by Harper, Lou
Mal nodded. "True. It won't be easy to get rid of it. I assume it's your plan."
Despite Mal's words, Denton felt ready for action. They could pull this off, he was certain. "We need to do it soon, preferably tonight." Seeing Bran's doubtful expression, he added. "We could break into…I mean enter the condo tonight, after Frankie's gone to bed. We sneak into his bedroom, you put the spell of torpidity on him, and send the sarveel packing. Frankie won't even know what happened." Denton hoped the urgency he felt came across in his voice. Bran hadn't heard Mrs. Martel on the phone, but he had. And he believed her—they didn't have time to waste.
Bran pursed his lips. "Risky."
"But doable," Denton retorted.
Bran made a hm sound, but he didn't say no. From the faraway look in his eyes Denton could tell the wheels were turning. "All right, but we need to prepare properly," he finally said.
Mal stayed for another hour, giving Bran advice on the proceedings. Denton made himself useful making sandwiches—the height of his culinary skills. When they were finally ready to go, they had two bags packed—Bran's usual one, plus another stuffed with anything and everything Bran thought they could possibly need.
Chapter Four
Bran and Denton entered the condo twenty minutes to midnight. The place was dark and quiet as they tiptoed to the master bedroom. Frankie lay in the bed stiff like a log, face twisted with bad dreams. In the moonlight his skin shone waxy yellow with sweat. Bran quickly put him under the torpidity spell—it would keep him still and out of it as long as necessary. Bran also checked the man's pulse.
"Hm." Bran went to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet.
"What?" Denton asked.
Bran was peering into a prescription bottle. "Ambien. I worried he might have taken too much but the bottle is mostly full. We're good to go."
They set up in the living room. The king-sized sheet they laid on the floor was white, covered with a complex drawing of circles within circles, triangle, pentagram, and dozens of symbols following their lines, filling the empty spaces. Denton had watched from the sidelines as Bran drew them on the fabric with a special mix of blood and ink only a few hours before.
Carrying Frankie from the bedroom to the living room was an easy task—he had a light frame. At better times he probably wasn't a bad looking guy but now he was too gaunt and even in sleep the strain pulled at his features. They placed him on top of the sheet. Bran drew a solid circle of salt around him, placed a mirror and one black and four red candles at strategic spots and lit them. He was quietly chanting the entire time. Denton stood aside and let Bran do his thing.
They had nothing to tempt the demonic spirit with so it would leave Frankie's body voluntarily. Bran had to force the thing out. Seemingly Bran wasn't doing much, just standing stock still at the boundary of the salt circle, murmuring endless incantations, but Denton could sense the level of concentration and the toll it was taking. Denton had seen Bran in action before but never straining so hard.
Meanwhile, Frankie's body twitched and spasmed, his eyes opened wide but only stared blindly at the ceiling. He kept moaning like a wounded animal. If The Exorcist with Linda Blair was a ten, theirs was a seven. Okay, at least a six and a half. At least Frankie wasn't spewing pea soup. Yet.
Remembering how Bran had helped him before, Denton stepped behind Bran till their bodies were flush and wound his arms around Bran's waist. Resting his face against Bran's shoulder, he let Bran's voice lull him into a meditative state. He drew on his own energy, his white light, and let it flow from him to Bran, fueling Bran like a battery.
Denton's trance became so deep he was unaware even of time passing until he felt Bran jolt and strain harder. He lifted his head and saw over Bran's shoulder a thin shape emerge from Frankie's open mouth. Like the last demonic spirit he'd seen, the creature was both there and not, barely substantial. It had a long and tubular body like a snake, but its head was round with vaguely human features. It hissed and slithered and twisted on itself fighting the force driving it toward the mirror, but it was losing ground. Denton pulled on his last reserves and channeled them to Bran. One last push—or rather pull—and the demonic spirit slipped over the mirror and vanished.
"Phew. What a stubborn bastard." Denton let go and dropped onto his ass on the carpet. He was beat.
"Talking about me?" Bran plopped next to Denton.
"Not this time."
