Uninvited (Etudes in C# Book 3)

by Jamie Wyman

  Uninvited

  Etudes in C#, No. 3

  by

  Jamie Wyman

  Pajamazon Wordworks

  Phoenix, AZ USA

  www.jamiewyman.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by Jamie Wyman.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights or permissions please contact the author.

  First Edition October 2016

  Edited by Danielle Poiesz and Double Vision Editorial

  Cover design by Nathalia Suellen

  ISBN 10: 0990392570

  ISBN 978-0-9903925-7-6

  ISBN 978-0-9903925-6-9 (e-book)

  ISBN 978-0-9903925-8-3 (Audio)

  Printed in the United States of America

  Works by Jamie Wyman

  The Etudes in C# Series

  Wild Card

  Unveiled

  Uninvited

  Crash Haus Stories (Abaddon Books)

  “A Scandal In Hobohemia” (included in the anthology Two Hundred Twenty-One Baker Streets)

  “The Case of the Tattooed Bride” (included in the collection alt. sherlock. holmes)

  This book is lovingly dedicated to the muse for Mrs. McIntyre, my grandmother Joan Yoder.

  November 3, 1920 – April 12, 2016

  Love you, Pumpkin.

  Chapter One

  “Friend Is a Four Letter Word”

  Wispy gray hair billowed in a cloud around a pink sweatband as Mrs. McIntyre jogged up to her front door. She waved to me when Flynn’s car pulled into my parking space. Ever since her hip had miraculously healed last winter—thanks to some technomagic from my friend Karma—the old lady had been training for one of those glow-in-the dark 5K races.

  “Happy birthday, Cathy!” my landlady sang from her front door.

  I tried to suppress my cringe. Really, I did, but I despise the nickname. The eye roll is a reflex at this point. I tried very hard to hide it from her, though, as I genuinely love Mrs. McIntyre.

  “Cathy,” Flynn said with a laugh from the driver’s seat beside me.

  “She can call me that. You can’t. That’s not a privilege you’ve earned.”

  Flynn cut the engine and unbuckled his seat belt. “How does one earn that particular merit badge?”

  “By being an adorable Fraggle who’s older than jazz, and by nearly getting killed because of me.”

  “I’m older than jazz,” muttered my friend, the god.

  “Doesn’t count. She’s mortal.”

  Taking a deep breath and fixing a smile on my face, I shoved out of the car. As Flynn and I collected the grocery bags from the trunk, I gave a quick wave to my Fraggle.

  “Hey, Mrs. M. Thanks for the card you left on my door. It was a very good start to a happy birthday.”

  Mrs. McIntyre smiled toothlessly. “And many more.”

  “Race you to the door, Cat!” Flynn dashed past her and toward my apartment, a rustle of paper and plastic.

  “Big fun planned for tonight, dear?” she asked, ignoring him.

  “Not really. Most of my friends had plans tonight, so it’s just me and that doofus.” I nodded toward Flynn. “Quiet night in with movies and munchies.”

  He turned around mid-jog and called, “We’ll keep it to a dull roar, Mrs. M.”

  “All right, you kids have fun.” She gave a wave of her hand, sending us off like we were her favorite grandchildren.

  She padded into her place and turned on her television. Murder, She Wrote blared out the open window into the balmy Las Vegas evening. Not only is Mrs. McIntyre arthritic but she’s going deaf.

  “Don’t know why you’re in a hurry,” I shouted to Flynn. “I’ve got the key.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped me before.”

  I conceded the point. As technomancers, we could pop locks with a thought. Flynn had taught me damn near everything I knew about being a technomage, but certainly not everything he knew. Of course, being a deity masquerading as a bartender, Flynn knew everything, so it would be difficult to pass on the sum total of existence over a beer and tacos. In the grand scheme of things, a chintzy little lock from Home Depot would be as much of a barrier to him as a piece of wet toilet paper would be to a runaway truck.

