by R. C. Murphy
“Her son is in there, you know.” Deryck’s hand smoothed over a bar in the cold wrought iron fence at the beginning of the path to the nursery. “He’d be five today if he’d been allowed to remain in her realm.”
“You sought out the boy’s birth information?” Wolfrik leaned his shoulder against the gate. Concern creased his brow. “If you are caught asking about the new arrivals, there may be consequences.”
Deryck pushed away from the gate. “I know. I shouldn’t dig into her past. It is an invasion of privacy and the gods know she’s had enough trouble from me.”
Wolfrik shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about Shayla, Deryck. The gods may take your interest in her son to mean you wish to free him and the other young incubi before their powers are bound.”
“The thought never occurred to me.” Since it took until maturity for their powers to fully develop, incubi weren’t given their binding tattoos until they were ready to join the ranks in the barracks. The nursery was kept locked to prevent anyone from attempting to use their powers against the gods. If anyone wanted to cause sheer chaos, that’d be the way to do it.
The back door to the dining hall swung open. Garik took the steps down to the path two at a time, putting his long legs to full use. He jogged over to where Deryck and Wolfrik stood, casting a look over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t stand here too long. Whispers are starting to circulate. Gods, I thought with Herryk gone these internal games would stop. His minions aren’t half as bad as he is, but it doesn’t take much chatter to raise the alarms in the God’s Lands.”
Deryck couldn’t move away from the last thing he knew could connect him in some way to Shayla. His eyes followed the barred path until it crested a small hill. The roof of the nursery was barely visible. Children’s voices drifted over to them, not loud, but enough to make his heart wrench. Her blood was so close, yet so far. He wished he could go to the boy, to teach him how to be the sort of man his mother would approve of. Most of all, he wished he could give Shayla the gift of having her child.
Wolfrik’s hand fell on his where it’d gripped the gate again. “Garik is right, we need to move elsewhere before you do something rash.”
“There’s no one in the garden at the moment. We can speak freely near the pond. I have to feed the koi, anyway.” A smile spread over Garik’s face. He loved the garden. Any time Deryck needed to speak with him, he found the man amongst the trees and flowers, speaking to them as old friends.
“I’m not going to do anything,” Deryck insisted.
His companions gave him doubtful looks. Garik patted his shoulder. “You’re heart-broken and looking for any way to keep her in your life. This will eat you alive if you allow it. All we’re asking is for you to sit and talk somewhere safe.”
“Talking won’t help.” Nevertheless, Deryck allowed them to pull him up the path toward the dining hall.
The front bumper of Shayla’s Mazda bounced off the pavement of her driveway. Cursing, she gave the car a little more gas to get up the steep slope. She grabbed her purse and climbed out of the car, willing her body to do what it didn’t want to—get closer to a conversation about her personal life with her best friend.
Faye’s car, a bronze RAV4, sat in front of Shayla’s house. One of the tires on the passenger side was nestled against the curb, the rear tire hung back at least three feet—parallel parking was not Faye’s strong suit by any stretch of the imagination. Lucky for her, the local parking monitor wasn’t on duty. The guy drove around in a suped-up golf cart and ticketed anyone who looked like they’d parked wrong.
Shayla rounded the front corner of the garage and took the narrow sidewalk to her front door. Faye sat on the front step, her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed, arms propping her up in a reclined position. She wasn’t quite showing yet, but had completely embraced the idea of loose-fitting maternity clothes. Faye sported a large t-shirt with Snoopy as the Red Baron on it. Her jeans were likewise baggy, hanging off of her thin frame. Even when she got to be eight months pregnant, Shayla doubted Faye would look fat.
Faye stood and dusted off the seat of her jeans. “You showed up after all.”
“You’re lucky. I thought about going to the movies and leaving you to sit here for a couple hours.”
“Deal with the invasion.” Faye picked up a pair of plastic bags filled with black plastic boxes. “I’m not letting you hide anymore.”
“The only reason I’m letting you inside is because I am hungry.” Shayla unlocked the front door and stepped inside. Her eyes swept over the portion of the house she could see. Suddenly she wished she’d kept up on the cleaning a little better.
