by Unknown
It took all of Jove's willpower to bite his tongue. The clerk did his best not to look scandalized. "Very good, sir. I'll have everything sent up in no time."
"You're top notch, Burr." With a last, jaunty salute, Coyote swanned off towards the bank of shiny brass elevators, dragging Jove along in his wake.
He managed to wait until the doors closed behind them before demanding, "Lady friend?"
Instead of answering, Coyote took Jove's chin in his hand and swiveled his head around until Jove caught sight of their reflections in the elevator doors.
"Sweet merciful hells."
It was them, but it wasn't. Coyote's reflection was at least fifty pounds heavier and squeezed into a brown and green buffalo check suit. The thick, black braid that hung nearly to his waist was gone, replaced by a shiny bald head rimmed with a silver fringe. The whole image was topped off with a frankly ludicrous mustache. Jove almost laughed until he saw himself. His features were finer, his hat and short dark brown hair replaced by a cap of perfect ringlets. He was wearing a dark blue gown he definitely didn't recall putting on that morning, and there were two pronounced lumps where there most certainly should not be any.
Jove clutched at his chest then thanked the gods it was just as flat as he'd left it. Hands cupping her perky breasts, Jove's reflection stared back at him in awe. "Damn. I look like some high-priced wagtail."
Coyote's reflection grinned. "Exactly."
Scowling, Jove grabbed the coin from Coyote's hand. "Lemme see that thing." It was unlike any coin he'd ever seen before. It was heavier than he expected and had a blurry, featureless face printed on each side. It was impossible to tell if it had always been that way, or if the faces had been worn away by years of rubbing. The coin felt slightly warmer than it should, but there was no hum coming from it, not like the box in Napier's office. It seemed like an unusual yet perfectly ordinary coin, and Jove was beginning to realize that perhaps that rush of magic had come more from Coyote than the talisman itself.
Jove glanced over at Coyote and was surprised to find him looking back. His dark eyes were unreadable. Jove noted they weren't black like he'd thought but rather a deep, dark brown. And still as likely hazardous to Jove's well-being as the rest of Coyote.
Jove was finding his instincts for self-preservation skedaddled where Coyote was concerned.
As if reading Jove's thoughts—he couldn't actually do that, could he?—the corner of Coyote's mouth hitched up. "You are a danger to yourself, Jove Whittaker." His fingers were warm as he plucked the coin from Jove's hand and slipped it back into his pocket. "I said we needed to talk, and that's what I aim to do."
Jove's stomach voiced a protest before he could.
Coyote laughed. "All right, maybe we'll get you fed first. Then we'll talk."
The elevator finally stopped its slow upward crawl at the third floor and Coyote led Jove down the plushly carpeted hallway to 'Mr. Ainsley's' room.
Palace would've been more accurate, Jove decided. The room was massive and decked to the nines. The floor was covered by a mosaic of fancy rugs so thick Jove could feel his boots sinking into it. Two red-velvet wingback chairs were positioned in front of one of those fancy new gas-burning fireplaces complete with fake logs, and a writing desk sat against the far wall between the room's two large windows. A door to the left led to what Jove assumed was the washroom, but it barely registered as his eyes settled on the bed.
It was the biggest bed he'd seen in his life, and he'd seen his fair share of them. It took up a good portion of the room, commanding attention. The four spiral carved posts almost reached the fresco on the ceiling, a canopy of dark blue brocade suspended between them. The fabric cascaded down in heavy drapes that framed a bed so expansive, Jove couldn't hazard a guess of how many birds had given up the ghost to stuff its mattress. It was all he could do not to run over and throw himself across its beckoning softness.
And maybe he could convince Coyote to join him.
"You should probably get out of those clothes." Jove spun in time to catch a thick, terry robe with his face. "Can't have you catchin' your death. Washroom's over there."
Muttering his thanks, Jove avoided Coyote's amused gaze and made a prudent retreat.
