INDEX:
Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4
Recap: We join the story in a modern day alternative earth as mages Sebastian and Daav have been reunited 8 years following a traumatic incident that forced them apart. On his 25th birthday, Sebastian spots Daav at a BDSM club and follows him. Sebastian then shoves his way back into Daav’s life and confronts him in their old childhood home where they’d been raised together by a psychopathic Mentor and had fallen in love as teens. The night of the reunion, the home gets attacked by the minions of Daav’s biological father who has been trying to assassinate him. The two men escape right before the house explodes. Daav is injured by the explosion, and Sebastian brings Daav back to his place to heal him with the magic of the Verse. Both fall into unconsciousness from exhaustion. Daav experiences an old nightmare where he remembers his five year old self at the moment his magic becomes alive, making him a victim of his ruler father who was bent on exterminating all magic users, until Daav was saved and smuggled out of his father’s nation. After the nightmare, he wakes to find that his and Sebastian’s identities as magic users were discovered by someone taking video of the aftermath of the house explosion. This viral video exposure to the world proves that his father never executed his son as he’d led his people to believe, raising the stakes of his father’s mission to assassinate Daav. The leadership of the magic users wants Daav to come in for his own protection, but Daav wants to stay on his own until he figures out what he wants to do. Sebastian intends to bring them both to a hideaway until that point.
And now the story continues…
Chapter Five
Daav
Outside of Sebastian’s car window, the streets of Bistral, Orreance’s capital and my home since age five, pass us by in the stop and start of traffic. Shabby awnings sticking out from storefront buildings, bricks needing repointing. Crumbling sidewalks, street signs bent. We pass a food line, increasingly common. The fire in my belly flares up with the reminder of the economic squeeze on my adopted country. And if I have a chance of doing something about it, I will.
Bistral’s city government pulled back from only the most vital upkeep and business investment in favor of keeping medic centers, communications and utilities functional. Its production struggles with material shortages, undermining companies’ capacity to churn out needed goods for our infrastructure. That leaves us dependent on other countries, primarily Staltz, for imports. And Staltz doles them out in small, stingy bits based on the whim of its king who leads their autocracy disguised as a technocracy.
Carl Harkness is the man responsible for the hobbling of the countries of the western continental plane with his economic domination. Carl Harkness, my father.
And as his son, the burden of his oppression rests partially on my shoulders.
From where he drives, Sebastian glances over at me again and again. His hair is pulled up in a knot now, exposing the temptation of his long neck.
“Frowns galore, Prince. It’s not that bad,” he says.
“Not everything can be fun and games. You probably still stomp in rain puddles just to watch the splash and get everyone sopping wet.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. You’d benefit from a little of that horrendous, awful fun. And I remember you laughing a time or two when you got caught in my splash.”
He’s right, although I’ll never admit it. Nor that I’d loved his wide, mischievous grins when he came across a large puddle and screamed with hysterical joy stomping into it.
I press my lips tighter. Anger is better. Anger allows me to keep my distance from him.
“What’s up your butt?” he asks. “I mean, I know the list is long, but what’s spinning near the top in that obsessed churning mind of yours?”
“Is that your conversation opener? It needs work. I hear social skills consultants are a hot trend now. Look for one.”
“Funny, Prince.”
“I leave funny to you.”
“So far I’m shooting blanks. Not one laugh since last night.”
“I don’t think listing out the obvious issues is worth it. You are not stupid, Sebastian. Let me be.”
“Try me. You used to let me hear the list. Obvious as it is, maybe.”
I bite down on my words. Extending our conversation will only leave him with the wrong impression. I let silence fill the car for long blocks.
“Okaaaay. Let’s see. You’re thinking about how dear dad is going to react to the video. My guess is more teams sent out to target you. He needs to get rid of the evidence that you exist to build deniability. And you’re worried he’ll go into temper tantrum mode and punish Orreance harder, cutting us off first and then making outrageous demands to keep stringing us along.”
As always, Sebastian reads my mind. There’s no sense denying it. “He’s enjoyed torturing us, although not enough to cut us off,” I say. “The economic benefits are too enticing.”
Sebastian gasps with mock surprise. “He talks.”
I glare over at him but return my attention to the window.
Sebastian refuses to let the conversation die.
“Fine, I agree he’s been swayed by the profits, but proof of your existence may be too much for that to justify his restraint. Your birthday alone has pushed him farther if you’ve been dodging assassination attempts. He’s scared you’re it, the future of Orreance’s rebirth and reclamation of power. And I still think you’re an asshole for not accepting help by the way.”
“Yes, definitely a social skills consultant,” I say.
