Mage of Inconvenience

by Parker Foye

  West took the papers and retreated to the waiting area where Julian had first met him, barely an hour earlier. Julian allowed himself a moment to admire West’s arse. Excellent husband material.

  When he turned back around, Lauren’s glare nearly sliced off his face. “Shit!”

  “Shit is right, you smear of excrement. What the flying fuck do you think you’re playing at?”

  “I know it’s a bit quick—”

  “He came to us for help, you mercenary bastard. And you’ve conned him into your stupid scheme. This is fraud, Julian Colquhoun, and you’re dragging that kid—”

  “He’s hardly a kid!”

  Lauren gestured to encompass Julian’s everything. “Well, he’s hardly you, is he?”

  “That’s a hell of a yardstick.” Julian lowered his voice. “Look. He’s obviously in some trouble of his own, and no other mage will take him on for a price he can afford. Even if they did know how to interpret Matilda’s work, the backward-looking—Anyway. We can help each other out.”

  “So it’s altruism, is it?”

  “I can barely spell altruism, darling, much less—”

  West knocked on the doorframe, drawing their attention. “I’m done.”

  Directing his brightest grin at Lauren, and choosing to ignore her scowl, Julian whirled around on his heel and clapped his hands together. “Splendid! Please pass that to my associate and we can get going. Did you drive? Of course you drove. We’ll return to your property, and I’ll record the markers, if I may, and then we’ll head to the cottage to start creating our romantic history. What do you say?”

  West blinked and looked at Julian like he regretted agreeing to their arrangement. Too late. That’s what the contract is for.

  “Sounds… good?”

  “Splendid! Did I say that already?” Julian’s cheeks were starting to hurt. Had he blinked recently? “Let’s go, then.”

  “Julian—”

  “Not now, darling. I’m spending quality time with my fiancé. Beloved? Paramour. West, how do you feel about being a paramour?”

  Finished handing his contract to Lauren, West smiled wryly. “Conflicted.”

  Julian’s heart did an uncomfortable stutter at West’s smirk and the dimple it revealed. Abruptly his cunning plan of acquiring an intellectual puzzle—Mage Matilda’s protection spells! His mother had been secretive about her work, which was why she’d practiced in remote locations across the country—and fixing his inheritance issue, with the benefit of pleasant scenery in the form of West, didn’t seem quite so problem-free. Julian was well-acquainted with his numerous weaknesses, and dimples were high on the list.

  “We’ll put that on the docket for discussion,” Julian said, ignoring Lauren’s wide-eyed look of what the hell were you thinking and ushering West ahead of him. “But first, how about we get out of the city? Did I tell you about my yacht? I should tell you about my yacht.”

  He made sure to walk quickly. Lauren called Julian’s yacht his dick extension. Not the sort of thing a paramour needed to hear.

  WEST lived in the back of beyond. There wasn’t even a Tim Hortons for miles. Julian propped his feet on the dash and tried to get comfortable, keeping his gaze on the diner West had entered. He’d borrowed the owner’s truck, apparently. That said something nice about the guy; Julian hadn’t so much as loaned a pen to someone in years.

  After leaving Toronto Julian had followed West’s borrowed truck to West’s home, which was an inordinately vast distance from the city. Julian didn’t understand how West could have made the drive twice, when Julian wanted to peel off his own skin from frustration after an hour. He’d flashed his headlights when he needed to stretch his legs or refill on gas, or once to eat what turned out to be a particularly terrible burger, and each time West had looked vaguely surprised by the necessity of stopping.

  By the time they’d reached West’s home—correction, West’s cabin—Julian wanted to weep from gratitude. West had to be a meta to not blink at the kind of travel he’d subjected them both to. The sun was sinking, and Julian wanted to go with it, longing to lie down somewhere and give his tired body a rest.

