Mystic Ink

by Casey Wyatt

  “I’m here to request Sanctuary.” Devlin had a small valise in one hand, a potted plant in the other, and a backpack slung over his shoulder. “The Harpies are casing my joint. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Well, that just frosted her fanny. Sanctuary—a long forgotten and seldom followed tradition, invoking the old rules of hearth and home. To refuse Sanctuary in the face of genuine need was asking for all kinds of bad Karma, luck, fate, or however you wanted to see it.

  Nix deflated. “Fine. I grant your request. You can sleep in the guest room.”

  The Satyr’s face lit up. “Thanks, Nix.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable. Once we kick their bitch asses back to Kingdom Come, you’re going back to your place.” Good grief, what was she going to do with a Satyr? Sleep with one eye open?

  “I won’t forget this kindness. I’ll find my way upstairs.”

  Nix shouted after him, “Stay out of my room, or I will make sure your bed stays perpetually wet.” As Devlin clomped up the stairs, his footsteps fading upward, she was overcome with the shakes. Adrenaline faded, and she wanted to collapse. What was this all about? Something about Satyrs pushed all her buttons. Damned memory block.

  Strong, firm fingers gripped her arm. “Come here.” Cal dragged her into the backroom and pulled her into a tight embrace. “Shhh.” He rubbed her back in slow circles. Her body sank into his, comfortable, familiar with every nook and cranny.

  “Why do I feel so safe with you?” she wondered out loud. When Cal’s muscles tensed, she pulled away. “What is it? You know something about me. Don’t you?”

  Cal cursed his stupidity. He could never fool her for long. Nix had always been able to read him like a book. “Nix, please.”

  “Don’t hide behind Father’s ridiculous rules.” Nix may have been angry, but she didn’t break the embrace either.

  “The rules exist for a good reason. And no, I don’t know everything about your life during missions.” He skirted the question, hoping she wouldn’t make the distinction.

  “Oh, so you know some things then.”

  So much for hope. Cal drank in Nix’s ruffled appearance. Her black hair hung loose around her shoulders, tussled from the knockdown with the Harpies. The blush on her cheeks made her lush skin glow, ripe for his kisses.

  Fingers snapped in his face. “Hey, quite daydreaming. Are you going to answer me?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss League business.” Cal’s whole body was alight for her. He took a step back.

  Nix pressed in closer, the tips of her breasts just brushing his chest. “Tell me what you know.”

  The scent of sweet taffy drifted on the air, tantalizing his nose. Gods she smelled good. He shook his head. “Don’t try Nymph charms on me.” Because it was working. Or really, it was her. He wanted her.

  “Please. I have more class than that,” Nix huffed and stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest, flattening her cleavage.

  Cal’s mouth watered. He knew the scent of her up close and personal. Knew the sounds she made before she came. The echo of her orgasms pinged around his mind. At that moment, he hated Fate. He hated that he remembered everything and she could recall nothing.

  Nix’s cheeks flushed. “Why are you looking at me that way?”

  Maybe that wasn’t true. She said she felt safe with him. Her body had to remember him, even if her mind didn’t. Before he could change his mind, Cal closed the distance between them, cupped Nix’s chin, and kissed her.

  The moments his lips made contact with hers, electric jolts raced up and down his skin. A jumble of emotions competed for air time. Elation, hope, lust . . . fear of rejection. It all dashed away. Firm soft lips, smooth as velvet, welcomed his touch. Her mouth parted. He wasted no time teasing her tongue with his. He savored every second, because it wouldn’t be long before—

  She broke it off. He nearly whimpered when her hot mouth pulled away from his.

  “Cal . . .” Nix’s breath came in short, small bursts. She drew her fingertips across her lips. “I don’t understand.”

  Before he could reply, she fled the backroom and headed to her upstairs apartment, leaving him alone.

  Basil sang a pitiful rendition of “Don’t You Forget About Me.” Did the bird have x-ray vision?

  Cal turned to leave. His shoe bumped a small silver object. It rolled across the floor and settled against a box. He picked it up, careful not to tangle the broken chain. The sand in the small hourglass charm was at the halfway point.

