Ink and Shadows (34 page)

“Beckett is a magus,” Charity said. “And has some means to help him see into the Veil.”

“Those means include carving up one of us and cooking the flesh into a potion?” One of the gray-skinned darkfae spoke up, the slant of his ears and the almond shape of his pitch-black eyes evidence of UnSidhe blood somewhere recent in his lineage. “Isn’t that what magi do? Collect bits and pieces of the Veiled to use for their experiments?”

A rumble of anger echoed through the creatures, disquiet forming among them. Beckett sighed with disgust. The shortsightedness of his own species irritated him. Coming face-to-face with more closed-mindedness annoyed him more. Clearing his throat, he kept his temper in check.

“Yes, that is what a magus does, and I’ll make no apologies for what I do. And as Charity pointed out, I’m paying the bills. Do you really want to walk away from this opportunity because you have some misplaced outrage or disgust? Can any of you eat off your pride? No?” Beckett scanned the group, looking for any further dissent. “Good, then I’ll let Charity explain what we need you to do.”

“You said we’re looking for a boy, a human,” Aegus said from the back of the group. “And that the Four have him. What’s your plan?”

“My plan’s simple.” Charity passed around sheets of paper, a sketched-out schematic of a floor from a high-rise. “We’ll be taking this fight to the Horsemen’s doorstep. What I’m handing you is the layout for where the Four live in San Diego.”

“So the human’s the sane one and you’re crazy.” There were murmurs of assent from the darkfae at the shortest creature’s words. “What you’re asking is impossible. They’ll slaughter us.”

“Beckett will be providing a distraction,” the immortal continued. “What I need the five of you to do is keep the Four occupied long enough for him to finish what he needs to do. Then we can grab the boy and leave.”

“And when the Four hunt us down?” Aegus asked thoughtfully. “What then?”

“They won’t be coming after you,” Charity assured the wary darkfae. “They’re going to be too busy mourning to be concerned about one of you.”

“Mourning?” Another cocked his head, tilting his chin up.

“One of you is going to kill Death, maybe even War.” Charity grinned at the stunned silence that struck the darkfae. He pulled a slim automatic out of his jacket and held it up for the creatures to see. “And this is how you’re going to do it.”

M
AL
MOVED
gingerly down the stairs to the lower level, a nearly disastrous descent when his foot caught on the edge of the top step. Kismet caught the brunt of Mal’s weight before the taller man toppled over and before Min pushed the human out of the way to support Mal with her own body, grumbling on his lack of common sense. Mal wanted his own bed and the quiet of his room, curtains drawn over the impending sun and the noise of San Diego’s downtown district.

After they’d all come through the Veil, Death locked the door behind them, removing the key from the deadbolt for the first time in Mal’s memory. With a single click, the penthouse became a silent prison, keeping Kismet within its walls. The young man fought his resentment, jaw muscles working around his anger as he swallowed bitter words.

“Fucking son of a bitches. Why don’t you guys just microchip me?” Kismet glared back at Min when she pushed at his shoulder. After challenging Min with a frustrated hiss, he slid his arm around Mal’s waist, helping the immortal down the stairs to his bedroom below the main floor.

Reaching the bed, Mal sat down heavily, wondering why the bathroom was so far away.

Another shuffling walk to the toilet exhausted him. Pulling the final strained remnants of his strength, Mal returned to the bed, sweat running down his back.

“Okay, I’m done,” the exhausted immortal gasped, clutching at his side. “I’m just going to fall over and try to heal the rest of the way.”

“Call me if you need something,” Min said before she reluctantly left the two men behind, her final backward glance at the young man sitting next to Mal filled with menace. Kismet silently snarled back.

Kismet’s addiction was beginning to test him, probing at his nerves to see if he would break. It was a fight he was used to. More often than not, he gave in to the seductive pull of nothingness heroin gave him, anything to peel the feel of shadows off his soul. Inside of the Horsemen’s home, Kismet found the pressure lessened in the invasive, disturbing silence. If he could ignore the want for a few minutes, Kismet knew he could fall asleep, providing he could get his mind to stop crawling with thought. Breathing deeply, he concentrated on more important things, like getting Mal’s shoes off.