He took his time, not least because he spent a good amount of time just marveling at all the pristine white tile, the classy bronze fixtures, and the large porcelain slipper tub. He would have marveled longer if he hadn't caught sight of himself in the mirror over the sink. Coyote's magic had worn off and Jove had to admit he looked a mite worse for wear. The brim of his hat was drooping beyond repair, his hair was plastered to his head, and that week-old scruff wasn't doing him any favors. At least the rain had washed the road stink off him.
Grumbling, Jove peeled off his duster then laid it across the side of the tub. Next went his boots and socks, but he left them where they lay. He made a sound of delight when his bare feet came down on heated tile and took a moment to enjoy the warmth. Boy, this hotel didn't miss a trick. This was almost worth getting held up with his own gun for a second time. It was a measure of his restraint that Jove didn't spread out naked on the floor when he stripped out of his sopping clothes. Instead he wrapped himself in that fluffy white robe then laid out his clothes across the large iron radiator in the corner to dry. He used the toiletries the hotel was kind enough to provide to give himself a quick shave, a vanity he hadn't been able to indulge in quite some time.
When Jove finally emerged from the washroom, Coyote had switched on the fireplace and was waiting for him with a cart laden with two covered plates and two tumblers of whiskey. Jove had never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
Drawn by the warmth of the fire and the smell of roasted animal, Jove made his way over and sank into one of the wingback chairs.
Coyote's brows rose. "You didn't have to get all gussied up on my account."
Jove hadn't been prone to blush since his very first trip to a whorehouse, and he most certainly was not blushing now. "I did no such thing. What's on the menu?"
Coyote didn't press, but his smirk spoke volumes. So long as he didn't say anything, though, Jove figured they could have a civil meal.
Dinner was half a roasted chicken drizzled in a sauce made out of some kind of berry Jove didn't recognize with a side of green beans and buttered potatoes. Jove fell on his plate like a starving dog. Coyote must have known better than to try to interrupt. He didn't say a word until all that was left on Jove's plate was a pile of bones and a dirty napkin.
"Better?"
Jove grunted an affirmative. He was slumped back in his chair, feet stretched out towards the fire and tumbler dangling from his hand. He was well-fed and warm, and Jove couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so content. "A fella could get used to all this."
"All this? Comes with some mighty heavy shackles, Jove."
He looked over to find Coyote staring into the fire, flipping the coin back and forth over the backs of his fingers as the flickering light drew deep shadows into the planes of his face. He looked tired. A day ago Jove wouldn't have thought a man like Coyote was capable of brooding. Turned out he was a man like any other, and Jove folded that into the ever-changing perception he had of this nigh legendary outlaw.
"I don't know," Jove said slowly. "I don't think I'd mind a few chains if they were solid gold."
"You think this is a joke?" Coyote slammed his hand down on the cart, rattling dishes and making Jove flinch hard enough to slosh whiskey over his fingers. "You got no hellfire clue what it's like being under Napier's thumb!"
Jove's hand tightened around his glass before he carefully set it down on the cart and wiped his fingers dry on his robe. "I think I got some clue. How long you been in his pocket?"
Coyote snorted. "Longer than you've been in his books."
"Huh. So you were there." And he'd thought 'Mr. Ainsley' had been a neat trick. "How long?"
"The whole time."
"Not what I meant."
It took Coyote
so long to answer, Jove thought he wasn't going to. Then finally, "Ten years."
Jove let out a low whistle. "Damn. How'd he get his hooks in you? You don't seem like a gamblin' man."
This smile was a new one, a wry twist of lips and bitter as bile. Jove didn't like it one bit. "You think you were the only one young and stupid once?" Coyote pulled something about the size of a business card from his waistcoat pocket. He hesitated only a split second before leaning forward and holding it out to Jove.
"What's this?" Jove took it, their fingers brushing as he did.
"You wanted to know how Napier got me on his hook? There's the bait."
It was a photograph. It was a bit faded and the corners were worn, but the image was still clear as day. It was the kind of portrait folks went to a parlor to get done. Two men in seersucker suits stood behind a seated woman in a frilly dress who was holding a small child. The woman was a younger, smiling Zoe Frye, her face so lit up she was beautiful. The man standing behind her left shoulder could only be Coyote. That grin was unmistakable. The man to the right was nearly identical except his smile was more restrained, and there was a tension around his eyes no young man should have. It had to have been taken more than a decade ago if the clothes and the youth in their faces were anything to go by.
