by K. L. Noone
Mara set down her last spoonful of soup and sighed. She also licked her lips, like a cat, enjoying poultry.
“I’m sorry, okay,” Justin said. “I thought—he said he loved me and I thought I could—it was stupid. I know.”
“It wasn’t,” Kris said, fiercely, and did take his hand, not stopping to internally debate the action. “You trusted him. You let yourself believe in him. That’s not—ah, anyway, it’s not.”
Justin turned to look at him, at their hands.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mara said, and polished off her beer. “You know you can’t have both. You know it doesn’t work. You’ve made that choice. You can’t pretend to be human and then turn around and say, hi, I love you and I feed on souls.”
“I don’t,” Justin said, small and miserable, to broth and chicken and rice. His food wafted sympathetic steam upward.
“I know you don’t and you know you don’t, but humans’re idiots.” She tipped her head at Kris. “No offense. Listen, pet, either you accept that you’re one of us, or you accept that you can’t ever tell them. I’m sorry, but that’s what it is.”
“…I told Kris,” Justin said, still very small. “And when Mom and Dad—”
“I’m not saying there aren’t exceptions.” She took the rest of Justin’s soup. “But most of them aren’t. And you’ll get hurt.”
“He won’t,” Kris said. “Not again.”
“You’re human,” Justin’s aunt said, and her eyes weren’t, then, though they were old, and sad, and angry with love. “What can you do?”
“That’s not fair.” Justin contemplated his kidnapped bowl, and resigned himself to not getting it back. “He’s done—everything, really. For me.”
“And maybe he has, and maybe your David—I never liked him, by the way, too arrogant for you—will do something that hurts you worse.” She eyed Kris’s soup next; Kris deliberately put a hand on the bowl, and she grinned. “We are hearing rumblings. Something…big, I think. A change. And it’s to do with you.”
“So this is a warning,” Justin said, tense and wary at Kris’s side.
Mara waved her spoon. Her hair flickered with devouring light. “It’s a courtesy. No one’s coming after you, nothing like that, and we’re minor powers anyway, it’s not serious foresight. But you know it has to be something if even Ylse and her featherbrained friends’re picking it up. They’ve been watching their ludicrous human soap operas again, and so of course everything’s a crisis, but…what you’ve just said means they’re not necessarily wrong.” Despite the T-shirt and jeans and elbows on the table, she was wholly a demon; Kris saw that all over again, in the quickness of her motions, in the sharpness of her teeth, and shivered.
“Yes.” Justin’s fingers got a bit tighter around his: protection, or support, or simple anchoring, or all of those. Kris squeezed back, unembarrassed about this. “Thank you. And I am sorry. I know it isn’t—me lying to people doesn’t help people not be scared of us.”
“Oh,” Mara said blithely, “who cares about that? Enough of them still want to make bargains to keep us fed for centuries…no, we just wanted to check in on you. But you seem to be well enough at the moment, pet, claiming a rock star for your very own, I’m so very proud, and he’s quite pretty. Can he sign something for me? Your first human.”
Kris had been asked for many autographs over the years. He had never been asked for an autograph as anyone’s first collected human.
His mobile phone, in his pocket, buzzed. He ignored it; this mattered more. And he was vastly intrigued: by Justin, by casual power, by the interactions of demons, which no-one knew much about…
Justin flicked fingers through the air. Made an extraordinarily rude gesture appear, outlined in vermilion and gilt sparkles.
Mara applauded. “Such vocabulary. You’d be such a wonderful little incubus, with some training. You can practice on your new human.”
“You can help us with the dishes,” Justin said, getting up, releasing Kris’s hand, “and leave before my family comes home, please.”
And Kris saw her lips part; Justin’s aunt had an expressive face, after all, and she did not move for a second, though the flippant mask slid back into place.
Justin must’ve seen or felt that too, because he set an empty beer-bottle down and came back and put a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean that. Not the way it sounded.”
“I know that,” Mara said, and got up and brushed past him, touching dishes, summoning white-hot cleansing flame from thin air. “You’re half human. You can’t help having emotions. No proper demon would care.”
