Brush with Catastrophe

by Tara Lain

  Ryder really frowned. “Have you seen her with Lucien?”

  Chen practically spat. “At the party, but not since.”

  “That’s good, anyhow.”

  “Why?”

  Ryder turned his cup. “People around him get weird.” He glanced at Sammy. “Except for Sammy.”

  Gods, it even hurt to think about Lucien, the bastard. “That’s because I have you. You took care of me.”

  Ryder reached up and petted Al’s black fur. “Me and Al. I swear, he’s the best cat ever.”

  Sammy glanced at Chen, who raised his eyebrows an inch. If Ryder only knew.

  Mrs. Potorsky brought their food, and Sammy dug in. Good sex made him hungry. Maybe if he stayed with Ryder long enough, he’d put on some weight. Hell, forever wasn’t long enough to be with Ryder.

  They ate and chatted with Chen for a while. Finally Sammy leaned back and patted his stomach.

  Ryder laughed. “Have you filled that bottomless pit yet? Want to go to the hardware store?”

  Chen cocked his head. “Why hardware?”

  Sammy pulled the angel out from under his shirt. “Lucien left me with an unwelcome gift. Somehow this charm is on a continuous chain. I can’t get it off. So we’re going to cut it off.”

  Chen stared at the charm like he’d seen a serpent. “Estera has a charm just like that. I saw it the last time we went out, when she started acting weird.”

  Ryder looked at the charm too. “Shit.”

  SHAKING. WANT this creepy thing off!

  Ryder held the door, and Sammy walked into the mom-and-pop hardware store. They’d probably get more personal attention here than in the big-box stores. He couldn’t get this thing off fast enough. Hearing about Estera weirded him out. Why was Lucien handing out expensive gold charms like penny candy?

  A white-haired man approached them. “Can I help you boys?”

  Sammy tried to smile through his anxiety. “Yes, sir.” He held out the chain. “I’d like to get this cut off.”

  The man studied the chain. “This is a lovely piece of jewelry. Why does it need cutting? Is the clasp broken?”

  Ryder smiled. “Actually, sir, the chain’s sealed. Sort of a boyish folly, if you understand my meaning.”

  The gentleman nodded. “Ah, I see. And later we regret, yes?” He gestured toward the back of the store. “Come along. This should be the work of a minute.”

  That sounded good. Sammy followed the man, and Ryder came behind with Al on his shoulders. Funny that Ryder never wondered why people didn’t yell about Al. He’d never said a word.

  At the counter, the hardware man went into the back and came out with a small pair of wire cutters. “This should do the job.” He gestured Sammy close to him, grasped the chain, and slipped the cutters under it. With force, he pressed the handles together.

  Sammy couldn’t see the clippers so close to his neck, so he watched the man. The guy’s smile faded, and his eyes got wide, then narrowed as he pressed down on the handles even harder. “This must be some special alloy. Let me get something stronger.”

  Well, shit. Ugly ants crawled up his spine. Sammy stared at Ryder’s frown, and they waited.

  A minute later, the gentleman returned with a pair of industrial-strength clippers. Those things looked like they could cut the wires on the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “Lean forward, young man.”

  Sammy leaned. The chain tightened on his neck as the cutters slipped under it.

  The man squeezed, pried, and pressed until the chain cut into Sammy’s throat. The man looked perplexed. “I don’t understand it. For some reason, I’m simply unable to cut this chain.”

  A cold snake wound itself up Sammy’s neck and squeezed.

  Ryder reached out a hand. “May I try?”

  “Certainly.”

  Ryder took the clippers and stepped close to Sammy. He smiled, but it looked strained. “Put your fingers under here, Sams, so the chain doesn’t hurt you.”

  Sammy slipped two fingers under the chain and felt its heat. Ryder’s green eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. The chain pulled taut against Sammy’s hand, but it didn’t release. It didn’t release. Trapped.

  Panic clutched at his throat. “I… I want it off.”

  Ryder put his arm tight around Sammy. “It’s okay. We’ll find a way. This doesn’t make sense. The chain has to break. We’ll find a way.”

  But it made perfect sense to Sammy, and he was in a hell of a lot of trouble.

