Mystic Ink

by Casey Wyatt

  His hands heated. Flames attempted to burst through his palms as his emotions overrode his self-control. A Son of Ares, he could harness fire and bend it to his will. He took a deep breath, stilling the flames before they escaped. A light touch on his shoulder brought him back to the present.

  “I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t know.” Nix’s sentiment seemed genuine and for a moment her defiant eat shit and die attitude toward him lessened. “All I’m trying to say is . . . with her, it happened while she was wearing the Mantle.”

  “Your father is not taking any chances. The policy stands for good reason. If you would like a new agent assigned, I’m sure your father would accommodate you. I hear Nate Adonis is free.”

  It was a low blow, using her ex-boyfriend, but he really wanted to stay with her. He had to give Nix credit. She did a good job of not reacting to the name of her former lover. Adonis was a jerk who had publicly divulged the details of their brief love affair. Details Cal could have lived without knowing. The God community’s relative smallness meant that the gossip traveled quickly; whether it was true or not, didn’t matter. He knew his own relationship disaster, with a princess in the Amazon court, was still fodder for the rumor mill.

  “I don’t have a problem with you personally.” Nix handed him a carton marked ‘black ink’. “If you’re going to hang around, you can at least be useful.” Nix left him standing there, box in hand. He breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he had a chance with her. Maybe she would remember him and their shared past.

  He shook his head. He was a fool. Reclamation was always permanent. If he wanted Nix, he would have to win her heart, all over again.

  The front door chimes tinkled. Then the musky scent of Satyr hit his nose.

  “What the hell do you want?” He heard Nix say, anger clear in her tone.

  Shit! Not good. Cal arrived in time to see her palming a watermelon-sized ball of water, ready to douse the Satyr standing in the shop.

  The power of the ocean surged through Nix’s veins. She could command water at will. There were limits to her power on dry land, so she always kept water supplies nearby. The ball in her hand came from the employee water cooler. The jug would have to be refilled later. But she didn’t give a crap. The dirty Satyr was getting a bath.

  “Nix! Wait.” Cal came up behind her, but was smart enough to not touch her. She couldn’t stand Satyrs and this one in particular was a real pain in the ass.

  Devlin Ward stood still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the liquid orb in her hands.

  “What do you want, Devlin?” Nix dialed down her temper. She didn’t want Cal running back to her father reporting she was unstable. Like most of his kind, Devlin was a slob. He wore rumpled clothes and sported a mop of brown curls, dangling in different directions. A five o’clock shadow and bushy sideburns rounded out his unkempt appearance.

  “I’m here on official business. So I would appreciate it if you would direct your anger elsewhere.” Devlin’s shoulders un-bunched and he stood taller. “The neighborhood watch committee has asked that you please do something about your alley.”

  “Really? Are you implying that I’m killing mortals and hiding them behind my dumpster?”

  “No. Of course not,” he replied. “But Fourth of July is approaching. Dead bodies attract negative publicity and scare away business.”

  Nix wanted to laugh in Devlin’s face. He owned a grimy junk shop—Fawn’s Pawns—over on Cottrel Street, a few blocks away. She doubted there would be a big tourist rush for second-hand goods of dubious origin.

  She also tried to ignore the odor he emitted. Satyrs and Nymphs were natural adversaries. In order to trap a Nymph, a Satyr would use an enticing scent as a lure. For Nereids, it was the delicious aroma of salty air and sweet coconut. Once a Satyr got hold of a Nymph, he would rape her repeatedly and try to keep her as a love slave.

  “The local police are handling the matter.” Cal spoke from behind Nix. Devlin’s eyes widened and his face paled. When Nix turned around, Cal’s expression was neutral. Jason swept around the workstations wearing an amused expression.

  “Is that all you wanted to say?” Nix asked. “I have clients coming in soon.”

  “That’s it.” Devlin nodded.

  The door chime jangled.

  Mary Swain had finally arrived. Nix’s prissy bitch receptionist wrinkled her nose at Devlin. While sauntering into the backroom, she said, “Morning, Cal” and ignored everyone else.