Kris’s phone buzzed a second time. Irritated, he did not check it. Likely Reggie, anyway, asking again about Midwinter visits. Not urgent.
“Good thing my favorite aunt’s an improper demon.” Justin sent a spoon flying into a drawer by magic, over his shoulder. “I was only being prickly. You insulted Kris. And me. And you also came here to help. You’re family too. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, pet.” Mara was half his height and doubtless twice as powerful; they paused to gaze at each other across countertops and kitchen appliances. “I’ll never understand how you can not see them as playthings, so easy to bat into corners, but I suppose Ahla thought that way too, like you…I won’t stick around to tempt any of your thoroughly human half-grown relations, don’t worry, and let me know if you’d like a minor curse or nightmare visit for your David, would you? I’m fabulous at erotic horror dream sequences.”
Kris frantically attempted to not imagine this. From his expression, Justin was attempting the same. “I’ll…let you know. Um. Thank you. And thank the others for me. For the warning.”
“Next time buy better beer,” Mara said, and kissed him on the cheek—she must’ve kissed Kris too, he felt the impression of heat and flame-flutters like moth-wings, flitting and harmless—and vanished, far more simply than when she’d arrived.
Justin let out a breath and dropped onto a bar-stool. “So.”
“So,” Kris agreed, sitting down beside him. “Next time we…buy better beer?”
“I keep this house and my apartment warded,” Justin sighed, and waved tiredly at Kris’s nearly-gone beer, which hopped into his hand, “but of course my aunts’re stronger than I am, so it’s more of a suggestion than anything else…if there’s something coming, it’ll be soon. They’re not powerful enough to’ve noticed otherwise.”
“Something to do with David?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. There’re demons who can see further into the future, but we aren’t them. Do you mind if I finish this?”
“No, go on, have it.” His mobile went off again. Another text. He thought about checking it—maybe some kind of emergency with his apartment, or Reggie’s family; he couldn’t imagine they’d need his presence, though maybe money—
When he went to pull it out of his pocket he caught sight of his arm, and froze, sidetracked. Iridescent crimson fingerprints shimmered, translucent and sparkling over his skin. “What she said about, ah…”
“Oh. That.” Apologetic, but not entirely regretful. “I couldn’t think of what else to—she wanted to see what I’d do, of course, and I did exactly what she hoped—I should’ve asked, I’m sorry, I didn’t think I had time.”
“It’s fine, I don’t mind being your, um, your human, but—what did you do?” He poked one fingerprint. It glimmered. He could be Justin’s human. He already was. “Anything I should know?”
“It’ll wear off.” Justin collected his arm, fingers gentle when they skimmed his skin, investigated demonic signatures. “I’m not working with a lot of power here, remember. This one’ll last for about a day, as far as I can tell from feeling it. Not a year and a day or eternity plus one or any of that. It means you’re someone’s, um, don’t take this the wrong way, but—property. Mine. Not for preying on or making deals with or tempting. And it’ll be protection for you if someone tries, or a little protection, at least. Like I said, I’m not that strong. I’m really sorry, I kno
w I did it without asking, I can try to take it off if you want, but I’ve never done this before so I don’t know how, exactly.”
“Yeah, she said…” He poked the closest fingerprint again. It pooled and reformed, like water, if water twinkled red. “Your first. Is that like some sort of demon virginity thing, because—”
Justin trailed fingers through all the prints, catching them like ink-drops, tugging and releasing them to flow back to their spots; and grinned, looking up. “Oh yes. Completely. I’ve given my demonic human-claiming virginity to you, Kris. First time. Be gentle.”
And he might’ve been teasing, was teasing; Kris let out an exhale of amusement. But then he thought about words spoken in the winter quiet of the kitchen before an interruption, and the way Justin’s hand lay over his arm, and the depths of those cinnamon-pleated eyes when they met his.
He said, “Can you feel it when I touch it?”
