Mythe & Magick

by Shiloh Walker

  He would not have a choice now. The Council was calling a Summit, and as one of the Gatekeepers, Arys had no choice but to go. He absently rubbed the scar on his palm before turning to study the wood behind him. The scar marked him as a Gatekeeper, and his blood had flowed from the wound that had formed the scar, binding him. Not to the wood—his birth had done that—but to the Gate that was inside the wood.

  He ran a hand through his sable hair, fingering one of the two horns that curved upward from his scalp. He moved into his iskita and started to prepare for his journey, his heart feeling heavy. Once he would have looked forward to such a journey, to the adventure, to seeing people he knew were friends. The elvin lord, Daklin, Gatekeeper in the elvish realms, was a wry, droll character, nearly as curious about the mortal realms as Arys had once been.

  Ronal de Ahmshe, the vampire lord, Gatekeeper in his territory far, far north was almost frightening, but very intriguing. And the women he brought with him…once, before Arys had wed Lorne, those women had been the light of the world.

  And Cray, the fallen one. Some whispered that he truly was an angel fallen from heaven. Some said he was a messenger. Some said he was one of the Lord’s henchmen. Some said he was one of the evil ones. But Cray was a friend to Arys, and had been one of the few who had offered true sympathy and comfort after Lorne had died.

  There were others, but those three, the other three Pillar Gatekeepers, were his truest friends. The Pillar Gates were the largest ones, the ones that had the most refugees from the mortal realm falling through them. And the ones with the most criminals from Arys’ realm trying to escape into the mortal realm where they could use their various magicks to hide and wreak havoc on the more helpless mortals there.

  Arys scoffed at the thought. Helpless my fucking hooves, he thought, glancing at the two cloven appendages his legs ended in. They might not have the magick in the mortal realms that his world had, but they were not helpless. The weapons alone could destroy their own planet. As he recalled some of the things he had learned during his time as a Gatekeeper, some four decades now, the poor broken children who had tumbled through his Gate, the battered women, the hopeless men, all thinking life had simply run out.

  Maybe they are right, Arys thought bleakly, taking a wrap and clothing himself. He sometimes wore it in his wood, not often. But sometimes. Since he was taking to the public roads though, the humans and the other inhabitants of his world seemed to have a problem seeing an unclothed satyr in their midst. Like he was likely to fall on their women and ravish them.

  Arys was in no mood to ravish any woman.

  He simply wanted his wife and child back.

  His swarthy face etched with grief, he didn’t hear the soft whicker behind him until the unicorn had already entered his iskita and brushed his velvety nose across Arys’ arm, reaching out with a silent mental touch. What ails my brother?

  Arys looked at Faryn and smiled sadly. “The same thing that has ailed me for the past twelve moons, my friend,” he said hoarsely, closing his eyes and trying vainly to shove his grief aside. “I did not know you were coming so close to the Gate, Faryn.”

  Something feels amiss, the stallion said, tossing his head in an equine shrug.

  “A refugee?”

  No, Faryn mused, cocking his head. The horn—silver, swirled with gold—glinted in the dim light. But not one of the black ones trying to escape us either. Some one from THERE is trying to open it.

  THERE could only be one place. The mortal realms. Arys shook his head. “The mortals do not know how to open the Gates. The Gates open as they see fit.”

  They have been opened before, Faryn said, shrugging again. But I felt a disturbance and I came to see. His bluer-than-blue eyes turned to study Arys and he looked as sorrowful as an eternal creature could. I grieve to know that you still hurt, young satyr. Lorne would hate to know that you are still grieving. She is no longer suffering, know that. She is in a place where she is ever young and happy and well.

  Arys turned away and blocked his thoughts automatically. And she is in a place where I am not, he added. A place where I cannot touch her, smell her, mount her and sink my cock inside her sweet sheath. A place where she is beyond my reach. I shall never know my child, or know another moment’s happiness.

