by Jamie Wyman
“Where would we be going?” I asked warily.
“Across the pond,” Marius said. “So shall we have an adventure? I believe you’d expressed an interest in leaving town.”
My stomach fluttered. I’d been on business trips with Marius before when we both worked for Eris. I’d never been to Europe, though. I fought back the urge to dive in headfirst and pack my bags, but only barely. “With or without random attacks from huge beasties?”
“No way to know, but isn’t that part of the fun?”
Something lounged in his eyes that I hadn’t seen in a very long time: wicked merriment. The fight in the club had certainly gotten my blood pumping. Maybe that’s what had dislodged Marius’s melancholy. Or maybe it was seeing his brother and wrestling with him. Regardless, Marius radiated a playful spirit begging to sprint off and dance across clouds toward the second star to the right.
And it was contagious. “When do we leave?” I asked, smiling.
Marius held up a finger. “As soon as I grab a few of my personal effects from the storage unit, we’ll take leave of this wretched city.” Turning to his brother, he said, “I’ll meet you back at home, shall I, Malcolm?”
Mal fidgeted with his hair and shuffled from foot to foot. “About that… I was actually hoping you could give me a lift to the homestead.”
A crease formed on Marius’s brow as he glared at Malcolm. “Why?”
“Well…” His voice trailed off, and once again Malcolm’s eyes darted to me with a secretive glance. “Well, I’ve gone and, um…lost me keys, so to speak.”
“Lost them?”
“It’s not my fault,” Malcolm said, backpedaling for his life.
Marius’s voice rose to a roar. “Lost them?!”
“What’s the deal?” I asked. “It’s just a set of keys.”
Marius held up a hand. “It’s not just keys, Catherine. These are special, rare, and magical items. And this moron has gone and lost his!”
“I’ve been roamin’ around town,” Mal explained. “No proper place to stay, right? So I must’ve lost them between one bed and another. As long as you’ve got yours, I can get back home easy as you please.”
Marius pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Christ, Mal,” he breathed. “Nothing’s changed with you, has it?”
“Come off it, you high and mighty twat. Just let me borrow yours.”
“No.”
“We’ll pop home, and I can grab the old man’s. What’s the problem?”
Feeling more and more like an intruder, I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tried to ignore them. I wasn’t all that successful.
“No, Malcolm,” Marius growled, “and that’s final.”
“Oh, what, so you can teach me a lesson, is that it?”
“I don’t have mine!” Marius spat in his face.
Malcolm backed off, struck dumb as if he’d been smacked. “You don’t have them?”
“Not with me, no.”
Marius stalked to me and urged me toward the car. From behind him, Malcolm called, “Now how the hell am I supposed to get back? And you take the piss out of me when you’ve gone and lost your own keys?”
“I didn’t lose mine, Mal. I know right where they are.”
“Back with Eris?” I guessed.
He shook his head. “Never trusted them near her. They’re in my storage unit on the other side of town.”
“You sure the unit is safe?”
Marius nodded. “Under a dummy name that no one could associate with me. Cash only, that kind of thing. I made sure to keep something no one would ever find but me. What I keep there is far too valuable to let Eris get her claws around. Would you be up for a drive? The sooner I get my things, the sooner I’ll be rid of this bastard.”
“Brilliant!” Malcolm said. “But first, I want me bike back.”
“Why?” I asked. “It will be faster if we just go straight there.”
Mal shook his head. “I’m not going to be in the car with you if that thing comes chasin’ up behind us. I don’t know what you’ve done, Marius, but I want no part of it. Take me back to my bike, and I’ll follow you there and keep me pretty face where it belongs.”
“Wonderful,” Marius said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Ten
“Stickshifts and Safetybelts”
After dropping Mal across the street from Sapphire so that he could retrieve his bike, Marius gave me the cross streets of the self-storage lot. For the first few miles, the satyr sat simmering in the passenger seat. The cyclops-like high beam of Malcolm’s motorcycle was a constant in my rearview as we wound across Las Vegas.
“So,” I said, cutting into Marius’s contemplative silence, “you have a brother.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I just never really thought of you as having a family or anything.”
“What did you think? That I burst fully formed in all my glory from the stars?”
I snorted. “More like writhed up from the mud where your goat mother dropped you.”
“My mother was quite human, I’ll have you know.”
“Wow. You learn something new every day.” I tapped on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. “I guess it’s inevitable that you’d have siblings, though, with all the scrumping satyrs do.”
“It’s actually quite rare. Not the shagging, mind,” he added quickly, “but the spawning. Satyrs aren’t the most fertile creatures. For one of our kind, breeding is so difficult you’d think that the stars had to align and end in a perfect eclipse. Malcolm and I are especially unique.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, my father was rather prolific in his affairs. I could fill libraries with tales of his exploits.”
I couldn’t help but smirk. “Come on, how many are we talking here?”
“Darling, my father is old enough to have seduced Mary Magdalene. All those years, all the women he could find, and with his grandiose appetite? I don’t know the actual number, but you know that line about over a billion served?”
“Yeah?”
“Father would be competitive.”
