Witchy Boys: The Complete Collection

by Katey Hawthorne

  "And when he's not acting like a demonic GPS, he just... hangs around? Doing nothing? Watching you? What?" Matt's pie was languishing, his coffee growing cold, and he didn't seem to notice. Not anything but me, anyhow.

  It made me simultaneously uneasy and... happy. Ish.

  Except that what I was about to say was extremely uneasy-making. I knew enough about Antonin by then to know he wouldn't stop till he got his answers, though. And hell, maybe a part of me wanted him to. "He has a certain amount of empathy. Due to my protections, it doesn't go both ways, which is why he can't truly affect my mental state. But if he wants me to, I can affect his."

  "So... he's a demonic voyeur?" Matt's eyelashes fluttered.

  "Effectively."

  "And he talks to you? Does he, like, ask you to do things?"

  "Yes."

  "And do you ever—?"

  "Never," I said emphatically.

  "What kind of things?"

  "You don't want to know." I took a deep breath and waved for more coffee, since I'd emptied mine during demonic story time. This was already a long day and we hadn't even gotten started on the real work.

  Sometimes, working with demons was just so much easier than working with humans. Sad but true.

  "So can you shut him out?" Matt asked.

  I shook my head, unable to keep the regret off my face. Of course he went there: to the one place I had to admit was a raw deal. Now he knew why I didn't want to stay in that guardhouse and rub my dick off on his fine ass. Now he knew why I couldn't let him have me, even though we both obviously wanted it.

  No one wanted a demonic voyeur in the bedroom. Well, no one I'd deem sane enough to sleep with, anyhow.

  "I can ask him to shut up, and sometimes he does," I said. "I can also ask him to make his power visible around me, like it's mine, and usually he complies. That's the only time I can feel him, and it's at my own request. But he is attached to me, and where he can't go, I can't."

  Matt set his jaw. "I'll remove the wards for you."

  I should've been more pleased, but admitting I hadn't been able to fuck anything but my own hand in years thanks to the demon on my back took some of the triumph out of it.

  "And maybe once this is over..." Matt trailed off, cocked his head, looked at me with a curious intensity that burned right through me. "Maybe I can find a way to block him off sometimes. Just so you can have a moment's peace."

  "I never heard of any such spell." That said, that Matt even wanted to bother, made me feel... good.

  Oh, isn't he so precious, with his little pipe dreams? Look, he'll dabble in things he doesn't understand just to get inside you. Or will you be getting inside him? No, no, that's not your style; you really want someone to take you over, even if you won't let me do it to—

  Thankfully, Seir shut up when Antonin said, "So we'll invent one."

  ***

  As it turned out, the most difficult part of that Hallowe'en's demonic activity was getting Antonin to trust me enough to help. We arrived at the warehouse well before dusk, and with a choice combination of smoke and a few words, he buried the wards one by one.

  Once we were past the first round and inside the cavernous warehouse, I asked, "What's that language you use? Creole?"

  "Good ear." Matt waved sage in front of us, though there were no wards—I'd know, because Seir would tingle and complain. Matt went on, "Gullah. My mama's from the Carolina coast, and her people speak Gullah at home. I was mostly raised with them."

  "I've never heard spells done in anything but Latin," I admitted. "Didn't know you could."

  "I hypothesized that if you do the spells in a language you feel most attached to, they'd be more powerful. It makes sense, if you think about it."

  "Brilliant." And indicative of just how powerful Antonin was, as witches went. I wondered if he knew it, but didn't ask. Now wasn't the time.

  He glanced up, but then smiled when he saw I wasn't mocking him. "Kinda, yeah."

  When he was sure the inside wards were blown, I took out my spray bottle. Seir recoiled in my mind, like he always did when this particular mixture was around. So long as I was careful not to step in it, we'd be fine. Within ten feet of the intricate chalk diagrams, the magic started buzzing in him.

  "What's in the bottle?" Matt asked.