  But the work needed doing. Mustering his reserves of inner strength and human decency, Julian had bitten back his comments about the drive and the cabin, not wanting his mouth to run on autopilot and alienate West through a careless remark. West didn’t seem to find anything strange about living in a cabin off the highway, with only a forest for neighbors, although little of the cabin remained after fire had eaten the old wood and smoke blackened what was left. The sight had twisted something in Julian’s gut, grief for a loss not his own. He’d distracted himself by taking photographs on his phone, conjuring a small magelight to illuminate the markers, and hoping the subtle spells he’d cast on his camera gave him something useful to work with. West said there were more markers in the forest, but Julian’s shoes weren’t made for hiking. He had enough to make inroads into his research. The marks weren’t going anywhere.

  After packing West’s few surviving belongings into Julian’s car, they drove to Joe’s Diner to return the truck. Julian was uncertain Joe would appreciate the interruption, supper having ended and left the diner shrouded in dark, but West explained Joe would still be cleaning. Saying he’d ask for time off work, West drifted through the parking lot like a ghost. Julian felt like even more of an arsehole than usual for not having considered West’s work situation. He rubbed his fingers together, trying to clear the ash from where he’d thoughtlessly brushed them against the cabin door.

  A knock on the window made Julian start. He twisted in his seat, almost wrenching his ankle, and opened his window to a heavyset man with an unimpressed expression and the dog-end of a cigarette stuck to his lower lip. The harsh illumination of the car’s interior light made the man seem sinister, and he smelled like three days in an overchlorinated swimming pool, reminding Julian of sand stuck in uncomfortable places. He shifted, wary.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Joe.”

  Julian tilted his head. “No. No, I’m Julian. Colquhoun.”

  The cigarette moved from one side of possibly Joe’s mouth to the other. “Mage?”

  “That’s right. And you’re Joe, of Joe’s Diner, I assume. West’s employer?”

  “Chef.”

  A headache began to grow in the center of Julian’s forehead. He found the smile he used for rival mages and his cousins, all teeth and dead in the eyes. With his left hand, Julian reached into his pocket for his worry stones.

  “You can keep your fucking hand right where it fucking is, Mage Colquhoun,” Joe snarled.

  Startled, Julian froze. “O—kay?”

  “And you can fucking listen.”

  “Listening.” And thinking of spells he could perform without movement or speaking. Limited, and difficult, but Julian had specifically practiced for just such a situation.

  “West is a good fucking kid. Don’t know what you’re up to, but I know you’re up to something. Your kind always are. He don’t need it.”

  “With respect, sir, it’s not your decision—”

  “Did I say you could fucking speak?”

  Julian wondered if Joe knew Mariko. He worked his jaw but held his tongue. For all Joe’s aggressive words, he didn’t ping Julian’s finely tuned threat radar. No need to cause a scene to save his tired ears. Better friends had said worse things to Julian.

  “West’s got a lot of friends here. He’d never ask us for help, but for some fucking reason, he’s decided to throw in with you. A terrible fucking idea, but it’s his. Kid don’t have much. You hurt him, and we will bury you. Understand?”

  “I understand.” Julian swallowed. “And thank you. For the warning.”

  With one final quelling look, Joe chewed on the end of his cigarette, grunted, and left Julian and his cold sweat behind. With effort Julian flexed the fingers of his left hand from where they were locked in the act of reaching into his pocket. He watched Joe amble toward t
he diner, crossing paths with West on the way, and averted his eyes at their farewells. By the time West reached the car, Julian had managed to relax.

  “All well, darling?”

  West’s mouth tightened briefly. “Fine. Thank you. Can we go?”

  “Did you arrange a date to return? What do I have to work with, here?”

  “I quit,” West said.

  He didn’t say anything else during the long drive—so, so long; Julian was never driving again in his life—to the Colquhoun family property around the bay. After a few failed attempts at joviality, Julian fell quiet and let himself think of home. At least he had one—several—to return to.

  A sprawling building with a private dock, the cottage had been built by Julian’s grandparents—mostly by the liberal use of building magic before it had been regulated by the guilds—and kept as a vacation home by their children. Julian’s mother inherited the cottage, and they’d spent many summers there over the years. She’d paid for the upkeep while they lived abroad, and Julian continued the contract when she passed away. The yacht, bobbing at its mooring, had been Julian’s father’s. Julian had learned to sail at its helm, and when he was older, had learned several other things belowdecks from summer boys.

