Breaking Ties

by Vaughn R. Demont

  What is it with people thinking I’d want to sleep with my brother? I blame the Internet. “Dude. Sick.”

  “The guy with the extra arms is okay, I guess, but Dave has a strict No Coyotes policy, remember?”

  Right. I guess a Coyote swindled the dragon out of his hoard, and he’s a tad bitter about it. Dragons love their money, which is why they’re such tempting (and easy) targets for us. Even if we don’t make a dime, it’s worth boo coo goodie points with Fate. “Fine, I’ll use the rest of my free meals to cover him.”

  He exhales hard, but nods. “Go let them in, I’ll tell Dave to stay upstairs.”

  James heads into the back while I go to the door and unlock it. I point them toward a booth, which my brother lugs his duffel bag toward. “I can get us coffee, food’s going to be a while. And, Thornton?”

  The Coyote looks at me. “Yeah?”

  “Is this diner familiar at all to you?”

  He takes in the surroundings. “No idea, I’ve eaten at a lot of diners. I think Dad took you here, right?” Yeah, and Dad skipped out on the check. Thornton suddenly grins. “Wait, is this the place the dragon owns? Shit, I took so much money off that moron.”

  Why am I not surprised that it was him?

  “Yeah, I don’t want the owner recognizing you just in case, okay? Just…cloak up or something.”

  He shrugs and closes his eyes, concentrating, his appearance shimmering before me, the Coyote features vanishing, taking on a human appearance. Gentle green eyes with a hint of mischief, medium-length brown hair in a mussed-up curtain style, light beard and goatee, casual attire, all attractive, of course. It’s a handy trick we Coyotes can pull off. To most humans and mythics we can look however we want so long as we’ve seen the clothing or hairstyle or whatever. It’s because of this I can wear tailored Armani suits whenever I want. Really, there’s only one kind of person who can see through it.

  “So, what do you three want? It’s going to be a long while because the grill’s heating up.” James glances at Thornton. “By the way, that’s the most obvious cloak I’ve ever seen. No one’s going to believe that a Hollywood actor’s eating at a diner in Beckettsville.”

  Sorcerers. It’s because of James that I don’t just put on a cloak over my boxers and shoes and head out for the day. I sit next to Bank, since the other side has Thornton and his duffel bag.

  Bank orders—coffee, black, keep it coming, a generally simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast—and thanks James sincerely for opening early after giving him a five-dollar tip. If there’s one thing Bank knows how to do, it’s treat people in the service industry like people. No one wants to make anything complicated coming on five in the morning.

  Thornton chews his lower lip. “Uh, I need a minute, but coffee would be great to start me out.” James nods, writing it down. Thornton tics his head toward him while looking at me. “So, you hitting that?”

  “What, James? God no.”

  He tilts his head. “Wait, what? But, he’s a sorcerer, so he’s the hero, you’re obviously the sidekick. I mean, the unresolved sexual tension alone…”

  Finally someone says it. “I know, right? After six months I should’ve been living a ‘True Confessions’ letter to SlashFan International.”

  He shrugs with a grin. “Well, maybe you’re just not what he goes for. He could be looking for someone charismatic, more mature, a bit dangerous, can affect a decent London accent.” Thornton reaches over the table and pats my cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell you how he was.”

  I stare daggers at him. “Not if I do him first, you won’t.”

  An aggravated sigh comes from our right. “I’m standing right here, you know.” James then glances at Thornton, his voice slipping into a natural British accent, Oxford, as he puts it. “And I don’t go for Londoners.” He looks to me. “Or tricksters. I want to be left alone.” He storms off, and we both watch him leave, Bank suddenly finding the street outside very interesting.

  Thornton mutters. “Damn it.”

  Bank chuckles. “Got you pegged, sounds like.”

  Thornton shakes his head. “No, it’s not that.”

  I nod in assent to my brother, half-chiding myself for slipping back into the rhythm we had before. “He had to go and say it, didn’t he?”

  Bank looks between the two of us. “What are you two talking about?”

