by Willa Okati
“Thank you.”
Martin turned to Silas, who was staring at him, as he always did when Martin talked to the Heart, as if Martin’d grown a second head, complete with green scales and antennae. “We’re ready. The club’s good to open. Now go have a drink before you collapse, will you?”
Silas glared at him but stumbled past all the same, making a beeline out of the chamber of the Heart and no doubt heading straight for his office where a snifter of double-plus-good brandy waited. Along with his secretary. The secretary was too pretty for Silas, in Martin’s opinion, but what the hell.
Alone at last.
Martin hesitated and then raised one shoulder. What the hell, indeed? But why limit himself to scrying when he could get up close and personal?
A portal peeped open a tiny black eye.
“There you are.” Martin petted the edges. “Smart boy. Now, take me to the hidden window near the entrance of the club. I want to get a look at all the fresh meat in line.”
The portal widened obediently until it was large enough for Martin to step through. He entered without fear. Portals could be a hell of a thrill ride, but he was used to them to the point of being bored as he traveled; he sometimes thought a little modern elevator music would be nice during the journey.
When the portal deposited him at his destination, Martin touched it again. “Hang out for a few. This won’t take long.”
He stepped toward the window and peered out. A nifty little magical aperture, it would look just like another section of the wall to an outside observer, but from the inside you could get a nice view.
Now to find what he wanted to peek at...
Ah. Yes. There. Harrison, dressed in a soft-blue, button-down shirt and casual pants, just as nicely big and broad in real life as in his photo. Edible.
“I seeee you,” Martin teased, though he knew Harrison wouldn’t notice anything. “You’re in for the time of your life, Harry, my boy.”
Harrison glanced up. At the wall. At Martin.
Martin couldn’t hear Harrison, but he was good enough at lip-reading to know when someone was shouting “Shit!”
Martin jerked back. Double shit! That was definitely not supposed to happen. The window was an established entity. Hidden. Always hidden. One could look out, but no one could see in. Simple rules that had never changed, not even when the club itself changed shape.
“Heart of Amour Magique, are you playing games?” he demanded.
The Heart either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. Martin scowled and put his hands on his hips.
Well. Wasn’t this just great?
Chapter Three
Harrison refused, absolutely refused, to stand frozen in place and gape at an ordinary warehouse wall.
He could not have seen what he’d thought he saw. Walls were man-made creations of brick, plaster, steel, what-have-you -- all according to time and place. They were unable to part physically like theater curtains and let you look through. Impossible -- so it hadn’t happened. Couldn’t have.
Yeah, he had simply imagined the walls had opened to reveal a man who looked uncannily familiar. Blond, slim, and attractive, except for the melodramatic high-collared cloak he wore.
Impossible. Right. Or...
Hallucination? No. According to the dictionary alone, a hallucination is a “sensory experience of something that does not exist outside of the mind.” I’m neither sick nor crazy. I don’t believe in delusions. Delusions are one step away from illusions, and they are not real.
Get it together, Harrison, he ordered himself. Back in control.
One member of the teeming masses that surrounded the Brotherhood on all sides grabbed Harrison’s elbow. “Hey, got a light?”
Harrison glanced down -- fairly far down -- to see a young woman, of all people, dressed in modern Goth high fashion. She reminded him a bit of outrageous Bree but seemed considerably less surly -- at first glance. She was, in fact, smiling. A slightly alarming smile, what with the black lipstick she’d slathered on, but if Bree had ever unbent far enough to smile instead of snarl, Harrison hadn’t seen him do it.
The throng of hyped-up young men who were seriously ready to party was making Harrison nervous. And after Shoshanna, he was fairly wary of women, but this one, with her cheerful air of friendliness, didn’t know him for who he was. He would be just another man in the crowd to her, so he had no reason to be rude, after all.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying not to sound aloof. “I don’t smoke.”
“Damn.” The girl -- woman? -- tapped her cigarette against the palm of one delicate hand. “Oh, wait, maybe I’ve got matches.” She started digging in the pocket of her leather jacket.