  In the day it was beautiful. In the middle of some unholy time between midnight and dawn, Julian struggled to imagine what West might think of the property. What did he know about West, to anticipate his expectations? Glancing sidelong, he couldn’t read anything helpful from the straight lines of West’s face. Exhaustion from the frankly obscene amount of time he’d spent in a car through the day? Or nerves? Nerves would be understandable. Julian’s stomach had amassed a collection of insects, tumbling about in there like laundry on spin.

  He parked the car and cut the engine, leaving them in sudden silence. His hands still vibrated from the steering wheel, and he flexed his fingers, trying to shake away the feeling. One long day and the promise of more to come. Could he thwart Philip and Emily another way? He’d barely considered alternate options before leaping into—

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  Hands placed on the edge of the roof, West leaned in the open passenger-side door. Hair flopped over his face, obscuring his eyes. “Inside, I thought. This is your house, right?”

  “But—Shit.” Julian closed his eyes and massaged his temples as West kept walking. Shoving open his own door, Julian conjured a magelight and a smile, and raised his voice to call to West. “Darling! Please stop. There are several spells that will take your presence unkindly. Thank you, dearest!”

  Julian knew the pet names were too much, but he couldn’t help himself. He particularly enjoyed the way West’s expression clouded each time, before he worked his jaw and expelled a breath. In the limited illumination from the magelight, West’s clenched jaw gave him a particularly noble profile.

  At least Julian’s latest regret was photogenic. Their couple-photographs would be wonderful.

  Leaving his luggage in the car, Julian hustled after West and drew to a stop, bumping shoulders. Or, more accurately, his biceps bumped West’s shoulder. Julian had a few inches on West, though he hadn’t yet had a chance to realize. He wondered where else their size might differ, before reining himself in.

  Not the time.

  “If you’ll allow me?” Julian asked, gesturing to the path.

  West nodded, tucking his hair behind his ear. “For sure. Do I need to do anything?”

  “Not a thing. Just stand there and look beautiful. And hold this.”

  Julian strode away before West could do more than look alarmed at the magelight Julian had dropped into his cupped palms, taking advantage of distance to roll his eyes at himself. Darling? Beautiful? And Julian wasn’t even trying to get into West’s badly fitting pants. He’d already considered and dismissed the idea, despite his musing on measurements. Too messy. Eviscerated, roadkill-level of messy. Do not want.

  Pushing the stray thoughts aside, Julian focused on his magic. At the registration center, as a child, they’d asked how magic felt when he used it. Julian hadn’t known the words then, and had scarcely learned since, but he thought it might be something like a typhoon in the heart. Elemental and furious, barely constrained by rib cage and diaphragm, pushing at thin layers of flesh like they would split and Julian would burst into rain. He knew when he became too lost—he wanted nothing more than to change the weather.

  Controlling that wild internal force required focus and delicate manipulation of the lines of magic crisscrossing the earth. Like a stringed instrument, some lines responded easier and smoother than others. Half closing his eyes, Julian reached his hands to either side of his body and flexed his fingers into unlocking patterns. He’d made the protection spells years ago, carving symbols into home and hearth, and playing key patterns ensured they recognized him. When he reached the correct movement, the typhoon inside shuddered once and calmed.

  Like pressing an ocean under glass, his heart beat hard at the exertion but settled into rhythm once more. Julian cracked his neck from side to side and opened his eyes. With a grin he beckoned West forward.

  “Come along. It’s quite safe. Could you hold your hand like this, please?” Taking the magelight back, Julian demonstrated the hold Lauren called “spider in rigor mortis” with his other hand. Frowning slightly in concentration, West copied the pose with unexpected ease. “Correct the first time! Now, twist.”

  When West copied Julian’s gesture, the music of the earth clanged like a dropped note. Julian felt the misstep in his heart. His breath caught and he struck his chest with the heel of his hand, uselessly, since the feeling was an approximation of something happening to magic and had nothing whatsoever to do with his body.

