Mage of Inconvenience

by Parker Foye

  Julian needed to focus his energies on accessing the library, not on West.

  As they’d sailed a little way around the lake, hugging the shore, Julian had subtly performed a few spells while West bustled about on the yacht, checking West’s sincerity and intent. Spells of that nature were complex, and the results vague, but there had been no red flags since West’s expedition the day before. Whatever reason West had to lie, he didn’t intend to hurt Julian. The results had been welcome. Julian wanted to trust West; if they couldn’t trust each other, they wouldn’t be able to deceive anyone else.

  He readjusted his sunglasses and checked their heading. Keeping his attention on steering meant he didn’t have time to sink into a mire over West. The yacht mostly ran itself, thanks to several complicated spells, but Julian had never quite cracked hands-free navigation. And anyway, he liked to imagine how he looked with wind in his hair as he gazed toward the horizon, at the perfect angle for someone in the afterdeck to admire his profile.

  If West gave a shit about Julian’s profile, he kept his opinions disappointingly quiet. He seemed to enjoy the breeze, his expression serene as they docked at an anchorage spot Julian had discovered as a child and maintained as an adult. The spot seemed unwelcoming at first glance, thanks to layers of camouflage spells, but Julian gestured and the spells moved aside to allow him to dock. Another gesture, and the disguises reassembled.

  West huffed a breath. “Did you hide this place? Is that what the magic does?”

  Heat rose to Julian’s cheeks. “Perhaps. Just a little.”

  Mother had called it cheating. Julian had chosen not to hear her chastising, since she allowed him to hide their private dock well enough and had helped him with the tricky parts. She’d always been best at knotty problems. Their yacht would be similarly disguised, so long as they remained under the cloud of the spell. Selfish, perhaps, but the MAA hadn’t outlawed selfishness yet.

  And we all need our indulgences.

  Speaking of. Julian withdrew their picnic lunch from the cooler, packed with salad and sandwiches and sparkling cider. Nothing elaborate, but enough to feed them both. Julian cast a glance at West from under his hair and chewed his lip. Probably enough to feed them both.

  “Are we getting off?” West asked, eyes tracking Julian’s movements.

  Julian snorted. Not today. He attempted to cover his reaction with a cough. “I thought we might eat on the yacht. It’s cozy, this time of year. Heating spells in the wood, you see.”

  “Seems there’s spells for everything.”

  “Not as much as you’d think,” Julian muttered, clanking the cider bottles on the afterdeck to disguise his words. He needed to keep track of what he was saying, too used to being alone with his thoughts. “Come along. Sit down. Not worried about biting, are you?”

  West’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but he didn’t comment as he sat. They arranged themselves on the couches facing each other, the food between them. Neutral territory.

  Okay. Here goes.

  “I think we should get to know each other, don’t you?” Julian asked as West picked up a sandwich and examined the contents with more suspicion than Julian thought warranted. “It’s chicken. I bought fresh bread and everything. Answer the question, please.”

  West nodded jerkily, more concerned with the sandwich. “If you want.”

  “If I—Look, West. My betrothed. You’re going to have to push back, you know. Or I’ll run straight over you. That doesn’t make for a healthy marriage.” Julian had enough self-awareness to know that much.

  “What about a fake marriage?”

  “This isn’t fake. That’s the thing. This has to be real, for all intents and purposes, otherwise you should just return the ring and—Shit.”

  West lowered the sandwich he’d finally deigned to taste. He swallowed before speaking. “Shit what?”

  “Rings.”

  They didn’t have rings. Nothing even resembling a ring, and everyone knew Julian loved ostentation. He’d give West a ring dripping with diamonds too heavy to lift rather than leave his fingers naked. If Julian had truly proposed, he’d have something glittery and exorbitantly expensive prepared in advance. They’d fallen at the first marital hurdle.

  “Make a note. We’ll get rings tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” West said agreeably.

  “So what about your walkabout yesterday and our abrupt relocation? Care to share on that?” Julian asked, taking a swig of cider immediately afterward so as not to rescind his courage in asking. Confrontation, in any form, felt awkward. Not to mention the invasiveness of the question. Personal business, Julian. None of yours. Ghosts of old conversations haunted him.

  West picked the chicken from another sandwich, as he apparently had terrible table manners, and chewed. Swallowed. It took an age. Julian almost checked for gray hairs, West took so fucking long.

  “I don’t think I want to share. Yet,” West said. He plucked another piece of chicken from the carcass of his sandwich. “If that’s okay.”

  “‘Yet’ means you will, though, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  Julian leaned back, crossed his legs, and rested his elbows on his knees, studying West like there’d be an exam later. Like he could find the truth written on the lines of West’s face if he looked hard enough.

  I’m such an idiot for letting this go.

  But Julian had learned compromise. Whatever had West spooked, he’d become more relaxed as they sailed, smiling as the cottage grew small. Julian trusted magic, and his spells of intent brought nothing sinister, but he didn’t like the squirmy feeling of knowing West kept something from him.

  I suppose we’re a perfect match in that respect.

