by Holley Trent
They stopped. The elevator dinged. They got out, and the newcomer followed them.
She read the room number on her keycard and pointed when Hitch looked to her for direction. They headed down the corridor.
“Folks call me Trucker, by the way,” the man said, catching up to Ariel and looking down at her with a grin.
“Trucker and Hitch. I sense a theme,” she said.
It dawned on her that she didn’t even know Hitch’s real name and she was thinking about having sex with the guy. Like, legit sex.
Wasn’t she more discriminating than that? She looked up at the two men, idling in front of the door, staring at each other. The tension between the two was palpable, crackling, even. She fully expected that at any moment, one or the other would throw a blow. But why?
She slipped the keycard into the slot and listened to the click.
The room exhaled a cold whoosh of air as she shouldered the door open. Behind her, Hitch said, “We’re going to relax and have some dinner. It’s good seeing you, man.”
“Shit, little brother. I was hoping we could catch up.”
The door clicked closed behind the three of them, and Ariel stood in the foyer, assessing the room. It was about the size of the apartment she’d left back in California, fully-equipped with everything two honeymooners would need to hide out for a few days.
She walked into the bedroom and grunted her appreciation at the king-sized bed, and even bounced on its edge, testing its firmness.
Nice.
While sitting there, she eased one of the nightstand drawers open in search of room service menus, but instead discovered just how well-equipped the room was. She felt both eyebrows dart toward her hairline as she reached a hand into the drawer and extracted a box of glow-in-the-dark condoms. She wasn’t sure that was exactly something she wanted to look fluorescent in the dark.
She tossed them back in as Hitch appeared in the door. His expression was a blank, but she could tell by the way he held his shoulders up high to his ears that he wasn’t in a great mood. “What’s up?”
“Mind if Trucker sticks around for dinner?”
He didn’t look too excited at the prospect, but maybe he was just afraid she’d say no. And if he hadn’t seen his brother in a while and didn’t know when he would again, she didn’t want to get in the way with that.
She shrugged. “Hey, that might be fun. Maybe I’ll order a couple of pizzas.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m easy.”
It took Hitch’s eyes widening a bit for her to realize what she’d said. She slapped her hands over her face. “Not what I meant.”
He laughed as he moved away from the door. “I know what you meant. Uh, Trucker and I are going to run downstairs and get some drinks. See what the bar has. Want anything?”
Yeah. I want to have met you in a normal way. “No, I’ll probably make some coffee,” she called after him.
“More power to you, sweetpea,” Hitch said, and then the outer door clicked closed.
She collapsed onto the bed, not knowing if she should be thankful for the bucket of ice water named “Trucker” or if she should stab him with an ice pick.
Chapter Six
Once clear of the suite, John wrapped his fingers around his half-brother’s neck and forced him against the wall with a growl.
Trucker rolled his eyes and didn’t bother fighting him. Size-wise, they were evenly matched. Same approximate height. Right around the same weight. He could have fought back, but he didn’t.
John let go and whispered in a hiss, “What do you want?”
Trucker straightened his mussed plaid shirt and pushed away from the wall. They were in front of the elevator again before he answered. “I don’t want shit, kid. I’m just the lucky motherfucker Pops asked to check in on you. He’s preoccupied, and I was in the area.”
“Oh, is that right?”
“Don’t give me the attitude.”
They stepped into the elevator and Trucker moved into the corner, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned his butt against the railing. He studied John for a while before continuing. “Do you know how old I am?”
John stared at him, assessing his features, itemizing his casual choice of clothing — not much different than his own. He shrugged. “Why would I know that?”
“Just take a guess. Humor me.”
They stepped off the elevator and strode in silence toward the bar. Once on stools, Hitch said, “You look about my age, but my gut says I’m way off.”
“Depending on who you ask.” He flagged the bartender. “To Pop, our age difference is insignificant. A drop in the proverbial bucket. But of course that’d be the case. He’s as old as the universe. For some folks, though, the difference could be two lifetimes.”
“Making you … ”
He leaned in close and whispered in John’s ear, “I was born in eighteen-ninety.”
John drew back, agape and agog.
“Didn’t know we had that kind of longevity, huh? Well. We’re cambions. Our oldest sibling here in the U.S., best I can tell, was born in fifteen-eighty-five. She looks seventeen.”
When the bartender stood before them, Trucker ordered for them both. “Two whiskeys, double, with chasers. Whatever dark local beer you’ve got.”
The bartender nodded and moved away.
Trucker put his elbow on the bar top and rested the side of his head against it, one eyebrow cocked to John. “He tell you any of this?”
John shook his head.
“Figures. He does tend to dispense information selectively. Most of what I know I’ve found out by running into our multitude of siblings. We’re easy to recognize, once you understand how to search out the auras.”
“Auras?”
He shrugged. “You’ll know what I mean when you see the next one. You probably missed mine, and now you’re sort of colorblind to it. Your eyes and brain have adjusted to it. Anyway.” He held out his free left hand. “Charles.”
“John.”
