Myth and Magic

by Radclyffe

  Cedric grins, but it’s not any mundane twist of lips. No, he has the mysterious smirk of Mona Lisa and the smug, all-encompassing smile of the Cheshire Cat, all wrapped together. “Excellent,” he says, linking his elbow with mine. “Tonight was turning out to be such a bore. I have to get out of here. Where are we going?” Wide, impossibly bright brown eyes meet mine.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Where are we going?” Cedric repeats, as if that’s what I mean.

  “No, I mean, I’m going to find a phone and call for a ride.” A thought occurs to me. “I don’t suppose you have a phone I can use?”

  Cedric steps far enough away to spread his arms and juts his hip. “Honey, does it look like I have a phone hidden somewhere?”

  No. The answer is definitely no. The skintight clothes and the form-fitting boots leave little—nothing—to the imagination. The only way he can be carrying a phone is if there is a secret compartment in the platforms of his boots. I sigh. “Of course not. Well, if you point me to the nearest twenty-four-hour pharmacy or a grocery store or someplace that has a phone, I’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do you one better,” Cedric says. “There’s a place a few blocks over that should still be open. I’ll take you.”

  “Oh, but I’m sure you have something better to do.” He must be dressed up to go out, right? No one dresses that way all the time. “You can just tell me which way to go.”

  “Are you trying to get rid of me? Why would you want to hurt my feelings like that?”

  I start to apologize, to reassure him that I want him with me. Except the guy freaks me out, and not in an altogether bad way. I’ve never been attracted to feminine or androgynous guys before; usually I crush on the jocks with their powerful muscles and loads of self-confidence. Cedric is confident enough for twenty jocks, but instead of bulging muscles, he’s sleek and sinuous, like an exotic cat. A leopard maybe, or a jaguar. A jaguar in hot pink boots.

  I concede. “If you’ve got nothing better to do, I suppose you can show me the way.”

  “Yay!” With a hop that shouldn’t be possible in those boots, Cedric bounds forward and links elbows with me again.

  A block and a half or so later, I catch sight of another person for the first time. A slouching hulk of a guy leans against a wall on the other side of the street, smoking a cigarette and watching the block. When his eyes land on Cedric, the guy spits out the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. “Hey, boy,” he calls out. “You need to decide whether you’re a man or a girl. ’Cause that pretty little princess thing you’ve got going on, it’s whacked.”

  I stiffen as unfamiliar protectiveness surges through me. No one should talk to, or about, Cedric that way. And why do I care? I barely met the guy five minutes ago.

  Cedric isn’t disturbed, though. “Shut your trap, Jamal. You need to watch who you’re talking to.”

  “And who’s that?” Jamal asks, taking a step into the street. “Some pussy-boy wearing Barbie doll clothes?”

  Cedric waves that aside. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me. My friend here”—he runs a hand along my arm suggestively and I have to grind my teeth together to keep from shivering—“knows how to take care of business.”

  I blink. What the hell is Cedric talking about?

  “Oh yeah? And who’s your friend?” Jamal folds arms that are about the same size as my legs across his bull-like chest.

  Cedric seems genuinely surprised—and worried—that Jamal doesn’t recognize me. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of Marcus Carabas? Massacre Marc? The Master?”

  I look over my shoulder, but no one else is around. Who is Cedric talking about? Jamal eyes me warily.

  “Isn’t he the one—” Jamal begins.

  “Exactly. Now scurry along.” Cedric wiggles his fingers in dismissal. “If you’re lucky, Marcus won’t be offended by your disrespect.”

  “Hey, dude, no disrespect meant. We’re cool, right?” Jamal takes a few steps away from the street, leaning toward the shadows at the base of the building. He stares six inches over my head, fear emitting from his wide eyes and slack jaw.

  Cedric pinches my ass and I jump. What the hell? He glares meaningfully at me and then at Jamal. “Oh! I mean, yeah, we’re cool.” I try to infuse my words with some of the swagger that Jamal had at the beginning of the conversation.

  Jamal backs up until he can duck into the building, slamming the door behind him.

  “What was that all about?” Now that Jamal is gone, I rub at my bruised butt, massaging away the sting.