Bran let out a tired chuckle. "Thank you for the help." He leaned in and kissed Denton's temple.
"Mmm…" Denton wanted to say any time but he was too exhausted for words, so he simply closed his eyes and rested his head on Bran's shoulder.
But they weren't done. Not yet. "C'mon, have to clean up." Bran pushed himself up and Denton followed with a groan. He checked his phone and realized three hours had passed since their arrival.
Frankie seemed to have doubled his weight since they'd last lugged him around, but they at last managed to put him back into the bed. Bran performed a quick cleansing in the bedroom to drive away lingering bad energies, while Denton took care of the living room, packing up their things and moving the furniture back into their original position. He was operating on willpower alone.
The last thing Bran did was to lift the spell of torpidity from Frankie, but not before casting another charm. "For happy dreams," he explained in a raspy whisper.
They stole out of the apartment as quietly as they'd come, and drove home in the silence of the bone-weary. Up at the apartment, they found a purple envelope stuck in the door jamb.
Bran took it, but didn't open it. "Sleep first," he said.
Denton grunted his agreement and marched straight for the bedroom, shedding his clothes as he went. He was out like a candle the second his face hit the pillow.
***
The next time Denton opened his eyes it was morning and the annoying sound came from his phone, somewhere on the floor.
"Make it stop," Bran grumbled from the other side of the bed.
Denton squinted at the alarm clock—it was almost nine, and Bran was still in bed. Leaning over at the edge of the mattress, Denton managed to get hold of his pants and retrieve the phone. "Hello," he mumbled, retreating under the blanket.
"You did it!" a female voice shouted into his ear. It sounded familiar.
He took a sleepy guess. "Mrs. Martel."
"Call me Sarah, honey. Frankie called me this morning and he's in a great mood. He said he dreamt of mother and she said goodbye. He says he's feeling like an enormous weight lifted off him. Like a new man! You boys are fantastic! I can't thank you enough. Oh, before I forget, what do I owe you?"
"Uhm, I dunno… Bran handles money, but he's still sleeping. We had a long night." It was a partial lie because Bran had been stirring in more ways than one, and was now spooning Denton from behind. Various parts of his anatomy were pressing into Denton's in a most pleasurable fashion. Good thing Mrs. Martel couldn't see them.
"Oh, of course, where are my manners. Call me later!" she hang up.
"You suck," Bran murmured into Denton's ear. "For all your quibbling over my lack of business sense, you can't talk money either."
Denton dropped the phone on the floor and twisted around in Bran's arms. "I never know what to charge for what. I have Joy for that stuff."
"Uh-huh." Bran rolled on top of Denton and rubbed his cheek on Denton's chest. His morning bristles felt like sandpaper against Denton's naked skin. It shouldn't have been as sensual as it was. Bran ducked his head under the covers and slithered down along Denton's naked body. By the time he circled his lips around the crown of Denton's cock, Denton was as hard as ever.
Denton was immediately wide awake, and while his body simply wanted to give into Bran's attentions, his brain had a completely unrelated idea and refused to be ignored. Denton gave in. He propped himself on an elbow and lifted the edge of the comforter and looked down at Bran's tussled hair. "Hey, why don't we have Joy take care of the business stuff for us? She could
do bookings, payments, etcetera. She'd be perfect."
Bran lifted his head. Saliva glistened on his lips. "You think this is a good idea?"
"Why not? She already knows most of what we do, and we could slowly tell her the rest. I know she's chatty, but when it comes to secrets she's like Fort Knox. You can trust her."
"What I meant is talking business while I'm trying to sex you up. I must be doing it wrong." Bran brushed his stubbled chin along Denton's shaft. It was almost too much, but not quite.
Denton hissed. "Nuh, you're doing it just right. Why don't you swing around so I can return the favor?"
Bran pushed the covers off, shifted his body till they were face to groin. Entangled and in the buff the differences were plain to see; Denton's slim paleness contrasted with Bran's muscular frame and olive skin.
