by K. F. Breene
She turned without another word.
“Wait, wait,” he said, lunging to pluck at her shirt. “What are you talking about? Did Alexis put you up to this?”
She turned back, looking annoyed. “They were right—Zeus’s line is filled with a bunch of plastic-headed Ken dolls. You’re cute, but that isn’t enough to get by, bro. No, Lexi didn’t put me up to this. You better not tell her, either, or we’ll have a problem, you and me. I don’t know if you know this, but Kieran’s dad was a lunatic. If Kieran goes down the same road, we gotta get out. She’s thinking with her heart, so she’s not preparing for the worst, but I’m thinking with my head. If we need to lose that Demigod, I’ll have the funds and know-how to do it. You’ve lived my worst fear. Least I can do is help a dude out. Hide your magic a little better, huh? Now that people know you’re alive, they’ll be hunting for you. Lexi fucked up your game—I’d call her on her debt, one day. Until then, though…” She nodded at Dylan’s pocket. “Good luck. I hope I never see you again.”
“Hate me that much?”
Her dead-eyed stare was a clear message of Dylan’s idiocy. For some reason, he thought that was hilarious.
“If I don’t see you again, it means you got free,” she said. “If that’s what you want, then I hope you get free.”
“But what about you? This is a lot of money for a girl your age. How’d you even get it?”
“I leaned hard into Kieran’s generosity—or his desire to impress Lexi, whichever—and started hiding the money away. I’m pretty sure they know I’m doing it now, but they don’t know exactly how or where it’s going. They see it as a fun little game that helps the poor little Chester feel a bit more secure. Fine by me. It’s only a game to those not used to surviving.” She nodded at his pocket again. “That was the first account I set up. It’s clunky. It’s time to let it go, anyway. Might as well give it to a good cause.”
“I’m not a charity.”
“Good thing, or you’d have to claim the money on your taxes. Good luck. Sorry we screwed all this up for you.” A moment later she was walking away, leaving Dylan standing there, dumbfounded.
She’d been a hundred percent genuine, he could tell, and she’d spoken in Dylan’s language. Her situation was the reverse of his—a Chester in a magical world instead of the other way around. The money was all there, exactly as she’d said. The telephone access code and account specifics had been in an email sent to and from the email account earlier in the day. He’d had everything he needed to transfer the money to his second alias, and then close it all down. He’d done it quickly and without hassle.
He’d taken two hundred grand from a teenager who’d stolen the money from a Demigod and then given it to him without strings because he needed it.
Was this real life?
He’d gone from a nightmare to a lonely, solitary life, to…what? Where was he now?
He was saying goodbye to the life he’d lived for the last decade and a half.
Dim lights greeted him as he entered the café. At ten o’clock, few people in the quiet town were awake, let alone out and about, especially with all that had gone on earlier. Thank heavens, because most of the populace had wanted to hang him. Literally hang him, like in the olden days. Acquaintances he’d had for the last ten years, who’d served him food or bagged his groceries, had spat at him as he helped deliver the wounded into town. They’d sneered at him, treating him like he was some sort of dangerous animal.
With Kieran’s help, the town had given Dylan twenty-four hours to vacate. He would do it in less than that. He didn’t trust that the townspeople would leave him be. Jeremiah’s truck was down the street from Dylan’s cabin. That old redneck didn’t need much of a reason to get violent.
Dylan stopped at the counter and flattened his palm on the rustic wood. With a deep sigh, he hesitantly chimed the little round bell, polished to a high shine.
“We’re closed— Oh!” Mag’s face appeared through the kitchen window below the silver ticket holder. “Dylan!”
He smiled in relief, having half wondered if she’d changed her mind after the battle on the mountain. It still baffled him that six of his friends had shown up to defend him, firearms in hand. He’d already said goodbye to the other five who had shown up, but she was the last. She was the most special.
Fifteen years ago, Dylan had woken up in the morgue in Gianna’s palace, dressed in a suit as though he were being prepared for a casket. The last thing he’d remembered was trying to breathe through a closed-up throat and seeing black. He’d woken in the middle of the night and the night watch wasn’t on duty. No one seemed to be on duty, actually, which had allowed him to slip out undetected. Guards slept at their posts. Someone had left a service van running in the delivery area, which he’d easily stolen. He’d driven until it ran out of gas, no money to buy more or even something to eat. But a stranger had taken pity on him and given him a ride.
