Witchy Boys: The Complete Collection

by Katey Hawthorne

  I didn't respond, so Seir took the opportunity to think for me. Some people can't stand silence. They can't stand being alone with their thoughts. Or they hate the idea that they're having those thoughts—usually wicked ones—while there's another soul so nearby. It feels so dirty.

  Or he's just trying to make polite conversation. Or wants to get to know the guy he's working with, I suggested. Seir loved to pull this dissection shit anytime I had to interact with others. I supposed it was disturbing, yeah, but I'd long since gotten used to it. Price I had to pay, and all that.

  He said, Don't play naïve. I know the things you've seen and done, don't forget.

  Don't remind me.

  Matt frowned and pushed his glasses up his nose. He'd been staring through the warehouse rather than at it, but he turned to look at me, then. "You're actively making this harder."

  "I'm making it easier."

  "Not seeing why you honestly think I'm gonna just trust that. Like, are you that full of own importance, or—?"

  "Who's that?" I interrupted as two shadowy figures approached the warehouse's back door. They walked through a dirty yellow pool of streetlight, one tall, one short, close to each other. "Fenwicks?"

  Attention diverted, Matt nodded. "Yep. That's them."

  I noted the time in my phone. "Is there somewhere outside the wards that will let us see inside?"

  "It has to be outside the—?" Matt's brow furrowed. "Right, they'll know if we step over the wards, sorry."

  That wasn't the only reason, but I generally only talked about Seir when I was trying to scare trash like Latour. A smart witch like Antonin might ditch if he found out I had a demon on my back, and then I'd be high and dry. I wasn't sure I wanted an ally who didn't have that much sense, but I wasn't ready to lose Antonin, either.

  So I just grunted.

  Matt said, "There's a storage shed kind of thing on one side—I think it was a guardhouse. We should be able to see into the ritual area from there. We'll have cover if anyone else turns up, too. Good hiding spot."

  "You expecting anyone else?"

  "The rest of the coven is meant to turn up at show time tomorrow, but who knows. I'm newish, so I don't hear all the secrets."

  The moment the Fenwicks disappeared inside, I was out the car door. "Show me."

  So he did. The shed had definitely been a guard outpost, a kind of halfway station between the warehouse proper and the street beyond. Now it was stuffed with cobwebs and disused equipment. The window into the warehouse was partially obscured by a pile of scrap, but we could both see in if we stood to one side.

  Within, the long, open warehouse glowed dimly. It looked empty but for the ritual space in the center, where meticulously laid out magical diagrams covered the floor. In the candlelight, the markings throbbed with magical life and breath.

  "They glitter," Matt whispered even as I had the thought.

  Tomorrow night, those things wouldn't just glitter; they'd stink like hell. Literally.

  But all I could smell right then was Matt. Like herbs and spices, like autumn magic and cedar wood. His hand brushed mine. He didn't seem to notice, but my skin tightened at the contact, pebbling into goosebumps up my arm.

  You're so—what do the kids call it, these days? Thirsty? Seir thought, almost like it was chastisement.

  Go away, I replied.

  Well, you haven't had a drink in years.

  Better just to ignore his demonic bullshit. I refocused on the shadowy figures within the warehouse. The smaller one crouched with a piece of chalk to finish a diagram, a binding spell of some kind.

  "That won't hold shit," Matt mumbled.

  I grunted in agreement. This was going to be a cluster-fuck if they went through with it. Luckily, making sure they didn't might be as simple as getting in, trashing the place, and figuring out what was happening with the Veil. Fairly straightforward, as much as halting demonic bum rushes could be.

  "I see the wards, though," Matt said. "There. And there, they've twisted it up with a personal protection diagram. Pretty cool, actually."

  "We have very different definitions of cool," I said.

  He snorted out a silent laugh. I almost felt proud of myself, but that flash of pleasure was interrupted. A huge metal bang echoed just outside the guardhouse, setting my teeth on edge and the hair on my arms standing up straight. Inside the warehouse, the shadowy Fenwick figures froze mid-action.