  The stallion made a low thrumming sound in his deep chest, hanging his head over Arys’ chest, and the satyr realized he had not kept his thoughts deep enough. In the equine embrace, he grieved as the unicorn softly whispered into his mind. Now that, my young satyr, is simply not true. You shall know happiness. And it shall be soon.

  Chapter Two

  In the Mortal Realm

  Her sweaty red curls fell into her face as Pepper lowered her aching arms. It had almost worked. Almost. There was something out there, something she could almost feel, almost see, almost touch. It lingered, like a forgotten name, on the tip of her magick, and she knew, just knew, if she tried a little harder, she’d have it.

  With a sigh, she plopped down on her butt and reached for her robe.

  Practicing magick in the nude was not helping.

  The silver cross between her breasts was cold and damp. Glancing down, she said, “There’s nothing wrong with being naked. But I feel silly, like some wanna-be Wiccan dancing in the forest.”

  There was nothing wanna-be about Pepper St. John. Her birth certificate said Patrice St. John. But she had been Pepper since she was a baby. She’d had magick for about as long.

  And she didn’t call herself a Wiccan or a witch.

  She had magick.

  But she went to church, and she read the Bible. She believed in heaven and hell, and a whole slew of other things that had caused her to be laughed at the few times she had gone to meetings of others like her. Some of them had fancied themselves to be magick. And they had always considered themselves to be so very accepting. But they had scoffed at her beliefs. When she had honestly, but politely, told them she didn’t believe in the Goddess, they had stared at her.

  “Then where does your magick come from?” one had asked her. Because in order to walk into the meeting, she had first had to prove she had the magick.

  She had shrugged and said, “God.”

  They had snickered. Some had rolled their eyes.

  Pepper had left a few minutes later.

  That had been a while ago, maybe two years now? Since then she had been practicing on her own, using the magick to do what good she could, where she could. She went to church, religiously even, she thought to herself with a grin as she cleaned up the candles. They were more for the calming influence than for any other reason. Besides, she loved the look and smell of them.

  Other than the fact that she could levitate and make things dance in mid-air, or make the money from a deadbeat dad’s wallet end up in his ex-wife’s purse, Pepper liked to think she was your average run-of-the-mill woman. So what if she was able to occasionally locate a missing child—not psychically, of course, magickally—and have that child go back to their parents?

  And it had been almost an accident when she had set fire to the house a few doors down from a co-workers home, where the man had set up a meth lab. Not a big fire or anything. But it had gotten the firemen and the cops into the house.

  And now one more drug dealer was off the streets.

  Well, actually this one made ten.

  She was a librarian, she loved kids, worked out, ate junk food—

  Except for the past month.

  She had woken from a dream, a dream about a man so handsome, so exotic. So sad. Looking at him gave her thoughts that should have sent her to confession. Of course, she wasn’t Catholic. Long, thick black hair, a dark swarthy face with a wide, sculpted mouth and black eyes. Those eyes had her enthralled—larger than a man’s should be, tilted up, lashed with ridiculously long lashes.

  And so sad…

  He had been real.

  And something inside her said he needed her.

  So she did what any other woman who had her
talents would do. She used the magick. But the only thing she could discover was some odd…tension in the air. Like the feeling in the air right before lightning strikes, thick, hot, heavy. There was something behind it, an answer.

  Pepper knew it.

  Stomping out of the den, she headed for the shower. There were answers, answers to the riddle about that man. That extraordinary man. She just had to find them.

  * * * * *

  Arys awoke early the next morning, irritable, unrested. A woman had invaded his dreams. A mortal woman. Thick, dark-red curls around a young, heart-shaped face, freckles sprinkled across an upturned nose, a sweet rounded mouth…the opposite of Lorne in every way. He rose from his bed, his cloven feet hitting the floor lightly as he sat scowling into space.

  Faryn had made him wait.

  “The Council is not going to like me not arriving on time. Shall I tell them a Unicorn has requested my presence?” he had mocked scathingly as he stomped back into his iskita and tossed his pack back onto the bed, flopping onto his belly while the ‘corn poked his white and gray head through the window to wink at him.