  "Creolina, holy water, and sea salt." I began spraying the diagrams. The chalk went watery at first, then curled up; pale white smoke rose as they dissolved. The smell of fizzling magic, like the air after a lightning strike, filled my head. Still couldn't completely cover up the smell of coal tar, but that was the point. "Cures whatever demonic plague ails your home."

  "You were born in the wrong century. Shoulda been a snake-oil hawker," Matt said.

  I chuckled.

  "Did you—did you just laugh?" Matt grinned.

  "Shut up and do some witching, will you?" But I was still chuckling.

  Looking very pleased with himself, Matt lifted his sage and began a complex incantation. The air was still, apart from the magical crackling, but the longer he chanted, the more his incense trail rose in a definite direction. He followed it, murmuring his magic and smiling slightly. Finally, just off the center of the diagrams, he paused. The smoke was rising straight up, so quickly it dissipated before it got more than five feet. "The Veil's weakest right here. Can your—can Seir do something about it?"

  Idiot, I know it's weakest there. Seir hadn't spoken up properly since Matt's earlier offer to shut him out.

  I smirked a little. Just do your thing, already.

  Put away that foul shit first.

  It's all over the goddamn floor, I pointed out.

  Seir was not amused. You know what I mean!

  Matt's brow furrowed. "Are you talking to him?"

  I nodded. "Sort of. He's, uh, displeased that you offered to shut him out sometimes."

  "Aw, don't be sad, demon-buddy." Matt laughed, tossing his head to flip an errant dread out of his face. "You'll still get your ride-along, just not when Thackeray wants a ride, himself."

  Seir was even less amused.

  Go ahead, you big demonic baby. I finished spraying the diagrams and tucked away the bottle, then let Seir "out," mentally inviting him to show himself. His power surged, sheathing me in that burning, iridescent shadow I'd seen in the Old Ebbit Grill years ago.

  Matt took a step back but watched, wide-eyed, as Seir extended upward. I don't know how Seir deals with the Veil, but to me, it looks and feels like he loops himself through the fabric of it like a drawstring, and then pulls tight. Unlike the drawstring, though, I'm relatively certain he doesn't leave that bit of himself in the Veil. That's a little too altruistic for him.

  Ugly, ragged tear, Seir said, and I repeated it out loud for Matt's benefit. Some nasty magic they didn't understand, and so close to All Hallows. Sorry I won't get to see what would've happened.

  "Alas," I added, "It's the price he pays for hitching a ride with me. No sociopathic experiments."

  The smoke from Matt's sage curled up, directionless again. He looked from it to Seir in awe, until Seir disappeared again. The crackle of his presence thinned out to nothing around me, and I sighed.

  Matt shook himself and said the incantation one more time. He watched the smoke and shook his head. "It's still thin, but no more than you'd expect anywhere, tonight."

  "Then let's get out of here before we get mobbed by some very pissed-off witches."

  ***

  Not five minutes after they closed Matt's door behind them, his doorbell rang.

  "Damn kids," Matt said good-naturedly. "Porch light isn't even on."

  "Probably some teenagers scavenging for leftovers," I said.

  "I used to do the same."

  "I never went trick or treating," I admitted. "Not that I remember."

  "I guess when you're dealing with real Hallowe'en all the time, it loses some of the shine."

  I smiled. "Something like that."

  He led the way into his kitchen. It was
open to a dining area, modern, stainless steel, recessed lighting, big island. Nice place. "You never told me what your actual job is," I realized.

  "I do some consulting. Oracle, mostly, but as a private contractor. Gives me some down times between projects, and I can work remotely a lot. Pay's not bad either." He opened the fridge, stuck his head in, and a few moments later emerged with a bottle. "Sauvignon blanc?"

  We'd just stopped demons from entering and ripping this town—complete with hordes of small children in Avengers costumes—apart. Now we were here, chatting about our lives and drinking wine? What was next? Some Barry White on the stereo?

  But I just nodded, because I didn't know how to say that in a way that wasn't horrible. God knew, I didn't mind any of it.

  "You've been smiling a lot more, tonight." Matt lifted some wineglasses from a hanging rack, then started working on the cork. "Guess telling someone your story probably helps."

