by Jenn Burke
“You okay, Wes?”
I glanced up at Iskander, who had paused in his paperwork to look at me with concern, and offered him a wan smile. “Sure.” Turning my attention to my computer, I woke it up and focused on the words I’d typed out. I was pretty sure I’d written English, but I wouldn’t swear by it.
“You’re a lousy liar.”
I shrugged, because he wasn’t wrong. “I’m almost done with this proposal.”
Iskander rocked back in his chair, the movement typical for him when he was thinking over a problem. I assumed the problem in question was me. “You’ve been staring at that sentence for an hour.”
“Not quite an—”
Iskander pushed up from his seat and grabbed his phone. “Come on. You need a distraction.”
I waved a hand at my screen. “This is my distraction.”
“And how’s it working for you?” Iskander slapped my shoulder. “Up. Let’s go.”
I groaned. “Where?”
“My mom’s house. She wants to get her Christmas lights down before the storm this weekend.”
“Oh...joy,” I said flatly. But I grabbed my jacket and hat and followed him out of the office.
Iskander’s mother lived in Mississauga, about a kilometer or so north of the 401. Despite the houses and greenspace between us and the highway, I could still hear the rumble of traffic as we got out of the car. The house was a nice, modern two-story covered in gray brick, with a two-car garage. A slip-covered boat took up half of the driveway. Nondenominational illuminated Christmas decorations covered the front lawn—deer, bears, and a moose—and unlit lights were strewn along every eave, every window, and each of the four bushes and one small tree in the front yard.
“What, no lights on the roof?” I said sarcastically.
“No.” Iskander smirked. “There’s more in the backyard, though.”
“Fuck me.” I pulled my toque down around my ears and debated if anyone would notice if I did the half-in-the-otherplane thing. Despite the sunshine, it was cold. The frigid air bit at my nose and cheeks in an entirely unpleasant way.
The front door opened and a woman emerged from the house, her arms wide as she trotted down the short flight of stairs. She was shorter than me, but not by a whole lot, and she wore jeans and a cozy-looking cable-knit sweater in navy blue. A lime-green scarf with blue beading was wrapped over her hair and tied underneath it, leaving much of her black, slightly wavy hair visible. She wasn’t thin—she carried the evidence of bearing kids in her stomach and chest, giving her a shape I associated with all moms. “Iskander! Weren’t you even going to let me know you were here?”
“Hi, Mom.” Iskander bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek before enveloping her in his arms. “You should put on a coat. It’s freezing.”
“I’ll be fine for just a minute.” She pulled back and cupped his face, kind of like she was inspecting him, and tugged his scarf more tightly around his neck. Those simple gestures reminded me that a few months ago Iskander’s mom had been in the same position as Rosanna—child in the hospital, unsure if he was going to make it. “You look good.”
Iskander smiled and gestured to me. I came around the front of the car to join them on the walkway. “Mom, this is Wes Cooper, one of the partners at the firm. Wes, this is my mom, Yasmin Hassan.”
I extended a hand and she grabbed it and pulled me close enough to kiss my cheeks. “So happy to meet you,” she gushed.
“Uh, same. Hi.”
“I wish you’d let me know you were coming over,” she said, giving Iskander a smack on the upper arm. “I texted your brothers and Omar too.”
Iskander’s face went blank at the name “Omar,” though I didn’t have any context as to why. “Oh,” he said. “Are they...going to help?”
“Aziz said he’d try to be here after his shift. Masoud has to work late. Omar didn’t get back to me.” Yasmin hugged her chest and shivered.
“Go back inside. We’ll take care of it.”
“Come in for dinner when you’re done.”
“Oh, Mom, I don’t—”
She pointed a finger at him. “I’m not asking, Iskander. It’s been too long since you’ve visited. And I’d like to get to know Wes too.” She turned a smile on me that looked a little predatory.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked Iskander once the front door closed behind his mother. “Work fast to avoid your brother and sneak out before she knows we’re gone?”
“And hear about it for the rest of my life? Not a chance.”
“I’m not misreading you, right? You’d rather avoid your brothers?”
Iskander typed in a code on the keypad by the garage door, and it started to rise. “No. I’m good with Aziz and Masoud. It’s my brother-in-law I’m not particularly fond of.”
He ducked into the garage and I followed. “Oh?”
“I came out as bi when I was in university.”
My brows rose. “I didn’t realize.”
He shrugged. “It’s irrelevant most of the time. Anyway, I came out, and Mom and Dad had no idea how to handle it, so they ignored it.”
“That reaction’s better than some.” Like the one my parents had had. Or Evan’s.
Iskander hefted a ladder over his shoulder and headed back out into the blindingly bright afternoon sun. “Yeah, I know. Aziz, Masoud, Delara, and Soheila—”
“Wait—are those all of your siblings?”
“Yep. I’m the oldest, then Soheila, Masoud, Aziz, and Delara.”
“Wow.”
“So, the youngest three have no problems with me being bi. They kind of equate bi with gay, but whatever.” He coughed. “I’ll take it.”