“You can’t resist me, I knew it.”
“Sebastian, stop. Whatever you think you’re going to accomplish, you’re wrong. Leave me be.”
He growls, and it surprises me.
“Talk to me, Daav. Hate me if you have to, but talk to me.”
Is that what he thinks? I suppose he would, even if I have explained.
“I don’t hate you.”
He remains silent, but when I look over his hands are gripping the steering wheel harder. What I hate is his distress.
“I don’t,” I repeat, softness creeping into my response. A sigh escapes me.
His grip loosens on the wheel, he glances over at me with a vulnerable scrunch of brow.
“Then what?” he asks.
“Yes, it’s the mess with my father. But…. You may not like that I was at the club last night, but your back bears its own marks. You let yourself be hurt badly.”
I’d said it. I had promised myself not to speak, but Sebastian whittles away at me. He is my weakness, exactly the reason I should not be in his company.
“It bothers you that I was marked,” he says.
“Yes, it fucking bothers me.”
“Oooh, you’re angry. You never swear unless your gut burns fierce.”
“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Nor the rawness bleeding through my words.
“Life hurts, Prince.” He shrugs. I hate his shrugs, like he brushes off everything that should matter. He needs to take things seriously, although I understand why he chooses not to.
“You know that’s not what I meant. Hurt physically,” I answer.
“You know who I am. I even think you understand enough of that part of me. Helped with it even, so don’t kink shame.”
“Double standard, Sebastian. You were angry at my presence at the Stem and Thorn.”
“That’s different. That’s not who you are.”
Don’t answer him. Do not. Keep your mouth shut. The conversation is over.
He frowns in frustration, which tells me it does matter. A frown is usually the most I get indicating he’s upset, notwithstanding his anger last night at the manse. Or maybe he’s changed. Grown up and found more to be angry about.
“My guess?” he continues. “It’s not that you don’t want me hurt, just not hurt by a man other than you. You can’t stand the fact the situation’s out of your control. It’s been eight years, Daav. What else was I supposed to do? Would I prefer it had been you? Sure as shit I do.”
But he shouldn’t want that. All I have done is hurt him, and not in the way he now means. I’ve hurt him with my anger and my obsession. That long ago last day in the lab between us proved it. And now with my father on a mission to end my life, and the chance he will succeed, Sebastian needs to stay away from me. I need him far away. What my heart wants doesn't matter. Our lives have been separate for eight years, and now is not the time to backtrack.
“Your jaw’s ticking, Prince. And you’re rubbing the back of your neck again.”
As he says it, I lower the hand I haven’t even noticed placing there. He reaches over and brushes fingers against my neck, removing them before I can object. The warmth of them linger. Feels too good. Makes me hungry for him in ways I thought I had learned to control.
“You wanted to know what I was thinking, I told you. It changes nothing. I need to get back to a lab with materials to focus on the Verse.”
“You’ll crawl back to Johan for that fact alone. For lab space.”
“Eventually.” I hate the truth of it, but Johan has the facilities.
“You don’t need a lab. I know a place where you can practice and lie low, away from too many eyes.”
Sebastian pulls the car into a parking spot in front of a run down apartment building, puts it in park and turns off the engine. He glances to the end of the block where a shiny, pristine statue of Tristan Crane stands, flowers placed around its base.
Sebastian snorts and waves at it. “Figures. They clean up his statue regularly while everything else around it is left to crumble. Gotta love the national insanity. Plus, they should have gotten someone more talented to design it since the city is drowning in them.” He twists in his seat so that he’s facing me. “Okay, Prince. We’re going to go inside so I can keep a promise I made to a sweet thing last night. But we’re returning to this conversation.”
“Who? What promise?”
“I take that as a hopeful sign. You want to know something about my life. I’ve kept up on yours through Nuée best I could, but later we’ll sit down and chat and I’ll catch you up. Maybe over java. You still take yours black, I assume?”
“Can you take nothing seriously? We are not old friends catching up over coffea.”
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
I open my mouth, shut it again. Why bother?
He opens the door to get out of the car, grabbing a bag he’s hastily packed before we left his place. Guns and ammo included, although it’s bulging very full and I wonder what else he’s packed. “Come on.”
I follow him out of the car, slamming the door behind me none too gently. He looks back at me. “Wail on the man, not the car, Prince. Don’t have extra money for another.”
Sebastian skips up the steps of the building falling ignominiously into ruin like its neighbors. He pushes the button next to a unit number.
A tinny feminine voice sounds out of the speaker. “Hello?”
“Seb, darling.”
“Come on up.” Then the buzzer vibrates unlocking the front door.
He holds open the door, bows, gesturing me in with a sweep of his hand.
