by M. L. Ryan
I smiled at Rachel and asked with as much nonchalance as I could muster, “So, Sebastian invited you over?”
“Yes, he wanted my opinion about which finishes you might prefer for your new kitchen.”
I turned to Sebastian. “Why didn’t you just ask me?”
The question might have sounded completely benign, but my expression made it abundantly clear to anyone who could see it—which didn’t include Rachel as I shifted my head away from her—that whatever the explanation, I wasn’t buying it. Granted, I didn’t really have any strong opinions on the décor of my rebuilt guesthouse, other than I hoped it was finished soon. It had been almost seven months since it burned to the ground, and the reconstruction was taking forever. Alex and I were living in the main house, Sebastian’s house, which was large and fancy, but I longed for some privacy. Not that Sebastian encroached on our space unnecessarily, but I was tired of having to put on a robe if I wanted a snack in the middle of the night and restricting any amorous adventures to the bedroom.
Sebastian lifted one brow. “I wouldn’t have to consult with Rachel if you had not made the other interior decorators I hired quit.”
“They didn’t quit because of me,” I argued. “Sandra lost her ‘vision’ and the other one got tired of waiting around for us to be in town.”
I added air quotes and an eye roll to punctuate Sandra’s reason for abandoning the project. She was offensively condescending, an attitude that anyone who would use the term “vision” has no right possessing. There was no love lost between her and me, and I wasn’t the least bit sorry when she left. The guy that took her place—Garrett, or maybe Garnet, I couldn’t recall—was actually pleasant, but he couldn’t keep his other jobs on hold while we wandered about, fighting inter-dimensional crime.
“Whatever the reasons, we are without a designer, and Rachel offered to help make the place special for you,” Sebastian replied with a dismissive flick of his hand.
I hated when he made me feel guilty. He and my mother were experts in the art of fueling my over-developed sense of self-regret, and I’d worked hard not to let either of them ding me with their uncanny capacity to elicit both remorse and insignificance all at the same time.
“I know you want everything to be perfect, Sebastian, and I appreciate that,” I ground out, “but, as I told you before, as long as nothing is green, I’ll be happy.”
I’d had a weeklong argument with Sandra about having emerald, the color of the year, applied to the living room walls. She contended it was the epitome of chic, with a hint of mint and lots of moxie. I appreciated a color with verve and panache as much as the next person, but I didn’t want my dwelling to look like a leprechaun exploded inside. Besides, it turned out emerald was last year’s winner. It was bad enough she was a pretentious harpy, but a behind the times one was more than I could take.
Sebastian nodded. “I know. That is why I sought Rachel’s input and not yours.”
“Really, Hails, I have some fantastic ideas and Sebastian says money is no object. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this my whole life.”
She laughed, flipping her straight, blonde bob away from her gorgeous face. By all appearances, she was joking, but I knew the truth. It didn’t matter that none of the purchases were for her, for Rachel, shopping was a spiritual event under any circumstances. Doing so without having to pay for anything was akin to reaching a higher plane of existence. Now that I thought about it, perhaps it didn’t matter that Sebastian was not human and over two hundred years older than my best friend. They were actually well suited: he was rich and handsome, and she loved expensive things and good-looking men.
“Fine,” I relented. “Design away to your heart’s content. Just don’t choose anything that has to be back-ordered. I’d like to move in sometime this century.”
Sebastian frowned and tapped a finger to his chin. “I suppose your request precludes the purchase of the custom, hand-woven Navajo rugs I had in mind. One cannot rush an artist, you understand.”
Those rugs were magnificent but completely unsuited for a residence that contained a cat, particularly my feline, Vinnie, an overweight, male calico with hairball issues and intact claws. If expensive, Native American-crafted floor coverings were Sebastian’s idea of appropriate guesthouse décor, I was in deep shit. Or deep barf, as it were.