He’d been dropped twenty miles outside of town and hiked his way in here, somehow managing to slip past the non-magical checkpoint unnoticed. Mags, the only person out on Main Street that morning, had ushered him into the café. Just like that, she’d taken him under her wing. She’d fed and clothed him, helped him find a place to live, helped him find a job as a town gardener—she’d saved his life. He could never be too thankful for her, or for the driver who’d picked him up.
“Hey, Mags.”
Her smile was sad as she stopped on the other side of the counter. “Want a cup of coffee?”
“Nah. I came to say goodbye. I have to get going. I’m not welcome here anymore.”
Her eyes misted and she nodded, biting her lip. “Well, come on, give me a hug.”
She came around the counter and held out her arms.
He calmed the quailing in his mind and pulled her close for a moment. Gianna would not have a hold on him forever. He would not lose himself to the horrors of his past. Not anymore.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dangerously close to letting emotion overcome him. “I never meant to lie to you. I wanted to tell you so many times, but I didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation.” That, and he’d feared she’d cast him out. He wouldn’t have been able to bear that.
“Don’t be silly,” she said, and cupped his cheek in her weathered hand. “I knew you were magical. The number of lightning storms in the area quadrupled the year you moved here, yet no one was injured and there was zero damage. Even trees stopped getting struck and falling on houses. That’s the sort of coincidence that needs more of an explanation than the Almighty.”
“You…you knew? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Her smile was comforting. “I figured you’d tell me in your own time.”
“Instead I was hunted down.” A flash of rage stole his breath. He’d run like a coward. He’d hidden. He’d tried to slip away without being detected. If his old trainers had heard that, they would’ve spat in his face. The only reason he’d stood up to fight was because Mags and the others had gotten stuck in the crossfire.
He hated that his life was now running.
“What about that lovely young woman and her foster kids? Now, she seemed very pretty and put together.” Mags walked around the counter and headed for the coffee machine. “Turn off the sign and lock the door, would ya, Dylan?”
He did as she said, his heart aching at her use of the name he’d given himself. He’d made it up on the fly when she’d asked for it all those years ago. With that name, he’d become a new person. A better person. A free person.
“She has a heart of gold, that one, sweet and fierce.” Mags polished a mug. “I think you should look her up. She’s magical too, right? You’d have a lot in common.”
Dylan laughed and leaned on the counter. “She has a boyfriend. The powerful Demigod that can control water, remember him? When he lifted you over the rocks, I believe you said, ‘Oh my lucky stars.’”
She pursed her lips and her face turned red. She turned to busy herself
again with the coffee machine. “I was just surprised, is all.”
“By the muscle, yeah. We all caught on when you squeezed his bicep.”
“Oh, pish! Well, that’s too bad. She seemed sensible. As sensible as a magical person can be, of course.”
“Naturally.”
“Well, I think you should find someone. You’ve been alone for long enough. It’s time to get matched up. You’re magical—be magical. God didn’t intend for you to hide what you are. Find a place that makes you happy, and live true to yourself. No more sneaking to the mountaintop to put on secret light shows—let everyone see. It’s beautiful.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “And I’d always thought I was so secretive.”
“It’s hard to hide what you are from people that pay attention,” she said, laughing softly.
Her words filtered into his awareness, merging with the things that young girl had said. He’d have to get better at hiding his magic, or people would find him. They knew to look now; it would be easier.
He accepted a cup of coffee from her. “That Demigod and his girlfriend want me to work for them.”
“Oh? See? Now that’s a good idea. They were very nice people. Not like that other one. I’d always thought magical people were like the blonde with the beehive”—she meant Flora—“waltzing in, waving their money around, barking at everyone to bend to their whims—but the dark-haired man and his people were very sweet. So generous, too. The tips!”
Dylan nodded, sipping his coffee. “He and his people are certainly different, you’re right about that. I told myself I would never…work for one of them again. Never. But if I go back into that world, I’ll have to. Either I’ll choose who to…work for, or someone, like the beehive lady, will choose for me.”
“Hmm. That doesn’t sound right.”
“I have a special kind of magic, and the magical world is a brutal place.”