  I flattened myself against the wall and grabbed Matt on purely protective instinct. One arm over his shoulder, hand against his chest, his back to my front tight so we would both be hidden from the Fenwicks when they inevitably looked in our direction.

  His heart thundered against his chest, and mine against his back. We both held our breath. I counted silently to ten, until the sound of shuffling footsteps and worried whispers drew near our end of the warehouse. More clanging from outside.

  "Is—?" Matt started to ask.

  "Shhhhh." I didn't mean to put my lips against the shell of his ear. It was just right there. Fuck, he smelled good.

  Amazingly, he relaxed, resting the back of his head against my shoulder. He shifted, trying to put another inch or two between him and the edge of the window just in case the Fenwicks came to examine it at close range. Logically, I knew that was why.

  But what it felt like was something else entirely. It felt like a very tight, very fine ass aligning with my hips in a "willing and able" way. My cock experienced a slow but steady rush of blood, and my breath hitched.

  I ignored it, or tried to. Listening for the footsteps—thank god, they didn't seem to be approaching the window as much as the exit. Twenty yards from the guardhouse, but hopefully they'd find whatever was making the noise and be satisfied.

  Matt turned his head slightly left and up. I couldn't help but look down to catch his eyes, which were crinkled with amusement behind his librarian glasses. His full, pretty mouth pressed into a smirk. He flattened a hand against my thigh.

  Mmmm, pliable, said Seir.

  It broke the sexual tension of the moment for me, at least. I wriggled backward as far as I could, then sideways against a crate to keep my growing erection from pressing into Matt's backside. It didn't entirely work, but the effort was there.

  And he noticed. He curled his fingers against my thigh and didn't back into me again.

  "Goddamn raccoon!" a voice outside shouted.

  I disentangled myself from Matt further, returning the arm draped over him to my own side. The metal clanging (garbage can, I realized belatedly) from outside covered the whispery sounds of our shifting. As the Fenwicks returned to their work inside, we just stood there, breathing quietly. Me with my still-swelling dick making a mockery of me, Matt with his slow breaths and thudding heart that I would swear I could still hear.

  Was that me, or was it Seir who could hear it? He must be enjoying this. I was glad I didn't know half as much about his thoughts as he did about mine.

  This is why I can't have nice things, I thought.

  "We should go." My voice came out rougher than I expected. I shifted and adjusted my dick as subtly as possible.

  But Matt only smiled up at me. "That a gun in your pocket, or...?"

  I pushed off the wall and past him, then squeezed through the maze of equipment and out the door.

  He caught up with me just as I slipped through the opening in the chain-link fence. "Sorry, man, I just thought—you know, make it less awkward with a joke."

  "It's fine. I was just thinking of what comes next," I lied.

  His hand closed around my wrist. I was so surprised I stopped in my tracks, just outside a pool of streetlight. "Hey, seriously, I shouldn't have said anything. Just, uh, hard not to notice. I don't know, it was all just—exciting."

  I didn't know what to say. If I let myself go for even a second, Seir would make some sociopathic comment, and things were awkward enough in my head already. Finally, I took my hand back. "I apologize. That was wildly inappropriate. It won't happen again
."

  "Well, okay." Matt frowned. "If you don't want it to. I mean, I wouldn't mind..."

  "You don't even trust me," I said, all surprise.

  "If I got to know you I might."

  I couldn't see how having my dick pressed into his backside would help with that, so I just returned to the car without another word, assuming he'd follow.

  ***

  The next day, I remembered to clean the pipes before I saw him. Jerking off in the shower of my shitty motel, thinking about Matt Antonin pressed up against me in the dark, the witchy cedar smell of him and the pulse of his heartbeat beneath my hand and the rub of his ass against my dick. I didn't even want to fuck him—I mean, I would've, don't get me wrong, but the fantasy that came unbidden had a lot more to do with hands and mouths... and why hadn't I at least asked if he'd meant "exciting" in the sexual sense or not?

  Didn't matter, either way, so better I hadn't asked. I couldn't have him; I couldn't let him have me.

