by Willa Okati
“My hand ta God,” Ewan swore. “Now hush up, and let me hold you. We’re just gonna rest here for a few minutes. I’ll get you up before morning. And, hey, wiseass, I meant I’ll make sure you’re awake. Not that I’d say no to a quickie. But I want you to promise you’ll come back tomorrow night. Will you?”
Christian knew he had a shift at the Pleasure Palace. All the same, he nodded his head. If the guys he worked with could call in sick when they were high, he could take a night off. He wanted to be with Ewan.
Maybe they’d really think of something.
“Good,” Ewan said, his breathing already evening out. “That’s right. Good ...”
“Ewan? What time is it?” Christian blinked, yawning. “Oh, fuck, I fell asleep on you. I’m sorry, man. Didn’t mean to.” He tried to move, but Ewan’s arm was too heavy on him. “Hey. Hey, Ewan. Wake up, will you? You’ve got me locked down here.”
Ewan didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t move. In fact, he wasn’t breathing. Christian began to panic, running his hand over the man’s hard chest. Too hard. No breath, no pulse. “Oh, God,” he started to babble. “Oh, God, fuck, Ewan! Don’t you do this. Ewan!”
Christian wormed his way out from underneath Ewan’s arm, scrambling to his feet. “Cell phone,” he chanted. “There’s gotta be a cell phone in all this junk. 9-1-1. Ewan, don’t you leave me! I just found you. Cell phone, cell phone ...”
A hand came to rest on his own. “You do not need one of those,” a familiar voice said. “Ewan is not dead, but resting. The moon is hidden behind clouds, and so he sleeps. But when the shadows move on, he will awaken. You need not panic, for he will return to you.”
Christian yelped and made to cover himself with both of his hands. “Shit. Liam! What the hell are you doing down here?” He stared at Ewan, who hadn’t moved, and then back at the wavy-haired, nutty little queer. “Wait a second. You know this guy?”
Liam took a step backward, leaning on his cane. “I know a great many things, Christian,” he said, sounding suddenly old. “Put your clothes on and see to it that Ewan is covered. The clouds should pass soon. Then,” he said, his look growing somber, “I will tell you everything you want to hear, and some things that you do not.”
“Just ... first, what’s wrong with him?” Christian glanced back at his lover, who remained frozen in position, his arms still out as if holding Christian between them. “He’s like a ... a statue.”
“Close enough.” Liam folded his hands over the head of his cane. “He is not a man, Christian.”
“I can tell you he’s definitely a man.”
“Not a human, then. He is a cave troll.” Liam sighed. “Now go ahead and mock me if you will.”
Christian couldn’t find the words. He stood there with his mouth open, staring.
Then he blurted, “Ewan’s a what now?”
Chapter Eight
“A cave troll,” Liam said absently, picking his way through the litter of magazines that, by then, had covered most of the floor space. “My, but he is a reader, isn’t he? I must remember these titles and buy him a subscription for a journal he does not already take.”
Christian stood rooted to the spot. “Liam, you want to back up there?”
Liam took two steps backward. Christian resisted the urge to slap his own forehead. “I meant, back up with what you’re talking about. And you, you, you, with all the craziness and the confusion tonight -- weird little rooms and post-modern paintings -- and now you’re telling me Ewan is a troll?”
“A cave troll. Yes.” Liam bent and began picking things up. “Such a mess. But, of course, good sex should always be very messy, indeed. Christian, I am no longer facing you if you wish to put on your clothing.”
Shit! Christian fumbled for his jeans and wifebeater, shrugging the latter on and starting his shimmy-wiggle into the former. As he tugged, he cursed his vanity. He didn’t have a single doubt that Liam was grinning from ear to ear as he heard Christian struggle to get the damn things on.
“You may wish to consider something a little looser-fitting in the future. It is, after all, good to breathe.”
“Liam ...”
“Yes, yes, I will be quiet now.” Liam finished shuffling the glossy magazines into a slippery stack. He straightened. “Are you finished? Ah, there you are, Ewan. The clouds must have passed by. No bad thing. I had thought we would be in for a shower of rain, and that would not have done at all.”
“Ewan!” Christian elbowed past Liam and stopped at the foot of the mattress. Ewan lay on his back, blinking nearsightedly at the cave ceiling, then across at Christian. “You’re alive.”