  A Unicorn’s request is more important than a person’s, Arys. Please, there is something about.

  “Something about, all right,” Arys decided as he stared out the open window into the cloud-studded sky. “A meddlesome ‘corn is about. What are you up to, Faryn?”

  I? Not I, satyr. It is not I that tries to meddle with the Gate, Faryn called to Arys’ mind, from out in the yard. Out of your bed already—you like too many mortal trappings. Why do you not sleep on the sweet earth?

  “You don’t sleep on the sweet earth either when you can help it,” Arys replied. “You’d prefer to have a silk mattress beneath your hooves if you had your choice.” He started to gather his bathing supplies but an odd ripple floated through the air.

  “What in the name of Hell?” he whispered as the mark on his hand started to itch.

  The Gate. Come, Gatekeeper. Come, Faryn insisted, appearing at the door and presenting his back. Mount up. I move quicker than even a satyr.

  The cloven-hoofed riding the four-footed, Arys mused as he mounted the ‘corn. “What a story this would make,” he remarked absently, weaving his hands through the silken mane. It did not feel at all coarse.

  No. Because you will not tell. It must not get out that a ‘corn let a satyr on his back, instead of only nimble young virgins, Faryn remarked.

  Once, Arys would have had much to say about that. Once. Now he just shrugged. “You’ve no use for a mortal, human virgin anyway. What does it matter if it is I on your back, or a woman?”

  For one, her hide would be a shade lighter, I would imagine, Faryn said. The unicorn waited a moment for some mischievous rejoinder, some sign that the joking satyr still lived inside this man, but there was nothing.

  If Arys noticed the stallion’s silent disappointment, he didn’t remark on it as they raced through the wood. Arys’ black hair billowed behind him like a banner, his eyes narrowed, watering from the incredible speed. He squeezed his muscled thighs around Faryn’s barrel and gripped his mane with strong hands, holding tightly. A ‘corn male, full grown and in his prime, could run like the wind.

  And Arys didn’t care to be thrown.

  You ride like you were born to do so, Faryn remarked approvingly.

  “Hmmm.” The Gate mark on his hand was burning, truly burning now. As he bent low over the ‘corn’s neck, Arys whispered gruffly, “The Gate is trying to open.”

  I feel it, Faryn assured him as he breached the barrier that surrounded the Gate. It was unseen by all eyes but the Gatekeeper, the Watchers, and the magick wielders. The Watchers were the sensitives, like Faryn and other unicorns and magicked beasts, and some humans.

  If only all those magick wielders were good people—

  Arys had a bad feeling that whoever was on the other side of the Gate wasn’t a decent sort. Magick rarely came so easily to human hands, and when it did, it was almost always foul hands that held it. Arys kicked one cloven foot over Faryn’s back and slid to the ground, striding to the center of the Gate and staring up.

  What he saw startled him.

  Made his breath catch.

  And to his surprise, it made his cock harden.

  Through the wavering visage the Gate afforded, he could see a woman, sweet, innocent looking, with tumbled red hair, a heart-shaped face, her eyes closed, her mouth moving silently, arms upthrust. She was naked, gloriously so, her round, firm breasts topped with small pink nipples. A narrow, trim waist, full rounded hips, red curls covering her mound. She was seated and she was alone and there was no evil feel to her.

  And as he watched, the Gate opened.

  Of its own accord.

  She didn’t do it.

  “What in the name of—”

  He felt the heavy nudge at his back as Faryn shoved him forward.

  * * * * *

  A low, burning-hot feeling ripped through her belly and satisfaction flooded her. Pepper grinned as she felt something give, and open. That heavy, foggy sensation that obscured something magickal was gone and that something magickal lay…

  She was falling, falling, falling…

  Light swirled and danced around her. Pain flooded her mind and body. A scream was ripped from her throat only to die before it left her mouth. A soundless sob stole her breath, blocked her throat and kept her from gasping for air as she struggled to grab onto something as she continued to fall. The floor was no longer beneath her.