“Wow,” I said weakly. The light changed, and I drove on.
“Even with an exorbitant figure like that under his belt, fewer than ten of father’s lovers gave him children. Only two of those were sons.”
“So you have sisters, too?”
“Had,” he said. “Long ago. I only ever met one or two of them. The last one died, I believe, somewhen around the French Revolution.”
“Died? How?”
“Females born of unions with satyrs will be mortals, and none of the good stuff comes through for them. I mean, they might be tomcats in the sack. Personally, I’ve never shagged one of my sisters, so I wouldn’t know. But males born to a satyr’s lover will always take after the father. As far as I know, Malcolm and I are the last of our line.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Why? Mortality happens, Catherine, even to the best of you. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you get used to watching people die.”
“Cheerful thought.”
I took a left and chewed on my lip, trying not to think of myself as just another mortal in his collection. It made sense now—his aloof and selfish nature. If I knew I was going to lose everyone I knew I’d probably avoid making any lasting connections, too.
Marius seemed to like talking about his nature, though. As he kept on educating me on satyr genetics, I wondered how long it had been since someone gave a damn to ask. I guess immortality works both ways.
“So you and Malcolm, you’re from different mothers?”
“Yes. My mother was from London while the hag who birthed him was a chav from Newcastle. We’re only a few years apart, though, so we were raised together. Father prefers to roam and spread as much of himself over the countryside as he can. He’s made it a stone bitch to find a woman in the entire United Kingdom. I’m surprised Malcolm still calls it home.”
“I don’t understand,” I said.
“Once a woman has mated with a satyr, she cannot be claimed by any in his bloodline. Not by magic, anyway. If I tried to shag any of Father’s former conquests, it would have to be by sheer merit and cunning. No amount of spells would break the hold Father’s blood had on her. I find it difficult to believe Malcolm would have any sort of sport if our father is still in action. Which reminds me…”
Peripherally I saw Marius paw through his hair. He grunted, and when his hand came away, he had a lock of black hair pinched between his fingers. His hands worked deftly, braiding the strands in his lap.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Cockblocking my brother,” he muttered tersely. “The last thing I need is for him to liquefy you the second you get out of the car. I don’t want him to distract you.”
I smirked. “And what if I want him to distract me?”
He shot a fearful glance at me. Marius scanned my face for any sign that I might be bluffing. For fun, I popped my eyebrows at him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, turning his attention back to the braid. “He’s a despicable creature with about as much sense as a spoon. He’s got no class, no style, and is lousy at holding his drink. No appreciation for the finer things in life.”
“I don’t know,” I taunted. “It might be fun to climb your family tree.”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Catherine,” he warned. “I need you focused on the real world, not on whatever sordid fantasies Malcolm was putting in your head.”
“He’s easy enough on the eyes…”
“Wouldn’t happen,” he scoffed. “I’ll grant that he might be pretty enough to rouse a bit of interest, but once he opens his mouth, it’s all over. He’s dumb as a stick, and everything he says proves it. Besides, I know you. You’d never be content with a fling with someone as selfish and careless as my little brother.”
“That’s rich,” I laughed, a slight bitter edge slipping into my tone. “You’re calling him selfish?”
“Malcolm doesn’t give a damn about anyone other than Malcolm.”
“Does that run in the family, too, or is it a coincidence?”
He whipped his head around to face me, stricken. “Is that really what you think of me?”
The pain in his eyes stripped the smile off my face. I’d actually cut Marius with my words. I opened my mouth to speak, but he waved me off.
“Forget it,” he said. “I don’t think I want to know the answer.”
Focused on the lock of hair in his hands, Marius went mute for the rest of the drive.
When we pulled up to the maze of self-storage units, he got out of the car and keyed in a passcode to open the gates. I drove along behind him as he walked through the rows of lockers. When we reached unit 871, I parked and got out of the car.
Malcolm’s motorcycle lurched to a stop behind us. He pulled off the canary-yellow helmet and tossed his wavy hair. Immediately, sparks of delight flared in my nethers and those crimson pictures flooded my mind. Malcolm’s voice was a whisper in my head: Forget anything he says. You and I are going to have fun. I’m going to worship you for days.
Marius put his body between mine and his brother’s. “First things first,” he said.
He leaned forward and gently brushed my hair back over my left ear. As he pulled me into his arms, fingers playing with my hair, the steam of Malcolm’s spell dissipated. No seductive whispers. The air didn’t writhe with sexual magic. There was only Marius. He smelled like my kiwi-and-strawberry shampoo, like whatever detergent Flynn used for his laundry, and like, well, Marius. A heady spice like ginger or clove mixed with his natural musk. Something about that specific blend felt like home, and I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder, bask in the safety there. My eyes fluttered closed, and I was about to indulge myself when he pulled away.
“There,” he said. A small smile crept onto his face. “Ginger and black. You look rather like a tiger, Catherine.”
I checked the mirror and understood. He’d tied the braid of his hair into mine. I twisted the mingled strands between my fingers. “What is this?”
Marius nodded and dropped his voice to a whisper. “A charm to ward off Malcolm’s advances.”
“Ah, the bloodline thing?”