  SAMMY WALKED into the apartment with Ryder behind him. I need to call Killian. He glanced toward Ryder. Tough explaining to a human why he wanted to call his history teacher about getting a chain off his neck. Still, the Witch Master must know about this—and fast. Sammy knew of two or three other people besides himself who’d been essentially bound by Lucien. It could be the conceit of a two-timing witch, but it felt bigger. Worse.

  Ryder wrapped an arm around Sammy. “We’ll figure out something. The bastard can’t have found some unbreakable metal. We’ll get it off.”

  Sammy nodded. Now that he knew he couldn’t cut it, the thing felt like it was choking him. He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t panic, but he had to call the Witch Master. He stared at Ryder. Hells, what am I thinking having a human boyfriend? I’m crazy. Yeah, crazy about Ryder.

  Ryder peed, changed into his sweats, and went to sit on the couch to watch TV. Essentially, he’d moved in during the last couple of days. Funny, Sammy had never been to Ryder’s place. Ryder brought a few clothes and his toothbrush to Sammy’s. No way Sammy was complaining.

  “Hey, I think I’ll take a quick shower.”

  Ryder looked over his shoulder. “Want company?”

  Sammy laughed. “Glutton.”

  “Always.”

  “No. I just want to get the hardware grime off me.”

  Ryder nodded, and he looked so understanding Sammy almost cried. Before he bawled like a baby, he grabbed his cell phone and hid it in his pocket, then went into the bathroom, started the water, and dialed Killian’s number.

  Blaine answered.

  “Hi, Blaine. This is Sammy. Can I talk to Killian?”

  “Sorry, Samlyn, he’s on a conference call that will go on for at least another hour. Can I help?”

  “I need to come see him. Do you know his schedule?”

  “He could see you tomorrow, early afternoon.”

  Sammy took a deep breath. He’d worn the damned thing this long. What the hells? “Okay, that would be great.”

  “One o’clock?”

  “Good.”

  “He’ll be at his family home, where the party was held. He has some earlier appointments.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll see you there.”

  “See you.”

  Sammy put the phone back in his pocket, undressed, and hopped under the water. He needed to be wet. He now knew the charm was bespelled, and getting it off felt like the world’s highest priority, but in truth, nothing had changed. He’d had the charm on for a few days and was none the worse. Killian needed to know what was happening, but there was a solid chance it was all just the hubris of a playboy witch who wanted to show off his conquests. Sammy shuddered. I wish I believed that.

  After a quick rinse off, he dried himself, slipped on his sweats, and went to sit next to Ryder on the couch. “Hey, you like dancing shows too?”

  Ryder slipped his arm around Sammy and pulled him close. “You kidding? All those half-naked guys with zero body fat? What’s not to like?”

  Sammy laughed and snuggled into Ryder as Aloysius jumped up on his lap. He kissed Ryder’s cheek. “Yep, you’re gay all right.” Gods, he was so happy.

  What were the chances it could stay this way?

  “UNHHH.” SHIT, his back hurt. Sammy turned over, and his cheekbone cracked against wood. Oh no. Seriously?

  Wait. Things had changed. This painting was not likely to be about Mrs. Henderson’s knickers. Chills ran up his arms as he slowly sat up. Morning light filtered around th
e shades on the windows. He turned his eyes toward the easel. Holy shit!

  He jumped to his feet and moved closer. The painting showed Killian lying on the floor with Lucien standing over him. The Witch Master’s eyes were closed. Lucien’s expression was unreadable. Gods, what did it mean?

  “Sammy, what’s going on?”

  Ryder. What could he say? No thoughts came to mind. Nothing. He stared at Ryder with his mouth opening and closing like a fish. A caught fish.

  “Did you paint this?”

  “I woke up, and it was here.”

  Ryder frowned. “How can that be?”

  Oh hells. The day had finally arrived. “Because I painted it.” He sighed. “You may want to sit down.”

  “I’m fine.” Ryder stood there with his bare chest glowing in the light, tattoos twining, and a pair of sweats covering his lower half.

  “I’m not.” I’ve got to call Killian. “Give me a second.” He ran to the dresser, grabbed his cell phone, and dialed. It rang and rang. No answer. Shit!