  “It’s nothing.” Cedric waves his fingers again.

  “Seriously.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Who is Marcus Carabas and why would you want that Jamal guy to think I’m him?”

  “You are Marcus Carabas.”

  Not for the first time during our brief acquaintance, I wonder if Cedric isn’t a little bit out of his mind.

  “Or at least he thinks you are, and that’s what’s important.”

  “Yeah, but what about me?” I point to my chest. “Are you trying to get my ass kicked?”

  “I have better things to do with your body. I’m not about to let anything happen to it, or you.” Cedric smirks. When Todd smirks, it creeps me out. When Cedric smirks, my blood boils.

  I try to swallow my tongue. At least that’s what it feels like. My whole body flushes with embarrassment and eagerness. As soon as I’m sure my tongue is not, in fact, stuck in my esophagus, I say in a humiliatingly weak voice, “That’s reassuring.”

  “Now tell me,” Cedric says, strolling down the now-empty street, pulling me along while I struggle to keep up without stumbling, “what has you wandering through the streets alone on a Friday night?”

  I don’t know why or even how, but the next thing I know, the whole story comes pouring out. About the rave. About Paul’s offer. About my limited cash. The whole time Cedric watches me with luminous eyes, nodding occasionally.

  As we walk, the dark city changes. The shadows slinking along the sidewalk and around building no longer look eerie and threatening. Instead, they look mysterious, almost magical. The occasional streetlight we pass spotlights Cedric in all of his flamboyant, tiger-striped, pink-booted glory. It’s like I am trapped in a fairy tale, one where boring teenagers become infamous badasses and magical, colorful creatures walk the streets.

  My stomach sinks a bit when we turn a corner and I see the glowing sign for the twenty-four-hour pharmacy. I cringe at the yellow light from the front window that heralds the harsh return to reality.

  “I guess we’re here.” I rock on the balls of my feet, tucking my thumbs into the waistband of my jeans. I glance at Cedric from the corner of my eyes.

  “Who are you going to call?”

  “My brother, I guess.” Once again, my legs don’t want to move. Maybe I don’t need to worry about Cedric’s sanity. My own mental stability is obviously in question. I finally manage to take a step and immediately jump back when a panicked face appears in the store’s doorway.

  “I don’t want any trouble!” the clerk, a skinny middle-aged man in a blue vest shouts even as he twists the dead bolt, locking us out.

  “What? I just need to use your phone.” I push at the door, which doesn’t budge.

  “Leave now!” The clerk backpedals, holding out a warning hand. “I’ll call the cops!”

  Cedric steps up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “He must have heard about Marcus.”

  I try to ignore the shivers his breath in my ear causes. “Marcus? But Marcus doesn’t even exist!”

  I catch a whiff of something sweet, like vanilla or sugar cookies, and inhale deeply, relaxing against Cedric’s lithe body. Without conscious thought, I turn in Cedric’s arms to try and get a better sample of the scent.

  “Marcus is whoever you want to be.”

  I close my eyes, basking in the moment. It doesn’t feel awkward at all to be standing in front of a store while Cedric’s arms hold me. “
You’re not altogether sane, are you?”

  “Honey, I’m as sane as you are.”

  Somehow that’s not very reassuring. Right at this moment, I don’t care, though.

  I order my arms to release Cedric, and as much as I don’t want to, I move out of his embrace. “I still need to find a phone.”

  “There’s an all-night restaurant a couple of blocks up, one of those pancake places. They should have a phone you can use.”

  I keep my pace slow as we walk away from the pharmacy. I reach over and take Cedric’s hand in mine before I even know I intend to. I’ve never done anything that ballsy in my life. Always I wait for someone else to make the first move. Not sexually or romantically—I’m a complete novice in all things romance—but in anything. I was so psyched when Todd invited me along. It didn’t matter that Todd and Paul weren’t friends of mine, or even friendly, or that parties in the city aren’t my style. The fact that someone—anyone—had actually approached me made me giddy as hell. Maybe it’s some kind of self-esteem thing. It’s a risk, isn’t it, taking the first step. It doesn’t matter if it’s an offer to be lab partners in chemistry or a date, rejection sucks. But here, with Cedric, the cautioning voice that keeps me from initiating any kind of interaction with others is staying silent. No, not silent. Gone.