  Thornton, like me, is a Bard, which is the reason he’s as smooth as he is and understands television tropes almost as well as I do. Turn on any TV show or watch any movie, and if someone says that they only want to be left alone, it can only mean one thing…

  The Coyote grits his teeth. “Twenty bucks says he falls for our mark, and Spencer here has to make a decision between money and friendship.”

  “My twenty says he meets the love of his life in the next forty-eight hours and following a whirlwind romance and a hair-raising adventure, they move in together after say…a week.” I snort derisively. “So much for crashing on his couch.”

  Bank blinks, looking between the two of us. “Or…he just wants to be alone.” He watches James pour the coffee. “And is spitting in your joe as we speak.”

  I get up. “He wanted to talk to me about something, anyway. A sidekick’s work is never done.”

  James is behind the counter, turned away from me. I clear my throat.

  “So, I’m sorry to put you out like this. I wasn’t expecting either of them to show up, especially the Coyote. Figured that part of my life was over. This is probably a bad time to ask if I can crash on your futon…” James still isn’t looking at me. “You’re mad. I can see that. So just get it off your chest and we’ll all feel better.”

  “He didn’t want to see me.”

  Okay, a little cognitive dissonance there. “Huh?”

  He turns to face me. “Cale.” His eyes are a bit red. “Cale didn’t want to see me.”

  Cale is the last guy James dated, also the last Ra’keth who had a reign lasting longer than six hours. According to James, he died in his arms, but since sorcerers are sorcerers and glibly flip off the laws of reality, he gets a “conjugal visit” in Hades four times a year.

  Because yeah, that’s healthy.

  But he’s my friend.

  I move around the counter and hug him, keep it outside of embrace territory, he doesn’t fight it. “Shit, I’m sorry, man. But, it has been over a year since… Standard mourning period’s a year and a day, right? We’re, like, way past that.”

  He pulls away, lower lip trembling. I raise my hands in surrender.

  “I don’t want to upset you. How about we change the subject, huh? Like…what you wanted to talk to me about in the first place, unless it was to tell me about Cale.”

  He shakes his head. “No, I might need your help. I still need to do my research, figure out everything. Finally got my first assignment from Hades, so I can work off some of my sentence.”

  This would be an excellent means of getting out of dealing with Thornton, but I don’t want to consider the consequences of leaving Bank alone with him. Then again, it’s the job of the sidekick to overextend. “Sure, James, anything you need, just give me a call.” I lean in, interested, hushing my voice. “So, what’s the score? Who’re you after?”

  He manages a chuckle. “You’re not going to believe this, but some guy who’s been hopping bodies to get out of dying? He hopped into a vampire.”

  If you stop running, you fall.

  Jackdaw

  © 2015 KJ Charles

  A Charm of Magpies Linked Story

  Jonah Pastern is a magician, a liar, a windwalker, a professional thief…and for six months, he was the love of police constable Ben Spenser’s life. Until his betrayal left Ben jailed, ruined, alone, and looking for revenge.

  Ben is determined to make Jonah pay. But he can’t seem to forget what they once shar
ed, and Jonah refuses to let him. Soon Ben is entangled in Jonah’s chaotic existence all over again, and they’re running together—from the police, the justiciary, and some dangerous people with a lethal grudge against them.

  Threatened on all sides by betrayals, secrets, and the laws of the land, can they find a way to live and love before the past catches up with them?

  Warning: Contains a policeman who should know better, a thief who may never learn, Victorian morals, heated encounters, and a very annoyed Stephen Day.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Jackdaw:

  “Thank God, water.” Jonah locked the door. “I am desperate to be clean.”

  So was Ben, after days in the same clothes. He stripped without thought, using the thin towels provided to rub himself all over, until he felt the fug of long travel and fear-sweat lift from his skin. Beside him, Jonah was doing the same, so much more gracefully, his darkly furred chest glistening with damp, nipples hard in the chill air.

  Ben couldn’t stop watching.