Jove flipped it over and read the back: Mr. & Mrs. Sol Frye, w/ son Matthew (aged 3) and
There should have been another name, Jove knew. But there was nothing. The ink had faded over the years, sure, but there was no indication a name had ever been written there to begin with. Jove was still puzzling over this when Coyote said, "That was taken fifteen years ago."
"Your brother, right?" Jove handed the photo back.
Coyote didn't put it away, caught staring at a history he couldn't change. "Sol never did have much of a head for money, but he was a hard worker. He poured so much energy into one business idea after another, but nothin' ever seemed to take. Got to the point where no lender would give him the time of day."
"'Cept Napier."
"Except Napier." Coyote's fingers spasmed, and he tucked the picture away before he accidentally crushed it in his hands. "I wouldn't have known how deep a viper's nest Sol had gotten himself into if Napier's goons hadn't made the mistake of nabbin' me off the street instead of Sol."
Jove was beginning to see how this had played out. "How much did Sol owe him?"
"Enough. Too much." Coyote chuckled, but the sound was hollow. "I thought I could help, offered myself in exchange for writin' off Sol's debt. Napier went for it. It was a powerful sweet deal for him, havin' a talisman worker at his beck and call. I got Sol to pack up and move Zoe and Matthew out of Canton the next day. And I stayed behind to pay the piper."
There were so many possible meanings behind those words that Jove didn't want to entertain. He went for the one he knew to be true. "So what? You became Napier's errand boy?" Jove paused, brow furrowing. "Why are you still workin' for him? The things you've stolen for him, some of those talismans are priceless. Your debt should've been cleared a hundred times over by now."
"You ain't wrong." Coyote sat forward again, arms braced on his knees, and stared Jove down. "What's my name?"
Jove blinked at the sudden shift. "Coy—"
"No, my real name." Coyote watched Jove with an intensity that left him feeling vaguely unsettled and a little overwarm. All right, a lot overwarm, but this was foolishness.
"How in Eternity should I know? I only just got 'Coyote' out of you—"
Coyote hissed his impatience. "Dammit, Jove, what's my name? You know my brother's. You've got part of it. What is it?"
Jove's temper flared. "Don't you try to get mean with me. The hells you askin' me stupid questions for, anyway? Your name is... It's... " Sol Frye. Zoe Frye. Matthew Frye. Jove knew Coyote's family name, but when he tried to think of it in relation to Coyote, it disappeared from his mind. It wasn't that he couldn't recall it—it was like it had never been there at all. Like on the back of the photograph.
Can't, Frye had said. Not won't.
Jove only knew as much about magic as the next person, which was not much at all. Everyone knew it existed in small and big ways in the form of talismans, knew they came by Providence or Grace or any of the other gods. Mostly magic clung to things—talismans—and on the rare occasion, it clung to people. And those talisman workers were the only folks who could make talismans actually do anything. The few truly powerful of the lot usually ended up as hedge witches and stage performers, jealously guarding their talismans and their secrets while bearing the marks the magic left on them with pride. The rest of them were just blessed with a little extra luck in their lives. Most folks didn't ever come across major magic in their daily lives unless they sought out a show.
This was well beyond any of that. Whatever this was, it was powerful and it was wrong.
"How?" Jove breathed, hands fisted on the arms of his chair.
Whatever he saw in Jove's face eased some of the intensity in Coyote's gaze, and he reached out to gently uncurl Jove's fingers. "Like I said, I was young and stupid. I signed my name over to Napier believin' he was a man of his word. More fool me. The only thing a man like Napier believes in is power and control. And if he can control someone with more power than him, all the better. I'm not just his errand boy, he owns me. He can make me do whatever he wants, and he has." There wasn't any fire in his voice, just a quiet resignation that made Jove want to empty a revolver into Napier, reload, and then do it again.