  The voice is gone.

  And Cedric isn’t rejecting me.

  The thought makes me a little dizzy. Sure, Cedric is a little odd, but he’s gorgeous and confident and doesn’t look at me as though wondering who I am or why I’m here. Heck, I’d bet there are people I’ve gone to school with for years who probably have no idea what my name is. I’m that easily overlooked.

  Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe if I take more chances, initiate more contact, that can change. How far am I willing to go to test this newfound understanding and confidence?

  “Cedric?”

  He squeezes my hand. “Hmm?”

  Screwing up my courage, I blurt out, “Willyoukissmeplease?” I bite back the groan at my own idiocy at the last second. I want to dissolve into a puddle and sink into the cracks of the sidewalk. Let people walk all over me. It’s exactly what I deserve after that flop of a request.

  When Cedric stops, I let myself be pulled to a halt, too. I fix my gaze on the tips of his boots, focusing on the glint of moonlight on the golden sparkles of the platforms. The heat from Cedric’s hands on my face burns away the blush I know is staining my cheeks. “Say it again.” The soft/rough texture of Cedric’s voice washes down my spine, scrubbing away embarrassment.

  I lick my lips and try again. “Will you kiss me? Please?”

  The smile that blooms across Cedric’s face shines brighter and broader than the moon above. “Yes,” he says simply.

  It’s a soft kiss, a sweet kiss, everything a first kiss should be. And, good God, it rocks my universe. Tingles, starting from where our mouths touch, spread down my back and explode in my brain. Fourth of July sparklers dance under my skin, making me stand straighter, taller, prouder. Maybe it’s because of the way Cedric purrs as he changes the angle of the kiss, deepening it. Yeah, that’s probably it.

  Cedric breaks away, leaving behind the lingering flavor of vanilla-scented lip gloss. There’s an old saying about cats in the cream and another about cats who eat the canary. So much satisfaction pours off Cedric he resembles the cat who double-dipped the canary into the cream before eating it at snack time.

  “Give me a fricking break.”

  A bucketful of muddy water in the face wouldn’t have knocked me out of the moment as fast as those harsh, disgusted words.

  “That’s Carabas? Is this some kind of joke?”

  Like an amateur presentation of West Side Story, a small group of thugs—complete with leather jackets and motorcycle boots—pose under a streetlight in perfect V-formation. The guy speaking stands at the apex, of course.

  I count seven of them, and they all stalk forward, menace in every step.

  “You know these guys?”

  Cedric nods. “Unfortunately. Troublemakers. Not real dangerous, but very irritating.”

  I’m not sure I can trust Cedric’s assessment. After all, if I am the threatening, mean-as-a-snake Marcus Carabas, then these guys he calls merely irritating are either as dangerous as kittens or as deadly as a South American drug cartel. Whichever end of the spectrum they fall on, irritating probably doesn’t cover it.

  The leader of the irritating gang stops in front of me, bringing with him the scent of leather and tobacco.

  “Smoking’s bad for you, you know.” It takes me a second to realize what I said. What am I thinking? Nothing. Clearly I’m not thinking at all, to spout out that kind of idiocy.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The leader of the pack looms closer, glaring down a long nose that gives him a ferret-like look. “Is that some kind of threat?”

  “Carabas doesn’t make threats,” Cedric says before I can get my brain to fully engage. “He makes promises.”

  “Um…Cedric?” I take a small step back as the thug presses even closer. “Try not to aggravate the wildlife, please,” I mutter under my breath.

  “Who are you calling wildlife?” The thug lunges forward, beefy hands reaching for me.

  I lean away too quickly, my back arching Matrix-style to avoid the thug’s grab. Unlike Keanu, my body isn’t used to such contortions. My left leg kicks out in an effort to counter-balance my upper body weight and lands with significant force between the thug’s legs. He bellows, hunching forward and cupping his balls. Cedric slips an arm behind my shoulders to keep me from falling backward.