Denton kissed the hollow of Bran's hip before nuzzling Bran's cock. One of the many things he liked about this position was the opportunity to fondle Bran's tail. He would've liked to do it all the time, but Bran was shy about the appendage, even with him. Because of that bastard, Peter, the thought wormed itself into Denton's mind but he squashed it. He wouldn't let the asshole ruin the moment.
The underside of Bran's tail was sensitive, especially close to the root, and Denton loved the way his exploring fingers made it tremble and twitch. Denton slid his fingers all the way up, to its base and slipped his thumb over Bran's hole. Bran's muscles tensed and a second later Denton felt the tail wrapping around his wrist holding it in place.
They pleasured each other with slow slippery strokes of their tongues and lips, drawing it out till their throats were sore and they couldn't hold back any longer. As Denton sensed Bran getting close to release, he swallowed Bran's cock down deep and pressed his thumb firmly—as it slipped inside, Bran came with shudder, jizz gushing down Denton's throat.
Bran pulled off Denton's shaft in the throes off his own orgasm, but once he got his breathing back to normal returned in earnest to what he'd started, and brought Denton off with great skill.
Denton figured he could spend the rest of the day like this—blissed out on the bed, with the reassuring weight of Bran's head resting on his thigh. Regrettably, as his head lolled to the side he noticed a splash of purple on the bedside table. "Shit. The Old Crone's letter," he groaned.
"Crap," Bran agreed. He sprung up and reached for the envelope.
This time the invitation simply said, Tonight, same time, same place.
"By tonight, she means tonight, not last night, right?" Denton asked.
"I hope so." Bran stood surveying the jumble of Denton's clothes on the floor. "The hamper's less than twenty feet away, you know."
Denton paid no attention—he was surveying Bran's backside: the round, muscular buttocks and a slender tail hanging between them. It swayed lightly. "It's really beautiful, you know," he said.
Bran froze and as he turned his head in Denton's direction, Denton thought he saw red on those high cheeks. He couldn't be sure because Bran looked away and proceeded to wordlessly pick up Denton's crumpled clothes. But his tail swung a little wider as he did.
***
Late that night they took another cab to the Old Crone's lair. Since the invitation said same place, Bran thought it best to go in the long way in again. Strangely though, this time it seemed shorter, as if they skipped a few corridors and stairs. Or perhaps the corridors skipped them. And the ones there might have been different. The door at the end was exactly as last time, though.
The Old Crone was waiting for them in the Cheese Room. She sat sideways in a ratty old armchair, one leg hanging over the arm rest. She was reading The New Yorker. "There are always some interesting articles but they go on forever," she said looking up. "Sit." She took off her reading glasses and shoved them into the pocket of her cardigan.
Bran and Denton parked themselves on a couple of uncomfortable wooden chairs. She glared at them with obvious displeasure in her amber eye. The gray one remained unreadable. Denton felt like a kid in the principal's office.
"You two really made a mess of things," she started, wheeling around and planting both feet on the ground. "You." She waved magazine in Bran's direction. "You opened a permanent portal."
"What? No!" Bran protested.
"Quiet! I'm not done talking," she snapped and tossed The New Yorker on the floor. "It happened when you turned your friend into a frog. Normally, a simple transmutation spell couldn't possibly have such an outcome, but you're part demon. In addition you threw your hissy fit at a location which is a natural threshold with unique properties. It's no accident there's a stone circle there—aside from it being a nice place for picnics."
Bran furrowed his brows. "Are you saying I opened a portal by accident?"
Her snort was as loud as horse's. "A helluva accident—like a blind man hitting bull's eye without even knowing there was a target. One in a billion chance, but you did it, bucko. Fortunately, the portal was tiny, barely a pinprick, and only the faintest of demonic essences slipped through, and those took residence in the first creatures they came across."
"The frogs!" Denton exclaimed as her explanation started to make sense.
She nodded. "The pond is now full of slightly demonic frogs. In the larger scheme of things it's not the end of the world, only makes them hardier, and a little frisky, but then you…" Her yellow eye glared at Denton. "You did something last November around full moon and got yourself in the middle of this mess."
"He tried to summon Peter's spirit. I made him do it," Bran interjected.