Not wanting to throw Vinnie under the proverbial bus, I decided to leave him out of the discussion. “Nothing has to be fancy,” I asserted, “just comfortable. If stuff is too nice, I’ll constantly worry about messing it up. As far as I’m concerned, a home should be easy to clean, relatively indestructible, and coordinate perfectly with the color of one’s pet’s fur.” Anything beyond those parameters seemed needlessly overindulgent.
Under his breath so only I could hear, Sebastian muttered, “With your propensity for incineration, only a dwelling constructed entirely of concrete would satisfy those requirements.”
“Hey, it’s not like I tried to burn down the guesthouse,” I whispered back. “Besides, I hardly ever set fire to stuff anymore.”
“That reminds me,” Rachel interrupted. “You never did tell me exactly how the fire started, only that it was an accident.”
Her wide eyes made it clear she expected me to fill in the blanks, and I had to think quickly to recall the story we’d fabricated to explain the blaze. Crap. Did we settle on a lightning strike or faulty appliance? Keeping all the lies straight was not one of my strengths, and I couldn’t remember what I had told her previously. Yet another reason to avoid lying in the first place.
Before I had a chance to reply, Sebastian answered for me. “It was difficult to determine a precise cause, but it appears the most likely candidate was an electrical storm-induced power surge coupled with a poorly manufactured toaster.”
That’s right, I recalled, lightning and the toaster. I listened as Sebastian detailed how a crumb of bread left on the heating element ignited after lightning struck the roof. His deceit was seamless. Even I almost believed it.
Rachel shook her head. “To think something as innocuous as a toaster could cause all that destruction. Thank goodness no one was hurt.”
As long as one forgets Lyjwix, and that I unintentionally cremated him so there was no evidence of a body in the rubble, I said to myself.
I didn’t know how we’d have explained that. Some Courso—Alex and Sebastian included—were able to alter human memory, but if there were any trace of remains in the wreckage, it would’ve taken a lot of effort to wipe the minds of all the cops, firefighters, and emergency crews that showed up that night. It was a big job keeping the existence of magical beings from another dimension a secret. I had always found it interesting when, in vampire novels, ravenous undead must feast on humans for food but no one seems to recognize the uptick of bloodless corpses lying around. Maybe that sort of carnage could go unnoticed in the past, but now, with the Internet and social media, supernatural damage control was a bitch.
Turning towards the hall, Rachel announced over her shoulder, “I’ll just be a minute, Bass. I must use the powder room. Then we can concentrate on our shopping list.”
“Bass?” I said quizzically once she was out of earshot. “She already has a nickname for you?”
His entire face lit up. “Yes, and I quite like it.”
“Sure, it’s perfect. Just take off the B.”
Ulut, who had relocated to the other sofa, lifted his head, and let out a little “yip,” which at first I took as appreciation of my Sebastian-directed barb. I quickly realized he was simply announcing a new arrival at Casa de Kess.
Alex generally never accompanied us for training—he said seeing me in dangerous situations brought out his protectiveness—but I suspected he stayed away for another reason. Alex had lived and trained with Sebastian to hone his own impressive skills with a master of magic. In fact, Alex spent the majority of his youth with Sebastian and only visited his royal parents a few weeks a year. After his stint at the Sebas
tian Kess School for Exceptional Princes ended, Alex decided to reject his aristocratic pedigree and became a Xyzok, often partnered with his mentor. Their relationship, based on mutual respect from decades of close contact, made it difficult for Alex to comprehend fully why Sebastian and I often squabbled. I guess no one could get inside you like someone who had been inside you, and Sebastian and I knew each other inside and out.
Alex leaned down and kissed the top of my head. “How did it go today?”
“Great,” I replied. “We didn’t kill each other, and I barfed on Sebastian’s favorite loafers.”
“Her ability to regurgitate is unsurpassed, Alexander. It makes me wonder if she has always had this gift or her Yterixa-form as a hawk refined that skill.”
I glowered at Sebastian. “You know, if you are going to make pronouncements like that, get your facts straight. Harris’s hawks don’t chew up food and barf it up to feed their young.”
“Good to know, my dear, but I based my assertion on a hawks’ propensity to expel undigested bits of their prey.”
