”