I helped him set up the ladder in front of the picture window, unsurprised to see his mom watching us. I waved, which she returned with a bright smile, before moving deeper into the house and out of sight.
“Soheila’s not cool with it?” I asked.
“More like her husband, Omar, isn’t.” Iskander frowned. “We’re Muslim, but we’ve always been more secular. Know what I mean? Omar’s family is more conservative, and way more religious. He is not okay with the bi, and therefore Soheila isn’t, either.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Isk.”
“It is what it is. But all the same, I’m hoping he doesn’t come by. That’s not the sort of distraction I wanted to give you.”
Taking down the lights, though—it was the good kind of distraction. It wasn’t difficult, but it did take some concentration, so I had to focus. For an hour, my world narrowed to ladders and strings of lights, and finding out a little more about Iskander.
Like the fact that he’d lost his dad nearly two years before, which is why he and his brothers were on deck to be the handymen for his mother. “We’re normally better at coordinating whose turn it is,” he admitted, and cleared his throat. I imagined the cold wasn’t helping his voice any. “But it’s been tough to get away. With, you know...” He shrugged.
Everything else going on. Yeah.
The sound of tires crunching on crystallized snow and salt tugged our attention away from the lights. A brown SUV pulled in behind Iskander’s in the driveway, close enough that the bumpers kissed. From the whispered “shit” and the blank look on Iskander’s face, I assumed this was not one of his brothers, but his brother-in-law, Omar.
Omar was big—not as tall as Hudson, but at least as wide. Maybe wider. His winter parka was hard-pressed to cover his chest, and I thought for sure that when he crossed his arms, a seam or two would pop. He looked a bit older than Iskander, wrinkles etched into his forehead by years of frowning. His skin was a shade darker than Iskander’s, and his black hair was cut close to his head.
Made sense, seeing as his parka bore the shoulder crest of the Peel Regional Police, which was the police force that looked after Mississauga.
> “Mom said you weren’t coming,” Omar said.
I felt Iskander stiffen beside me, though whether that was at Omar calling Yasmin “Mom” or the insinuation that Iskander wouldn’t help his mother, I wasn’t sure.
“Some time opened up,” Iskander said. “Wes, this is my brother-in-law, Omar El-Amin. Omar, Wes Cooper, one of my partners at the firm.”
Omar made the barest of nods in my direction before turning his attention back to Iskander. “You need to make a better effort for your family.”
“I do what I can,” Iskander said mildly.
I’d seen this side of Isk before in the past few months—the peacekeeper. He let things roll off his back. He didn’t get upset, and he always had a smile and a careful word to smooth things over. He didn’t engage, except to deflect, and I could tell Omar was well-versed in Iskander’s diplomatic skills—and didn’t particularly appreciate them.
He bristled at Isk’s nonreaction, and my magic objected. Iskander was ours, and it didn’t appreciate the threat facing him—even if I knew, logically, Omar wasn’t a threat in that way. I shoved the magic back into its box inside my head, but the container felt brittle. Like the rest of me.
“Maybe I’ll move into the backyard, huh?” I said, my eyes darting between Iskander and Omar.
“That’s a good idea,” Omar said, just as Iskander stated, “You’re fine here, Wes.”
Well...shit. I didn’t want to abandon Iskander, but I had the feeling my magic was not going to behave the longer I spent in Omar’s company. Aggression was just bleeding off him, as though he were searching for an excuse—any excuse—to start a confrontation.
Iskander didn’t like Omar, and the feeling was definitely mutual.
“We’ve got the front yard covered,” Iskander assured his brother-in-law. “The backyard still needs attention, though.”
Omar looked at the second story. “You didn’t get the lights up there.”
Iskander had confessed earlier that he was hoping Aziz would show up to do that, as his youngest brother had no problems with heights and was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. His words, not mine.
“I was going to get to them after we finish with the figurines,” Iskander said.
“When it was dark?” Omar scoffed and headed for the ladder. “I’ll do it now.”
Iskander raised his voice, and I could tell it cost him by the wince as he spoke. “You need someone to hold the ladder steady.”
“Go,” I said to him. “I’ll finish this.”
He grumbled under his breath but marched over to stabilize the ladder as Omar climbed up to the second story to remove the lights. I continued de-lighting the stuff at ground level, missing the conversation Iskander and I had shared while we worked. Now the yard was silent except for the sound of Omar’s boots on the ladder rungs and the occasional grunt of effort.
I carried one of the deer sculptures into the garage and when I emerged, that silence had been interrupted by a low-volume but intense argument.
“What do you mean, you’re not bringing the kids to Mom’s birthday party?”
“You’re going to be there.” Omar said it as though that statement explained everything.
“Well, yes. She is my mother.”
“Soheila and I have discussed it and we would prefer not to expose the boys to your influence.”
“My what?” Iskander’s voice cracked and disappeared.
“Your lifestyle choices. They’re immoral.”
Iskander coughed and cleared his throat. I heard him try to form words, but his voice had given out. After another try, he managed to wheeze, “So you’re saying if I’m around, Mom won’t get to see her only grandchildren.”