Okay, maybe it’s better to take a pause after our discussion. Yes, I will pay attention to this errand. Breathe through it. The dilapidated building is a better focus, a reminder of why my work matters. Focus on the cracks of the worn flooring. See how they fracture under the weight of the neglect our country suffers.
We trudge up three flights of less than convincingly safe steps whose worn treads and broken boards creak at unpredictable moments. The peeling paint along the walls is a dingy dishwater color.
I open my mouth several times to ask why we are here, but stop myself.
Finally, at the third floor landing, Sebastian moves down the hall to the last unit and knocks. He never looks back, assuming I follow. And, of course, I do.
The door opens and a girl, maybe six, with stringy brown hair, stumbles out into the hall. She is sucking her thumb, but when she sees Sebastian she pops it from her mouth and smiles. “Uncle.”
He leans down and grabs her into his arms, lifting her up and hugging her tight. “Chloe, sweetheart. You helping mama by answering the door? What a big girl.”
She squeals as he tickles under her chin.
My muscles unclench. Some sweetness still exists.
Behind the girl, a woman appears, mostly hidden behind Sebastian’s body. “Chloe, what have I told you about answering the door without me? Seb, you’re here? I hope the little monster isn’t bothering you.” A note of shock is in her voice.
“Never. She’s the most scrumptious girl I know.” He leans in to kiss the woman with his arms still full of the child.
Standing behind and to the side of Sebastian, it takes a few more moments before he shifts and unblocks my view.
My heart loses a beat, my throat closes up. Trina?
Long, dark brown hair, a lean, lithe frame. Large brown doe eyes, thick lashes, oval face. She looks like Trina. But how is this possible?
Sebastian turns to where I wait. “Daav, this is Jellisia. And of course the cuteness in my arms is Chloe. Ladies, this is Daav, my friend.”
He catches my gaze and sends me a questioning look. But my eyes are mostly stuck on the woman in the doorway. Jellisia apparently.
He looks from me to Jellisia, back to me, and notices my face. “Shit! I forgot. It’s been so many years I forgot.”
He hands Chloe to her mother and touches my arm. His voice drops and he pulls me back to whisper at me.
“I’m sorry, Daav. I know who she looks like, but it’s not her. Jellisia’s adopted, never knew her birth parents. She’s a bit older than us, so it is possible…. When I met Jellisia I liked to think there was some chance they’re related, so I was extra motivated to help her, but not that I know. It’s strange wondering if you have siblings out there.” His voice trails off as his eyes grow distant with some distracting thought. Then he shakes his head to clear it. “Just a weird coincidence. I’m sorry, I should have thought of it and warned you.”
“Of course,” I finally manage, shaking out of my stupor, although the cold in my limbs remains. “I apologize. Nice to meet you, Jellisia.” I offer a hand which she takes with her free one as her own eyes widen.
“You’re–” she stammers and cuts herself off.
“Come on, J. Let us in out of the hallway. You can gawk after we’re safe behind closed doors,” Sebastian cajoles.
“Sure, yeah,” she says, opening her door wider, juggling her daughter in her arms.
Sebastian steps in and I follow, regaining my composure and shutting away unhelpful memories.
Chloe slips out of her mother’s arms and bounds off somewhere farther into the chaotic apartment which shows signs of a young girl running wild. We enter into a sparse yet messy living room holding a battered paisley couch with sagging seat cushions, a beat up wooden presentation table with one leg shorter but with a book under it to level it to flat, and threadbare crocheted blankets strewn across the furniture and along the floor. The room is cold, heat off, although the peeling radiator in the corner doesn’t inspire confidence that it will function sufficiently if turned on. Too cold for a space housing mother and young child.
The poverty of the space is contrasted with a singular item standing to the side of the large central window, light filtering in through the panes to shine off a wood and metal sculpture clearly arranged in pride of place and standing almost as tall as the top of the casement. I let myself examine it to delay facing the woman whose face is an echo of my past.
The steel center of the design is a representation of a modern skyscraper, with crisp, sharp lines shooting straight upwards that I remember vaguely from the dim memories of my childhood and the images of buildings from television of the cities of Staltz. But then entwined around that stainless steel core is an intricate, curving wood design of an enormous tree trunk, branches and leaves wrapping the building and embracing the structure. The impression is not of the tree devouring it, but instead lovingly embracing the skyscraper. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I know without asking that Sebastian has sculpted this and gifted it to his friend.
My gaze lingers on the intricate and fascinating piece, and my heartbeat falters at my Angel’s talent. There is poetry in the dance of the two main elements. And courage in the meeting of the contrasts. The courage that has been wholeheartedly present in the artist our entire lives.