  Seir pouted. You never let me have any fun.

  I rinsed the cum off the shower tile and finished cleaning up, then went to meet Matt. It was small town Hallowe'en, so everyone and their dog had a carved pumpkin on the porch, every window displayed a pointy-hatted witch on her broomstick. The very air made me feel prickly—always had, when the Veil was pushed like this, even before Seir. It amazed me more people didn't feel it, witchy or not.

  When I got to the diner, Matt looked like a kicked puppy, his big, dark eyes full of apologies. "Hey, man, look, I feel really bad about last night."

  "That was on me, not you." I slipped into the booth across from him. Back to my usual self: in control, on guard, the calm and collected demon hunter. Let them see your fear and they feed on it. I was good at this. I could do it with one beautiful boy. "We're adults. Truth is I haven't been taking care of my needs in that particular department lately, and I think you know you're attractive. Let's just put it behind us and move forward with the plan."

  "Wait, so is it that you think I'm attractive, or that you're just horny in general? Or a perfect storm of both, because--?"

  "The plan," I interrupted.

  He pushed up his glasses. "A'ight, then. So, we got the general layout and we know when they usually head in there. What's next?"

  "I need you to remove the wards before they all show up, tonight."

  "Why?" Matt asked.

  I considered how to reply while we gave our orders to the server.

  When I still didn't answer after she was done pouring our coffee, Matt said, "I'm just asking because it seems backward. If we strengthen the wards in some way they aren't expecting, even if they do call a demon or seven, it won't be able to get out of the warehouse. The wards go both ways. Or should. Or could, if we did that instead."

  "Because I can't get past them," I finally said.

  Matt paused, coffee mug halfway to his lips. "I don't know what question to ask first, man."

  "Then don't." I watched him out of the corner of my eye. "That'd be for the best."

  "It's not a ghost." He put the coffee back down, untouched.

  He's pretty and smart. Oh, you really should let me take him apart, Seir said.

  You're fucked up, I thought back at him.

  Not like that. I mean take him apart mentally. I love playing the therapist. It's like opening someone up and looking inside. You see this fragile crystal structure, their fucked-upness, their wish to fit in, all fighting against itself. In some people it fights forever. In some people one side wins. In some people the whole thing collapses—more people than we think. It's beautiful to watch, you know. It's my favorite thing about being here, my little pleasure.

  Punk ass demon knew my answer would be: No.

  But he kept on trying. At least make him come undone in bed, then. Look at those big, brown eyes. Look at how he looks at you, how he sees his big, strong demon-hunter hero—

  Fuck. Off.

  "It's a demon," Matt said. That little furrow in his brow appeared again. "You're getting help from a fucking demon, not a ghost. Oh man, no wait, not just getting help, because you could still get past the wards if—"

  "It's a haunting. Not a possession," I said.

  "Right, I bet that's what everyone who's ever been possessed says," he muttered.

  I held out my hand. "You know the spell? You have your knife?"

  He nodded, eying my hand speculatively.

  I stood and gestured for him to follow me to the bathroom. There were a few strange looks when we went into the family one in the center, but no one commented. I locked the door behind us, turned to him, and held out my hand again. "Go ahead."

  He shifted uncomfortably, but drew the small, curved witch blade out of his leather jacket. Some covens called them a Lion's Tooth. Some a Dragon's Claw. It could've been either, or neither. It was cold iron, was the point, and they all kept them nearby.

  I turned my hand over, palm down. "Back side. Hurts like shit for a week if it's on the palm."

  He ghosted his fingertips over my palm, drawing goosebumps out on my arm again. His dark, thick eyelashes fluttered and he looked up through them, catching my gaze.

  I tried to maintain normal breathing. There could be nowhere in the world less romantic than the family bathroom in a diner. If we were at the motel, his house, anywhere else, offering a piece of myself like this would feel... intimate. But it shouldn't, here.

  It shouldn't, but it did.