“We’ve made our decision.”
“That’s bullshit.” The words ripped out of me before I knew I was going to say anything, but I didn’t apologize for them.
“It’s his choice,” Omar said.
“Wes, it’s fine,” Iskander whispered. “I can see Mom another day.”
“Like hell it’s fine,” I growled. “Being bisexual is not a choice. Being a bigoted asshole is.”
Omar hopped down the ladder and turned his considerable bulk to face me. “What did you call me?”
“Wes,” Iskander said softly, but I ignored him.
“Ass. Hole.” I enunciated each word slowly and clearly, and my magic rejoiced in my rage. Its dance was contained inside my head for now, but it was bouncing against the brittle walls of its box. “And stop trying to intimidate me with the uniform. My boyfriend was a detective with the Toronto Police.” I smiled—and it wasn’t a nice smile—when Omar’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I’m gay. Better stand back. Don’t want to get the gay cooties on you.” Quick as lightning, I reached out and swiped my fingers along his parka. “Oops, too late.”
Iskander groaned. “Wes, c’mon.”
“Touch me again.” Omar’s dark brown eyes glittered. “Do it.”
“Nah, I think I made my point.”
“Which was what?”
“That bigoted assholes like yourself are scared little boys who know the world has changed around them, and think the only way to control it is by trying to dominate everyone and everything.” My magic danced some more. Frantically. It would be so easy to reach out with it and teach Omar to be more careful about whom he messed with. But...no. No, I wouldn’t do that. That wasn’t me. I swallowed that urge and forced a cocky grin to my lips. “I mean, tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you wouldn’t have had me on the ground with cuffs around my wrists if I’d dared to touch you again?”
“This is the kind of influence we don’t want over our sons,” Omar said, his eyes firmly on me.
“It’s a good thing their uncle isn’t as mouthy as I am, then. In comparison, he’s practically a saint.”
For a second, I thought Omar was going to take a swing at me. His arms tensed up and his stance shifted slightly. Any hit he landed would hurt—especially because I wouldn’t be able to go ghost to avoid it. But my magic was there, ready, waiting, so I wasn’t sure if he’d even land the punch. Either way, I was fucked.
Except he spun on his heel and headed for the front door.
I let out a sigh of relief.
“You okay?” Iskander rasped. His voice was barely there.
“Fine, just...need a minute.” I shot him a wavery smile. “Going to walk it off.”
“Go. I’ve got the rest of this.” Omar had managed to get the lights from the second story down, at least, so all that was left were the remaining bear and moose figurines.
I slipped around the side of the house and headed for the backyard, thankful there was a gate set into the fence. I ducked past it and leaned my forehead against the house’s freezing brick, out of sight of the street. My magic burst out of its container and I let out a low moan, hoping none of the neighbors would see the luminescence of my skin in the fading afternoon sunlight.
That had been close. Far closer than I wanted to admit.
“What are you doing?”
I jerked my head up, scraping my skin, and stared at Omar—who stared back, his eyes wide as he took in the light emanating from my eyes and skin. This close, he wouldn’t be able to miss it.
Shit. Shit!
“What—what the—”
“You didn’t see anything.”
“The fuck I didn’t! Your—your eyes—and your skin! What the—” He reached for his sidearm.
My magic reached out for him.
“You didn’t see anything.” Instinct drove my words. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing, but my magic seemed to, and as scared as I was of it, I was more scared of what Omar would do with what he’d seen. “You didn’t see anything.”
Omar’s hand fell away from his weapon, and his muscles relaxed. “I saw you.”
“Okay, sure. You
saw me. But I was just coming down off the adrenaline spike, that’s all.”
“Adrenaline,” he repeated. “Yeah. You were scared of me.”
More scared of me, but sure. If that made him feel better. “Confrontation sucks.” I tilted my head. “Touch your finger to your nose.”
Slowly, and without question, he complied.
This was...new. And more than a little terrifying. I wasn’t sure I wanted the ability to influence someone like this.
My gut trembled and I swallowed hard.
“What did you see?” I asked.
“You, standing by the wall, coming down from the adrenaline.”
“Did I look weird?”
“You look young. Way too young to be a partner in Iskander’s firm.”
I wasn’t going to even go there. “But nothing else?”
“No.”
I’d changed his thinking. Or...maybe his memories.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
I stepped back so the fence could hold me up and stared at Omar. He stared back at me, but in a blank-eyed kind of way. Almost as though he were an empty screen waiting for input. No, this was definitely not a good thing. But...
But.
I had an opportunity here. An opportunity to help Iskander. An opportunity I shouldn’t pass up.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I said, “Iskander is a good man. Solid, loyal, caring. He would be a good influence on your kids.”
Omar frowned. “No, he...he...”
“He would never hurt his family.”
“He would never hurt his family.”
“Including your sons.”
“He would never hurt my sons.”
“That’s right. That’s good.” I let out a slow, even breath and pulled my magic back. It went, reluctantly, back into its container.
