Coal to Diamonds (3 page)

Bobby, who loved to hike, fashioned himself a walking stick. Cam carved a charm to wear close to his heart. Cole, tutored by fantasy novels, made for himself a real wand, slender and as ornate as his carving skills allowed, covered in sigils that spelled their names in the secret alphabet they’d cobbled together from Angelic script, Theban, and Tolkien’s Elvish. It had three dark spots on the handle, and Cole liked to think each was a drop of their blood, but that was impossible since the wood had come from the core of the tree.

Still, the timber had absorbed much of their essences. During the ten years they were separated, Cole on occasion stroked the dark stick and recovered a little of his friends: the phantom pressure of Bobby’s hands on his shoulders, or the ghost of Cam’s musical laughter. When they’d met again six months ago, he’d been delighted to find Bobby and Cam had kept their wands. Now, each man stood holding his own piece of boyhood and enchantment, pointing it at the modest cabin. Cole let his mind slip. He began walking, letting the words that formed in his mind spiral from his lips, uncomprehended. After three trips, he lost the perception of placing one foot in front of the other, lost the cold on his skin and the warm oiliness of the wood against his palm. He was only aware of the gathering energy that swirled around the cabin, stronger and stronger. It pulled their bodies in its wake like leaves caught in a whirlpool.

Then the sky broke open. Icy rain in tablespoon-sized drops pelted their bare bodies. It came so thickly that the individual droplets soon formed sheets of frigid water. It didn’t fall, but was hurled from the dark clouds with such force that it hurt. The rain on the slate roof sounded like machine-gun fire. Branches and bracken bent under its assault. Cam shielded his head with his forearms, and even rugged Bobby slouched. The ground turned instantly to chilly, dark ooze that covered their toes. Cole thought that this must be what it felt like to be stoned to death; the water hit as sharp and solid against his body as flung rocks. It was all he could do to remain standing.

“Six more times!” he yelled over his shoulder. “We’ve got to keep going.” The weight of the water felt like it was driving him into the ground. He became so cold his body felt brittle. How could anything be so frigid and remain liquid?

“He sent it,” Cam shouted, the rain blurring his words into static. “Thorn!”

The first piece of hail hit Cole high on his cheekbone, drawing blood. The bitter-cold mud, up to his ankles now, numbed his feet and made walking difficult. Two more pellets hit the top of his head hard enough to make him see stars. “Three more times. Concentrate! We can’t—” Another piece of ice bruised his face. He heard Bobby slip, land in the muck with a splash, swear, and struggle back to his feet with the aid of his stick. Cam whimpered.

Cole turned to face his friends. He could barely see them through the curtains of rain, though they stood only a few feet away. Liquid splashing off their skin outlined both men in a silvery mist. “Be strong!” Cole yelled. “Give it everything you’ve got. We can’t let him stop us. Twice more. Hold onto me!”

They came together and locked elbows. A constant, strong wind joined the barrage. It hit them like a stone wall. The rain fell almost horizontal, piercing their chests, thighs, and tender genitalia like poisoned darts. The ground and sky, everything, had been liquefied. The water seemed to shoot right through their bodies and exit through their backs. Cam, in the center, barely retained the ability to lift his legs. Bobby and Cole practically dragged him. The green crown of light remained bright around his forehead, though, and his hand, though shivering, stayed steady on his wand.

Finally, they finished their casting and staggered to the porch. The tempest followed them, switching direction to batter their bodies with more cold air, water, and ice. By the time they hurried inside, the storm drenched a rectangle of the floor. They didn’t let go of each other. Closed out, the storm beat against the door and windows with an almost conscious intent.

C
AM
dropped to the floor and sat on his heels. With his head bowed and shoulders stooped, his wand resting on his outstretched palms, he looked like either a monk in prayer or a person awaiting execution. His fair hair draped his face. Rivulets dripped from his locks and splattered the floor between his knees. The wood darkened in a circle around him.

Cole knelt down and gently closed his fingers around Cam’s chin. His skin felt fish-cold, and his lips matched the shade of the circles under his eyes. Small cuts covering his body made him look like he’d tumbled through briars. More than anything, the beautiful man resembled a corpse freshly pulled from the river.

“I’m so cold, Cole,” he whispered.

“Cammy, did we do it?” Cole asked. “Can he see us?”

Cam trembled so hard water flew from his hair.