So I turn and force myself to look for confirmation of the differences between Jellisia and Trina. Sebastian’s friend has a splotchy birthmark on the side of her face, she’s shorter than Trina, and when I look closely I notice she is not thin solely due to her build, but has the pallor of illness, a thinning of cheeks due to some unnatural factor.
Still, she could be related. Could be from the family who gave up Trina to the Conclave when she showed her gold. But it’s been hammered into mages never to seek their birth families, to consider that chapter in their lives closed. Whether or not they were related is nothing allowed for consideration. And although the circumstances are different between me and my own biological sibling, the same is necessary. That life is behind me.
“Sorry for the mess,” she says, scooping two dolls, crayons and a coloring book from the couch to place them on the presentation table. “Can I get you something, water?” she asks. “Sit, please.”
The woman remains flustered. “Seb, you could have warned me.” Then, she jerks again, like everything is finally catching up with her. “My god, are you okay?” she asks him. “The explosion. I mean, I guess it makes sense that your friend is here with you. I didn’t think you’d come. I worried.” Before waiting for his answer she continues, focusing back my way. “You’re the other mage in the video.”
“Shit,” Seb says. “Nuée said it went viral. She meant viral.”
“Yeah,” she says. “You’re the biggest news story on all the feeds. But you’re okay?” Her eyes crinkle with concern and I understand her worry. Sebastian attracts admirers as easily as breathing. Who wouldn’t be drawn to his soul?
Jealousy, like a worm, itches under my skin. Not that I imagine anything exists between this woman and him, but she is his friend and has the chance to spend time with him.
“Of course I’m fine, sweetness. Takes more than a little blast to keep me down,” Sebastian says.
I grunt without thought.
He looks my way and winks. I grunt again, this time to tell him exactly what I think of his comment.
“But now that I understand our fame, I’m hoping we can borrow a couple of baseball caps and some shades before we slink off?” he asks her.
“Sure, I can dig something up. But should you be here? I mean, don’t you have stuff to take care of?”
“You’re my number one priority this morning, J. How are you feeling?” He cups her cheek with his palm to examine her face.
She sighs out. “Tired.”
He places hands on her shoulders and walks her a step over to the couch and pushes. “Then sit your ass down on the couch, and let’s get to this. You’ll get your meds next week?”
“Yes, my benefits come through third pushday.”
It’s then I realize why we are here. Healing work. But he’d taken care of me last night. It’s too soon for him to work tangles again, he’s still exhausted. I catch my fists clenching and force them open.
“Any new symptoms I should know about?” he’s asking her, sitting down beside her on the couch, resting his bag on the floor in front of him. She shakes her head.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “It’s too soon for you.”
“Oh Prince, don’t underestimate my refractory time.” The idiot winks again. “Plus, I know J’s system like the back of my hand. Medic work is my specialty, my primary assignment during our push weeks, not that you’d know. And I’m the fastest draw in the West. We’ll be done in no time.”
Medic work also takes the most energy, and is most draining, regardless of its small scale focus. And yes, Sebastian is the fastest mage among our Cohort. He’s always been. Not the strongest nor able to apply his magic across the largest quantities or space, still he can engage tangles more quickly than the rest of us. But speed also comes with consequences. Need for longer recovery.
“Don’t be an idiot,” I bark.
“We’ve already covered that. Look, Jellisia has a degenerative autoimmune disease. It’s complicated and I know it well. I’m helping her along with her flare until she can get her meds. I’ve done it dozens of times. Give me a break, have a seat.”
“You haven’t recovered from last night.”
“You have that sexy protective look, growly and wanting to rip the head off someone. Sit down and let me do my thing. Later, you can take your temper out on me.”
I cross my arms. “You wanted to be involved in my life again, the same applies with me in yours. This is me being involved.“
His features soften, and guilt thrums strong through me when his eyes flare with hope, and he tilts his head considering me. Verse, he’s beautiful.
“How sweet. If only you meant it and weren’t just trying to get your way. You have a lot going on. Your own fucking life to protect, ass. Save your energy for where it matters. I’ll take care of this and we’ll get you where you need to be.” The idiot reaches up and chucks me under the chin. “Sit. Now. No other option. I’m doing this.”
Yes, definitely the more stubborn of us. He just pretends to be all sweetness and light.
I grumble more, but I sit next to him, my thigh brushing his. The heat of his flame is too tempting to resist.
“You’re sure, Seb? If you’re too tired–” Jellisia says.
“I’m fine, J. Don’t listen to this guy.” He tosses his head in my direction. “He’s in a mood. Didn’t like the news coverage. The camera missed his good side and it makes him go melodramatic.”