Harrison examined the small female, surrounded as she was by a near-literal ocean of men, and found himself growing concerned for her safety.
“Miss? I don’t mean to offend, but is it possible you’re lost? This isn’t exactly a ladies’ club.”
“Female, schme-male.” The girl snorted. “Aha. Gotcha.” She tugged out a battered book of matches, struck one neatly on the sole of her boot, and lit up. After a lusty inhale, she exhaled a plume of white smoke with a sigh of contentment. “Yeah, this is the big gay club, I know. I wanted to come check it out. Can’t blame a dame for being curious, can you?”
“I suppose not,” Harrison allowed. “It’s still not safe. Some gay men, er, don’t like women intruding on ‘their’ stomping grounds. I’m not saying their attitude is right, but in a crowd this size you could be putting yourself at some considerable risk.”
“Nah, no worries. I can take care of myself.”
Harrison didn’t doubt the woman could. She was small, to be sure, but clearly tougher than the proverbial nail. She rippled with lithe muscle, her black-painted nails were sharpened to razor points, and the heavy boots she wore could certainly do some damage.
Those were merely the trappings. At a second, more thoughtful glance, Harrison could see the way her eyes reflected the sort of cynical ennui it should have taken centuries to accumulate. She radiated Danger, with a capital “D.”
She made him uneasy. Nervous.
“Good evening, miss,” he said stiffly, attempting to turn away. He wanted a private word with Allen to see if the veterinarian had any advice on how to get rid of his unwanted feline visitor for good.
Damn. Gone again. Allen seemed amazingly peppy that night. No sooner did Harrison try to reach him than Allen disappeared into the crowd of Brothers, only to pop up even further away.
The woman hooted from behind him. “Miss, huh? Yeah, you called me ‘miss’ before, too. Very ‘old school.’ I like it. Look, I’ll be straight with you, no pun intended. I wanna get inside. You mind if I tag along? Yeah, yeah, I’m taking my life in my hands going into Gay Mecca, I know. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. I want to see for myself what this place is all about.”
Harrison darted a glance at Liam, who had busied himself straightening the lapels on a God-awful, shiny orange shirt Collin wore. The stockbroker looked like a pumpkin. An uncomfortable pumpkin. He’d probably been subjected to one of Liam’s makeover hijackings. Harrison had escaped more than one of those himself.
“I really don’t think they’d let you in, miss.” Harrison found it strangely easy to talk to the small woman, his usual caution dissipating like a rising fog. “Besides, there are only enough tickets for the group I came with.”
“So? I’ll sneak in under your coattails. Or I would, if you had a coat.” She bounced on her heels, excited as a child. “Bet you fifty bucks I make it past the bouncers.”
“Miss, I really don’t think it’s a good idea. And I don’t gamble. It’s probably for the best if we just say good-bye now.”
“Sheesh, it’s not like I’ll give you girly germs.” She poked her finger into his chest. The sharp nail hurt. “Circle, circle, dot, dot, now you’ve had your cootie shot. We’re both safe.”
Harrison gave up. “Fine. Fine! Don’t b
e surprised if Liam stops you. You’ll only have yourself to blame.”
“Liam. Is he the short one with curly hair? Nah, he won’t stop me. He’s way too busy riding herd on the rest of you guys. No one but you will know I’m here. You can call me Lily, by the way. Like Lily Munster, get it?” She twinkled at Harrison.
“It’s a pleasure. Oh! Harrison. I’m Harrison.”
“Gotcha the first time.” The woman dropped her cigarette and crushed it efficiently with one thick boot sole. “Put ’er there, Harry.”
Coming off Lily’s lips, the nickname gave Harrison a strange chill that turned into a tingle when he took her hand for a shake. On an impulse he didn’t understand, Harrison shifted his grip so that he could lift her knuckles to kiss them.
“Very nice. Very, very nice. I like you, Hal.”