Bobby seized Cole’s wrist and wrenched it from Cam. “Jesus,” the bigger man said. “Give him a second.” He took the blanket from the back of the couch and covered Cam’s shoulders. Then he whispered something to Cam that contained the words “baby,” “take your time,” and some others Cole couldn’t hear.

The conspiracy between the two of them was starting to piss Cole off. “We need to know if we were successful. If not, we need to try something else. Thorn sent that storm. Do you want to wait around to see what else he throws at us?”

“Why is he doing this?” Cam whispered. “He said he loved us.”

Outside, the rain tapped like fingernails on the slate, lighter than before but steady.

Bobby still knelt behind Cam, resting his hands on Cam’s shoulders. His chest was twice the width of either Cam’s or Cole’s, and his skin remained bronze year-round from hiking, running, basketball, and tennis. On his square face came a look Cole remembered well. Bobby wasn’t angry, but he’d decided what should be done and wouldn’t budge. In Bobby’s mind, the matter had been settled. He’d seen the outcome he wanted and simply wouldn’t accept another. This stubborn will had made him a star quarterback in high school, a celebrity defense attorney later, and one hell of a powerful magician. Cole knew he might as well try to level a mountain with a teaspoon.

“Okay,” Cole conceded. “The damn storm even put the fire out. I’m going to try to get it lit again.” He went to the hearth and knelt down. The logs and coals were soaked, and an inky wet stain covered the floor of the stove, but fire had always been his element.

“I’ll make more coffee,” Bobby said. He helped Cam to the couch and went into the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet footprints from one end of the rectangular space to the other. Cole watched the crescents of Bobby’s toned ass, the only pale part of him, as Bobby rinsed the carafe. What a beautiful man Bobby was, with the body of a professional athlete and the boy-next-door face of an actor. To Cole he represented the masculine ideal, the way the Venus de Milo exemplified feminine beauty, or the Parthenon stood as a testament to excellence in architecture.

As Cole worked stacking balled newspaper among pine twigs, Cam spoke behind him, lullaby-soft. His voice raised gooseflesh up Cole’s spine, the same as a physical caress. “Don’t worry, Cole,” he said. “It did work. I can’t feel his presence at all. We shut him out. How long will it last?”

“I don’t know,” Cole admitted, striking a match. “Depends how hard he pushes, probably.”

“He’ll push,” Cam whispered.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know, Cam. But we’re safe for now.”

“I’m so cold, Cole.”

Content his fire would burn, Cole stood and faced Cam. He rested his hands on the back of the sofa, close to Cam’s ears, and leaned in until their noses touched. “I know, baby,” he said, brushing the tip of his nose up the bridge of Cam’s. “You want me to warm you up?”

Cam nodded, and Cole closed the distance between them. Cam’s lips, his tongue, and even the breath that spilled from his lungs and into Cole’s froze like death. His aura glimmered the color of mint ice cream, but more crystalline and delicate. Its spiky edges poked against Cole’s perception as he lowered his ass to the worn cushion beside his friend. Cole hooked his knees over Cam’s thigh. He stroked his hands down Cam’s face and neck, over his shoulders to his wrists. He summoned fire, as he had when they cast the circle, and directed the heat into his palms. He pressed his left hand against Cam’s belly, just at his tawny triangle of hair, and his right against his heart. From the two chakra points, the warmth would spread easily. Then he kissed him again, opening his mouth wide to fill his friend with the heat of his breath. Cam parted his lips to accept it. His tongue pulsed against Cole’s, and he circled Cole’s nipple with his finger, the chill making it harden almost painfully.

Cole pressed closer to Cam, sliding up so his ass took the place of his knees on Cam’s thigh and his slim legs dangled between Cam’s. Without moving his hands, Cole let his body fall forward, squashing his arms between Cam’s chest and his own. Cam still felt like a fish plucked from under the ice. His fingers, traveling down the gully between Cole’s stomach muscles, stung. When he grazed Cole’s cock, brushing his fingers from the base to the head, it retreated toward his pelvis instead of stretching toward Cam as it should. Cole guided Cam’s hand away, letting it rest instead on his hip.

The scent of fresh coffee filled the room, and the fire warmed Cole’s back. But Cam’s chill felt like it could freeze Cole’s skin and tear it off if he pulled away.

“Gods,” Cole panted, out of breath from infusing Cam with his heat, “you’re fucking freezing.”

Cam looked broken. “I told you. Nothing takes away the chill. Not even you.”