  Nix shot Cal a look. What made him so damn special? Mary had barely said two words to her in two weeks. Nix signed her paycheck, for Zeus’ sake. Uncle Memphis had stipulated that Mary, Jason, and Basil must remain part of the staff. The only explanation offered was that they would be great assets to her. If Nix had known that Mary would have a bug up her colon on a daily basis, she might not have agreed.

  As near as she could tell, Mary was not part of the Greek Pantheon of Gods. The current theory between Nix and Jason was that Mary was part of the Egyptian Pantheon. They based this hypothesis on Mary’s black hair and ageless café au lait skin. Mary was also partial to heavy dark eyeliner that accentuated her deep brown eyes. Jason swore to Nix that tattoos were hidden underneath Mary’s silver cuff bracelets: The Eye of Horus on her right wrist and an Ankh on her left one. He had seen them one day when she slipped the bracelets off to apply hand lotion.

  Devlin cleared his throat. “The block watch appreciates your attention to this matter.” He escaped out the door before Nix could hurl the water ball at his curly head.

  “You really need to work on your people skills,” Cal commented.

  “Well, he’s not a person. He’s a goat bastard.” Nix inhaled and exhaled, then sent the water to the potted plants outside the front door.

  “Technically, he’s part fawn, part man,” Cal said, the reasonable calm in his voice irking her.

  “I don’t care. He’s still half beast.” She picked up a broom and swiped it across the already clean floor, trying to brush away the creepy crawlies on her skin. She couldn’t explain her aversion. Satyrs were just . . . ewww.

  “You really should give him a chance, Nix,” Jason piped in from the workstations where he was disinfecting the counters. “Devlin’s a pretty good guy. Don’t lump him in with the rest of the bad apples. He’s not like the others.” He sprayed down the chairs. “I know for a fact that he goes to the shelter on his days off to feed and play with the animals.”

  Nix snorted. “He’s probably looking for his next bed partner.”

  “There hasn’t been a known case of Satyrs attacking Nymphs in the last hundred years,” Cal added.

  “Gee. What a coincidence. Wasn’t that around the time The Delian League offered membership to the United States Government?” Nix’s father had invited the U.S. because the fledgling nation espoused the ideals of the ancient Greeks—to defend freedom and promote democracy. “The Satyrs in this country know they’ll get their furry gonads handed to them if they put one hoof out of line.”

  “You’re so cynical,” Cal said. Nix tried not to stare at the curve of his pecs. He worked out regularly, judging by the definition in his arms and abs. Why did he have to wear such form fitting T-shirts? And why was she scoping out his body? Granted it was a hot body.

  Her phone rang. Saved by the bell, thank the Gods. She needed saving from herself.

  When she read caller ID, she almost let it go to voicemail. But if she did, Doris would just keep calling. It was kind of hard to tattoo someone when her phone was ringing every five minutes. “Hello, Mother.”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t called me yet. I told you to call. It’s been two weeks. I must know. Is Calder Quinne as much of a dreamboat as everyone says he is?” her mother asked in a breathy tone. Nix could almost feel her mother quivering with anticipation.

  “I’m getting ready to open the shop. I’m a little busy here.” Nix had no intention of indulging her mother’s curiosity. Definitely not with Cal standing a few feet away, chatting w
ith Mary at the receptionist desk. “I can’t talk now . . . if you know what I mean?” Honestly, like the hotness of Calder Quinne was the most important thing in the world. Not.

  “Oh. Of course, dear. I understand. He’s standing nearby. All right then. I’ll call you later after my appointments. Bye, dear.” Her mother always had appointments: the hair salon, manicures, pedicures, waxing. You name it, she did it. Nix couldn’t relate to her mother’s Manhattan lifestyle. Way too shallow and self-indulgent.

  Aside from dying her hair a garish shade of black, Nix spent almost zero time on her personal appearance. She bathed daily, but she was lucky if she remembered to comb out her hair before running downstairs to open for the day. Which reminded her . . . she still had a phone call to make. And shit, an hour had already passed since the body was removed.