Faye pushed past her, heading straight for the living room. “Stop eyeballing the dust bunnies and get something to drink.”
“This is my house, you know.”
“Which is why you’re getting the drinks. I don’t know what you have.”
Shayla dumped her keys and purse on the table inside the door. She started to shrug out of her suit coat. Idiot, how are you going to hide the huge bandage on your forearm? Cursing Faye silently, Shayla pulled her coat back in place, kicked off her shoes, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. Instinctively, she reached for the bottle of wine. Her hand froze around the neck of the bottle. Faye couldn’t drink; having a glass in front of her would probably be unfair. Shayla left the bottle in the pantry and went to the refrigerator. There was a whole slew of take-out boxes, some ketchup, soy sauce, two opened bottles of wine she’d deemed cooking wine after tasting them, and a bottle of orange juice. Snagging the juice, she poured the OJ into a pair of plastic pirate glasses—left over from an impulsive after-Halloween shopping spree. She rarely had people over to entertain, anyway. The cups were to amuse herself.
Cups in hand, Shayla headed into the living room. The books and papers that had been on top of the coffee table were stacked on the floor beside it. A pair of plastic containers sat side-by side with their lasagna. A few smaller Styrofoam boxes were behind them, the lids open to expose a huge helping of gnocchi in cream sauce, garlic bread, mozzarella and tomato salad, and mushroom risotto. There was enough food to feed a family of eight.
“Make yourself at home,” Shayla said and handed Faye her glass of orange juice.
Faye set the glass down and leaned forward in the oversized chair to snag her lasagna off the coffee table. She scooped up a glob of gooey cheese and ate it.
“Someone might as well live in here. It looks like a museum—dusty and unused.”
Shayla cringed. Cleaning the house had been the last thing on her mind over the weeks since Deryck brought her back from Iraq. She’d spent most of her time in bed, reading old novels for comfort and to keep her mind on anything but the man who was more than he seemed, possibly in dangerous ways. It took her days to even look at the couch without remembering how good it felt to curl up beside him and watch a movie. Quit thinking about it, damn it! Shayla cursed her brain’s one track and forked a pile of gnocchi into the box beside her lasagna.
She reached for the television remote. Faye threw a crumpled napkin. It bounced off of Shayla’s forehead.
“No TV. It’s intervention time.”
“Okay, you caught me. I’ve been shooting heroine between my toes so you wouldn’t find out. Where’s the nearest rehab? I’ll check myself in tonight.”
“You’re not funny. Hell, I’d almost be glad if you were on drugs, because it’d mean you went outside and talked to someone who wasn’t fictional.”
“I talk to people. I go outside. You’re fixated on my desire to be alone.” Shayla couldn’t meet Faye’s eyes, though.
“Work doesn’t count. You haven’t called me in weeks, not even to bitch about your troll of a boss.”
“He’s not that bad. And work has been going so good, there hasn’t been anything to bitch about.”
Faye laughed. “Yeah, I’ll believe that when elephants star in Les Miserables.”
“They can’t hit Valjean’s hig
h notes.” Shayla popped a bite of gnocchi in her mouth—Faye was right, the new restaurant was really good.
They ate in silence. Shayla was glad for it. She knew where Faye would go the next time she opened her mouth, and she wasn’t ready to discuss what had happened. If possible, she’d go to her grave without telling a human soul about what happened in Marduk’s temple.
Faye broke a piece of garlic bread apart and rolled a small piece into a ball. “It’s Deryck, isn’t it?
“No.” The lie coated her tongue, killing all traces of the delicious food they’d eaten.
“He’s a good catch—hot, kind, protective, did I mention hot? What happened?”
“He turned out to be a soul-sucking incubus,” Shayla muttered.
“Yeah, and?”
Shayla looked up from the salad she’d been nibbling. Faye’s face was dead serious, not a hint of humor around her eyes. “I’m not kidding, Faye.”
“There are worse occupations for men to have.”
