Real by Amy Bellows
H
Buddy drinks his milkshake slowly, stopping three separate times to thank me for it. Watching him is mesmerizing. I’ve never seen someone enjoy their food that much. When I finally look at the clock, it’s almost two in the afternoon.
I yank my phone out of my pocket and find that Felicity has tried to call me three separate times. I must have set it to silent. She also sent me two texts, and I go to those first.
Candlewick is allowed to have visitors this afternoon. He requested a visit from Buddy. Can you bring him?
I just spoke to the warlock who created Buddy. Will you call me? This just got a lot more complicated.
“I have to call your lawyer, okay?” I say to Buddy, who looks concerned.
He nods.
I press Felicity’s name and she answers almost immediately.
“Hey, how is everything going?” she says.
“Fine. You got a hold of Red?”
“Yeah. Apparently, Dorian paid Maya Red ten million dollars for a spell nineteen years ago. She has the paperwork and everything. Buddy was conjured right before burrowing season for fox shifters. One month later, Dorian demanded his money back, and Maya Red gave him a full refund.”
“So Dorian doesn’t own Buddy?”
“Well, that’s where things get complicated. Dorian was able to get his money back, but the spell that created Buddy also cost him twenty-five years of his life. That part he wasn’t able to return. At least not nineteen years ago.”
Buddy is watching me intently, so I get out of the car and shut the driver’s door. If this is something that will upset him, I don’t want him to hear it.
“What does that mean?”
“Dorian contacted Red four months ago to ask if she could do a spell reversal. He’d asked before, of course. Red had told him it was impossible, but Dorian read an article about a warlock in France who was able to swap the price of a spell in exchange for sacrificing the results. That was what Dorian asked Red to do. Instead of paying twenty-five years of his life, he wanted to give up his intelligence. Red said no, but she thinks he found someone else to do it.”
It takes me a second to sort through all that in my head.
“What happens to Buddy in that situation?” I ask.
“Red wasn’t sure, but she thinks he’ll go back to being an inanimate doll.”
I drag my hand through my hair. That would be the same as murder. And for what? So that bastard can live longer?
“This gives Dorian a solid case for keeping Buddy because it could extend his life twenty-five years. It’s human life versus the life of a plastic doll,” Felicity says.
She’s right. No judge is going to rule in Buddy’s favor. We might as well put a gun to Buddy’s head if we take him to court tomorrow.
I look into the car window where Buddy is watching me from the passenger’s seat. He never got a chance to truly live. He’s been stuck in Dorian’s house for the past twenty years.
“What would happen to the sanctuary if Buddy disappeared?” I ask.
“H, that isn’t a good idea—”
“We can’t give Buddy back to someone who will kill him.”
“I know, but—”
“But what? He’s a person, Felicity. A good person. He offered to give himself up to free Candlewick.”
“Then he probably won’t want to disappear. You said he was very attached to Candlewick. If Buddy disappears, Candlewick is looking at twenty years.”
But Candlewick knew what the risks were when he escaped with Buddy. He did it anyway.
“You said Candlewick can have visitors this afternoon, right?”
“Yes.”
I could ask him myself if he’s willing to make the sacrifice. He’ll probably end up serving time anyway.
“What time should we be there?”
She sighs. “Four o’clock. Don’t do anything stupid, okay? You could jeopardize the whole sanctuary. That isn’t fair to the kids who need us.”
I don’t respond to that, and I just hang up. If I leave some kind of note making it clear I acted on my own and went against the wishes of the sanctuary, the only thing I’d be risking is my own freedom.
Am I really willing to do that for a man I barely know?
I think of the way Buddy closed his eyes as he smelled the grilled cheese sandwich. It takes so little to make him happy. We could disappear together to a country with no extradition treaty, and I could get undocumented work. We wouldn’t have much, but I could still give him safety and simple pleasures like the smell of hot food and sunshine on his face.
I open the driver’s door and climb inside. Buddy watches me closely. He’s probably wondering what the phone call was about. How do I tell him that any chance he had at court is likely gone now? And how do I bring up the idea of running away together?
He doesn’t know me any better than I know him. Would he trust me enough to come with me?
“We’re going to visit Candlewick,” I say. First things first. The jail is over an hour away. I can think of a plan while I drive.
“They set him free?” Buddy asks, a smile spreading across his face.
“No, we’re going to the jail.”
His smile falters. “Oh.”
“It’s okay, there’s plenty of security there. You’ll be safe.”
“That’s not the problem. I just… Well, I’m not allowed,” he says.
“Because you don’t have an ID? We can talk to the intake officer about your situation—”
“No, because I have metal inside me.” He scrunches his shoulders together. “Three bullets and a knife.”
I don’t understand. Did Dorian shoot him and he somehow recovered? What about the knife?
“Dorian… um, well… he was angry. And I couldn’t get them out.”
Oh my God. That’s horrifying.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He nods. “It was a long time ago.”
“Can you feel pain?” The question leaves my mouth before I can stop myself. It’s probably insensitive to ask something like that.
But Buddy doesn’t seem upset with me. He nods again, his bottom lip trembling.
Dorian is a monster.
I turn on the engine. “We’re still going to see Candlewick. I’ll visit him for you. Give him any messages you have for him.” And ask him how he feels about serving time for Buddy’s freedom.
“Okay. You can tell him I’m going to return to Dorian so he can be free.” As Buddy says this, he squares his shoulders and looks me straight in the eye.
For the first time, I think I understand what Buddy’s offer to return to Dorian for his friend truly means. He’s planning to go back to a man who tried to kill him.
Buddy may be made of plastic, but he’s tough as nails.