Cole didn’t care to be told he couldn’t do something. Cam’s innocent words hid a challenge. Could he assert his influence over Cam’s body and drive out the other? He grasped Cam’s shoulders and pushed them hard against the back of the couch. The blanket fell open. He sidled further up on Cam’s lap, so his prominent hipbone jutted into Cam’s rib. Then he kissed him hard, savagely, thrusting his tongue past Cam’s parted teeth toward the back of his throat. Their mouths filled with the tastes of phosphorous and charcoal. Their teeth banged and scraped. Cole moved his right hand back over Cam’s chest, this time seizing a handful of the thin, blond hair that grew in the center. Cole felt fiercely possessive. Cam and Bobby belonged to him. He was tired of having his sacred things—his home, his forest, and his lovers—infiltrated and usurped one by one. Defiled.

Cole yanked at the chest hair even as his mouth pushed in the opposite direction, so Cam’s supple torso arched into him. He wriggled his left hand between their flesh, his own skin sweat-glazed now and Cam’s still chilly. With his fingers pointed down, he rubbed with his palm until Cam’s stiffening cock jabbed between his fingers. The swollen head of his own cock jutted into Cam’s navel.

Cole pictured them both as vessels, himself full of embers and flame, like the potbellied stove, Cam empty. He channeled the heat up from its source, just above his cock but further in, into his hands and breath, and then into Cam. Slowly the pallid skin bloomed pink around his palms. Cam moaned gratefully, the sound reverberating through both of their bodies. Nipping and licking Cam’s lips and tongue, Cole exhaled more warm air into him. Cam belonged to him. If he wanted Cam warm, melted even, then warm he would be. He rubbed horizontally from one of Cam’s shoulders to the other. He hadn’t realized he’d started stroking Cam’s cock until he felt the first pearl of precome escape the tip. He didn’t stop. Most of Cole’s magic, the really effective spells, came to him spontaneously. He was at his best when he spoke the words that formed in his mind instead of memorizing chants. When he gave his instincts free rein and followed their lead, he could be overwhelming.

Though he rejected most of the mystic doctrine he’d discovered online, Cole embraced the tenets of chaos theory as they pertained to magic. Chaos magic discarded tradition, ritual, and religion in favor of results. It encouraged the caster to pick and choose from the world’s institutions, combining them at will. Belief was mutable, morality irrelevant. Only success mattered. As soon as Cole developed his own system, which largely entailed doing or saying whatever impulsive thing he felt, his power and confidence had increased tenfold.

This was the right thing to do now, he sensed. He sped up his hand, smearing the warm liquid across Cam’s head. Warm. Good. It was working. Cole was nearly empty. He had precious little more to give. But he dug deeper, pulling more heat and energy from the base of his being. Cam opened his mouth wider, and dropped his head backward to rest against the cushion. He circled his hips as he thrust into the tunnel of Cole’s hand. Dizzy, Cole held on tighter to Cam’s chest hair, eliciting a tiny pained gasp from the other man that sucked his breath in with it. He had to break the kiss, or he’d pass out. Besides, Cam’s cock twitched in his hand, and he wanted to watch Cam come. Cole withdrew his lips with a little wet pop.

“Come for me, Cam,” Cole panted, the effort brightening and multiplying the comets that shot across his vision. “Just for me.”

Cole spent a second glancing at Cam’s face. Cam’s lips burned red from kissing, and his cheeks matched. A few beads of sweat even glistened on his upper lip. His gorgeous green eyes looked glazed, just as they did when he divined. The bright irises rolled back, and he moaned Cole’s name. A wisp of smoke escaped his parted lips. Then he groaned as his seed shot out, spilling over Cole’s hand and dribbling down his knuckles. Cole quickly lifted his hand and scraped his fingers along his lower lip, letting Cam’s fluids pool there. Then he grabbed Cam’s hair and pulled their faces back together. The come slid into Cam’s mouth along with Cole’s lip. Their tongues twisted in concert, churning, mixing the semen with saliva. Before they pulled away, each sucked some of the concoction into his mouth and swallowed. Convergence like this held potent magic, Cole knew. He held Cam’s jaw and licked his chin, cleaning away anything that had dripped out. Then he wiped his own with the back of his hand. A few drops of blood in the potion would boost the power tenfold. He’d remember next time, and bite the inside of his cheek. For now he could only sprawl across Cam’s chest and prop his forehead against Cam’s reedlike neck. The walls of the cabin rotated around the couch in a blur of browns and plaid.