by Jamie Wyman
With a groan, Marius threw back his head. “Don’t start with that again.”
“…when I caught you going through my clothes at the hotel?”
“I was merely—” he squirmed in his seat and tried to hid behind his teacup “—searching for any…untoward devices…”
“Same trip,” I said smartly, sitting back on my stool. “The mistletoe?”
“Festive decoration to ease the fact that we were imprisoned during the festive season.”
“Im-imprisoned?” Llyr asked incredulously.
Playfully ribbing Marius, I carried on. “Or how about the time a few years ago when I woke up without pants?”
“To help ease the swelling of your knee.” Marius leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as those lovely green eyes bored into mine. “And as I recall, I saved your life that night. And other nights, as well, or are we conveniently going to forget that?”
Llyr’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Saved her life? Marius?”
I scoffed at my satyr. “You were saving your own ass. If something happened to me, then you couldn’t get your—”
Marius poked a hole in my fun with a single harsh glance, and he cut me off with a subtle but stern shake of his head.
I coughed into my tea to cover the awkward moment. “Paycheck. You couldn’t get paid without me. That time.” I took a drink and stuffed a fat strawberry into my mouth before I could shove my foot in it.
Llyr searched the air between us, as if trying to divine the unspoken truth. “Has my eldest son gone and become a mercenary?”
“Not as such, Father.”
“I didn’t ask you,” he said with a wry smile. “Cat?”
I shook my head. “Mercenary is a harsh word. More like…indentured servant of fortune?”
Marius’s moustache twitched.
Llyr poured himself another cup of tea. “Well, I still fail to see how a lovely woman such as yourself came to be in the company of my son. Do tell me how the two of you met.”
Marius shifted uneasily on his stool. “Don’t we have something to discuss? Malcolm said you needed me to come home, so what—”
“Never mind that,” Llyr interjected, that same distrust from earlier creeping into his gaze. “It’s been ages, Marius, and I want to hear all the things about your life that you refuse to tell me. Cat? Don’t skimp on the details, dear. I demand to know every embarrassing thing my son has done in his attempts to rouse your interest.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Marius said helplessly.
“I didn’t ask you,” Llyr countered. “Cat? Please.”
As Llyr had asked, I regaled him with the story of how I met Marius. I left out a few of the less savory details, like how my soul had belonged to Eris at the time because Dahlia, my Fae ex-girlfriend, had fucked me over in ways I wouldn’t understand for years to come. I also tiptoed around the unfortunate fact of Marius’s curse. Without these points of interest, the story of our meeting flowed into one about our first assignment together, which led to a tangential explanation about a Christmas celebrated in Belize looking for the lamp of a very angry djinn. Before I knew it, I’d spent a few hours recounting our highlight reel. Llyr’s cheeks were red with his laughter and Marius’s crimson with embarrassment. Mission accomplished.
“Well done, Marius,” Llyr said, clasping a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Not only have you had some entertaining adventures, you also seem to have found the one woman on this planet who can take your shit and sling it right back at you.” Llyr stood and opened his arms to me. “And you are quite welcome in my home anytime, Cat, my love.” His embrace was tight and warm—everything the hug of a father should be.
Marius yawned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, is that the time?”
“Ah yes,” Llyr said with a quick glance for the clock. “I suppose the time difference has left you a bit jet-lagged. Marius, if you need a bit of rest, your room is just down the hall where you left it.”
“How about you?” Marius asked me, voice slurring with weariness. His eyes were already at half-mast.
“I’m good. Go. Crash.”
With little more than a sluggish wave, he padded out of the kitchen. He’d probably be asleep before his head hit the pillow. For a few moments, the only sounds were the birds chirping outside and the younger satyr’s footsteps on the hardwood floor. Then I heard a guttural noise that was either a very angry bull being accosted by a chainsaw or…
“Malcolm,” Llyr said. “The boy’s snores could rattle the windows of a lesser house. He’s a bit rough on the edges, but the lad is an easy read. As I’m sure you’ve noticed,” he added as he collected the teacups.