I did tend to york up an occasional wad of bone or feathers if I had to hunt for my food, but it wasn’t my way to admit Sebastian was right. “Yeah, but that doesn’t count. It’s a pellet, not puke.”
Sebastian paused and raised another imperious eyebrow. “Then I suppose you have always been predisposed to, how do you say it, losing your lunch.”
Before I had a chance to reply, Alex sighed. “Much as I’m interested in Hailey’s gastrointestinal problems, I meant, how was the cliff-hanging lesson?”
“That’s a legitimate training session?” I spat. “I thought it was just something Sebastian thought up, spur of the moment, to annoy me.”
Alex smiled. “No, every Xyzok gets dangled.”
“And how did you get out of it?” At least now, I’d find out what I was supposed to be able to do.
Sebastian huffed. “He didn’t.”
I glanced back and forth between them. “How is that possible? You said Alex was the greatest student you ever had.”
“That he was. And, after me, of course, he is probably the most skilled Xyzok alive.”
“So how did he not pass the test?”
“No one passes, my dear.”
“Then why did you make me feel like a useless failure when I couldn’t escape from your version of Houdini’s water tank?” I demanded.
“Because that is the lesson. Sometimes, there is no good way to get out of a situation.”
“Was I supposed to use magic?”
“Of course not. The lesson is not to get in an impossible situation in the first place,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.
Sebastian stalked off, apparently disappointed I questioned the Kess-ayashi Maru. I should have taken a tip from James T. Kirk and cheated.
3
I left Rachel and Sebastian to discuss the guesthouse renovation and tromped back to my room. Ulut followed, waiting for permission to enter. A casual observer would think he was simply a well-trained pooch, but as a man trapped as a dog, he was conscientious about manners. Before we knew he wasn’t a real canine—or a human, for that matter—he used to sleep in our room. Now, he usually shared a guestroom with Vinnie, who adored Ulut. I was surprised my contumacious feline so readily accepted an other-species companion, but there was no accounting for the cat’s tastes. He liked Sebastian, too.
Flopping down on the bed, I recapped my day. Ulut listened intently, which allowed me to vent, but it was difficult to gauge his feelings. Sure, sometimes he nodded or cocked his head—which looked bizarre from a dog, by the way—but he wasn’t capable of speech. This made discussion somewhat difficult, particularly regarding how to get him back to his normal self. When I was in my hawk form, we could communicate telepathically, but that meant all exchanges between anyone trying to help had to go through me when feathered. In this case, he was the perfect sounding board—I talked and he let me.
I finished my tirade with, “Does he care that I’m physically and mentally exhausted?” The question was rhetorical, and I certainly didn’t anticipate an answer.
A lilting, feminine voice responded from the open doorway. “Who are you talking to?” Rachel scrutinized the room, expecting, I supposed, to see Alex, or some person.
“Oh, um, I was talking to myself.”
Ulut produced a small, growly sound and tilted his head as if to say, “What am I, chopped liver?” Rachel didn’t seem to notice his pique and offered her outstretched hand to him. He wagged his tail and trotted over to have his chin scratched.
“Uh-huh. Really, Hailey, sometimes you speak to the dog as if he can understand you.”
Rachel launched into a litany of high-pitched, baby talk people often reserved for animals, punctuated by some hearty ruffling of Ulut’s upright ears. He obviously enjoyed her ministrations and rolled onto his back to have her go to work on his now-exposed belly.
“Who’s a big boy?” she cooed as he reveled in the attention. “Who’s a good doggie?”
I hoped Sebastian was out of earshot. If he saw what was going on, and how much Ulut was enjoying it, the dog risked relegation to an outside enclosure. No one flirted with Sebastian’s woman, even when the woman wasn’t actually Sebastian’s, and the flirter was, for all intents and purposes, not a rival because the woman wasn’t into that kind of thing. Some kink, perhaps, but I knew she’d draw the line at bestiality.