  Julian picked at the corner of his sandwich, his appetite absent. He’d never been good with people. Magic, yes. People, no. Lauren said he didn’t care enough to be good with people.

  “Okay,” he said, tearing a corner of bread and eating it. At least they matched for table manners. “But no more of this bullshit. We’re partners in this, aren’t we? You help me, I help you.”

  “And then I can go home.”

  “Precisely.”

  They each studied their food as the unmentioned time frame weighed between them. Sure, West could go home—but not until his home was safe and he’d helped Julian acquire what he wanted. Little wonder West guarded his secrets so fiercely. Julian couldn’t imagine what an arsehole he’d be were the situation reversed. Yet his privilege was that he’d never have to.

  Attempting to channel some of his newfound magnanimity into action, Julian raised the bottle of cider.

  “Refill?” he offered.

  When West passed over his glass, he smiled. Julian’s hand shook a little, but that was probably just the yacht, rocking with the water.

  AFTER they’d returned to the cottage, sailing in newly comfortable silence, Julian had begged off supper to retire to bed. Too much concentrating for the magic to go smoothly, he’d said, touching his temples like he had a headache. Never mind the spells were nearly all automated. West didn’t know, and Julian desperately wanted a moment alone to process.

  Until he’d looked across at West and spoke about rings, he hadn’t really—truly—considered the marriage would go ahead. He’d thought West would jump ship—perhaps literally—and be done with Julian and his nonsense. Julian wasn’t deluded. He knew who he was, and what he’d done, and what he was capable of doing again. He had magic in his corner and, therefore, had never given much thought to the danger posed from others. True, that attitude had blown up in his face once or twice, but magic remained by his side when nothing else had.

  It looked like West would stick around long enough to see his end of their deal. Julian didn’t know what to do with that. He leaned against the locked door to his mother’s library—the door in the cottage looked like a french window made of frosted glass—and tried to control his nervous trembling.

  I’m engaged to be married, and I barely kn
ow anything about my future groom.

  I’m engaged to be married, and my future groom barely knows anything about me.

  He thumped his head gently against the cool glass of the door, casting his gaze to the ceiling. His eyes stung but he wouldn’t cry. Julian hadn’t cried for years.

  I’m engaged, and my mother isn’t here to laugh at me.

  With a snarl of temper, Julian twisted to his feet, grabbed the door’s narrow handle, and yanked it until his biceps ached and his hands striped with red indentations. When he gave up, cursing under his breath, he watched letters squeak into existence from the other side of the door.

  Nice try, Julian.

  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, a watery smile on his lips. His mother had always had a twisted sense of humor.

  Abandoning his latest fruitless efforts to get into the library, Julian headed for his room. The route took him past the suite he’d given West, and he had to dart into an empty bedroom when he glimpsed West exiting the washroom in a billow of steam. Julian peeked around the corner, feeling ridiculous.

  Hiding in my own damn house.

  But, by God, West was pretty to look at. Water glistened off his chest as he briskly scrubbed himself with one of Julian’s plush towels, turning as if to offer Julian a perfect view of the dimples above his arse. The second towel clung low to West’s hips like Julian clung to the ledge he was rapidly falling from. Scars and hair lay thick on West’s body in equal measure, lingering in Julian’s mind like an afterimage as West slipped into his room and shut the door.

  When he’d managed to retreat to his own room, Julian replayed the image as he relaxed onto the bed, kicking off his clothes. He imagined following the line of water with his fingers, gently at first, then harder, leaving red lines down the expanse of West’s back, kissing his neck, until West let out a noise—a grunt, maybe, or maybe a growl—and spun around, pinning Julian to the wall.

  Yes. Just like that.

  Licking his lips, Julian started to slowly stroke himself, arching his hips into his hand. In his imagination West aligned their hips together, pressing Julian into the wall with his weight. They kissed fiercely, and West yanked Julian’s hair free from its tie until it tangled between them. Julian simply held on to West’s broad shoulders and let West do what he wanted.

  There could be a lot West wanted. In his fantasy Julian was prepared to let him have it. He jacked himself more quickly, twisting his wrist and chasing release, clamping his other hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds he made. The West of his dreams came in a hot spurt over Julian’s stomach and, a few desperate strokes later, Julian came over himself too. He panted, slightly shamefaced at fantasizing about the man he’d offered to help, but reasoned he’d done worse. He scratched his stomach, belatedly remembering the spunk.

  Much stickier than in fantasies.

  Rolling to his feet, Julian grabbed his discarded shirt and lazily wiped himself down, crossing the room to crack open a window. He didn’t want to wake to the stale smell of sex, when the chance to get sex fresh off the line was so limited.

  After yanking his boxers on, Julian sprawled out on his bed. He checked his phone to take his mind off his actions, meaning to study the markers from West’s cabin but finding himself checking his email instead. His student, Nolan, had been withdrawn recently. Sometimes he went quiet, picking up extra hours at his job, but they’d been exchanging more and more messages, and he’d not gone dark since the start of spring. Julian had been slow in responding to the last email, what with getting engaged, and he hoped Nolan hadn’t read anything into the delay. He sent a link to an article he thought Nolan might like and checked in on the study group, directing some of the students in their research and answering questions from others. None from the one he wanted.