I began helping him clear the table and chose my words carefully. “Mal does seem to be a man of simple needs.”
This elicited a loud bark of laughter from Llyr. “That’s one way to put it. Another is to say that as long as he has good food and bad women, he’ll go to bed content. Unlike Marius.”
“He is a bit more unnerving, yes.”
“You know what they say about misery and company. He’s never been content or complete in his whole life, that one. Even as a child.” Llyr went quiet as he scraped away a crust of bread and a rind of cheese into the garbage. Those blue eyes drifted through time for a moment, and I wondered what he saw.
He made his way to the sink and began to wash up. “Marius always needed more. More freedom, more variety, more knowledge, more…anything. Everything. It’s why he left.”
I took up a towel and dried the dishes as Llyr washed the teacups. I didn’t know much of Marius’s life before we’d met. Sure, I knew the stories he liked to tell about his friendships with various Greek gods and his run-in with the Hindu pantheon. But really, I didn’t know how much to believe. Everything I knew about Marius resided in the hindbrain, that place of instinct and primitiveness. I couldn’t tell you something like his birthday or favorite color—though he did have an expressed fondness for port wine—but I could tell you the exact shade of green of his eyes and how they changed with anger or laughter. I knew the wrinkles of his smile and the notes of his voice, the cadence of his step and speed of his wit. Over our many years together, I’d memorized Marius, not random facts about his life.
That morning, however, I realized that I wanted to change that. There’s something to be said for trivia.
“Is that when he went to Greece?” I asked.
Llyr nodded, his faraway gaze still trained on something past the froth and dishrag. “He wanted to know more about our roots. He only got to spend a short time around his grandfather—my father, that is. Marius was so young at the time. Peas in a pod, they were. Anyway, my father passed on, and when Marius grew older, he said he wanted to travel. See the world. Learn. He thought that if he couldn’t visit his grandfather directly, he could at least see the Temple of Pan in Arcadia. I’d never begrudge a man his wanderlust, even if that man is my son, barely old enough to grow his first beard.”
“I didn’t realize Pan was gone,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”
Llyr regarded me with a hint of surprise. “He’s told you, then? Of our lineage?”
“Just before we arrived, actually. Until then, he’d kept that quiet for ten years.”
“I see.” Llyr bobbed his head, then went back to his dishes. “My father decided to give up his power and sleep. Can’t blame him, what with his age and politics and bureaucrats. It was his time. He left a vacuum, though, in the heart and on his throne.”
“Did his role not pass to you or another of his sons?”
Llyr’s grimace was bitter. “I’ve no interest in godhood, dear. As to any of my siblings, well, time has claimed most of them. The result is the same: none has assumed Pan’s seat, and the satyrs have been without their god for more than eight hundred years.”
I dried the last of the dishes, stowed it in the rack, and then folded my towel. Down the hall, Malcolm let loose with another ripping snore.
�
�I’m sorry,” Llyr said with a hesitant laugh. “If my boys are tired, you must be exhausted.”
I shook my head. The infusion of power from Sapphire and the meditative restoration after had left me refreshed. I could probably go on for hours. “No, actually.”
“No? Cat, would you care to join me on a walk then? Get away from their snoring and continue our chat?”
“I’d love that.”
***
After Llyr changed out of his pajamas and into a pair of jeans, a fresh T-shirt emblazoned with a Union Jack, and a brown blazer, we set out. He carried a gnarled walking stick polished to a gleaming shine as we strolled together along the winding dirt path. At a fork in the road, he gestured to the east with his stick.
“That way you’ll find the ruins of Camelot. If you know where to look,” he added with a wink. Stretching west he added, “And that way lies Avalon. If the mists are just right, you can step from this world to the other without difficulty and lose yourself in the sacred orchard. Fantastic apples there. Amazing wine.”