  “Jason, I’ll be right back.” Nix passed through the break room, unlocked the door marked ‘Private’ and took the stairs up to her apartment. She needed to call Charon before there were any more interruptions. Her first appointment wasn’t due to arrive for another twenty minutes. She was inking a full back tattoo of a dragon fighting with a tiger. Today she would start adding the color, so she wouldn’t get the chance to make the call for several more hours.

  Charon answered on the first ring. “Again, Nix?” His raspy voice sounded resigned, like the whole thing was somehow her fault. “And I suppose the mortal officer of the law took the body again?”

  “Yes.” Nix refused to feel guilty about the situation. All she wanted was to run the shop and enjoy her leave time. Was that really too much to ask?

  “Meet me in the alley.” The connection ended, leaving dead silence.

  Charon was already waiting in the alley by the time Nix made the one-minute trip out of the building. He was alone this time, no Cerberus. A pity, because she liked the three-headed dog.

  “Nix, how many times must I stress that the body should not be moved?” He wheezed like a bottled up steam valve. “Without the body, I can’t trace my way back to the soul.” Charon’s perennial gray hoodie was pulled over his face, leaving his features shadowed.

  “The soul hasn’t appeared in the Underworld?”

  Charon looked at his feet, his hands tucked deep into the hoodie’s pockets. Nix hoped the hands stayed hidden, because one time, they had come out—while he gesticulated about how she shouldn’t let the mortals take the bodies—and they were hideous. She shuddered. Rumor had it that no one knew what Charon actually looked like except Hades. Thank the Gods for that. Seeing his creepy, cadaver hands once was one occasion too many. He finally answered, “No.”

  Interesting, yet disturbing, she thought. “Have any of the souls shown up yet?” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen any souls traveling to the Gate since the bodies began appearing. A worm of dread burrowed into her stomach. “What’s going on?”

  Charon took an eternity to answer. “Nothing good. Hades is investigating this more actively now. ” He flashed back to the Underworld, leaving her alone.

  “That’s great. Thank you so much for the useful information!” she yelled to the end of the alley, where the Underworld Gate resided. “I don’t need this shit.”

  Nix stopped. She was doing it again. Talking to herself. A car door slammed shut in the parking lot next door. It was her client. Good. Something to think about besides where the souls might be. Though, it was very strange . . . where could they be?

  Nope. She wasn’t going there. She was off duty. Let someone else deal with the problem.

  Chapter 2

  Cal stood on the balcony of his rented condo and watched the sun sink past the horizon. He took a long swig of beer, not tasting it. The stunning vista of Long Island sound only reminded him that he was alone. Nix would have appreciated it. She would have—

  He shut the line of thinking down. No point in wishing for what he couldn’t have.

  At least he had survived another day, his dignity still intact. Nix was none the wiser about his true feelings, and he didn’t shame himself by trying too hard to please her. Her icy reaction to his presence seemed to be melting. A bit.

  I asked for this. It could be worse. She could still be dating Adonis. The prick.

  He had wanted the assignment and now he had to deal with the consequential feelings. Man, he was whacked in the head. But then again, he was a glutton for punishment. So was Nix. Maybe that was why they were meant to be together.

  His lips curved into a small smile as he remembered the first time he had ever seen her.

  Nix had been a new trainee at war camp. Full of defiance, a regular spitfire, and nothing like her other Nymph sisters. New recruit orientation had barely been completed before she and Nate Adonis had exchanged barbs.

  On the verge of graduation, Cal and his best friend, Talus, nominally put up with Adonis’ presence. More out of classmate loyalty, not because they actually liked the guy. Nate, Son of Apollo, was like most Demigods—a conceited ass. Adonis had zeroed in on Nix’s sisters, Chloe and Tabby, like a lion singling out the weakest prey. Cal and Talus had, long ago, outgrown picking on the younger gods. But not Nate. He took on more than he could chew that day.

  Cal grinned at the memory of Nix blackening Nate’s eye. She called him a coward in front of the upperclassmen. Nix would have given Nate a serious run for the money on just anger alone, since she had no real combat training.