  When he walked back to the living area, Ryder stood in the same place, his arms crossed, staring at the painting. “Is that Dr. Barth on the floor? And is that Lucien?”

  “Yes and yes. Please sit down.” Ryder took the couple of steps to the couch and sat. Sammy practically fell down on the floor across from him. “I sometimes paint stuff at night when I’m asleep. I never remember doing it, but I wake up on the floor, and in the morning there’s a painting on the easel.”

  “That doesn’t look like your style.”

  “It’s not. These paintings are realistic, as if someone else painted them, but there’s no one here but me.”

  “How long have you been doing this?”

  Interesting question. “A couple of years, I guess.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  What to say? “A few people know.”

  “Why do you think you painted this picture? Are all your pictures odd like this?”

  “Not exactly. I painted you once. Right before I saw you after summer break.”

  Ryder frowned at the frightening image. “What do you think this painting means?”

  That was what had Sammy scared shitless. “Don’t know.”

  “Maybe you subconsciously think that Lucien is trying to hurt the professor. Or maybe the professor represents something to you about yourself?”

  “Maybe.”

  A frantic hammering on the door made them both look up. Sammy clambered to his feet and opened the door. Chen rushed in, saw Ryder, and stopped dead.

  Sammy gripped Chen’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Uh, I just heard. Professor Barth collapsed. He’s in a coma, they say.”

  “Holy shit.” If he’d gotten through when he tried to call, maybe he could have stopped this. Why didn’t I go there first thing? Shit! “I have to get over there.”

  Ryder stood up. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Chen nodded. “He’s at his family home.”

  Sammy ran to his sleeping area, ripped off his sweats, and pulled on jeans. Ryder appeared beside him. “I’m going too.”

  “No need for both of us—”

  “I’m going.” He also grabbed his jeans as Sammy yanked a T-shirt over his head and picked up a Windbreaker.

  By the time Sammy got to the door, Ryder was behind him. Sammy looked over his shoulder. “You want to come, Chen?”

  “I can’t. I have a meeting with my father. Will you call me?”

  “Yes. I promise.” Sammy had started out the door when the flying fur missile attached to his neck. He ran out and down the steps with Ryder hot on his heels. He glanced back and saw Chen close the door after himself. Sammy and Ryder rushed down the street, into the subway, and grabbed a train right before its doors closed. Sammy gasped for breath and tried not to focus on the burning heat of the charm on his chest. Al stayed still and silent.

  Ryder frowned. “What could have happened to Dr. Barth? He always seems so fit and vital.”

  Sammy shook his head. If he opened his mouth, he might scream.

  “Why do you think he’s at home? Shouldn’t he be in a hospital?”

  “Uh, they’ve got so much money I think he can have doctors brought in.” Gods, I’m babbling.

  They dived off the train at the stop nearest the professor’s home and ran the three blocks to his house. Sammy knocked on the big front door.

  A woman in some kind of maid’s uniform answered the door.

  Sammy gasped, “Is Dr. Genneau here?”

  “May I tell him who’s calling?”

  “Sammy Raphael. I have to see him. Right away.” He pushed past the woman, feeling bad because he was seldom rude, and ran straight for the big living room they’d been in for the party. No one. “Dr. Genneau?”

  “Here. Sammy?”

  Blaine’s voice came from down the hall. Sammy ran and found him in a more casual sitting room. The handsome woman he knew was Killian’s mother was huddled in a chair crying, and Blaine was walking toward him, his eyes very red. Sammy extended a hand, and Blaine took it. “Hi, Blaine.” Sammy felt Ryder come up behind him. “Can I speak to you alone, please?”

  “Sure, Samlyn. Ryder, please make yourself comfortable.” Blaine walked Sammy farther down the hall and into an office. He closed the door and reached over to pet Aloysius’s head. “What’s up?”

  “How’s Dr. Barth?”

  “He’s unconscious. The doctor’s with him now, but”—he took a deep, shuddering breath—“he hasn’t moved at all. Oh shit, Sammy.”

  Sammy stepped in and put his arms around Blaine. Al licked Blaine’s forehead. “What could have caused it? Do you have any idea?”