They clasped hands and both immediately drew back.
“Shit, sorry, John.” Charles straightened up and held up his left hand, palm out. Glowing blue lines stood out in stark relief to the pale cream of his skin.
John looked down at his own hand — the same one Gulielmus had marked. Now illuminated, he could just barely make out the lines, but had no context to understand them. “What is it?”
“Source of our immortality. Claude would be able to tell you what it means exactly, but more or less it draws the demonic parts of us to the surface. Without it, we’re just run-of-the-mill Joes.”
John stared at the fading lines. Immortality? He hadn’t considered that. He didn’t know if he wanted to live forever. Wouldn’t he get bored? What would he have to live for? He cast his gaze up to his brother. “Who’s Claude?”
“One of our brothers. The only one I talk to, really.” Charles nodded as the bartender distributed drinks and pressed two twenty-dollar bills across the counter. “Six-pack when you get a chance?”
He nodded and moved away.
“So, what do you want?” John stared at the drinks in front of him, unsure of what he was supposed to be doing with them. Should he mix them, or …
Charles downed his double like a shot and rubbed his sleeve across his lips. “What do I want?” He shrugged. “Nothing. Truth is, I don’t give a shit what you do.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because Pop commanded it. I try to stay on his good side. Anyhow … ” He pointed to John’s booze. “You gonna drink that?”
John shook his head. “I’m a teetotaler.”
Charles grimaced. “Stay in this business long enough and that’ll change.” He drew the brews closer to himself. “Listen, I cam
e because I didn’t know you existed and I figured I’d fill you in the way Claude did me back in nineteen-fifteen.” He downed the second whiskey and shuddered. “Weird shit’s gonna start happening. Abilities will come online that’ll help you do your job. I can’t predict what those’ll be. They’re different for all of us.”
John formed his bar napkin into a tight tube and rolled it under his palm meditatively.
Charles gave him a nudge. “What is it? What clicked on?”
“It may just be a fluke, but I think I made her tired. All I wanted was to slow her down a bit, and she started yawning not long after.”
“Oh.” Charles took a long swig of beer and fixed his stare on something behind the bar.
“Oh? Just oh?”
“I don’t have that one, but it’s a documented incubus trait. Makes victims a bit more pliable so you can get them somewhere comfortable.”
“You’re kidding me.”
Charles shook his head and drained what was left of the first beer. “No. Sandman is a fucking incubus, baby brother. We call him Uncle Sandy.” He slipped off his stool with the second beer and grabbed the handle of the six-pack. “Nice meeting you. I’ve got a truck driver to seduce.”
John slid off his stool, too and hoped his furrowed brow conveyed the suspicion he was feeling. “That’s it?”
Charles tucked the beer package under his arm and sighed. He put the open beer bottle on the counter, rooted a cell phone out of his jeans pocket, and handed it to John. “I’ll call you when I have another phone.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
Charles snapped his fingers and grunted, nearly spewing the beer he’d snipped. “By the way, we’re not susceptible to STDs, so don’t let that stop you from approaching questionable-looking women.”
“But pregnancy?”
Charles swept a hand at the two of them demonstrably. “Obviously. Our sire has a special knack for it. I suspect we do as well, but I always rubber up. If I have any kids right now, they’re probably elderly and there isn’t a damned thing I can do for them.” With that, he walked away with his beer.
John raked a hand through his messy hair and blew out a breath. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have so many kids he wouldn’t recognize them all, or to not even know they existed. There was no way a man could love that many children, much less provide for them all. Well, Gulielmus could — the provide for part, anyway. He had to be loaded. But, he wasn’t sure if his father was capable of love with him being a demon and all. And that was the most important part of fathering, wasn’t it?
He headed toward the elevator, pondering that. The man he thought was his father until he was a young man had certainly never shown him any affection, not that he’d really expected any. There were just too many kids, and as John got older, his father saw him as competition. He couldn’t have known for sure John wasn’t actually his, but that didn’t make John feel any better about his aloofness.
Back at the room, he knocked, and stood there at the door for a while thinking maybe Gulielmus had been right. Maybe he should just give up on this one. Find some other woman. Someone easier. Someone whose name he hadn’t learned and who he hadn’t developed any affection for. That way, if he walked away afterward and she ended up pregnant, he wouldn’t know, and wouldn’t give a damn.
“There you are.” Ariel, shower-fresh and hair still damp, pulled open the door and waved him in. The air was thick with the pungent odor of tomato sauce and spices, and although John’s mouth watered, he didn’t think he could eat anything.
She poked her head out into the hallway, looked both ways, and drew in. Confusion sagged her features. “Where’s Trucker? I ordered a lot of pizza.”
“He went to his room.” John shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and fondled the phone he’d wedged into one. He couldn’t tell if her expression was one of disappointment or relief. Either way, she padded across the living room and pulled out a chair at the table.
“I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got one pepperoni, and one junk pizza.”