“Here, let me help.” Kismet leaned down near Mal’s feet after watching him struggle with his shoelaces. The last person he remembered helping with their shoes was Chase; his younger brother’s laces often tangled into tight knots that were nearly impossible to undo. Mal lifted his feet, kicking at the heels of his shoes to work them fully clear. “I’ll head upstairs to sleep. That sofa you got up there already has my drool on it.”

“You can sleep down here.” Mal felt a burn of bashfulness on his cheeks. The stretch of mattress was a cool invitation to the Horseman’s healing body, but the thought of Kismet sleeping in the room above him left a curious tendril of unease in his belly. “The bed’s large enough for five people. Ari ordered it. I think he hoped I would have orgies down here or something.”

“Orgies?”

“I think he had high hopes to corrupt me.” Blushing again, Mal adjusted the pair of glasses he’d found upstairs. “But yeah, I’d like to know you’re safe.”

“Sure. If it’s okay. I’ll take a bed over a couch any day.” Kismet shrugged, not seeing the red blush on Mal’s face. “Let me go pee first and turn off the lights. Can you get your clothes off, or do you need help doing that too?”

“No, I’m fine.” Mal pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead after Kismet disappeared into the bathroom, wondering why his tongue suddenly seemed too large for his mouth. “If you need to shower, there’s some T-shirts and sweats in the closet you can borrow.”

“Thanks. I think I reek,” Kismet called out. “Hot water without rust would be great. Sometimes my room’s shower is so red with it, it’s like pouring blood over me.”

Mal peeked out through hooded eyes, glad his glasses emerged unscathed. Catching sight of Kismet’s pale body reflected in the bathroom’s wide mirrors, Mal watched as the young man stripped off his shirt with an unconscious grace, free in a way he could only envy.

Kismet hooked a finger around a broken belt loop, absently pulling the waistband of his jeans down over the dip of his navel. Mal watched surreptitiously as the other rubbed the pad of his thumb over the small bump on his nose. The break hardened the too pretty femininity of Kismet’s face, and Mal wondered if it was from a fight.

Long veins throbbed under the skin of Kismet’s arms, faint punctures fading along the inside of his elbows. A single keloid burst an ugly purple over a red dollop of healing flesh. His fingers trembled, nails caked with the stain of oil paint he could never completely scrub off in the shower.

When Kismet’s tattered jeans shifted down over his legs, Mal spotted the tattoo stretching over his hipbone and rolling around his thigh. Brilliantly orange, an inked koi fin peeked up out of the waistband of his boxers. The fish swam down the young man’s skin, the rise of Kismet’s ass a spray of ocean mist, curves lightly inked with white and teal foam. Mal swallowed as the carp moved when the artist tested the shower spray with his hand. Then Kismet disappeared from view, lost in the water stream.

Looking away, Mal hated the hardness in his groin, breathing in deeply to wash the cold air into his lungs. He hastily shed his dirty jeans and the borrowed shirt he was fairly certain he would never return. Lying back on his bed, Mal drifted off, letting the sounds of the water lull him, trying to tell his body to stop reacting to the erotic images playing through his mind.

The sound of quiet footsteps shocked him into wakefulness. Kismet shut the bathroom light off behind him. A pair of Mal’s sweatpants was rolled up to his ankles, and a worn T-shirt hung on Kismet’s narrow chest, the hem brushing the rise of his rear as he sat down.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I found a package of toothbrushes and stole one.” Kismet rubbed at his wet hair with a towel, hoping to soak up most of the water. “If you’ve got a hair dryer, I can dry my hair and not get your sheets wet.”

“It’s okay.” Mal swallowed. His chest felt too tight, and he wondered if he was having lingering effects from being shot. “I go to sleep with wet hair all the time. Unless you want to dry it. Then I can find it for you.”

“Nah, too tired. If you don’t care, then I’m not going to.” He returned the towel to the bathroom, then flopped down on the bed, nearly rolling into Mal’s prone body. Sighing, Kismet lifted his arms over his head, the past few days’ events catching up with him.

“Did you want to take a shower?” Kismet sat up, fatigue running dark slashes under his wide eyes. “I can help you to the bathroom if you need it.”

“Do I stink?” Mal lifted his head, rolling over onto his side. The sheet he’d hastily pulled up over his body slid from his bare chest, the purpling mark from the extracted bullet vivid against the light tan of his skin.