Ewan closed his eyes. “Aw, hell. I went and did it, didn’t I?”
“I am very much afraid that you did. Normally, you would not turn to stone until daybreak, but there are some unexpected clouds tonight. Your glasses.” Liam bent to pick up the black plastic frames and offered them to Ewan. “There, now you can see. A cave troll with poor vision. Very odd, I must say. But then, you are not exactly like most of your breed. You prefer electronic treasure to gold or jewels, and while you live beneath a bridge of sorts, it is hardly what I would call a likely spot to find you.”
“Liam, do you know Ewan?” Christian demanded again.
The small man tilted his head to one side. His smile was sunny, innocent and charming. “No, Ewan and I have not met before. I know of him, though. Everyone who passed through the doors of Amour Magique tonight, seen or unseen, was made known to me.” He fixed Christian with a long look. “And those who left. I have had quite the time chasing you down.”
Christian felt abashed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “But why did you come after me? And what difference does it make to you who I go off with? I told you --”
“And I told you that regardless of what you say, I have a special interest in the Brotherhood.” Liam stood erect. “Ewan, if you wish to, put on your clothes. I am not looking.”
“Jesus Pete,” Ewan said. Christian silently held out his lover’s sweatshirt. He crossed the room for Ewan’s jeans while Ewan put on his top, then passed them over. Ewan caught at Christian’s hand and held it for a moment. Christian looked back at him. He saw pleading for understanding, a need for patience, and more than a little embarrassment in the other’s eyes.
Okay. Ewan had given him a hell of a chance. He’d do the same in return. Christian squeezed his hand and smiled at the look of relief that flooded the man’s -- man’s? -- face. Troll’s?
He wouldn’t have believed it unless he’d seen it. Ewan, all but turned to stone in his arms ...
“Start explaining, Liam,” Christian said, turning to face the small man. “Begin with how you knew where to find me, then go back to telling me what that little room was all about, and then go on to the part about the cave troll, because I’ve got to tell you, I am really interested in that. You’re talking about my ... my new guy, here.”
“He’s right,” Ewan said shyly. “I am ... I mean, I’m not ... ah, hell, Christian. Whoever this is, he’s tellin’ the truth. Cave troll, in the flesh and stone.” He gestured at himself. “I didn’t want you to find out so soon. Thought I’d give ya some time, work up to things, but ...”
“Yeah.” Christian reached down and thumbed Ewan’s chin. “Life got in the way. It does that sometimes.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“Don’t be a jackass.” Christian bent down to kiss Ewan’s forehead, tasting stone. Oh, yeah. This was a night he’d never forget, but he’d gotten a hell of a lover out of it.
Now all he needed were explanations.
“Yes, yes, I will tell you everything,” Liam said, turning to face them. For just a second, Christian thought he saw the man flicker, and flinched. But, no, Liam was solid. “But first, if you please, Christian --” He reached into the pocket of his tailored pants and pulled out a slightly crumpled letter. With a tch at its condition, he passed the missive over.
Christian took it in bewilderment. The envelope had
his name written on the front, all right, but the return address was for Amour Magique. “Who’s writing to me from the club?”
“Go on and open it. You will find that it is from Silas, the owner of Amour Magique -- well, insomuch as one can own the place. Let us say he manages it, as well as it will be managed.”
“Liam, you’re really not making any sense.”
“Perhaps I am not. But go ahead, read.” Liam made encouraging motions. “It will not bite, I promise.”
Christian took the letter out, casting him doubtful looks, and unfolded the thick paper. He ran his eyes over the neatly printed note inside and at the scrawled signature, then reached blindly for Ewan’s hand. “This can’t be real.”
“Ah, but it can, indeed.” Liam twinkled at them. “I was with Silas when he made his decision. He saw you with the fauns -- who, by the bye, are exactly what they claim to be -- those horns are not false at all, and their cloven hooves are hidden by clever magics. Silas made his decision when he saw you dance.”
Christian gripped Ewan’s hand tighter. “But it can’t be real. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to guys like me.”
“Falling for a cave troll rarely happens, either,” Liam noted dryly.
Ewan tugged at Christian’s hand. “Are you? Falling for me, I mean.” He mottled. “Sorry. But what does it say?”
Christian shook his head. “What do you think?” He bent to kiss Ewan, their lips clinging together for a long, sweet moment. When Christian straightened, he waved the letter at Ewan. “This is from a guy signing himself ‘General Manager’ of the club. He’s asking me to -- to dance there.”