  As I watched him bound ahead of me, I noticed a dark mass on my doorstep, a Rorschach blot in the evening. It could’ve been anything from a lumpy trash bag to an elephant dressed as a ninja.

  “Goatfucker!” Flynn yelled.

  Or it could be a— Wait, what? The gears in my mind turned. It can’t be…

  But there’s only one person worthy of such a pet name. Yet, there was no reason in hell he should have been anywhere near me or my home.

  “Marius?” I asked, my voice weak.

  I hitched up my grocery bags and broke into a sprint toward my apartment. The closer I got, the clearer it became that the turncoat satyr sat on my stoop. It was also obvious that if I didn’t intervene quickly, Flynn was going to skin him alive. When I caught up to Flynn, he was already holding Marius by the collar of his T-shirt.

  “…hoped I’d have the chance, but I never dreamed you’d be stupid enough to come back,” the god growled through his teeth.

  “Put him down, Flynn,” I said.

  He shot me a murderous look over his shoulder. His eyes blazed with fury as red and spiky as his hair. Orange light coursed through the linear tattoos on both his arms as he built power.

  “Put. Him. Down,” I repeated sharply. My eyes drifted away from my teacher and to the visitor. His head lolled and Marius was soon facing me.

  I gasped.

  Marius hung limply from Flynn’s grip. His long black hair was a tangled mass of snarls. The locks were matted where blood clotted at his temples, one eye was swollen shut, and a crimson crust drew a line down his beard from his fat lip. Over his cheeks, purple bruises spread out like shadowy blossoms. The satyr’s clothes were torn and stained. Making no attempt to struggle, he dangled limply from Flynn’s fists. His hands dangled uselessly at his sides, and his legs remained folded on the ground beneath him.

  He looked like he’d lost a fight with a particularly rusty meat grinder.

  “It’s a glamour,” Flynn said. “Trick of the eyes to get us to feel sorry for him.”

  “You don’t know that,” I said, my voice shrill.

  “Does it matter? Do you need me to remind you about the last time we saw him? How he fucked us over?”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at Marius’s broken face or Flynn’s rage. What I saw in the dark of my mind wasn’t much prettier, though. A fiery altar dedicated to an ancient flesh-eating god. Cultists charging forward with flashes of bloodlust and religious zeal. Mages flinging spells around the room. Me and my friends. outnumbered and unprepared to meet one of Hell’s own generals.

  And there was Marius.

  Running away.

  And with those images came other feelings. My strange kinship with the satyr, and yes, a level of affection I wasn’t proud of, nor did I particularly care to acknowledge.

  I swallowed a knot of conflicting emotions and opened my eyes. “Please, Flynn.”

  “Cat, he left us to die!”

  “Business,” Marius croaked.

  “I know all about your business,” Flynn seethed. His knuckles tightened around Marius’s T-shirt, drawing the satyr an inch or two higher off the ground.

  Marius licked his lips and shook his
head. “With Catherine,” he rasped. Wheezy breaths obscured his British accent, forced him to speak in bursts of only a couple of words at a time. “Miss Sharp, please. I need…asylum.”

  Flynn let out a puff of derisive laughter. “As if you have any right to ask.”

  “Beg of you.”

  As far as I knew, Marius had never begged for anything in his long, debauchery-filled life. And if he was asking me for help?

  I numbed myself against the pain of seeing him in such a state, against Flynn’s inevitable reaction as I answered. “Fine.”

  The single word echoed as if I’d struck a giant drum. It carried with it a strange finality but also a measure of ominous foreboding. I’d committed. But to what?

  Flynn whipped around to face me. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Marius,” I said with all the stony resolve I could muster, “you are allowed in my home until morning.”

  Flynn thrust him to the ground and Marius melted with a groan of relief, renewed pain, or some combination of the two. Kicking at the gravel and muttering curses to himself, Flynn dragged his hands through his hair in frustration.

  I kept my voice cold and passionless. “You can stay tonight. I’ll hear what you have to say. Anything after that is negotiable.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Flynn said.