  This is why Lauren warned against getting a teacher’s pet.

  They were almost at the end of the course. Julian worried Nolan would miss the exam, with a paper to be submitted and an online test Julian needed to proctor. After the students passed, the associated college would issue certificates and try to upsell the next course level, and Julian’s bank account would receive a few hundred dollars for his efforts.

  He didn’t need the money. Lauren had told him, over and over again, that teaching was a waste of his time, considering how much money sat in his accounts. She didn’t understand, and Julian would never tell her, how much he loved teaching. Even at a distance like he did. From their first tentative discussions, regurgitating the facts he’d taught them, his students had blossomed into argumentative little shits able to cite at fifty paces. And Julian had learned things too, about people most of all. But also esoteric facts from ancient sources Nolan had dug up.

  Nolan was obviously a meta. Maybe that’s why he’d never given Julian anything more than his name. Although laws and feelings had changed, some metas remained hesitant to divulge their status. And it was none of Julian’s business anyway.

  Brooding over their past conversations, scrolling through their history, Julian jumped when his phone rang in his hand. Lauren.

  “My favorite Lauren,” he said, sitting up against the headboard. “What have you got for me at this time of day?”

  “How are you? Oh, I’m fine, thanks. The weather’s nice—”

  “All right, all right.” Julian cleared his throat. “How are you? I care about your well-being and am not at all concerned about possibly being engaged to… to, I don’t know. A smuggler.”

  Lauren huffed a breath. “Smuggler? That’s what you’re worried about? And I’m fine. Just rattling your cage, you uptight bugger.”

  “I know that. I do. But today I had dinner with my betrothed by the lake after he ran off last night for some errand I can’t find any information about. And then—Well. You understand my interest in the results of your background check.”

  After Julian sent the photo to Lauren for a background check, she’d called him to throw a conniption, saying how Julian should’ve looked into West’s past before agreeing to the marriage. He’d argued time had been of the essence, but, in truth, Julian hadn’t been thinking about such sensible matters when he’d seen West in Toronto. Magic had kept him—mostly—safe for years. He had no reason to think West would do anything Julian couldn’t handle. The thought had only occurred later, when it turned out he hadn’t taken West’s everything into account. See recent masturbatory fantasies for evidence.

  Foolish Julian.

  “Oh, Julian. You’ve done something silly, haven’t you?”

  “A little.” Julian seesawed his hand from side to side, though Lauren couldn’t see.

  Another huff of breath. “I’ve checked with my contacts at the MAA about West, and so far they’ve come up with nothing—”

  “That’s splendid!”

  “No. I mean they’ve come up with nothing. West Irving doesn’t exist under MAA. He’s never registered. No school, no work, no damn taxes.”

  Julian frowned. “But he had a job. I know he did.”

  “Cash under the table and tax evasion? I don’t know. It doesn’t look good.”

  Thinking back to his spells for intent, Julian curled his toes into his sheets and ducked his head to protect himself from suspicious thoughts. He’d tried to shed his paranoia in the last year. Chances were West’s information had been misfiled somewhere.

  For his entire life.

  “Just—Please keep looking. I need this to work. I want this to work.”

  “Is the money worth all this trouble, Julian?” He could hear the frown in Lauren’s voice.

  He clenched his jaw. It had never been about the money, but he’d let everyone think it was.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll keep looking. Stay safe.”

  “You too. Miss you.”

  Julian tossed his phone aside and flopped back on the bed, turning his face into the pillow. He didn’t want to think about West Irving not existing. Pressing his hot face into the cool fabric, he didn’t want to
think about anything at all. He twisted his hand and the lights in his room extinguished. If only consciousness went so quick.

  A KNOCK on the door woke Julian at—he squinted at his phone—an ungodly hour of the morning. His protection spells hadn’t broken in the night, so no one had an excuse to wake him before sunrise. Reaching for his magic, he’d half twisted his fingers together when he remembered West. The arrangement.

  My excellent, terrible decisions.

  Rolling over, Julian sighed. “Come in!” Because I’m not getting out of bed.

  The door opened slowly, and the early-morning shadows resolved into West’s frame, lit by the flashlight from his phone. From what Julian could see, West wore jeans, boots, and jacket. Julian screwed up his face in what was surely a most unattractive fashion.

  “Are you dressed? Already?”

  “I was—Are you naked?” West course-corrected, gaze flickering between Julian’s face and where the sheets pooled around Julian’s waist.

  “Is there a correct answer to that question?” Julian teased, tempted to throw the sheets aside and see what West’s reaction would be when he saw Julian’s boxers.

  West flushed but soldiered on. “I wondered, would you like to watch the sunrise together? Maybe?”

  Julian groaned. “I hoped my phone was lying to me. Is it really so early?”

  He hadn’t woken before dawn since his last bout of nightmares.

  “We don’t have to, if you don’t want.”

  “No, no. We should. Thank you for waking me. I’ll be grateful. Eventually.”