  Jonah didn’t seem to notice. He ran the wet cloth under his arms, over his chest, and lower, over his muscular thighs, the nest of black curls. He was half-hard as he rinsed the cloth, wiped it over himself, rinsed it again. His skin shone with damp in the candlelight.

  He wasn’t looking at Ben. If he had, if he just looked…

  Ben stood, helpless, staring. Jonah’s body was as compact and muscular as ever. He looked so quick and sleek clothed, so powerful naked. Ben had wrapped his legs over those strong shoulders so often…

  No. That was madness.

  Ben moved to the big bed. It was a four-poster, evidently once equipped with curtains to pull round and keep the heat in. They had doubtless long rotted away. There was just a pile of quilts and blankets now, sheets warmed by a pan of coals, a bolster, and enough room for two.

  Ben crawled in and lay in the bed, facing out.

  Jonah blew out the candles and moved round to the other side of the bed, which dipped as he got in. The bed was very cold, except for the almost painfully hot, slightly crispy feel of the linen where the warming pan had rested. Neither of them had a nightshirt—he had a dim recollection of Jonah making some casual remark about lost bags to the landlady. Ben could feel the heat of Jonah’s body from here.

  It was very dark, and very quiet.

  “Ben?”

  He could pretend to be asleep. God knew he was tired.

  “Ben,” Jonah repeated.

  “Mmm.”

  Pause.

  “I know it’s all gone wrong.” Jonah’s voice was very quiet. “And I know you probably still hate me—”

  “I don’t hate you.” Ben stared into the dark. “I did, before. When I thought you left me because you didn’t love me, or didn’t love me enough. I hated you then, but I was wrong, and I am so sorry.” His voice shook on the words but it was time and past to say them. “What I did in that bloody place—”

  “Don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” Ben forced the words out. “I wanted to—to hurt you. Me. That’s what happened to me, that’s what this has done to me. I’ve become the kind of man who—”

  “Who doesn’t do bad things, even if he wants to,” Jonah came in swift and sharp. “Have you forgotten that? You never had a reason to want to do something horrible to me before. And when you did, it was a good reason, but you didn’t do it. Look, I know we’ve done things to each other and, even if you don’t hate me…well, it’s not like it was any more.”

  “No.” Because what they’d had, that golden idyll, had been a fantasy. Reality lay beside him, flawed and irresponsible and very warm.

  “I just wondered,” Jonah said. “Could we pretend?”

  Ben stilled. He could hear his own deepening breathing. Jonah’s tension was palpable. “Pretend?”

  “Or forget. Or ignore even, but could we not be a thief and a copper, or two people who did bad things to each other? Just for tonight? Could we just be Ben and Jonah, in the dark? It wouldn’t change anything, or mean anything tomorrow. I promise I wouldn’t think that it did. But I miss you.” Jonah swallowed audibly. “I missed you when you weren’t there, and now you are here and I can’t touch you and I miss you even more.”

  “I miss you too,” Ben whispered.

  Jonah’s body was quivering with readiness, Ben could feel it, but he didn’t reach out, and Ben realised he was waiting. Letting Ben make the choice. Letting him decide if he wanted to be sucked back into the maelstrom that tore his existence apart, over and over.

  Naturally Jonah would think this was a good idea. He lived in the moment, never looking ahead. Ben could see consequences looming on every side, and most of them were terrible.

  They should split up, that was obvious. It would have been obvious days ago, if Ben had been able to think properly. His mind was clear now, and he could see it all. Jonah would never change, would never be responsible, quite blatantly intended to steal again should it become necessary. Ben couldn’t live like that, waiting for the next disaster, not after Jonah’s love had already plunged him into hell. He’d say goodbye tomorrow, and go, before they hurt each other more. It was the only sane thing to do, for both their sakes.

  But if this was to be the last night…

  He rolled over, under the heavy bedcovers, and reached out, and felt Jonah’s whole body twitch as his hand closed on Jonah’s shoulder.

  “Ben,” Jonah whispered, and then he was in Ben’s arms, and they were kissing.