She slapped her forehead. "Of course. There's a touch of demonic in both of you." She muttered something else and it sounded a lot like imbeciles to Denton, but she faced away, towards the bowels of the room, and shouted, "Hob!"
"Yes, Mistress?" The little man poked his head up from behind a piece of furniture.
"What do I want?"
"Wensleydale?" Mr. Brown suggested.
The Old Crone snapped her fingers. "Excellent idea. And grapes." She turned back to Denton and Bran. "Where was I?"
"Summoning Peter," Denton replied.
"Oh, yeah. You managed to enlarge the portal enough for a few limber demonic spirits to steal through, and in the process forged a permanent link between you and the portal."
"So that's why the frogs—"
"Yes. They imprinted on you. The portal itself is a frog—the one your accomplice made." She turned the glare of her yellow eye on Bran.
"Is Peter inside the frog?" Bran asked.
She shook her head. "No, of course not."
"Is he dead?"
"No."
"Is he alive then?"
She gave Bran and exasperated look. "No. He isn't any of those things."
Bran seemed to be losing patience too. "You're making no sense. He can't be nothing."
Her eyes widened to an I'm-talking-to-an-idiot expression. "Of course not. Nothing would be something, but he isn't." She took a plate of fruit and cheese from Mr. Brown, who had noiselessly appeared by her elbow. "Nevertheless, he must have a connection to the frog body."
Bran pinched the bridge of his nose. "How's this even possible? How can someone who isn't anything have a connection to anything else?"
She popped a grape into her mouth. "It's quantum mechanics… I mean, magic." She took a piece of cheese too and chewed. "Same thing, really. At any rate, we're not here to talk about Peter. You have to close the portal and soon. Before the next full moon for sure."
"How?" Bran asked.
"How should I know? You're the witch, not I. Am I supposed to do your job too?" She slapped a half-eaten slice of cheese on her plate and glared at Bran suddenly with both her eyes. An unpleasant chill run along Denton's spine and he wasn't even the subject of the stare. "I suggest you figure it out quick, or there will be dire consequences," she said coldly. "Now get lost. You're getting on my nerves."
***
Denton and Bran went straight home. "She might not be old, but she definitely has
an attitude." Denton flipped on the light in the foyer and kicked his shoes off. He'd been cranky the whole way back, and he suspected it was because the midnight jaunt messed up his sleep pattern. But what bothered him even more was the fact that everything kept coming back to Peter. He was thoroughly sick of the guy. "What are we going to do? To close the portal thing, I mean."
Bran walked into the living room and dropped onto the sofa. "I might know a way. In theory. I've been working on a reverse transmutation spell for some time. What I originally cast on Peter was a curse of sorts, but it's hard to lift because I didn't do it on purpose, so the parameters are hard to calculate. In addition, even if I did, the spell would be useless without the subject, and I had never had luck finding Peter, let alone getting him out of the pond." His expression opened up like it seldom did and it was full of hopefulness. "Your current frog attraction skills change the situation."
Denton felt as if a red-hot dagger plunged into his chest. It took him great effort to keep his voice neutral. "You want me to find your boyfriend so you can bring him back." He sunk into a chair.
"Bringing Peter back is the right thing to do. What the Old Crone said is starting to make sense now. Closing the portal and reversing the curse has to be part of the same ritual or neither will succeed. And then we have to add banishment to pull all the demonic spirits who might have slipped through and send them back to the other side." Hope drained from Bran's expression and it was heartbreaking to watch. "It's too complex, far beyond my skills. I don't even know where to start."
Murry came out of nowhere and leapt onto Denton's lap. As Denton dug his fingers into the cat's thick fur, it crackled with static electricity. Murry purred loudly and kept butting his head into Denton's sternum. Somehow it anchored Denton and helped him think clearly. They had to close the portal and banish the demonic spirits. Bran was right; bringing Peter back was the right thing. Probably. They had to find a way to do all those things, and soon. Unfortunately, as a necromancer he was out of depth with all this demonic stuff. If only they had someone to… "Why don't you call your mother?" he blurted out.