  “However,” I said sternly, “if you are lying, Marius…if this is some sort of trick on your part or Eris’s…if you try to steal from me, swindle me, or otherwise fuck with my head, I promise you will regret you ever asked for my help.”

  His head bobbed in a weak nod. “Understood.”

  Without another word, I took Marius’s arm and looped it around my neck and shoulders. I did my best to hoist him up off the ground. When I stumbled, Flynn begrudgingly took the satyr’s other arm and got him to his feet. I opened the door and the three of us did a strange dance to maneuver him in.

  The lights flashed on, wickedly bright, and a chorus of voices shouted, “Happy birthday!”

  People filled my small living room. Dave and Mel from work. Slash and Aeo—a couple of scene kids from the club. I even saw my sister Christine’s face blinking at me from Karma’s tablet. Hooray Skype?

  Smiles drooped and expressions melted to confusion or horror as they took in the sight of our odd trio.

  I looked over Marius’s back to Flynn.

  Acerbic and apologetic, he said, “Surprise.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered.

  What do you say when you walk into a party with a bloody mess of a man?

  “Um, hi, guys,” I said with a little too much cheer. “Just give us…um… Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

  What? I couldn’t think of anything clever, and neither could you.

  I nodded toward my bedroom and nudged Flynn forward. Marius shuffled along between our bodies. A path cleared in front of us, the apartment buzzing with a million unasked questions.

  “What the hell?” Karma voiced one of them. Behind me, I heard her say, “Christine, we’ll call you back.” A second or two later she was in front of me, opening the door to my bedroom. Flynn let go of Marius, and the satyr’s whole weight dragged at my shoulders, which made me launch into a strange spin of sorts as my legs buckled. I tried to heave Marius toward the bed. His arms spread out to break his fall, but he bounced off the side of the mattress, sliding to his knees on the floor. His face twisted with pain as he let out a choked noise.

  “Never thought I’d see a satyr miss a bed,” Flynn mused. He bared his teeth in a sickening perversion of his usual smile. He was enjoying Marius’s pain too much.

  Karma swatted at her ex’s shoulder, but her attention was focused on Marius. Her heart-shaped face was set with concern as she stared at the satyr. “What’s he doing here?”

  Flynn put a protective arm around her shoulders and tried to guide her out of the room. “He’s not staying long.”

  She shrugged away from him and pulled up beside me, taking my hand in hers. She was trembling. I looked into her chocolate eyes and saw that Karma, too, was warring with conflicting feelings about my unexpected guest. She knew some of his more recent sins, and she’d been on the altar that night when he ran away. He’d left her behind, too. But Karma—a technomage with healing skills, and a nurse by trade—couldn’t just sit idly by and watch someone who was clearly in need of help.

  “Do you want me to grab my ‘first aid kit’?” she asked, subtle emphasis on the last three words.

  I squeezed her hand and sighed with a small measure of relief.

  “Don’t waste it on him,” Flynn said darkly. “He’s faking it anyway. Let’s go. I’ll lock him in.”

  I glared at Flynn. “Leave us for a second.”

  “What?”

  “Go. Please,” I said a little too sharply. To Karma, I added, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Her grip tightened for a second before she released my hand and spun for the door. She trailed a dark finger against Flynn’s pale arm on her way. His jaw worked and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed whatever he’d been about to say.

  “I’ll go get the food,” he muttered quietly.

  “I’ll help you,” Karma said.

  They left the room, Flynn making damn sure to slam the door.

  Marius winced as he pulled himself up onto the bed. Winded, he lay there on his back, gasping to catch his breath.

  I sat on the edge of the mattress and just watched him while the tug-of-war raged in my head. Marius had been a friend. He’d helped me out of a jam on more than one occasion and even saved my life a time or two. He’d also bugged out on me during a fight when things had looked dire. Though he used magic to conceal his horns and goat’s legs, it was another example of how Marius could never buck his nature. By birth, he was a satyr—a hedonistic, selfish creature—and by trade, or necessity, he was a liar and a thief. I’d known him for a very long time. Long enough to understand that what I saw could be an illusion. The other edge of that particular sword, however, was that watching him writhe in pain yanked at my heart.