  Jonah’s lips were soft, his beard unfamiliar and prickly, scratching against Ben’s own stubble. His tongue met Ben’s, sweeping round, tasting of ale and himself. His hands came up, running through Ben’s hair, sending shuddering sensation across his skin, and Ben lost himself in being kissed and held and loved.

  It was utterly dark in the small room, with its shutters closing out the night. No sight of each other. No sight of the white streak marring Jonah’s hair, or the brutal ridge of scarring on Ben’s face. No evidence visible of what they’d done to each other and to themselves. It could have been five months ago, when everything was innocent, and Ben let himself believe that it was.

  Some secrets are dangerous. This Secret is deadly.

  Something Secret This Way Comes

  © 2011 Sierra Dean

  Secret McQueen, Book 1

  For Secret McQueen, her life feels like the punch line for a terrible joke. Abandoned at birth by her werewolf mother, hired as a teen by the vampire council of New York City to kill rogues, Secret is a part of both worlds, but belongs to neither. At twenty-two, she has carved out as close to a normal life as a bounty hunter can.

  When an enemy from her past returns with her death on his mind, she is forced to call on every ounce of her mixed heritage to save herself—and everyone else in the city she calls home. As if the fate of the world wasn’t enough to deal with, there’s Lucas Rain, King of the East Coast werewolves, who seems to believe he and Secret are fated to be together. Too bad Secret also feels a connection with Desmond, Lucas’s second-in-command…

  Warning: This book contains a sarcastic, kick-ass bounty hunter; a metaphysical love triangle with two sexy werewolves; a demanding vampire council; and a spicy seasoning of sex and violence.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Something Secret This Way Comes:

  I recapped the events of the evening as best I could over the limitations of voicemail. “Hey, Holden, it’s Secret. I killed an unsanctioned rogue in the park tonight. He had it coming. Send the Tribunal my love.”

  I was in an all-night café near Keaty’s, waiting for my nonfat no-foam latte while I left the message. The barista behind the counter, who appeared to be about fourteen, gave me a concerned look.

  I flashed him my well-practiced innocent smile and said, “My dungeon master.” A spark of revelation lit upon his zitty face. “I just nee
ded him to know the outcome of a campaign he missed.” I winked and took my drink out of his hand while he muttered something about rolling twenties.

  It was late spring, and there was still a chill in the air, but the café had seen fit to set up its sidewalk patio a week or so after the snow melted. I pulled my jacket around me, though the cold didn’t really bother me, and sat on one of the wrought-iron chairs. My cell phone was securely in my pocket in case Holden called, but I expected I wouldn’t hear from him right away. I was also in no hurry to go back to the office and talk to Keaty about the state of affairs I now found myself in. I’d told him I was getting a coffee and then calling it a night.

  Dawn was only an hour or two away, and there was nothing I could do to change what I’d done tonight. I would have to face the consequences when they came.

  I tried to enjoy the hot, bitter sweetness of the latte, in sharp contrast to the coolness of the night, but my mind was reeling from what had happened. It took a lot to scare me, mostly because almost anything that went bump in the night I had killed at some point, but my encounter with Henry Davies had really shaken me.

  The unshakeable, calm and centered Secret McQueen had been knocked on her proverbial ass by the impression of a bite mark. Maybe I had been mistaken. There was a chance part of the bite had healed faster or maybe I had been anticipating it so much I had imagined the missing tooth mark.

  I prayed that I was wrong. In the six years I had been doing this, the closest anyone had ever come to truly killing me was Alexandre Peyton, and he had promised me that next time we met he wouldn’t fail. If I was right about it being his mark, I was going to need to be on my guard more than usual until things either came to a head or blew over.

  As I sipped my coffee I was overcome by an unexpected warmth which had nothing to do with the drink. It was like a humid summer breeze was blowing down 81st Street, only it crawled over my body and into my pores. My mouth felt thick with musky, dense flavor. The sensation was invasive and overwhelming, and what scared me the most was how comfortable I felt with it. I licked my lips and tasted cinnamon.