It took all of Jove's will to unclench his jaw to ask, "So what now? Frye said you had some kind of plan. What is it? Why now after all this time?"
There was a faint tremor in Coyote's fingers before he got control of himself. He started drawing strange patterns into the palms of Jove's hands with deliberate lines. "I'm going to get my name back. I'm strong enough now. Napier doesn't know how much he helped me each time he made me use a talisman for his benefit."
Jove watched as Coyote continued to trace those odd shapes into his palms, the sensation slowly leaching one tension out of him and replacing it with another. Toes curling into the carpet, he didn't dare speak. Jove couldn't say a word if he wanted to.
"I've made myself such a nuisance that the law's decided to try to set a trap for me," Coyote went on, fingers leaving Jove's palms to trail up his wrists. Jove's pulse jumped under the attention, and Coyote's lips lifted in a faint smile. "Mr. Merle Napier has so graciously stepped forward to donate part of his extensive collection as bait—the pieces I didn't steal for him, of course. The Canton Cultural Society is having a gala tomorrow night, hopin' I'll show up. Napier will make sure I won't be there, but it'd be rude of me if I didn't oblige, wouldn't it? After all that effort. Besides, there's a pretty little blue box I've had my eye on for some time."
Jove's head snapped up then, words on his tongue, but they tumbled back into his throat when he found his face only inches from Coyote's. The outlaw was on his knees in front of Jove now, and just when had that happened? Jove had the oddest impression that somewhere, somehow, he'd gone from the hunter to the hunted. He licked his lips, mouth gone dry as the Outer Territories, and said slowly, "Let me get this right. You know it's a trap, but you're plannin' on lootin' the place anyway?"
"Yes. I have a few tricks up my sleeve Napier doesn't know about." Coyote's dark eyes darted down to Jove's mouth before flicking up again. "There's been a change of plans." His hands left Jove's wrists to rest on his knees, and Jove swore they were hot enough to burn right through his robe.
Gripping the arms of the chair, Jove struggled to form a coherent thought. "I'd apologize, but I try not to lie to a man's face if I can help it."
"Pretty sure that's a lie." A hand eased under the part in Jove's robe to the find bare skin of his thigh.
"Maybe. But Ms. Frye ain't the only one who doesn't want to see you dead. And ain't nobody catchin' you but me." As far as declarations went, Jove was pretty sure they weren't supposed to sound quite so breathless. But he m
eant it. By the gods, he meant it more than he'd meant anything before in his life.
Coyote's hand stopped its steady progress upward and, damnation, that was the opposite of what Jove wanted. His expression was unreadable, eyes searching. "You're a dangerous man, Jove Whittaker."
"Don't flatter me so; it'll go to my head," Jove murmured as he inched his hips forward. "Besides, ain't you the one with a price on his head?"
Coyote grinned then, wide and wolfish, and Jove felt his heart stutter. "Ain't I just." His hand moved again, finding its prize. Jove didn't bother trying to bite back a groan as his hips bucked. "But then, I can be dreadful dangerous myself."
*~*~*
The first time was a little fast, a lot dirty, and everything Jove hadn't even known he'd been hoping for.
He learned a few things. Coyote, as it turned out, had magic fingers that had nothing at all to do with talismans. He also didn't mind a little teeth, as Jove discovered quite by accident. And they both found out that the Westcourt's walls weren't as thick as they seemed when a bellhop came knocking on the door to ask if Mr. Ainsley was all right.
The second time they took it slow. Jove took care undoing Coyote's braid and finally got to bury his hands in all that hair like he'd been wanting to do for months. He got to map the silver-sheened talisman marks that wove in intricate patterns along the back of Coyote's neck, across his shoulders, and down his chest with curious fingers. Jove used his mouth to pay special attention to the bird-shaped one tucked just behind his left ear. Meanwhile, Coyote took his time tracing the dip of Jove's spine with his tongue—twice. He found out just how Jove liked to be kissed and where. And this time he made sure Jove did his hollerin' into a pillow when Coyote put him through his paces.