  Unfortunately, Teacher Shyama, an angry tiger deity from India, caught Nix. Nate, the sneak, had slipped away with Nix’s sister, Portia, before Shyama could notice him. Nix alone was whipped—a common discipline in camp. Gods who couldn’t stomach the harsh training or camp lifestyle were summarily banished. And rightly so. Their world was brutal. Only those who could defend humanity from supernatural threats were admitted into the Delian League.

  Cal had stood and watched as Nix took the beating. Each lash of the multi-tailed whip had cut into her flesh, tearing it raw, spraying silvery blue blood. The pain must have been incredible. He could vouch. He’d had plenty of firsthand experience. About five strokes later, Nix cried out in agony. Anyone would have.

  He had admired her. Not for her unashamed crying, but for her strength in the face of unyielding pain. Even under the excruciating onslaught of blows, her spine had never bent and she had remained upright and rigid on her knees. The righteous fire in her eyes had never diminished.

  That wouldn’t be the last time Nix’s mouth or behavior resulted in punishment. Nymphs, almost universally, were fun-loving, docile females. The Nereids, in particular, had a reputation for being laid back and doing anything to please their father, Nereus. She had even refused to answer to her given name Eudora. Nix had freely challenged her teachers and classmates alike on matters large and small.

  “Incredible,” Talus, his best friend, had murmured under his breath. “How can she still be standing? She is either stubborn or stupid.”

  “No. Not stupid,” he’d replied. He already knew what he wanted. “Talus, mark this moment. One day, I will know this Nymph. She will be mine,” he had vowed.

  And for a brief, glorious time, Nix had been his to love.

  Shit. That was a long time ago. And Talus—it hurt too much to think about. He tamped down the loss and finished the beer. The sky had darkened, the last bits of light nearly extinguished. He left the balcony, stashing the empty bottle on the cold, granite countertop. The shiny surface reflected a wavy image back at him. He knew there were dark circles under his eyes. Lack of sleep would do that to anyone, even a Demigod.

  Nix didn’t seem to care. She barely noticed him, except to scowl at him. Whenever he tried to capture her gaze, she always looked away or found a reason to leave the room.

  It had been a rough two weeks for him. Trying to keep it cool and pretend that they had never met. The whole time he wanted to scream. Nereus had given him strict instructions—no mentioning past missions. Of course, his boss had no idea how much of a past Cal had shared with his daughter.

 
A few times, he had comments on the tip of his tongue that were too personal and would have raised Nix’s suspicions. He had nearly blown it at their first meeting when he blurted out,—“You dyed your hair black.” He had smoothed over the gaffe by explaining that he had seen her before at League meetings. Nix seemed satisfied and unconcerned. Which was a good thing. She was sharp and could ferret out duplicity in an instant. It made her a great Destroyer, but also made his mission tricky. He would have to continue to think before he spoke and not let himself get tangled in their shared past.

  It wouldn’t be easy. Nix was just as beautiful and ethereal as he remembered. Her eyes bottomless pools of blue, reminiscent of a tropical sea. Her tanned skin soft, supple, and so touchable. He could still remember the taste . . . the smell of her sweet flesh under his tongue. When he first saw her, it was all he could do not to reach out to her, to grab her and crush her to his chest and ask if she could remember anything, anything at all.

  A loud rap got his attention. He opened the door and found a delivery box. Before touching it, he examined it, using his senses to be sure it wasn’t booby-trapped. He had enemies, and he didn’t need to give them an assist by being stupid.

  Once he was satisfied the box was legitimate, he brought it inside. The package was most likely from Nereus. The old man had asked him to review some of the old Destroyer case files for signs of post-traumatic stress in his daughters. The Delian League still used paper since it was harder to mess with than computer records. Cal suspected Nereus couldn’t be bothered to convert the information over.

  He was still puzzled by Nereus’ request. Why did he want Cal to evaluate the files? Cal had pointed out that there were experts better equipped to do the assessment. Nereus had replied cryptically that Cal was meant to be involved in the events about to unfold. That was the problem working with Nereus—he had the gift of prophecy. It was impossible to naysay him because, in the end, his visions were always right.