  “Ouch.” Cedric’s voice lacks all sympathy. He sneers at the thug as he helps settle me on my feet.

  Thug #2 objects to Cedric’s obvious amusement. He charges forward in nearly an exact replica of the first guy. He swings his fist at my head and Cedric nudges the back of my knees. I collapse into a squat even as Thug #2’s punch flies over my head. The force of his swing pulls him around into an awkward pirouette and he spins into the first thug. Both of them fall to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Cedric reaches down and pulls me up by the collar of my coolest T-shirt. I’m beginning to feel like Cedric’s Kevin-shaped puppet. Of course, if his manhandling keeps me from getting my ass kicked, you can call me Pinocchio.

  Thug #3 and Thug #4 dart forward and try to help the first two up. Somehow, all four end up on the ground, a writhing mass of denim and leather. I can’t stop the bubbling laughter that creeps up my chest and through my throat. It’s a slapstick comedy of errors. Whenever one tries to gain any kind of traction on the asphalt, their boots or hands or whatever slip and the whole lot of them fall back into place. Moonlight glints off some kind of shiny substance. Iridescent swirls of color show at certain angles. They landed in some kind of oil. What are the odds?

  I don’t even try to stifle my guffaws. Not only do they look ridiculous, they are unable to do anything more than glare at me. The other three thugs, the ones still standing, look on helplessly. They exchange glances. Questions are clear in their expressions. What should they do? Help their buddies? Attack? Retreat? Clearly, they don’t want to come near me. The same fear I saw in Jamal’s and the clerk’s eyes shines in theirs.

  I shake my head and link elbows with Cedric. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “The restaurant?” Cedric asks.

  I think about it for a second, about the call I’ll have to make to my brother. And about the surprising things I’ve learned about myself tonight. “You know what? No. I’ll just go back to the rave and haul Paul and Todd out of the building. I don’t need to put up with their crap.”

  Cedric purrs. Lord, I love that sound. “Confident men are so sexy.” He leans in close, wrapping both hands around my arm and resting his head on my shoulder. He has to stoop to do it, what with the difference in our heights and the added inches from his boots. It feels natural, though. Right.

  We take our time. Now that I’m not in a hu
rry to get home, we can afford to dawdle. I want to extend my time with Cedric. I suspect I won’t get to see him again. After all, he is clearly a creature of the urban jungle, and me, I’m banished to suburbia.

  But if I’ve learned nothing else over the course of the last two hours, I did discover my backbone.

  “Cedric?”

  “Hmm?” It’s a sigh of contentment more than a question. He rubs his head against my shoulder, like a cat scent-marking his favorite human.

  “Will I see you again? I mean, after I go home?”

  Cedric lifts his head and plants his pink-and-gold-covered feet. He turns to face me, flashing that Mona Lisa/Cheshire Cat smile. “Do you want to?”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “Then you will.”

  “I wish we had a piece of paper or something. That way we could exchange phone numbers at least.” I pull out my wallet and peer at the meager offerings. My ID and fourteen ones. Not even a receipt. I consider sacrificing one of the dollar bills—what’s a buck in exchange for future interactions with Cedric?—but I don’t even have a pen.

  “Oh, well, here.” Cedric reaches down to unzip the pink patent leather of one boot shaft and pulls out a slim phone. “Just put your info in my phone.”

  He has a phone? How did he— “Wait a minute! You told me you didn’t have a phone!”

  Cedric taps a finger to my nose and grins. “Au contraire. I asked if it looked like I had a phone on me.”

  “Then I could have called my brother at any point?”

  “Yeah, but wasn’t this more fun?” He tilts his head and looks at me through heavy-lidded golden eyes. “I know I enjoyed getting to know you.”

  I don’t know whether to be upset or flattered. Who am I kidding? I’m totally flattered, and unlike the shallow flattery I felt at Paul and Todd’s invitation, this time I know Cedric did this to spend time with me, not out of some kind of bet or humiliating prank. The whole Marcus Carabas thing is a little weird, but maybe it’s for the best. Cedric might be a little crazy, but maybe I need a little crazy in my life. Especially when crazy makes me feel confident and worthy.