  Shit. His time was running out.

  Chapter 12

  Devlin had only been in the shop for an hour and Nix was ready to toss him out on his rear—Sanctuary be damned. Case in point, the dirtbag was running into the shop like his ass was on fire.

  Nix gaped at Devlin, momentarily speechless. Bloody scratches lined the right side of his face. And his normally disheveled hair was even more unruly, nearly standing on its curly ends.

  “Dude, did you tussle with an alley cat or something?” Jason glanced up from coloring Chen’s arm sleeve. The Fu Dog laughed and nodded in agreement.

  Devlin panted, right hand clutching his side. “There’s something out there,” he gasped.

  Cal, without a word, set aside his paperwork and went into the backroom. The metal side alley door opened, then closed with a solid ring. Curious. Cal believed Devlin?

  “Did you see what attacked you?” Nix asked.

  “No. I was too busy protecting my eyes. I managed to tear whatever it was off, but it ran before I got a good look at it,” Devlin said, swiping at the cuts, smearing blood down to his chin.

  Nix knew she should have felt some compassion. But that well had run dry by whatever event she could no longer remember. Nope, she didn’t see him. Paid him no mind, until the Satyr dropped into her vacant chair.

  “Devlin, unless you’re getting a tattoo, I suggest you find somewhere else to sit.” Great, now she would have to disinfect the thing again so her customers wouldn’t get goat cooties.

  “Nix, there’s something out in your alley,” Devlin said, still out of breath.

  “Consider working out more. You need to be in better shape for when the angry pitchfork mob comes after you.”

  Devlin just stared at Nix, ignoring the dig. “Hello? Didn’t you hear me? Something jumped me when I went to empty the trash in the dumpster.”

  “Hey, Nix. That must be your killer. A rabid cat.” Chen joked, raising his palm. Jason high-fived it.

  “What did the monster look like then?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

  The steady whir of the tattoo needle stopped. Jason and Chen stared at Devlin.

  “Gangly arms and legs, buggy eyes. And a long tail.” Devlin swallowed hard. “Like I said, it ran off so fast, I didn’t get a good look at it.”

  “Sounds like an alley cat to me.” Jason resumed inking Chen. The two of them huddled close, laughing, probably at Devlin. Not that he seemed to notice.

  “I’m serious,” Devlin insisted. “It feels wrong out there.”

  “It’s probably the Underworld Gate. That’s all. Gods, grow a pair. You’re a discredit even for your race.” Nix banged the seatback. “Now get the heck out of the chair, Devlin, or I’ll ink pansy across your forehead.”

  Devlin grumbled, but moved. “At least give me a bandage or something.” He pointed at the scratches on his cheek.

  Mary stuck her head out from the employee break room. “Come back here, Devlin. I’ll fix you up.”

  Jason and Chen exchanged glances. No rude comments, though. That sucked. Nix was fair game for their taunts, but not Mary? What the hell?

  Yeah, yeah, life wasn’t fair. Nix would have slugged anyone at that moment if they said it out loud.

  Devlin managed to stay out of Nix’s way for the rest of the afternoon. When Cal had returned, he shared a short, meaningful look with Devlin, then resumed reading files as if nothing happened. Fine, they could keep their secrets. She didn’t have the energy to
care about a creature that was probably in Devlin’s imagination.

  The day finally over, Nix headed straight for her bedroom. What was she thinking? A Satyr in her apartment? Karma sucked.

  She ignored Devlin as he rummaged through her refrigerator. Good luck with that. Her fridge was a wasteland, consisting of half-alive takeout containers and stale condiments.

  She leaned against the closed door. The first image that popped into her mind was Cal. Her heart raced. Her pulse pounded against her temples like heavy raindrops battering the ground. The wood smoke fragrance of Cal clung to her fingertips, reminding her once again of her visceral reaction to his touch. His kiss had pulled the breath from her lungs. She stopped her hand, stayed her fingers from touching her lips that tingled with remembrance. And his body...