We ambled along, speaking occasionally. He’d tell me about a particular wildflower or expound upon the history of Glastonbury. Mostly, though, Llyr and I shared a comfortable silence.
“It is good to see him,” Llyr said after a time. “He’s a grown man, of course, but that doesn’t stop me from worrying about him. To tell you the truth, I’m relieved that he has left Eris.”
Unease tingled at the base of my skull, and I retraced our conversations. Neither Marius nor I had told Llyr that Eris had released him. Out of some unspoken agreement, we’d casually “forgotten” to mention the danger Marius now faced.
“I didn’t know you knew about that,” I said quietly.
“I knew. Just like I always knew no good would come of his partnership with her,” Llyr continued. “She brings nothing to this world but sorrow and heartache. Spiteful bint. To this day I don’t know why he struck that deal with her, or what she had over him. I suspect you do, though.”
Kicking at stones on the ground, I dragged my feet and chose my words carefully. “She never told me.”
“Of course she wouldn’t,” he chuckled ruefully. “What about him?” After a few moments of listening to birdsong, Llyr smiled at me. “Do you know why Marius took up with Eris?”
Yeah…that. The curse that kept Marius from being able to enjoy anything. I was pretty sure that Llyr didn’t know and I intended to keep it that way, so I just said, “I do.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“’Fraid not. I promised.”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “Did he at least get what he was looking for out of their partnership?”
I sighed. “No.”
Llyr planted his walking stick firmly in the earth and stopped walking, eyes trained on his boots. “Cat, what does Asgard want with my son?”
I pulled up short. “I’m sorry?”
“I rarely had so much as a phone call from Marius in more decades than you’ve been alive. I occasionally get word from someone that they’ve seen him here or heard a rumor about him there. Now he arrives without the golden apple on his wrist, but with a woman.” He turned, lifting his head and then his eyes to meet mine. His voice was hardly a whisper as he stepped close to me. “And that woman wears the mark of an Asgardian.”
Llyr picked up my arm, his fingers gently stroking the rune on my forearm.
“So I ask you again: what does Asgard want with my son?”
“Nothing. I tried to arrange it so that Loki would take Marius, but he refused.”
“Refused. Why?”
“I don’t know,” I lied.
“I think you do. I can’t be sure of what you are,” he said, his fingers tracing my hairline, “but I see it in you. Mortal frailty. A life lived with the knowledge that your world is finite. Yet, while your form is mortal, you are anything but normal. You hold great power. Knowledge. Just as you’re aware of what bound my son to Eris, I suspect you know precisely why I hear tales of demons and monsters from the abyss searching for Marius. Why is it that an emissary of Crom Cruach—one of the oldest, bloodiest gods of Ireland—came to my home and hissed warnings that if I give shelter to my own kin I will make an enemy of the gods?”
I jerked and took a step away from him. The voice that had been so gentle before now seethed with a quiet anger. The ferocity in his eyes reminded me of what I’d seen many times in Marius, only more potent. This was the source, the master.
“You know?” I whispered. “Is that why you called him home? Why you sent Malcolm to fetch him?”
He shook his head angrily. “I can’t expect an emissary of chaos to be honest, but I implore you to tell me. You know exactly why Loki refused him,” he said. “I’m glad of it, to be honest. I want my son out of this role he’s found himself playing for so long. I grow weary of watching his life run by the whims and machinations of petty gods. You say Loki turned him away, and yet you are here. With him. Are you part of this hunt? Are you watching him for your employer?” Llyr’s face was stern but lined with sadness and disappointment. “Tell me, Catherine Sharp, have you brought trouble upon my son?”
“I’m trying to help him!” Fear and frustration caused my voice to crack, the words to come out more harshly than I’d intended. I moved away from Llyr. “He showed up on my doorstep covered in blood, nearly dead, and on the run from droves of supernatural bad things. Including Eris, my former employer. Who, by the way, hates me,” I added.
Llyr’s expression was one of shock. He just stared at me as it sank in.