Fortunately, Rachel had a short attention span and soon lost interest in playing with Ulut. “Sebastian is getting the car and we are going to look at marble slabs,” she announced, checking for signs of brown fur on her white leggings. “Wow, he must have some poodle in him. There’s hardly any hair on me at all. You should think about breeding him. Folks would pay mega-bucks for low-shedding cuties like Ulut. I hear Labradoodle pups go for thousands of dollars.”
People often speculated that Ulut was some sort of a something-oodle, with his reddish-brown, corkscrewed coat. He actually looked very much like a Curly Coated Retriever, except instead of short, floppy ears, his stood up atop his head. One was missing most of the tip; when Ulut was a boy, a feral pig attacked him and bit off the top of it, a characteristic that was present even in his animal form.
“It’s ridiculous that anyone would pay that much for a mixed-breed dog,” I complained. Although, if anyone besides me could smell Ulut’s perma-puppy breath, a lot of folks might be justified in forking over huge amounts of money. “Besides, I’m not interested in establishing a kennel.” Ulut confided that once, overcome with animal instincts after being one for an extended period, he engaged in a sexual encounter with some wild canid. I wondered if a shape-shifting humanoid from the third dimension was even capable of producing offspring with a real dog. Or if they should even if they could. The legal implications alone were too much to comprehend, much less the ethics involved.
A car horn tooted from outside. I knew from the sound that Sebastian chose his newest acquisition, a bright red Ferrari 458 Spider, instead of one of the Xyzok-provided SUVs he usually drove. He was definitely hauling out the big guns for this excursion. I knew he was loaded, the monetary exchange rate made any Courso rich in this dimension, but it still seemed wrong to buy a vehicle that cost more than most people spend for a house. Hell, you could buy two or three houses for what he coughed up for that sportster.
Alex appeared in the doorway. “Your chariot awaits,” he announced, bowing dramatically at Rachel.
She giggled and gave me a quick hug. “Got to go. Just wanted to let you know that we were leaving. By the way, I love what you are doing with your hair. It’s unusual, but it somehow suits you. Where do you go to get it done?”
My formerly dark brown hair now had a wide swath of coppery tones around my face and a white streak at the base of my head, much like the coloration of a Harris’s hawk. According to Hewlyxnathin, my Yterixa guru, regular form bends gave me the new look. Too bad it didn’t include straightening my unruly curls to something more remini
scent of a bird’s feathers. I’d give anything for my hair to be ruly.
“I don’t go anywhere; I do it myself.” I wasn’t lying, just twisting the truth a little. Denial. Not just a river in Africa.
“Really?” she replied, examining my “work” more carefully. “Even the back?”
“Uh, Alex helps with that.” It wasn’t a great explanation, but it was the best I could come up with spur of the moment.
“Wow. Gorgeous and he knows how to highlight! You are one lucky woman, Hails.”
She turned and hurried out the door. Tempting as it was to warn her not to succumb to Sebastian’s charms, I held my tongue. She was a big girl, and Sebastian already swore he never used magic on any woman to make himself more appealing. Claimed it wasn’t necessary, as women flocked to him regardless. Arrogant asstard. Trouble was, if I was completely honest, I could understand the attraction. Much as it pained me to admit, he was handsome and could be quite beguiling. Not often to me, but to other people. Still, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Sebastian court a woman before,” Alex offered as he watched Rachel retreat. “He must truly care about her.”
“I’m not sure which is worse, Sebastian just wanting to get in her pants or them having an actual relationship.”
Alex canted his head. “You would rather he used your friend to satisfy his lust? I don’t understand.”
“Rachel can handle a meaningless tryst, but I don’t know how she will react to being cast aside. She is used to being the dumper, not the dumpee.”
“What makes you think she is going to be dumped?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Because Sebastian told me himself that he’s never woken up with a woman. Ever. He bangs ‘em and gets the hell out. He has no concept of what a relationship is.”
Alex guided me to the bed, and we sat side by side on the edge of the mattress. “I’ve known him a long time, carisa. I think all the one-night stands were his way of keeping a distance from women.”