  Flynn didn’t know the real Marius, the one beneath the glamour. I’d seen that person once. The pitiable bastard had lived for centuries under a curse that rendered him impotent, unable to feel the slightest of pleasures. In time, what should have been a jovial soul atrophied and grew sour. I’d seen Marius’s truth—naked and pathetic—and no amount of anger could exorcise my sympathy for him. I’d been a prisoner once, too. I still wanted him to be free.

  And now he was in my bed, a broken and bloody mess.

  When his rattling breaths calmed, he rolled onto his side. His shirt stretched, the tears widening over four evenly spaced gashes. The wounds spread from his back and around his ribs. Similar marks could be seen on one of his calves.

  I thought of the many versions of Marius I’d known over the years, the layers of masks he hid behind. When we’d met, he had been a lecherous playboy type, his suits always pressed and shoes shined. He’d also been an ally. A warrior with a gleaming saber, eyes aglow with magic. A con artist with sticky fingers. I’d seen through all of it once. I’d seen him naked, metaphorically—a tortured, withered, malnourished soul. Well, okay, I’d seen him physically naked, too, but I hadn’t exactly wanted to at the time.

  But he resembled his truest self as he lay there on my bed. Holding his stomach, eyes clenched tight with pain, he once again tried to moisten his lips.

  “Didn’t know. Where to go,” he said, his voice dry as sandpaper.

  I sighed and said nothing. In the small bathroom attached to my bedroom, I filled a glass with water and soaked a washcloth. I had no intention of playing Florence Nightingale to the bastard, but he was visibly dehydrated. And he was getting blood on my sheets.

  When I returned, he was still, breathing in a reedy but steady rhythm. My tuxedo tomcat, Linux, had come out from his den beneath the bed to curl up against Marius’s feet and administer purr therapy. The cat looked up at me with his golden stare, as if to s
ay, I’ve got this.

  I left the glass and washcloth on the bedside table where Marius would see them.

  Music began to blare from the next room, an electronic bass beat that called to my blood. Outside of that door were people who gave a damn about me, people who didn’t think about how they could use me. Some of them, like Flynn and Karma, knew about the other world I navigated—a place of magic, mythical creatures and all-too-real gods. The rest of them remained blissfully ignorant.

  I closed my eyes and made a promise to myself: for the next few hours, that other world would cease to exist, even if I had to drown it in a flood of whiskey and red velvet cake. For one night, I’d be normal.

  Chapter Two

  “Open Book”

  With the final minutes of my birthday long since ticked away and the last of the guests safely home, Flynn, Karma, and I cleaned up. Honestly, it could have waited until a reasonable hour—like two in the afternoon—but three a.m. is always a good time for procrastination.

  During the party, Flynn and I had played nice, and with Karma’s help we managed to shrug off questions about our injured visitor. But now that we were alone, a chilly silence filled the ether. We didn’t speak as Flynn and I circled the proverbial elephant in the room. He roamed with a trash bag, picking up plates and bottles and casting the occasional glance toward my bedroom. Karma did dishes in the kitchen behind me while I busied myself by putting away leftover food and nipping a few bites of frosting.

  The light click of an opening door caught my attention. Before I could turn toward the sound, Linux bounded out of my bedroom and rammed his bulk against my ankles. With a pitiful mew and an insistent bat at my knee, His Highness made his demands clear.

  I plucked a piece of turkey from the party tray and tossed it to him. “A gift of peace in all good faith.”

  Linux accepted his tithe and noshed, his purrs sounding more like a pig’s snorts.

  Flynn’s trash bag rustled a bit more forcefully and plates landed in it a bit more loudly. Now looking toward my room, I watched Marius make his entrance.