“Did I bring trouble on him?” I spat. “He brought it on himself. He dove into it and swam until his fingers got all pruny. That’s why Loki refused him. And me? I’m here because I promised to help Marius. I promised.”
Llyr’s jaw hung open, those blue eyes growing dark and exhausted. “It’s true, then? He’s in danger.”
“Quite a lot,” I answered.
“Is it—” He paused, searching for words. I may as well have just told him his son had cancer. Could satyrs get cancer? The creak in his voice yanked me back to him. “Is it bad?”
I gave a simple nod.
Llyr dragged his gnarled hands down his cheeks. For a moment, he resembled a lethargic basset hound, with his sad eyes and drawn face. As he had in the kitchen, he let his gaze drift to something in the middle distance. “What did you do, Marius?” he breathed.
I said nothing. Llyr shoved his hands through his gray hair and tried to pass me a weak smirk. “I knew,” he said, tears bubbling in his eyes. “I knew something was wrong. He doesn’t tell me anything about what he does with or for Eris, and I like it that way. To be frank, I don’t want to know what he’s done to put himself in such a corner.” He swallowed loudly. “Tell me, do you have children?”
I shuddered at the very idea. “None that I know of.”
Llyr gave the slightest of chuckles. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re too young, I suppose. Do you know what parenthood is, love? It’s worry. It is fear and terror every second of every day that passes.”
I laughed and shook my head. When Llyr asked why, I said, “It’s just funny. I guess I always thought of satyrs as the love-’em-and-leave-’em types. Didn’t exactly think that one would stick around to be a father.”
“It can be this way,” he confirmed. “Gods know that I was certainly useless to my daughters. What could I possibly offer them? And knowing that I’d watch them die before so much as a single wrinkle appeared on my face?” He shook his head. “No. I wasn’t there for them. But my sons… I could raise them in the faith, so to speak. From the moment I saw Marius kicking at his swaddling clothes, I felt this weight in my chest, this unbearable joy and terrible, remarkable burden of responsibility. You wear your heart outside your body when you’re a parent. And that never stops. Not when they’re old enough to cross oceans without you, not even when they’re centuries old. Marius might be a grown man, but he’s still my son, still learning to walk o
n his own.”
Llyr took my hands in his and squeezed fiercely. “Promise me something, Cat. Swear to me that you will help him through this. Even when he makes it impossible just by being his damn self, promise me that you will stick with him. Please? Protect my son.”
“I’m trying,” I said. “And I’ll keep doing exactly that.”
The old man brought my hands to his lips and placed a hard, fervent kiss on them. “Bless you,” he whispered.
We ambled silently for a time as Llyr collected himself. “So,” I started eventually, “parenthood is nonstop worry? And you’ve got two of them?”
He pawed at the air. “Malcolm is different. He doesn’t give a damn about gods or power. If it weren’t for the fact that he walks the Earth beneath a glamour and has a particular skill to set him apart from others, Malcolm is no different from the average mortal.”
“He doesn’t seem to use magic much,” I noted. “Not like Marius.”
“Malcolm never wanted to learn anything beyond the basics. Wiles for ensnaring women. Simple tricks. He never connected to the earth magic like Marius did. Never felt the call to the Temple. He is innocent.” When I raised a questioning eyebrow, he grinned and reconsidered. “Blissfully unaware.”
“Must be nice.” The words came out before I could stop them.
“How long has it been since you were innocent, Cat?”
I flapped my lips. “More than a decade. Since the night Eris claimed my soul.”
“But not so long ago that you can’t remember who you were before that night. That is who Malcolm is. Not a care in his world. And while I might occasionally be concerned for his safety if he has a pint too many or goes home with the wrong man’s wife, I don’t have the same worry for him as I do for Marius.”
“The guy who goes running around the world pissing off deities, djinn, minions, and Kennedys apparently.”
Llyr sighed. “And they’re looking for him.”
I bobbed my head.
“If you’re here, they won’t be far behind.”
“If this is precisely what you feared, why call him home?”