  I frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. I'm not exactly shy about it."

  "Getting the whole thing out of you was like pulling teeth, man." The cork popped out and Matt poured. "And you know I wouldn't have, if you hadn't needed my help."

  "That's true."

  "So let me help you some more."

  I accepted a glass of wine and sipped. It was delicious, but I didn't like to get drunk. Who knew if it'd make one of Seir's bugfuck ideas sound acceptable.

  No fun at all, Seir complained.

  So attach yourself to a fun human.

  He said, They don't travel around kicking demon ass. I love to see my siblings suffer, what can I say.

  It'd get old, eventually. But for now, I had Seir and meant to keep capitalizing on that. For the sake of some other little kid somewhere out there whose mother couldn't protect them from real evil.

  "You really think you can help me shut him out?" I asked.

  Matt came around the island, golden wine swaying gently in his glass. "Yeah. I can find a way. I know you want him around most of the time. Obviously, he hasn't driven you insane yet."

  "Only figuratively," I admitted.

  Matt chuckled and tucked a finger into my belt loop. He pulled himself nearer. "I think you're a fucking hero. I wanna be your hero."

  It felt like something was sitting on my chest. That flare of want, of hot blood rushing between my legs, brought memories roaring back. Of a time when I could touch someone who was real, someone other than the demon haunting my mind. I closed my eyes, and I must've kissed Matt.

  Either way, he wasn't complaining. He worked his mouth into mine, parted my lips with a generous application of his tongue, slipped it into me. His autumn-magic smell wiped out the lingering scent of tar water and summoning diagrams. He was so warm, so real, so—

  Seir couldn't let it last: If you bend him over that island, he'll like it. You can take him right here, right now, and—

  I broke off the kiss quickly. "I can't. I mean, I want to, but—"

  "I get it," he said, his chest heaving. "I totally get it. Give me a few days, and I can make it happen. Not—not because I want to—uh, I mean, I definitely want to, but that's not why—"

  "Understood," I said. But instead of clipped, like it usually would've been, it came with a smile.

  ***

  Matt ran his long fingers up my chest, tracing the large, black tattoo that half-encircled me, just below my collarbone. "Sub tuum præsidium," he read out loud. "Beneath your... stewardship? Protection? Something like that?"

  I nodded. "It's a hymn. For the Blessed Virgin Mary."

  "The ol' BVM." Matt smiled and pressed a kiss to my clavicle just where it met beneath my throat. "I can taste the magic in it. It's the tattoo. That's how you're protected from possession?"

  "Got it in one." But my laugh was slightly nervous, in spite of all my deep breaths. The last time I had magic worked on me, it had hurt for months. Just the smell of it had given me headaches until I got used to the living ink in my skin.

  "Smart." Matt stood up straight, then turned to the dresser he'd seconded as his work table. We'd been in a hotel—separate rooms—for a few days, making sure the coven couldn't find him. Apparently they'd lost their shit when they'd arrived for their Hallowe'en summoning and found it wrecked.

  I'd be lying if I said I didn't laugh my ass off when they called Matt up and started wailing.

  "Where'd you get it done?" he asked.

  "New Orleans. Long story. I'll tell you sometime. Maybe take you to meet the alchemist who does the ink for them."

  "I'd like that."

  Seir said, I'd like it if you two would just skip this part.

  That's exactly why we're not going to, I said.

  This is a breach of our contract, he insisted.

  So leave, I said.

  You weren't shit before me.

  Yeah, yeah, shut up or beat it. And for once, I didn't care if he took the latter route. While Matt was on the run, it made sense for him to stick with me. Sure, Seir could find things faster than him, but a magical ally upped my chances either way.

  Matt brought out a long, leather thong with something silver hanging off the end. Not a leaf, like the one that protected him from wards, and it didn't smell like sage either—or it did, but combined with something spicy that I couldn't place. "What kind of wood is that smell?"

  "It has an elder and hawthorn heart. Good nose for magic, for an almost-mundane." He hung the silvery charm around my neck. It glittered… then burned a little.

  "Ow." I squirmed.