“As much as I’d prefer to claim you the old-fashioned way, this will have to suit. Leave it tied there until he’s gone, all right?”
“Okay.”
Malcolm was off his bike now and coming closer. Marius rolled his eyes. “The sooner we send him off the better.”
I felt a strange throb in my temples, a pulse like a knock on a door. Out of the corner of my eyes, the air bent and flashed, then immediately righted itself. Whatever magic Malcolm had tried to send my way had stopped short.
“Oi!” Malcolm said. His face screwed up with frustration. “What the bloody hell did you do?”
Marius brandished one of his signature smirks. “Problem, Mal?”
Malcolm looked me up and down, searching. When his blue eyes landed on the charm in my hair, understanding spread over his features. He gaped at his brother. “You cheating twat! That’s not fair. It’s not like you can just plant a flag and claim her as your own.”
“I can, and I have.”
“It’s a waste of a fine woman, if you ask me.”
“I don’t believe I did. Now maybe we’ll get some work done if you can stay focused.”
“I was focused,” Malcolm complained. His eyes drifted down my body again, hungry. “Can’t help meself wondering if there’s salsa on the taco.”
“Excuse me?” I rounded on him, drawing power into my fist.
“The carpet. Does it match the drapes?” Malcolm ran a hand down over my hair but stopped just short of touching the braid.
I jerked away from his touch, took a step back, and lashed out with a white-hot whip of power. It slashed a warning at his cheek, tossing his hair.
His eyes went wide. Rather than backing down, however, he took on the manner of a child begging for a new toy. “Come on, love,” he whined. “Take that off. You and I will pop ’round the corner for a quick one, and he won’t be a bother anymore.”
“No, Malcolm,” Marius chided.
“I didn’t ask you,” Malcolm snapped. “You’re just upset that five minutes will make her forget all about you.”
Marius leaned back, his expression one of amazement. “You’re up to five minutes now? Good for you. I see practice makes mediocre.”
“Shut your face!” Malcolm’s fierce mane framed an attempt at a charming smile as he turned toward me. “What do you say? Just an appetizer?”
“No,” I said.
“No?” He sounded as if he’d never heard the word before. Then I thought of his magic, the scintillating story his lust had told my body. Yeah, the word no was probably as alien to him as a greaseball bacon cheeseburger was to a supermodel.
I shook my head the way I would to a confused kindergartener. Slowly, deliberately, and with every ounce of bitchcraft I possessed, I informed Malcolm, “No tacos tonight. Sorry.”
Dejected, Malcolm trudged back to his bike and fiddled with his things, muttering darkly to himself the whole time. I joined Marius at the door to the storage unit right as he gave it an angry kick.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He jiggled the large padlock. “Guess what I left in my other trousers.”
“When you ran from Eris you left everything behind, didn’t you?”
“Everything except what’s on the other side of this sheet of metal.” Marius ran his hand covetously up the orange door. “And now I can’t get to it.”
“Christ, you’re such a drama queen sometimes,” I said.
I shouldered him aside and gripped the padlock with both hands. Instantly, the inner workings of the mechanism appeared in my mind, illuminated blue on black. Springs coiled, holding the tumblers in place against the brass cylinder of the lock. The white light of my will was whis
per-thin as it slid sinuously into the keyhole and swirled within. Dancing through the tumblers, it filled the nooks where the matching key should go. Another drab of power to turn the lock and my work was done. I yanked down, and the lock opened. With the hook of the padlock looped over my finger, I offered it to Marius.
He grinned. “Confidence looks good on you, Catherine.”
“Um, thanks?”
He kissed my forehead, then took the lock. “Thank you.”
Without another word, he wrenched up on the handle and the door clattered open.
From behind us came the sound of a road flare sparking to life. “Right, then,” Malcolm said. A glowing orb the same size and color as a lemon drifted from his palm. I’d seen Marius do something similar years ago. If Mal had the ability to tap into magic—and not just the seduction mojo—why hadn’t he used it ’til now? Was this simple trick his limit?
Malcolm barreled his way past us and into the storage unit. Save for a layer of dust and a veil of shadows, the locker was empty.
“What’s this about?” he asked, brows knit closely together.
Marius shook his head sadly, but the corner of his mouth betrayed the hint of a smug smile. “Oh, little brother, how much you have to learn.”
Malcolm raised two fingers in response. “Sod off.”
“Don’t trust your eyes,” Marius mused. He dragged his slender fingers over the air, searching for something. When he’d found the illusory—and still invisible to me—it, his fist tightened and he yanked at the ether. As if he’d tugged a sheet, the darkness rippled and whipped away from a glass-top table. Now that he had a grip on the glamour, Marius reached for the rest of it. Like a mime tugging at nonexistent ropes, he went hand over hand around the room until the veil had been pulled down and his possessions were visible.
I couldn’t help but smile. Marius’s magic was subtle, elegant. “Nicely done,” I complimented.
He gave a slight bow of appreciation.
Malcolm’s mouth hung open. “Where did you learn that little trick?”
“Oh, you know, all that time I wasted with those ‘boy-loving Greeks.’”