  Pepper couldn’t smell the vanilla and lavender candles anymore, couldn’t hear Enya singing in the background any more.

  She felt herself land against something hard, heard something distant and muffled.

  But the pain inside her head won out and she slid into unconsciousness.

  * * * * *

  Arys stumbled back, and if Faryn hadn’t been standing behind him, bracing him with his massive girth, the satyr suspected he would have crashed to the ground. He was strong, incredibly so, but catching a full-grown woman, falling through the mortal realm and into his arms…

  He had found people who had fallen through the Gate with bones broken, head injuries, and the like. A trip through the gate was not an easy one. And he hadn’t ever been here for any other arrival.

  He slid Faryn a narrow look, his thick, silken hair falling into his dark eyes. “What have we here?” he murmured, more to himself than to the unicorn.

  A mortal?

  A warm, sweet-smelling female mortal. Arys’ heart kicked up a beat as her scent flooded his head, the soft feel of her skin against his body made him think of things he had not thought of outside of dreams for months. A satyr wasn’t designed for a sexless existence. That was laughable.

  A rough growl escaped him and his thickly lashed eyes closed. “You knew of this, somehow you knew,” he said to Faryn as he started in the direction of his iskita. “I do not know how, but you knew.”

  I? Faryn asked innocently, batting his lashes at Arys’ back.

  “Do not act the innocent, you bloody unicorn,” Arys said flatly, trying to ignore the hardening of his cock. Failing miserably. “It suits you as well as it suits me.”

  You mean as well as this sexless existence suits you? Faryn asked, tossing his head and trotting to catch up with the satyr.

  “If you brought me a mortal woman just so I can fuck her, then you owe her an apology,” Arys growled. “She can never go back—”

  I brought no one here. The unicorn stopped trotting and glared angrily, arrogantly at the satyr. I haven’t that kind of power. Do you truly think that people are brought across the Gate simply for sport? It’s never been for that, and well you know it.

  But be a bloody fool and ignore the gift that was given to you.

  Faryn turned and leaped nimbly across the brush, disappearing into the wood without another thought or word, his silence letting Arys know just how deeply his thoughtless words had cut.

  “Fuck. All I want is to be left al
one,” he muttered.

  Chapter Three

  The tearing pain she remembered had faded. Throbbing aches remained. But she could handle those. She wasn’t sure how to handle the unfamiliar feel of the bed beneath her.

  It felt like nothing she had ever known before.

  Like air. But more solid.

  Like gel. But softer.

  The bed was covered with warmed silk, and more of that warmed silk covered her. A rich, sensual scent—musky, male, and arousing—clung to the bedclothes and filled her head. She drew a slow breath in and felt her nipples harden just from the scent. The fog retreated a bit further from her brain as well, and Pepper was able to remember a little more of what had happened.

  The magick had worked.

  What it had done, she didn’t know. She had opened something. Or maybe she had moved herself somewhere.

  That seemed a bit more likely. Okay. So she might as well open her eyes, she decided, and figure out where she was. Then she had to get some clothes, some cash and get herself back home. Cuz no way, no how was she trying that bit again in reverse. Her head still felt like it was likely to explode, implode and fall apart all at the same time. Going back the way she’d come was sooo not an option.

  A low, musical voice, oddly accented, dangerously sexy and appealing, said, “You might as well open your eyes, woman. It will get no better.”

  She only opened one.

  But then she opened the other and felt her breath catch.

  “Oh, fuck,” she whispered. She rarely swore. But why let that stop her? She had gone and sent herself straight into hell.

  “I’m in hell, aren’t I?” she asked weakly, staring at the creature across from her.

  Granted, he wasn’t red.

  And he didn’t exude menace or evil.

  But Lucifer wasn’t supposed to…was he?

  The creature laughed, a low, rolling sound that made her groin clench and throb. “No. You are not in hell. You may disagree, for a time. But hell, this is not.” He started to cross the floor, but halted as her eyes widened.