  Blaine shook his head. “No, I’ve thought and thought. He hasn’t done anything different that I know of. At least not anything that I didn’t do too. But he was feeling odd last night and now this.”

  “What does the doctor say?”

  “He hasn’t suggested anything yet. But Killian lies there like a stone, and my heart’s with him.” Tears filled Blaine’s eyes.

  Sammy took a deep breath. “I think there’s a chance that Lucien Eshel has something to do with Killian’s illness.”

  Blaine pulled back, and Sammy released him. “Why do you say that?”

  “Has Killian ever told you about my paintings?”

  “The prophecies?”

  “Yes. Usually they don’t mean much, but last night I painted Killian lying on the floor with Lucien standing over him. It freaked me out. I tried to call this morning but got no answer.”

  “I couldn’t answer.”

  “Of course. Anyway, I thought I needed to tell you right away, so I came over.”

  Blaine smiled softly. “Thank you so much. Actually your painting was right on the money.”

  “Really?”

  “We came to the house this morning because Killian had an appointment with Lucien. He wanted to ask him about Prague. Killian was in this office, and when Lucien arrived, I sent him in. He found Killian lying on the floor. He shouted seconds after he got in the room. When I ran in, I found Lucien standing over Killian’s prostrate body—like in your painting you described.”

  Aloysius growled.

  What to feel? Gods, talk about mixed emotions. “So Lucien found him? He didn’t have anything to do with his illness?”

  “I don’t see how he would have had time to do anything. It was literally seconds.”

  “Gods, I’m so sorry to have rushed in here and upset you for nothing.” Sammy felt like an absolute idiot.

  “No, you were right to be concerned. Killian doesn’t really trust Lucien either, so I know if I had seen your painting, I would have assumed the same thing.”

  Blaine was trying to make Sammy feel better. Gods, I’m an idiot. A no-talent fool. “I’m still sorry.”

  At a gentle tap on the door, Blaine walked over quickly. Killian’s mom was in the hall. “The doctor is back and wanting to talk to us.”

&nbs
p; “Yes. Thanks, Sammy.” He ran from the room.

  Just breathe. Sammy walked out of the room and down the hall. He saw Blaine and Mrs. Barth in deep conversation with the doctor. Just what the family needed, an idiotic interruption by Sammy. He stuck his head in the sitting room. Ryder was staring into space. Sammy pointed toward the door. “Let’s go, okay?”

  Ryder got up, followed him to the grand entry and out the front door. The maid stared at Sammy as he left. Yep, 100 percent nitwit.

  Out on the steps, Ryder took hold of his arm. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  Sammy frowned. “Dr. Barth’s in a coma, and I made it worse.”

  “How?”

  “I thought my painting was some big premonition or something. Turns out that Lucien was the one who found Dr. Barth, so I came in and stirred everybody up for nothing.”

  “But your painting was a premonition. You just didn’t know how to interpret it.”

  “Yeah. But I could have been a little cooler about it.”

  “You have reason to dislike Lucien. You’d assume the worst. And the fact that you did the painting was amazing.”

  “I suppose.”

  Ryder put a strong, warm arm around Sammy. “Give yourself a break.”

  Gods, he’s so great. Lying to him’s the crappiest thing of all.

  They rode the subway back to school, shared a quick kiss, and Sammy went off to his History of Modern Art class with Al on his shoulder. Sammy usually loved the class, but today there wasn’t any concentrating for him. He borrowed a couple of sheets of paper from the girl beside him, sat in his chair, and watched the professor pace the stage. He couldn’t keep lying to Ryder. He cared about him—deeply. Even if they only had this year—maybe because of that—he didn’t want to wreck it with lies and dissembling. But how do you tell the man you love you’re a witch?

  The teacher started talking about Matisse. Sammy sighed. If only he could ask Killian how to tell Ryder. Killian had told Blaine he was a witch, and it nearly split them up. Shit. That thought brought tears to his eyes. He loved the Witch Master. He was a great, caring witch who’d done so much for all of their kind—like Sammy, who’d grown up not knowing why he was different and weird. He scribbled notes. Matisse was originally considered a wild beast in the art world but later was hailed as upholding the classical tradition. Wild beast. Sammy smiled. He remembered a conversation with Jimmy Janx about them both being freaks.