“How did you know?” Did she slip and say something in one of the few times they spoke right after she got back? She knew enough to know Deryck hadn’t chosen to become what he was; he’d been born into it and apparently served as a slave. Don’t pity him, Shayla. It’ll be Cyrus all over again.
Faye shrugged. “I had a dream about Deryck a few days before you met him.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’m not claiming to be a psychic, Shayla. Deryck was in my dream, doing what he does best. He recognized me the day your purse was snatched.”
Shayla shook her head. “You’re shitting me.”
“No, I’m not. For a little while I thought I was insane, but I did a little reading one night and came across something on incubuses. His tattoos gave it away.”
“A lot of people have tattoos on their forearms, not all of them are sex gods.”
“Sex demi-gods,” Faye corrected. “And tattoos on normal people don’t move on their own.”
“Okay, he really is an incubus, so what? He’s been sleeping around with God knows how many other women while trying to date me. You don’t even know the worst of it.” Shayla shrugged out of her jacket, exposing the large bandage on her forearm. She peeled the bandage back to show Faye the mostly healed cuts. She kept it covered at work so the scab wouldn’t catch on her clothes and bleed. “Another incubus did this to me. Deryck was there. I—I can’t trust him anymore.”
Faye leaned closer, checking out the cuts. “Was he trying to help you?”
“In a way, I guess.”
“You guess?” Faye stood and moved to sit beside her on the couch. “Tell me what happened with Deryck and this other incubus.”
Shayla tucked her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Looking not at her friend, but at the table full of leftover food, she told Faye about Harry, his true identity, and the God-awful time they spent in Iraq summoning Marduk. She wanted to glaze over certain parts, but once the story started, she couldn’t stop. Faye sat motionless beside her. Shayla had no clue if she believed the story. If someone told her the same tale, she’d think they dropped acid.
“How did you get home?” Faye turned to sit sideways on the couch, facing Shayla.
“Deryck used his powers and” —she bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should continue— “he left me with a way to call him if I ever wanted to.”
“Do you want to?” Faye patted Shayla’s knee.
“I don’t know.” Her fingers sought out the charm in her pants pocket and traced the swirling design.
“He saved you, Shayla. Deryck didn’t try to sleep with you or hurt you. I think he lied because he couldn’t tell you the truth of what he is. Would you have believed him?”
“No. Even now, I’m having a hard time accepting everything, but after what I saw and did in the temple . . . the truth is staring me in the face, and all I want to do is crawl in bed and hide under the blankets.” She laughed. “I sound so childish. It’s easier to convince myself it was all a dream. Except I can’t forget what Cyrus did to me and how it‘s tied to Harry and Deryck’s arrival in my life. This was planned, Faye. The last five years of trying to make my life better were for nothing. They’d planned to drag me back and use me to free them.”
“Did Deryck say he wanted you to free him?”
Shayla nodded. Tears stung her eyes and she gave them an angry swipe. She’d cried enough. “Yes, he said I was his one chance to be free.”
“Did he ask you to free him?”
“Ye—no.” She thought back to the moment before she asked him to take her home. “He mentioned freedom, but didn’t ask me. Deryck seemed genuinely sorry for what happened to me. He didn’t press the issue after.”
“After what? Did you sleep with him when he brought you home?”
“No! God, no. I was bleeding and covered in dirt and barely holding it together. If he hadn’t have been there, I would’ve been stuck in Iraq, most likely trapped in that temple until I starved to death.”
“So, Deryck came to help you after he realized Harry, or Herryk, kidnapped you. He fought a man he’s known for who knows how long. Despite his desire to be free, he never asked you to do whatever it is you need to. And he was a gentleman once he got you home, and left without taking advantage of your frightened and weakened state.” Faye shook her head and stood. “You’re an idiot.”
Shayla stared at her. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Faye was right, she was an idiot. Admitting it, however, was a different story. A small voice in the back of her mind fully believed Deryck had a larger part in her abduction. The rational part of her mind pulled up memories of Deryck’s face when he brought her home. He was distraught, worried about her, and she shut him out.