  Hard muscles sheathed with smooth skin. At least that was how his forearms felt wrapped around her. For a moment, before she came to her senses, she had curled her arms around his sculpted waist and run her hands down the fine planes of his back. She couldn’t deny it. For that brief minute, she had felt safe in his arms.

  She banged her fist against the hard wooden doorframe. She couldn’t allow it. Not for one more second. No more fantasizing about another life—one she couldn’t have. She was a Destroyer. A savior of humanity. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  Devlin shrieked, “What the hell is that?” A wet smack followed.

  Now what? Nix exhaled a heavy breath and left her bedroom. The refrigerator door was cranked wide open, cartons capsized all over the floor. Devlin stood, wide-eyed and quivering, gaze fixed on the inside. Freaked out was too mild a description for his expression. Terrified was more like it.

  His finger shot out, arm trembling. “What kind of person keeps that in their fridge?”

  “What are you babbling about?” Nix doubted her fridge’s food was enough to warrant fear.

  “Twig and berries. Bait and tackle.”

  Nix edged around him and followed where he pointed. “Oh that.” She had forgotten about the clear glass jar in the back. It had been buried behind the takeout containers for so long she no longer noticed it. The Destroyer’s Mark, a Trident crossed with a lightning bolt across a crested wave, sealed the container. An inscription in Ancient Greek read Let the punishment fit the crime. Justice has been done. A name, also in the ancient tongue, had been written, then crossed out, to symbolize the recipient of said justice.

  Devlin snapped, “Holy Hades! Do I have to spell it out for you? Why do you have a penis and testicles in your fridge?”

  “I’m not really sure.” And that was the truth. Uncle Memphis had left the jar for her, supposedly at her own request with strict directions—don’t open the jar or eat the contents. Yet another casualty of having her mind wiped after missions. “I didn’t realize what they even were. I’m guessing they’re Satyr, judging by all that brown goat hair.”

  “That is fucked up. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  “You mean any more than you already are?” Nix closed the fridge door. No sense in letting all the cold air out.

  “Look. I don’t know what I did to you, but whatever it was, I’m really sorry.” Devlin backed away slowly as if Nix was ready to come after him, at any moment, with a sharp knife.

  She bit back the laugh lodged in her throat. If that was all it took to scare a Satyr, then maybe she should carry the jar around with her.

  Devlin’s skin had a green tinge. Both hands pressed against his stomach. Even though he looked nauseous, his stomach let out a hungry growl. Typical Satyr. Nothing got in the way of hunger. Not even revulsion.

  “Devlin, go sit at the table.” Nix had ordered delivery from Toro’s, a large double meat and a small supreme veggie. After half the meat pizza was gone, Devlin nervously glanced again around the kitchen. Like the jar would come out and attack him for his private parts.

  “You really don’t remember how you got them . . .” Devlin’s voice died out. Appetite unaffected, he heaped three more pizza slices onto his plate. At this rate, the goat was going to eat her out of house and home.

  “Nope. I’ve been too busy with other things to really ponder the meaning.”

  “It must have been your mission. That’s why you can’t remember it.” Devlin reached across the table and wiped up the crumbs he left behind. Then he poured them each a glass of wine.

  Nix froze, pizza halfway to her mouth. “I had already figured that bit out.”

  “Well, yeah. Nymphs are unfairly stereotyped as being dumb.” Devlin flushed, a slow, pink blush creeping up his cheeks. He stood up and started clearing the table. “What I mean is . . .”

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Nix supplied. She had to give him credit. He was the neatest Satyr she had ever met.

  “Exactly. I remember back in the late 1890s or maybe early 1900s, a rumor circulating about a white slavery ring led by a crime boss named Pannis. He was trying to revive a new version of the Hellfire Club.” Devlin sponged off, then towel dried Nix’s vintage chrome table before reseating himself.

  “According to lore, Pannis was doing a pretty bang up job of it, too. He had started a white slave trade business. Very popular internationally.”

  As if slavery were just another business, Nix thought, disgusted. She arched an eyebrow, then drew her fingers into a tight fist on the table top.

  “Not that I knew anything about that personally,” Devlin said, hands up. “He might have gotten away with it longer except Pannis made the mistake of drawing attention to the group with reckless behavior.”