  "You only have to wear it when you don't want him around." Matt smirked then stood back to admire his handiwork.

  It burned my fingers too, but in an almost gentle way. "Guessing that burning sensation means I'm still haunted."

  Matt nodded. "But protected from it. He's sorta like a demonic STD, that way."

  "At least I can't pass him on to anyone else," I said.

  Matt's smirk took on a more evil look. "I am so past ready to test that out."

  I stirred around in my head looking for Seir, waiting for him to pop up with a smart remark, but nothing happened.

  Matt turned his back and pulled off his shirt, and the play of muscles beneath his shining skin distracted me. He was slim, compact, but with long limbs, almost the opposite of me. I'd tried not to think about what he'd look like naked all week, but there was no help for me in the shower.

  Now, there was definitely no help for me.

  I stood and wrapped my arms around his waist, kissing at his neck from behind. He aligned his ass with my hips. Just like in the guardhouse.

  But this time, there was nothing trying to make me into a demonic exhibitionist. This time, it was just me and another human being, one I respected and liked, even. One I'd wanted since the second I saw him. One who wanted me.

  If I were the sentimental kind, I suppose I would've cried. Maybe I almost did.

  Matt rubbed his cheek against the side of my face as I nipped at him. He asked, "How long as it been?"

  "Since Seir. I can't. Not like that."

  "And that's why you deserve the royal treatment." Matt chuckled, low and rough, and pulled me toward the bed. He settled his glasses on the end table, then sat down and began unbuttoning my pants. "He's not here now. You can be honest. Tell me what you want."

  "I..." I had no idea. All the fantasies were just mouths and hands and words. "I just want to touch you."

  He yanked my pants down over my hips. "I got you, then. You think of anything else, just let me know."

  My cock was already stretching the bounds of my short boxer-briefs, fighting to get out. He mouthed at it through the soft, white cotton, breathing hot. My breath hitched, my hips bucked, and I smoothed my fingers over the superfine short hairs at his temple and neck.

  "Thought it felt nice through your pants. Feels even better through just these," he mumbled. Then he opened wide and took in as much of the head as he could, wetting the straining fabric.

  My whole body hummed as I watched, wondering vaguely
if this was some kind of damn dream. "That's good, Matt. That's real good."

  "Gonna take you slow, this time." He pushed my erection downward, readjusting the angle so it popped out of my shorts at my inner thigh. "That is a mighty fine uncut piece you got there, Mr. Demon-hunter. Damn."

  I curled my fingers against his buzzed hair and he ducked down more, so he could get his mouth on my dickhead. Expertly, he pulled at my foreskin, licking, playing and making me moan. But I enjoyed his fingers even more, holding my hip bone where it rose out of the waistband, his thumb caressing, skin against skin, gentle, kind.

  He toyed with my dickhead and foreskin for long moments, until my little noises became frustrated. Then he edged my shorts upward so he could get to more of my cock and sucked it into his mouth. No candy-ass Fleshjack could compare to it, to this kind of real human contact, not when I was so starved for it. He angled himself oddly, but I understood why; watching him work at me through my shorts was an exercise in patience and excitement all at once. The way the hem of my shorts grew wetter and wetter from his soft, pliable mouth on me, the way my dick was fighting for release from it, his hand hot and teasing against my balls, rubbing at my taint through cotton.

  And it definitely slowed down what could've, should've been a thirty-second blowjob, considering my level of thirst.

  Finally, he sat up, wiped the spit off his beautiful mouth, and looked up at me grinning. "Take off your shorts. You need to come, and I need to taste it."

  "And then?" But I was already obeying. Obeying without Seir daring me to make him submit, to play games with him, to do a million things I never wanted.

  "Can I fuck you?" he asked. "I mean, it's okay if you don't—"

  "Fuck me," I cut him off. "I don't care how you do it, just do it."

  Matt's swollen lips wrapped around my cock the second it was free and standing straight, straining for his attention. He slid all the way down on it, one hand at the base, the other rolling my balls. This time I grabbed his dreads and pulled him down hard, hips hitching up, pushing me into his mouth.