  The warm weight of West’s hand on his, though…. Oh, that was all body. Flapping his free hand and making magic clash and sing in a cacophony—he hadn’t completed the spell—Julian twisted his other hand in West’s until they held each other, his bony fingers wrapped around West’s square palm.

  West had scars on his knuckles, little silver bites, like he’d punched through a window. Julian ran his thumb over them.

  “How did you—No, wait. No. One moment.” Julian stamped his foot, forcing his will out along the lines of magic until they settled with a thump. Unwieldy, and any lower-level mage would have made several important butterflies flap their wings in a frenzy, but it did the job. “Done. You are 90 percent less likely to explode.”

  West’s hand tightened briefly around Julian’s. “Was explosion likely?”

  Swinging their hands, Julian started walking along the path. With little choice—Julian had a reasonable hold—West walked alongside. Neither of them mentioned the hand-holding.

  “I wouldn’t say likely, but, you know…,” Julian said, shrugging one shoulder. “Safety first. Stand here. I want a picture of you with that light.”

  “Here” was the doorstep of the cottage, lit by a spell once Julian rapped on the frame and activated magelights in the brickwork. Twisting his hand, he snuffed the little light he’d been carrying, all the while avoiding looking straight at the door, where he would see a small stain his mother had hexed into the wood when she’d forgotten her key. He maneuvered West to stand just so in the doorframe.

  Definitely broader than me. And he works out. Those arms—!

  After withdrawing his phone from his pocket, Julian opened the camera and moved West slightly to the left to better utilize the limited light. Chestnut shone in West’s hair, and the yellow flecks in his eyes seemed like mage’s gold, magical in the dark. Julian fumbled with his phone, his smile increasingly brittle. He raised the phone.

  “Ready to commit to this?” He needed to stop offering West an out. Not Colquhoun behavior.

  West tilted his chin, his lips curving into a soft smile, like he thought of something far more pleasant than the mage who’d strong-armed him into marriage.

  “I already said I do, didn’t I? Take your pictures.”

  Julia
n took his pictures.

  He took a lot of pictures, even as he knew hardly any would turn out. When he was done, they finally went inside. With bed calling to them both after the long day, Julian gave West a whistle-stop tour of the cottage—mostly as an excuse to grab a box of cookies and devour them between sentences—before leaving him, and a few surviving cookies, in the guest room and retiring to the study, where his mother’s scotch collection awaited. Exhaustion weighed on him, but he couldn’t sleep. Sleeping would end the day, and Julian didn’t know if he was ready for that. His trembling hands managed to shatter one of the heirloom glasses, so Julian grabbed a mug from the kitchen for his second attempt.

  Curling up on the leather armchair by the window, he flicked through the photographs. In short order he found his favorite. West had yawned suddenly and stretched, scrubbing his hands through his hair, and when he’d finished, he’d blinked at Julian, sleepy and slow. Already thirty frames deep into the mire, Julian had automatically pressed the camera button and captured the moment.

  What the fuck have I done?

  West looked like he’d been woken with a kiss, his cheeks tinged with high color, hair tousled like someone had run their fingers through it.

  I really, really didn’t think this through.

  The doubt reminded him of Lauren’s, and Julian quickly selected the least devastating photograph of West to send her, with a note to ask if she could run facial recognition through her contacts at the MAA. She had West’s details from the contract, for further searching.

  Julian’s affection for beautiful men might lead him to make rash decisions, but he endeavored to learn from them.

  COFFEE woke Julian from his place on the couch. He sat up with a groan and pressed his neck, where one of his vertebrae tried to escape. Or at least it felt that way. The grueling drive from the day before had sunk into his bones.

  “Getting old?”

  “Mother of God!” Julian flailed in his seat, twisting to face the door and groaning twice as loudly when he discovered other aches. He grimaced at West, looking far too cheery for whatever abhorrent time of the morning it was. Definitely a meta if he had recovered from the drive so quickly. “Did you bring me coffee? I’m liable to hex people when my caffeine levels are low.”