  The hair on Nix’s neck stood on end, her instincts fired up full blast.

  “Rumor was he kidnapped the daughter of a God. Supposedly, the Delian League went in there and busted up the operation.”

  And around that time period, Nereus had imposed a permanent ban on God slave trafficking, including Satyrs kidnapping Nymphs. Anyone in their world caught engaging in that kind of behavior was dealt with severely—as in a one way trip to Tartarus. “So, what does that have to do with the jar in my kitchen?”

  The Satyr stared at her for a moment. He seemed to measure his words before elaborating, “The Destroyer assigned to the case allegedly castrated Pannis. We had heard she fed him his own nuts, but I think . . .” He swallowed hard and motioned to her fridge.

  “I have the equipment in question.” Nix leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. There was a certain kind of sick logic to the theory. Not to mention, it could explain her innate hatred of Satyrs. “Any ideas on the Nymph’s true identity?”

  Devlin gave Nix a long, hard look. “A couple of different suggestions have been made. Like she was the daughter of one the Major Players. But it’s highly unlikely that a Satyr could hold a Demigod hostage for long. Gossip at the time said it was a Nereid and that Pannis tried to blackmail Nereus. Once they located the female, the council sent the Final Arbiter to punish Pannis.”

  Her stomach constricted into a tight knot. All that veggie pizza threatened to reappear on her kitchen floor.

  “Nix, you okay? You look kind of green.”

  “Yeah,” she lied, swallowing bitter bile. It burned all the way down.

  “I saw her once,” Devlin said softly. “The Final Arbiter. She’s not just any Destroyer. She was . . . fearsome. Divine retribution in the flesh.”

  Nix fought back the waves of nausea and strained to listen to Devlin, wondering when he would have been unfortunate enough to witness the Final Arbiter. Even among her sisters, they spoke of the Arbiter with dread. If they spoke of her at all.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

  “When?” Nix’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Devlin picked at the corner of his napkin. “I was a child. Maybe nine or ten years old. I lived with my uncles in the backwoods of Virginia. I don’t remember much other than we lived in a drafty log cabin. I was always cold. Always hungry.” In a small voice he said, “My mother was dead. My father’s whereab
outs unknown. I was alone.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to bring up bad memories.”

  “No. It’s okay.” Devlin finished his wine and poured himself more. “I vividly remember the cries. The screams of fear. My uncles liked to kidnap travelers. Mostly mortals. They played with them for days on end. When they grew tired of their captives, they killed them.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Nix said.

  “I hated it there.” Devlin’s dark brown eyes lifted, his gaze fixed on Nix. She couldn’t look away. No matter how awful the story. “Every night I prayed to the Gods. I begged them to free me from the hell I was in. Even at that age, their behavior sickened me. They tried to get me to join them. Instead, I hid in the woods. They beat me. Withheld food. So I learned how to survive eating from the forest.”

  “Did you ever think about running away?”

  “Yes. Every damn day. But it was 1615. There were scarier things in the woods besides my uncles. There were no towns. The closet human settlement was weeks away. I was too young to fend for myself. Satyrs are communal. We learn all we need from the tribe. In this case, my tribe was my twisted uncles. They schooled me well in how not to act.”

  His jaw tightened. Survivor’s eyes stared at her. “My prayers were answered, in a fashion. That final night, she came. I was in the forest waiting for them to fall asleep so I could sleep in the barn.” Devlin shuddered. “I could feel her before I saw her. Raw power. Her skin was black as night. They had no idea she was coming.”

  Nix could guess what had happened next. She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles whitened.

  “Yes. It was awful. Brutal. They were begging for death when she was done,” Devlin confirmed. “I’m forever grateful to her.”

  Nix swallowed the remainder of her wine. “Why?”

  “She freed me. When she was done, she easily found me cowering behind a woodpile. She looked into my soul and judged me innocent. Said I was untainted by my uncles’ stain and that I should walk the path of the righteous.” Devlin refilled Nix’s wine glass, a tight smile on his lips. “And I have lived a clean life, despite your belief in my depravity.”