  He took my hand gently, gaze still fixed to mine. When he looked down again, he drew the blade across less than an inch of skin. Dark blood welled up, but I felt nothing for the moment. He said the words in a language I didn't recognize, some form of Creole, maybe, rather than Latin. I watched his face as the magic worked, then he nodded.

  "Satisfied?" I asked.

  He glanced up but didn't let go my hand. "There might be a way to trick the spell, but if there is, I don't know it."

  "There's no demon in me," I said. "I assure you. He haunts me, sometimes talks to me, but he can't control me."

  "He can convince you, though."

  "In theory. But he has no psychic influence over me, only words to do it with. And he's shit at it."

  Seir gave the equivalent of a scoff in my head.

  "He helps you find other demons? Why?" He squeezed my hand, fingers inching between mine. His gaze was fixed to mine again.

  In the days before Seir, I would have pinned him to the washbasin and kissed him breathless. I would have lifted him up on it, had his long legs wrapped around me, and asked him what he wanted, what would make him feel good.

  I drew my hand back quickly and turned to open the bathroom door. "I'll tell you everything."

  ***

  Six years ago, I was following reports of anomalies looking for a demon. The usual signs were all there: domestic animal attacks, unidentified night injuries like scratches, reports of things missing or stolen or destroyed with no explanation, all on the rise. The paranormal boards were blowing up with it, but no one had seen the pattern. I put the reports into a map, and there it was. Something was moving down the east coast, and it was something big.

  The problem was that it wasn't exactly malevolent. The ones who are causing wars and murders are easier to find. I caught up to it in DC, and only because it stopped there. Maybe the concentration of people grasping for power was attractive. The attacks, the scratches, destruction, and missing objects started popping up in inside the Beltway simultaneously, but in the same exact circumstances and manner, which told me they had to be the work of its legions, not the demon itself. That confirmed I was dealing with no ordinary demon. I don't even want to think about how many corrupt politicians it was helping while its forces had free reign over the District.

  Once I figured all that out, I went straight for the source of power: places where the rich and powerful congregate to make decisions about the poor and downtrodden over five-hundred-dollar bottles of Scotch. Sure enough, I found the demon looming over a politico in one of
the secluded booths at the Old Ebbitt Grill.

  I'd never seen anything so beautiful in my life as that demon: a man made of shadow, but almost iridescent, tall and stately on a winged horse. I know, that's how they get you, but I have certain protections from possession and direct influence. We'll talk about it later. Let me finish the story, then you can ask, if you still want to. That's also how I could see him without magic, though—magic of my own, anyhow. He saw me, knew that I saw him, and we watched each other for long moments, until the politico looked up and asked if he could help me with something.

  I said, "Come see me," and went to my own table to have dinner.

  The demon showed up at my hotel in Alexandria that night. By then, I'd already found out his name in my piles of digitized books: Seir, a Prince of Hell in command of twenty-six legions. He was occasionally summoned by unwise magicians and witches to help with finding lost things, bringing good fortune, and the odd robbery. He said he didn't know how he'd gotten through to our world, but he liked it and was looking for opportunities to observe, to see, to feel more. It had been a long time, apparently. My guess is some fool conjured him and didn't realize they were getting legions in the deal.

  When Seir found out that I traveled around sending his type back to hell before they could wreak more havoc, he made me a deal. He'd send the legions back to hell and help me find more of his kind out in the world, if I let him tag along. He knew I couldn't be possessed—I don't know if he tried, but he swears he didn't. But the haunting is, in some ways, even more difficult to remove.

  When he kept his end of the bargain and sent the legions away, things calmed down with the paranormal chaos in the area. So I kept my end, too. I opened myself up to a haunting, and here we are.

  ***

  "I expected a lot more disemboweling," Matt said after I finished. "There's always some kind of weird disemboweling going on in these demon stories."

  "I've seen my share," I admitted. "But that's why I had to take Seir's offer. Just this year I've protected countless lives and souls. Pile that up for six years. No more tracking vague patterns on the map, no more waiting for someone to be injured or murdered, no more sifting through police reports to try and separate the psychotic from the paranormal."