Wincing at the healed-over wound, Kismet swallowed and lay back to rest on one elbow, staring at the immortal.

“Auntie Kay sponged me down, but the soap smelled weird. I’m kind of afraid to wash it off after she told me it was to help the healing process. For all I know, it’s just burned cat hair and chicken bones she ground up.”

“You’re good. You smell a bit like spices.” Kismet reached forward, about to touch the mark on Mal’s chest. With his fingers barely skimming above the slick, shiny skin, he sighed at the sight of the puckered flesh. “I think you getting shot is my fault. Actually, pretty sure about it.”

“Don’t think like that,” Mal said, covering Kismet’s hand with his own. The young man was slender, his long fingers almost frail in Mal’s mind. “Believe it or not, I think getting shot was good for me. Maybe next time I’ll take time to think. Death’s always telling me to do that. I have to train myself to think before reacting.”

“Hell of a rolled-up newspaper.” The young man slid over the sheets, laying his cheek on his forearms.

“Besides, Min’s really jealous. None of the other Four have ever been shot with a bullet.” Mal wondered why Kismet had pulled free from his hand. He debated asking, but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up. How did someone ask if their touch was repugnant? “She’s always wanted to be the first in something, and here I went and took that away from her.”

“Good, so long as Min’s pissy about it.” Kismet pulled himself up onto his elbows, then rested his chin on Mal’s chest, carefully avoiding the healed-over wound.

Something in the young man’s eyes made Mal ache. There was pain there, a questioning unknown that Mal wanted to soothe away. Touching Kismet’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, the immortal traced along the smooth skin over the other’s cheek before poking at the corner of Kismet’s mouth to pull it upward.

“Are you okay?” Mal asked.

“Yeah. No.” The young man couldn’t shake the memory of the man he struck sliding down onto the pavement, the back of his head caved in and his brains splattered on the cinder block. Tremors ghosted over his limbs, a shaky cold touching his shattered nerves. “I’ve never hurt someone like that before. Hell, I’ve never really hurt anyone that wasn’t hurting me first, but today I really killed someone.”

“I’m glad you killed him.” Mal reached for the other man’s shoulders, pulling Kismet closer. He wanted to offer comfort, hoping to erase the distant pain that lurked in the young man’s eyes. The human came along without complaint, resting against the immortal’s side. “I’ve never had someone outside of the Four do something like that for me.”

“Dude, that guy’s dead.” He resisted being dragged closer, then surrendered, looping one arm over Mal’s stomach. The immortal’s breath stopped for a moment, held tight in his chest. Then he exhaled before moving his hand down Kismet’s spine, letting his fingers brush along the small of the other man’s back. Sighing at the small comfort, Kismet said, “There’s no coming back from that, Mal. I killed him. Shit, the cops are going to know I did it.”

“If that happens, we’ll take care of it,” Mal reassured him. “Death is good at that sort of thing. You think you’re the first one to leave a crime scene? Ari is a master of screwups. Death’s always pulling him out of one mess or another. But really, that man, he didn’t seem all there. Crazy people with guns are okay to kill. I’m pretty sure of it.”

“Remind me not to stand next to you holding a gun,” Kismet replied.

“You’ve got to remember, you’re not crazy.” Shifting, he finally relaxed. The strange feeling of another person against his body was turning into a pleasurable one. Having someone as close as Kismet was at that moment seemed odd, but it was something Mal was sure he could get used to. Cradling the other man felt good, even comforting. “Everything that you saw in the shadows was real. Or rather, is real. I know that no one probably understood, but you’ve got to believe that.”

“Mal, crazy is pretty much what normal people think about other people seeing shit move around in shadows.” Kismet’s laugh was bitter, poisoned from every whisper he’d ever overheard. “People avoid crazy. It’s hard to chant to yourself that you’re not insane when people give you the eye on the bus and keep their kids away.”

“That sounds sad,” Mal said, brushing at Kismet’s hair. “Lonely too.”

“We’re all lonely. Humans, anyway.” Pursing his lips, Kismet reached under himself to scratch an itch on his stomach. “I think it’s why we all have sex. So we can be lonely together for a few minutes and pretend like we’re getting some sort of connection, but it’s not real.”

“Do you really believe that?” The thought concerned Mal. Lying in the bed with the young man beside him, a warmth filled him, lifting his fatigue away. “That you’re alone?”