He moved slowly to the sofa without looking at her and went to work heeling off his boots. He tried to drag it out, taking his time removing the scuffed-up things, but there was only so much time he could waste. He just couldn’t look at her again. In that thin, worn t-shirt she wore advertising some ten-k run she’d completed, he could see every curve of her breasts, and the hint of dark nipples behind a finish line tape. And those little sweat-shorts that made her toned legs seem extra-long? He imagined them wrapped around his waist.
He wished there was some cambion trait that could make him as apathetic as Charles had seemed. Or maybe that was something acquired over time? He hoped it would come soon, because he couldn’t go falling in love with every woman that picked him up. He’d really wish he were dead.
When he finally cast his gaze toward Ariel, there was concern written all over her face. Her pizza slice was poised in mid-arc between the box and her mouth as she studied him. “What’s wrong? Did your brother upset you somehow?”
That’s putting it mildly.
“Or maybe he called you out for hanging out with some crazy lady who picked up a hitchhiker?” Now she laughed, and that made the tension in his gut unfurl somewhat. She was so damned easy to be around. Did he have the same affect on her?
He nudged his boots out of the way and stood. Doesn’t matter. Do your job and let her go.
“What’s a junk pizza?” he asked, pulling out the chair across from her and slinking into it.
“Oh!” She turned the topmost box around and lifted the lid. “I like having different textures on my pizza. Whenever I get to order online, I choose a bunch of toppings. I guess it’s almost like a salad on a crust. Anyhow, this one has mushrooms, bacon, green peppers, red onion, tomato chunks, and … ” She cringed. “A bit of barbecue chicken. I couldn’t resist.”
He took a slice. “I think junk is the right word for it. You sure do have interesting food preferences.”
“You’re right, I do. I guess it’s because I was kind of a bad eater as a kid, and when I moved off to college and was freakin’ starving all the time, I got less picky. Now, I like big flavors.”
“And cheap coffee.”
“Especially cheap coffee. Don’t you have any weird food cravings?”
He took a bite of the pizza, and honestly there was so much on it, he could hardly pick out the individual flavors of the ingredients. It wasn’t bad, though. “To have a craving for something, you’ve had to have tried it once. That limits me.”
“Fair enough. Isn’t there one thing, though? A favorite that’d be on plate if it were your last meal?”
He set down his pizza slice and leaned back in his chair. His last meal wouldn’t come for a very long time. He’d probably develop a lot of cravings between now and then, but for the moment, the only craving he had was her.
She raised a brow.
He cleared his throat. “I guess if I had to pick one thing, it’d be peach pie. I’ve only had it once, and it was kind of runny because it was my mother’s first time, but it was good. She used canned peaches, though. I’m sure it’s better with fresh fruit.”
Ariel nodded sagely. “My grandmother is fabulous with pastries. She doesn’t even measure anything, just tosses some flour in a bowl with some fat and liquid and makes the tenderest, sweetest crust I’ve ever had. Nothing compares to it.”
He grinned. “Think she would make me a pie?”
“Are you kidding? She makes everyone pies. She loves having a reason to make pie, and if you bring her a bag of pecans or sweet potatoes or whatever to put it in, it’s like you’re paying her. That’s how much she loves cooking. You can always tell when you’re on the outs with her because she won’t offer you food.”
“Sounds like you miss her.” He picked u
p his pizza slice and resumed his grazing.
Ariel nodded. “Terribly. I worry about her when I’m far away. I guess that’s funny. She’s a grown woman and she can take care of herself, you know?”
“Just like you.”
“She’d probably debate that. I think she feels like even at twenty-six I need a keeper.”
He thought Ariel did need a keeper. Otherwise she wouldn’t be sharing her dinner table with demon spawn. Her grandmother should have warned her about talking to strangers. Should have told her to never stop and to keep her car doors locked. That’s what smart girls did. He plucked up a slice of pepperoni pizza next. Time for a subject change.
“So, do you have a place picked out already back east, or are you like me? Making it up as you go along?”
“I don’t know where I’m going to live. I — ”
A beeping sound punctuated whatever she was going to say next. She stood and carried her pizza crust to the little sideboard. Inside, she plucked out a dark blue ceramic coffee mug and set it next to the coffee machine — the obvious source of the beeping. She let the crust dangle from her teeth while she poured hot black liquid into her cup. Three sugar packets and two little creamer tubs later, she returned to the table.
“Sorry. I’m moving back in with my grandmother for a while, and I’ll commute about an hour both ways every day. It’s not unheard of for that area. I just want to make sure I pick a place to live that I’m going to be happy with for a while, because moving sucks.”
“I’ll take your word for it. This is my first move, and obviously I travel light.”
“Hey, if you’re going to go, that’s the way to do it. I could probably do with downsizing a bit. Starting over, even. Some of the stuff I’m bringing with me, I — ” Whatever it was she was going to say, once again, she let drop. She put the coffee mug to her lips and stared into the junk pizza box.
He wanted to reach across the table and hold her, let her press her face against his chest and cry it out, whatever it was. Something she’d left behind in California must have broken something in her, and without knowing what it was, he couldn’t fix it.