“Yeah.” Justin’s voice was hushed, like his own: saying more, without vowels and consonants and syllables. “Like being, um, well, touched. Not that it hurts or anything, it’s small, it’s like someone tapping your shoulder. It’s a piece of me. If you seriously wanted my attention—your demon’s attention, if you’d knowingly let someone claim you—you’d play with it, or poke it, or, I don’t know, stab it with a needle or something if you did want it to hurt—”
“No.”
“Oh. You—you wouldn’t—right. Um. I think mostly it’ll just sit there until it fades. But I can feel…you don’t mind it, do you…”
“No,” Kris told him, reassured him, promised him, “I don’t mind,” and felt his nerves sing with gold. “I did say I’d be gentle, and if you—” His phone. Fourth time. “Who the bloody hell—”
“Get that,” Justin said, “if you need to, it might be important if—” and then his phone, lying on the counter, chimed in with punk-rock impatience. “That’s my office, but what—”
“You might as well,” Kris suggested, “I’ll check this,” and as he did he heard Justin saying “Hello?” beside him.
The first text, from a number he’d only just gotten, said we’re on the way home don’t let him get on ANY social media sorry this is James btw in case you lost track of us. Kris stared at it. Read the next one. Mom says it’s not as bad as it could be but DON’T LET HIM THINK WE HATE HIM FOR IT OK??
What? He blinked at the words. No, still not making sense. Justin’s brother was worried about…Justin? And social media? And something that…might make Justin afraid the family’d hate him…
Justin, in the background, pacing through the family room while holding his conversation, said, “But, Mr. Aubrey, I—no, no, you’re right, I understand…” His voice sounded distant. Stunned, if a voice could be stunned, shocked and colorless.
The third text was indeed from Reggie. It said, holy nine circles of the sacred North, Kris, what’ve you gone and done, that is your impossible kid Justin on the news, isn’t it, call me if you need help.
He stared at that one too. Then, very very gingerly, opened up the internet. And then couldn’t speak, because so many profanities’d crowded into his mouth that none fell out.
James’s final text said the family would be home in ten minutes and that he shouldn’t let Justin leave. He couldn’t frame a reply. Numb fingers.
Justin, on the phone, breathed, “Can I at least ask—where did you hear—oh. Yes. I see. Thank—thank you, I appreciate—” The record label’s owner had evidently hung up. Justin stood motionless in the living room, framed by bookshelves, white-faced as a boy struck by an arrow he’d never seen coming. “…Kris?”
“Justin,” Kris said, and ran to his side, and pushed him onto sofa-cushions, “just—just breathe, it’ll be fine, I promise—”
“It won’t be.” Justin looked at his phone as if no longer recognizing the shape of it. “I’ve just been fired…I’ve been fired because—he said everyone knew, he said it was everywhere, and they couldn’t trust me as part of the agency, offering contracts and making deals, and—and I shouldn’t bother coming back in…”
“It’ll be okay,” Kris attempted, “we can handle this, we’ve handled everything else…” He did not know how they could. He did not know what would happen. He genuinely couldn’t picture a next step.
“He said—he said everyone was talking about me,” Justin whispered. “How? What—what would’ve—no. Oh no. David.”
“Yeah. I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry. I’m here, it’s okay, it’ll be okay.” He had an arm around Justin’s shoulders now. He wasn’t sure Justin was breathing; the afternoon and the winter sky groaned with descending heaviness.
David. Justin’s ex, not content with physical retaliation or burning Justin’s left-behind scarves, had called every major news outlet in New York. Had told them he knew the identity of the New York Demon, who’d been lurking in the city under everyone’s noses; who’d been toying with him in particular, tormenting him, keeping him in thrall, for six months.
The details were lurid. They were mostly vicious lies. But Justin’s name was there. Justin’s address in the city. And David Ross had the weight of his own untarnished respectable lawyer reputation.
Winter wind shrieked around the windows. Leaves and branches rustled outside. Rain skittered, darted, landed hard, coming in quick. The domestic world of chicken soup and family, unspoken understood words and the protections of fingerprints over bare skin, shuddered: under attack.