“Yes!” Liam clapped enthusiastically. “Silas has decided to put in cages and catwalks for those who have the talent to lead others in the dance. He is looking for those with strong ability, yes, but more specifically, those who can become one with the music. He saw such a gift in you, Christian, and as I think you will have noted, is willing to pay you well for the position.”
Christian looked at the quoted figure again. It wasn’t a fortune, but it would cover his tuition and rent when you added everything together. Maybe even cover food, too. If not, hell, he would get a job flipping burgers in his off hours, those not spent studying, dancing, or being with Ewan. “Hey, do you like special sauce?” he asked absently, rubbing Ewan’s fingers.
“Love it.” Ewan stroked back, but quicker, more excited. “This means you’re gonna take the job?”
“One condition.” Christian refolded the letter. “Ewan gets a guest pass to come see me whenever he wants, and I get one dance an hour with him.”
Liam tutted. “I think you can drive a harder bargain than that.”
“A hundred more dollars a month, then. That’ll take care of everything I need.” Christian swallowed. “If that’s not asking too much.”
“I think it is just enough.” Liam gave the pendant at his neck a spin. “I believe that Silas will be agreeable to your terms. You might say I have a special way of sensing things. He wants your dancing very much. No more of the ...” Liam trailed off.
“I don’t have to go back,” Christian whispered to himself. Then -- “I don’t have to go back. Ewan!”
Ewan whooped and lifted himself off the bed, grabbing Christian and whirling him in a circle.
“Fuck, you’re strong,” Christian gasped, dizzy, when Ewan put him down. “Okay, Liam. Explanations now. If I’m gonna work at Amour Magique, I think I need to know a whole lot more than I already do.”
He sat down on the bed, pulling Ewan close to him. Liam nodded and came to stand in front of them. “Amour Magique,” he began, “is a very unusual sort of club, even to those who work there, and you should know this much ...”
* * * * *
The room was dark except for the blue glow of surveillance monitors, and the flickering light of other cameras. Nine of the pictures had gone out, but three remained.
Liam sat in the middle, clutching his Tear, shaking. He watched himself on the cameras, talking with the remaining men of the Brotherhood -- Alex, Allen, and Harrison. Each one needed his special care. They all had, and did. So many to be watched over, and so much to be taken care of.
He began to shiver. A full-fledged tremor tore through his body, making him cough.
Behind him, a door opened. He winced as the bright light and music poured in from outside, then relaxed with a sigh when it was cut off again. Heavy footsteps sounded behind him, and a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Another held out a cup of strong black coffee topped off with even stronger rum. Liam took a grateful gulp and grasped for the hand that had given it to him.
“Do not leave me,” he asked, knowing he sounded weak. “Please, it will only be a little while longer. Stay until I am done, and I can be at peace.”
“No.” The voice was deep, rich, and black as the coffee. Liam heard the footsteps receding. “You know where to find me when you’re finished. Don’t take too long, though. You might come around and find that I’ve already moved on.”
“Wait!” Liam begged, half-turning --
-- but his visitor was gone.
And Liam was all alone once again, except for the monitors. “Bree, Collin, Simon, Micah, Quentin, David, Christian,” he recited to himself. “Alex, Allen, and Harrison.” His hand trembled around the warm mug. He spilled a bit of the beverage on his leg. “I can do this.” He swallowed hard.
“I can. And I will.”
Willa Okati
Although a relative newcomer to the field of e-publishing, Willa Okati has been writing since before she was old enough to pick up a pen. She thinks she knows where those dictated stories are hidden, but she'll never tell.
Willa is also very interested in the paranormal: magery, Wicca, New Age philosophy, transgender studies, and of course, writing. You can drag her away from the computer if you really fight, but you'd better be prepared for a battle.
Just so she doesn't sound entirely dull, Willa has her fun: she is a practicing member of the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) and is involved in her community. She is owned by far too many cats, all of which have serious attitudes, and addicted to anything made out of chocolate or involving coffee. She is quiet, but has a very wicked sense of humor that springs out when you least expect it.
A secretary for eight years, she now writes full-time -- and wouldn't trade it for the world.
She loves to hear from readers, and always responds. You can contact her at [email protected] or visit her website to check out her work at www.willaokati.com.