Fugly (12 page)

“She’s missing.”

If these two guys were a couple, they were one of the strangest I’d ever seen.

“I’ll be right there, Seth. I’m just answering some questions for Mr. Ocho. Jackson referred him to me.”

Seth’s kohl-rimmed eyes widened. “Jackson
Spey
?” Auerbach must have nodded—I didn’t know; I was staring at the kid’s shockingly beautiful violet irises—because Seth immediately exclaimed, “Holy shit! I thought he retired or something.”

“He didn’t retire,” said Auerbach. “He just fell in love.”

When Seth left the room, I again addressed my host. “The last time I spoke to Mr.

Spey, I was asking him how this stuff had happened to my friends and how it could be undone. He didn’t say anything, just shook his keychain. It sounded like—”

“Ringing bells?”

I stalled out for a second. “No.”

“Thunder?”

Huh?
“No.”

“Ah, laughter!”

“Uh, yes.” How could he have known? “What was that about?”

“Jackson was simply answering your question.”

“And the answer was…?”

Auerbach turned up his hands. “Magick.”

I blinked at him. “Magick?”

“Naturally.” Auerbach rose. “I’m sorry, but I really must excuse myself. I hate seeing Seth upset. I have to help him find our cat.”

Dazed, I got up. Even though I’d entertained the notion of some supernatural force at play, and of Spey somehow being involved, hearing my theory confirmed in the most offhanded way really threw me. This stuff was a lot easier to swallow when it was in the form of airy conjecture. But Helmut Auerbach had made it something solid and matter-of-fact.

As he walked me to the front door, he said, “Consider it an honor you crossed paths with Jackson. He’s an elusive man. Keeps a low profile.”

“Why is it an honor?”

Before Auerbach answered, he opened the door. Closing his eyes, he remained still for a moment. Then he raised a hand and rapidly ran the pad of his left thumb over the pads of his fingers. A dusty substance, winking in the sunlight, billowed up from his fingertips. I smelled a faint, familiar odor. It reminded me of a buffet—of fish and chicken, in particular. The next whiff I caught made me think of a garnish rather than an entrée. Not parsley, though. Catnip.

Mystified, I watched as the glimmering puff drifted across and down both sides of the street, then reversed course and siphoned back to Auerbach’s doorstep. My stock of questions had run out. I was dumbfounded.

Auerbach turned to me. “It’s an honor, Mr. Ocho, because compared with Jackson I’m still a little boy fumbling through rudimentary tricks.”

“Really.” I would’ve thought sending a buffet-scented cloud from one’s fingertips was pretty damned advanced.

“Absolutely,” said Auerbach, examining his nails and then brushing his hands together. He smiled up at me. “You met a wizard, sir. And in this day and age, they’re not easy to come by.”

My mouth hung open.

Auerbach patted me on the shoulder. “Now go enjoy the fruits of his expertise.”

As I proceeded down the walkway after mumbling my thanks, a black and white cat dashed past me and up to Helmut Auerbach’s still-open door.

I thought about what I’d heard and seen as I got into the passenger seat of Jake’s car.

He was driving. Todd and Fal were in the back.

Jake turned to me. “So, did you get any answers?”

“Sort of.” I could feel the attention of my companions wrapping around me.

“Were you right?” Todd asked.

“Sort of.”

“David,” said Fal, “you’re supposed to be a writer. Can’t you drum up a few more words?”

I twisted to look over the back of my seat. “Okay, how about ‘suspension of disbelief’?”

Jake gently chided me. “David, you’re being unnecessarily cryptic.”

“You’re not going to like the straightforward approach any better,” I told him, then tossed out the answer they’d all been waiting for. “Apparently, some magick was worked on your asses.”

“Magick,” repeated Todd.

“Yes. By a wizard.”

“A wizard,” repeated Fal.

“How quaintly Arthurian,” said Jake.

“If I were you,” I told him, “I’d lay off the skepticism
and
the sarcasm. Just to be on the safe side.”

Jake raised and lowered his eyebrows. He made a zipping motion across his mouth.

Auerbach’s final statement had, I supposed, said it all. I’d met a bona fide wizard.

On a night when three of my foolish, misguided, self-deluded friends had hit on his soulmate and incurred his benevolent wrath.

It wasn’t as if Spey had totally remade Jake, Todd, and Fallon. He hadn’t faced the daunting task of turning cow pies into gold coins. My friends had never been irredeemably bad people. Sooner or later, I believed, the cream of their characters would’ve risen to the top. But what a shameful waste if it had taken another twenty years to do so. What a waste if Todd hadn’t ended up with Gabriel or Fallon with Tyler. Or Jake with me.

Maybe Spey knew that. Maybe experience had taught him about the consequences of wasted time, the lost opportunities that could never be recovered.

I looked at Jake and visually traced his profile. The fresh air of spring ruffled his hair through the cracked-open window, making it play around his handsome features. I smiled. When Jake glanced at me, he smiled too, and rested his hand just above my knee.

I put my hand over it, fingers slipping between fingers.

Just right.

The Hunt Club had disbanded. Tonight, three couples would be meeting for the first time over dinner. I had an unshakable feeling the roots of their relationships would grow deep and strong.

“I decided it was time to spread some of my joy around.”

Damned if he hadn’t done just that.

The End

About the Author:

K. Z. Snow is a multi-published author who describes herself as “grossly overeducated and grossly underskilled.” Although K. Z. has written in a number of genres, her real love is m/m fiction. She lives an unremarkable life in rural Wisconsin, where she cooks as little as possible, reads and writes as much as possible, and enjoys spending time with her unremarkable friends and unremarkable dogs.

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