Ariel the cat appeared, launched his chubbiness up onto the sofa next to Justin, and purred. Justin’s hand shook, reaching down automatically to pet him. Kris decided that cats were good people, especially this one, especially now.
Justin wasn’t talking anymore. Not good. Even that energetic hair had gone motionless: flattened under the weight of public revelation. What could they do? What could come next? What could be an answer to this?
He tried to rub warmth into chilly demon skin. That shirt was too thin. Justin needed to be warm. Maybe he could solve that much, at least; maybe he could throw himself between his demon and the cold, when the storm hit. He did not know what else to try, yet; but maybe he could do that.
He took Justin’s mobile away, out of one lax hand, and set it on the sofa behind him. Justin did not appear to notice. Kris swallowed, hard, and held him, and after a few seconds Justin turned more closely into him, face tucked into Kris’s neck, accepting being held.
Heavy drops, outside, drummed on windowpanes and lake-water and winter ground. Waiting, he thought, to hear what answer they might find.
Chapter 6
Eventually Kris had to look. One of them had to. To comprehend the extent of the damage.
Justin tried to read the article open on his mobile. Kris tried to not let him glimpse the screen. “You don’t want to see that—”
“I have to.” Justin put out a hand, tipped the phone into view. “I have to know.”
“James told me not to let you…”
“James knows?” Hurt littered that question like treacherous bruising rubies. “Was that what your texts were? You—all of you—you didn’t want me to find out?”
Kris, wounded by gemstones of pain as they hit, tripped and flailed amid words. “No—I mean we didn’t want it to be—we didn’t want you to find out like—”
“Instead I found out when I got fired.” That voice cracked. Scratches in familiar melody. Frustration, loss, distress. “He told them everything, didn’t he…gods…some of it’s true, you know. You don’t know all my stories. This one, that night out when…oh, and this, he told them that I like to be tied up and…he says he was a good person and never would’ve had those fantasies on his own, never would’ve done those things to someone else, and so I must’ve bewitched him.” Dazed spice-cloud eyes came up to find his. “Some of it’s not true. He lied.”
“Of course he did,” Kris agreed immediately, and called David every single insulting name he could think of, which went on for several profane minutes. Justin didn’t
exactly laugh, by the end of it, but came close.
“What’s a mouldiwarp?”
“Ah…something my mother used to yell at people who annoyed her. I think it means a mole. Like a garden mole.”
“Oh.” Justin set down the phone. “I suppose he could be one of those. Digging up dirt. I can’t look at this anymore.”
“You don’t have to.” He wanted to slam fists against the sky or the earth or David himself, driven by roiling protective fury. Justin hadn’t been hurt enough? Hadn’t been brave enough? And what could Kris Starr hope to do? “I’ve been through media circuses before. It’ll die down.”
“Will it?” Justin plainly did not believe this. “I was a journalist, remember. And I’ve done publicity. This is a story. Every band I’ve worked with, every show I covered as a writer, every contract I signed…every person I ever slept with…”
“Your hands are cold.” He cradled them in his, tried to tempt heat back into thin fingers. “We can take it. I swear to you, it’ll be rough but we can take it, and we’ll be okay. Want, um, tea? A blanket? Anything?”
“We,” Justin repeated, uncertain but testing the word, hearing the sound.
“Yeah, we, come on, love, you think I’m going anywhere now?” He lifted his arm, which because he was holding Justin’s hand meant he lifted both. “I’m your human. Properly claimed and all that.”
“That was before—this. Before everyone knew. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted me to take it off, if I even can—”
“I’m yours,” Kris said, “and you’re my demon, yeah?” and then he held his breath, because that might’ve been pushing too far, a step off the cliff.
But Justin settled into the shelter of his arm. “Only half…”
“My half-demon.”
“Kris,” Justin said, tipping that head back to look up at him, “are we…are you and I…I can’t even think about…why would you want this, I’m such a disaster and even if I wasn’t I’m not good enough for…and now there’s this and—and you’re being so wonderful and I can’t…”