As a rule, Harrison disliked nicknames. Hearing them fall casually from Lily’s lips should have annoyed him; instead, they gave him an unexpected shiver and produced more of the damnable déjà vu. He tried for a smile and ended up with an uncomfortable grimace. “Thank you.”
Well, this evening certainly isn’t proceeding as intended, is it? What did the philosopher say... life is a series of coping with unplanned events? Something along those lines.
The cultural scientist in Harrison lit up with a new idea. Now, seeing how a woman reacts to this sort of environment, that sounds interesting. Good idea for a case study. If she makes it inside, I’ll call this night’s observations preliminary results.
“Hey! Hey, you, Mr. Head in the Clouds.” Lily jabbed Harrison again. “Looks like your group’s taking off. And I’m right behind you.”
Harrison really did have his doubts about Lily’s probability of success at entering the club, but to his surprise she hid neatly behind him and breezed past the bouncers with their ropes, right into a deafeningly loud lobby. He couldn’t hear what Lily said over the blast of techno music, but he could see her laughing as she twirled in a circle.
Giving him a wave, she jerked her thumb toward the dance floor he could just see opening off the foyer and dove inside.
Damn. So much for studying her. Well, unless someone kicks her out, she shouldn’t be hard to find -- a hen among all the, no pun intended, cocks. I’ll catch back up with her later.
Harrison glanced around to get a bead on the group, figure out their game plan, but -- poof! The Brothers had all scattered like dust in the wind. Harrison would have expected them to hang together in a clump, but apparently not.
The only one left was Liam, hands in his pockets, head tilted to a side, an annoyingly gentle smile curving his lips.
“You do not wish to go and celebrate with the others?” Liam asked.
Damn you. I know you’re making fun of me somehow. Just nothing I can call you on. “Soon,” Harrison lied. With relief, he remembered his promise to Martin. “I have an appointment to keep first.”
“With the man you saw earlier when we stood outside the walls of the club?”
“What?”
“Do not play coy, Harrison. I saw you, and I saw you see him, this man. See-saw, saw-see. Is he the one you intend to meet?”
Harrison’s temper sparked. “I get it. A little joke on your part. I don’t know how you managed to pull it off, but I’m not amused, Liam.”
“Neither am I, and I had nothing to do with the hidden window opening. I am intrigued, though. I ask again: do you intend to meet with this man?”
“I have no idea,” Harrison replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve never seen a picture of him. The sleight-of-hand figure I saw might or might not be him. Probably not, but I couldn’t say for sure.”
“A pity. Would that your intended looked like the one I, too, saw in the window. Young and pert, golden and athletic as Apollo himself... a delicious dish.”
“You saw? I mean, I didn’t notice what he looked like.” Like hell he hadn’t. The man he’d either seen or been tricked into believing he saw was one of the best looking he’d ever laid eyes on.
Where had he seen that face before...?
Harrison touched his forehead to the floor. Cold, made out of stone blocks, it felt good against his overheated skin. He had long since shed his clothes, but he was on fire with lust, feverish in his passion for the man at his back and the promises of what he could deliver if Harrison behaved.
“Put your hands behind you,” a smooth voice dictated. His Master’s voice. Harrison obeyed immediately. “Good, very good. I knew you could learn. Ah, ah, ah -- keep your ass raised high, remember? There, that’s better. Now, I had mentioned giving you a treat. I’d like you to beg for what I can offer.”
“Please, Master,” Harrison gasped, trembling. He could hear the soft whish of whiptails as his Master drew them through his fist. Harrison’s skin ached for the lash. He needed the pain. Needed the peace. Needed the love -- and the proof of love -- written on his flesh. “Master, I will beg. Please, please, please.” His cock was so hard it hurt, but he knew better than to touch himself, much less come before he had been given permission. “Use me.”
“You learn very, very well, I see.” Harrison sensed his Master raise the whip. He envisioned the man, slim yet strong, golden as a god, one eye blue and one eye brown. They had come so far from when Harrison had first seen him outside Amour Magique. “Since you ask so nicely, pet.”