One of their cell phones rang. Shayla fished hers out of her pocket. Deryck’s charm came with it. She pooled the charm and chain in her hand and checked her phone.
Faye pulled her cell from her purse. “It’s mine, hold on.” She answered the phone and her face lit up. Shayla was glad to see the pregnancy didn’t put any stress on their relationship. If anything, Faye and Phil were closer. They worked hard and it showed in the way Faye talked and teased him. She hung up and grabbed her purse. “I gotta go, Shayla. Phil’s parents want to see the ultrasound pictures.”
Shayla wanted to smack her friend. “You have ultrasound pictures and didn’t show me?”
“We were dealing with your crappy personal life, remember?” Faye dug through her purse and pulled out a pair of papers. “You can’t really see anything, yet, but there it is.”
Shayla looked at the ultrasound pictures. Faye was right, it was impossible to know what she was looking for if not for the small arrow pointing to a blur varying slightly from the blurs around it. She smiled and handed the pictures back. “I’m so happy for you.”
Faye pulled her into a hug and kissed her cheek. “I wish you could be this happy, Shayla. Promise me you’ll seriously think about talking to Deryck, even if it is to get the full story about why he sought you out. You’ll regret it if you don’t.
“I’ll think about it.” Shayla kissed Faye’s cheek. “Now get out of here, your mushy face is making me want to puke.”
Faye nodded toward the leftover food. “Keep it. I bet you have nothing edible in the house.”
“Stop being psychic. Bye, Faye.”
Shayla walked her friend to the door and locked up after she was sure Faye made it into her car. It took a few minutes to wrangle all of the food cartons and shove them in the fridge. Luckily there was enough room for everything. She snagged a slice of garlic bread on her way out of the kitchen. Munching, she walked over to her bookshelves to find something to read. She really needed to hit the bookstore for new books; she’d read everything new she had during her week off work.
Finally deciding on a book, she shoved it under her arm, picked up her cell from the coffee table, and padded down the hall to her bedroom. The clock lit the room, reminding her it was far too early t
o go to bed. She flipped on the light and tossed a Kleenex over the clock.
“Screw being normal and functioning.” She dropped her cell, the book, and Deryck’s charm on the nightstand and went in search of her most comfortable pajamas.
The mists of the Inbetween were a power all their own, with no one to govern them aside from the human minds manipulating them into whatever form they desired. It was magic taken from the dream gods and gifted to mankind, though they had no clue what it was, how to actually use it, or why it was necessary in order to spare their lives.
Deryck hated the mists.
Since he’d separated from Shayla, the mists no longer thrilled him. Before, he could at least lose himself in thinking, What will reveal itself this time around? Each mistress he took had a different notion of what was romantic or a fitting location to meet with the man of their dreams—he’d even been with one woman who chose the center ring of a circus for her time with him. But now, now he dreaded the moment the mists thinned and the illusion took hold.
Deryck forced himself to keep moving forward. Looking back, thinking about what he’d lost—it would cripple him. There was no comfort to be found in his memories, and he’d wished, more than once, one of the injuries he’d suffered at Herryk’s hands would have wiped out the portion of his life he’d devoted to Shayla. It was not better to have loved then lost. It hurt like hell in ways he could never describe or escape. The pain ate at him, rending his heart to shreds. Deryck knew it would linger long after he knew Shayla was through with her mortal life. Yet he continued to put one foot in front of the other. Once he cleared the fog, his body knew what to do. He never failed to please his mistresses.
His shoes sunk into a patch of lush green grass. It was damp, dew clung to the cuff of his jeans, but it wasn’t cold. The sound of water trickling down a narrow stream filled the slice of Inbetween he’d been summoned to. The stream ran past on his left with a worn dirt path following its winding progress into the distance where the mists lingered. Massive trees lined this side of the stream, their branches hanging over the water and occasionally dropping a leaf in to sail off into the mists. Deryck looked up, wondering at the detail his mistress put into the trees. Stars winked at him between the leaves. His chest ached anew. He dropped his head, corralling the memories before they could do any more damage.