She laughs, covering it with a cough. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Yep. Now relax.” He rests his hand on hers as she settles deeper into the cushions. From his pocket he pulls out his triangle and the familiar glint of metal stirs memories. Another reminder that it means pain for him. Always pain. I hate it, but….
A tingle of anticipation dances over my skin, raising the small hairs along my body. Not the heat of sexual attraction, although that remains strong sitting next to a man who has shared himself with me as if we’d been one and the same entity since age thirteen. No, the anticipation is about his magic.
This close to him, I feel the stirring of it, like it’s peeking out around a corner hoping I’ll follow. And as he starts to turn his pointed triangle focus over and over again in his grip, I watch his eyes flare gold. And watch him open and fall into the Verse.
The signs are limited when observing from the outside. The steady gold striated sheen that replaces the gray of his irises. His unfocused gaze. The minute sway to his body. But to me, the pull of it is a hypnotic sweetness. I want near, and like always, I have to keep the call of the Verse from enticing me to step inside myself.
Most mages feel it, when another of us nearby opens to its energy, the attraction strong to merge two mages’ Verse realities and weave together their tangles. But failure after failure teaches that impossibility. So we’re taught to resist.
You know that failure all too well, waste. The shame of the final night between Sebastian and me in Victor’s lab reminds me of it with a stark, heavy grief.
As Sebastian opens up into the landscape of his own magic, I bite down against the need to push against him, touch him more to feel the vibration of his altered existence.
I’m young. Only six myself. Victor grabs hard onto my arm, digging fingers into flesh to keep me from running over to Sebastian when he’d entered the Verse in my presence.
“Hold, Daav. Control yourself, whelp, and don’t be weak. Animals give into their impulses. Do you want to be an animal? Do not touch any other mage when they are in the Verse. It leads to disaster.”
It took over a year for Sebastian and me to master our impulses when near each other in the lab. Although later, outside of Victor’s eye, we found a guilty pleasure in allowing ourselves to touch when one of us entered the Verse. Pleasure in that friction with the resistance of keeping outside when the other plunged inside. Like a perpetual edging of our desire.
Damn, but I need to keep myself grounded. Can’t get swept away.
Pay attention to Jellisia.
Collapsed back into the pillows, her eyes flutter open and closed in rapid motion, her breathing deepening, her mouth parted.
But of course my eyes return to Sebastian, my Angel. His breathing quickens and his face twists from whatever he sees in the Verse. Only once did he share the true nature of his experience there with me, the dark of it, and it confuses me because mine is so different. But it explains much about this man.
His magic vibrates off of him and I want it all. Want to join him as he walks the altered landscape. Verse curse this, but I shouldn’t. Not only because of the danger to us both, but because of what it means for him to be inside the Verse. What he faces every single time. If that’s what it means for him to have magic, I’d tear it away from him, force him into the mundane world where he can be the sweet, lovely, compassionate man who laughs and does his art and enjoys life.
But neither of us has that choice, and I doubt Sebastian will allow me my wish for him even if it was possible.
So instead I watch him, examining his face for signs of his suffering. Finish this, Angel. The furrows of pain on his forehead, the tightening of muscle, twitch of limb. Sweat beads his skin and drips down his cheek to dampen his shirt. This near him, I smell the salt and musk of his perspiration.
“Aahh.”
His small cry of pain has me pressing closer, closing my hand around his thigh.
He cries out again. Again. His face twists with it.
I hate this. A chill spreads over my shoulders, down through my arms, up my neck to my face.
Dots of gold swim before my sight for a handful of seconds, my tangles stir, my Verse bows out toward me with sweeping, soothing music, then quickly disappears to leave me watching with normal vision.
Jellisia’s features smooth, and her lips turn up with a minute smile as she relaxes even more onto the couch.
Finally, the gold sheen dies out in Sebastian’s eyes, the gray of his iris returning as he falls out of the Verse. He blinks, looking over his friend as she rests at ease. His own weak smile paints his face.
“How are you, love?” he asks her.
She stretches and wiggles on the couch. “Just that usual after itch, but I feel wonderful. Thank you.”
He turns to me.
“See, Prince. Not bad work. And plenty of time to tuck your ass away safely.”
Glancing down at where my hand still grips his thigh, his smile widens. I release him and he chuckles.
“J, if you can find us caps?” Sebastian pushes up from his seat to stand. Wobbles, frowns. “Huh, maybe I should rest a bit longer.”
And then, before I can catch him, his eyes roll back in his head and he falls into the table with a crash.
No! Angel!
Memory floods….