The flogger came down across Harrison’s back in a fiery burst. Harrison raised his voice and howled with both agony and ecstasy.
Harrison gasped as he shook himself and returned to reality. What on earth had just happened? Dream -- hallucination -- vision? How had it all felt so real? How had he let himself slip like this? He wasn’t a daydreamer by habit, and he did not indulge in fantasies about strangers. Not even porn stars. It seemed like an invasion of their privacy somehow.
“Is something the matter?” Liam inquired placidly. “You look quite as if you have seen a ghost.”
“No! I -- I’m fine.” Harrison cleared his throat and forced the vivid images out of his mind. “Enough is enough. Who was he, Liam? Some other friend of yours?”
Liam chuckled. “‘’Tis strange... that these lovers speak of.’”
“Excuse me?”
“‘More strange than true: I never may believe these antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains, such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends.’”
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” Harrison said, recognizing the source of Liam’s burst of quotation. “I’ll take reality over fantasy, Liam, which I think you know, or should know by now.”
“‘There are more things on heaven and earth... than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
Harrison favored Liam with a stony stare. “I have other things to do besides listen to you quoting the Bard. Are you finished wasting my time?”
“Bah, you old stick-in-the-mud. You almost make me despair. Yet I vow Amour Magique will have its way with you despite your mulish temper. You will be singing love songs before morning’s light.”
“No,” Harrison said with exaggerated patience, “Before morning’s light, I will be safe at home, sound asleep. By myself.”
“Just the way you tell yourself you like it. Ah, you lie so well you convince yourself such things are truth. We will see, we will see.” Liam glanced at the dance floor. “I had best attend to my own affairs. Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth. Tally ho!”
The little man strode into the seething throng of club-goers and disappeared.
Harrison rolled his eyes. Alone at last. Now, where had Martin said they’d meet? Cat... something about a cat... a statue of a cat?
“Bitchin’! Check it out, it’s Bastet. And there’s a service path behind her.”
Lily?
Turning, where he could have sworn there was nothing before, Harrison saw a narrow hallway blocked by a statue of the cat goddess in full Egyptian regalia. Lily, looking as disheveled as if she’d danced her way thro
ugh half the club floor, pale skin aglow with perspiration, waved cheerfully at him from beside the sculpture.
“Service path. A trail into the belly of the beast. I’m gonna see where this leads. Wanna come?”
Yes. Martin said he works here; he told me about the Bastet path. He said... he said...
Lust began to burn in the pit of Harrison’s stomach. If his slacks hadn’t been loose, he would have found himself with the sudden uncomfortable need to adjust them. Thankfully, his blue shirt hung untucked over the whole of his groin. He had a definite feeling Lily would have found his arousal seriously amusing.
For his own part, he was perplexed. Why on earth was he developing an erection?
Martin. The name chimed in his mind. Martin. Martin. Martin.
What the hell? Harrison wiped his forehead. Although he tried to push them away, he continually saw flash visuals of the blond man with mismatched eyes every time he thought of Martin.
“Lily, I’m sorry, but I think I need a drink of water,” he confessed. “Did you see a fountain anywhere?”
“Whassamatter? Dizzy?”
“Sort of.” Harrison shook his head, repeatedly squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them, over and over. “I feel somewhat... I need to get my bearings.” Get my control back.
“Damn. Sorry, man. You think water will help? No prob, I got you covered.” Lily darted away, quick as a blackbird. While she was gone, Harrison rubbed his temples and tried his hardest to reorganize his thoughts into orderly patterns. The harder he tried, though, the less linear they became.
When Lily finally returned, bearing a small paper cone, he was fit to be tied.
“Drink up,” Lily chirped with an encouraging slap to his back.
Harrison tilted the cone and drank without a second thought. When he tasted the clear liquid, or rather, when it burned a path over his tongue, he nearly choked. Vodka! Strong, searing vodka. He swallowed with an effort, coughed, and glared at Lily. “I suppose you think that was funny.”