“Now that I do know. That’s why I live here. I’m a simple woman, and I want a simple way of life. I can’t keep up with all the other stuff. But no matter where you end up, you’ll find two sorts of people—those who want to help others and those who would rather just help themselves. I think if you find the sort that want to help others, you won’t go wrong.”
He sipped his coffee in reflection.
Her little chuckle brought his focus back to her.
“What?” he asked.
“Well, that kinda fits, doesn’t it?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“That man has magic over water.”
“He’s a Demigod of Poseidon, yes.”
“Yes, Poseidon, that’s the one. And your name is Dylan.”
“And?”
Her brow furrowed even as she smiled at him. “Haven’t you ever looked up what your name means?” In response to his blank look, she shook her head, her gray curls waving. “I love learning the meaning of names and seeing if they match the person. Your name means ‘son of the sea’ or ‘born of the ocean.’ It didn’t seem to fit, but now… Well, maybe that’s your calling.”
Kieran
Two days after returning home from West Virginia, Kieran sat in his library, urgent business tugging on his mind and an uncomfortable feeling squeezing his heart. He did not take any pride or satisfaction in what he was about to do. He hated that it had come to this.
It couldn’t be put off any longer, though. He had one month to plan the meeting with Demigod Lydia, and there were a lot of moving parts to that situation. He needed to plan for every eventual hiccup, every possible outcome, and navigate every possible strategy Lydia might have developed for him and/or Alexis. He’d be taking his love and his people into a pit of flames, and he somehow had to make it out without catching fire.
Kieran stood when he noticed the ancient butler had answered his summons. He lurked by the open double doors, holding a silver tray laden with a tea set. “Sodge, come in.”
“Yes, sir.” Sodge’s jowls shook as he moved, slowly lifting his chin and pursing his lips the closer he came. The man needed to work on his poker tells.
“Take a seat, please.” Kieran closed the doors.
Sodge finished placing the tray on the coffee table between two stylish though comfortable leather armchairs. “A seat, sir?” Sodge looked around in surprise.
“Yes, Sodge. Please.” Kieran retook his chair and waited for the butler to uncomfortably take a seat. He wasn’t used to being talked to as an equal or sitting in the same room with the master of the house. He’d been a servant for two of Kieran’s lifetimes or longer, and he’d always been treated as one. It was the only way Kieran had ever thought of him, as well. The silent help, always underfoot but never in the way. It was the reason for Kieran’s major slip-up—the reason he had let everyone down.
“Please, sir, this is unseemly. Who will pour the tea?”
“The…tea.” Kieran had asked for coffee.
As if hearing Kieran’s thought, Sodge pursed his lips again. “Civilized people drink tea. Cultured people. Your father drank tea until the day he died.”
“My father was lactose intolerant and hated coffee without milk or creamer in it. He quit out of spite for milk, and drowned his tea in sugar. I hardly think that is the sign of a civilized and cultured man.”
“You never did understand the finer things in life,” Sodge muttered, turning his face to the side.
“You may pour the tea, if it makes you happy,” Kieran said.
“Yes, sir.” Sodge stood with effort, clearly feeling the years now that Valens’s blood oath and the accompanying perks had been ripped away.
“Sodge, it has come to my attention that someone in my employ has been talking to Demigod Flora of New York.”
Sodge stiffened. “Oh?”
“She and her crew showed up in West Virginia barely a day after I did.”
“That sounds most unfortunate. Her team must be nearly as good as yours.” He finished pouring the light brown liquid into a dainty cup painted with purple flowers—something Kieran’s mother might’ve picked out. He reached for the silver spoon sticking out of the silver sugar bowl, something his father had liked. Valens never missed a chance to show off his wealth.
Kieran put out a hand. “No sugar for me, thanks. Milk will be fine.”
Sodge sniffed. “I didn’t bring milk, sir. It’s bad for you.”
Kieran sighed. Sodge wasn’t making this any easier.
“Fine. And no, her team is not nearly as good as mine. Most of them are now dead, despite the fact that she brought her best and brightest. She’ll be in the market for some new oath holders. Is that something you’d be interested in?”
Sodge stepped to the side and clasped his hands behind his back. He hadn’t poured himself any tea, and he didn’t plan to sit again. Kieran let it go.
“I have no wish to enter a strange Demigod’s rat race, thank you very much,” Sodge said haughtily.
“Then I wonder why you would consistently feed her private information overheard from discussions in this house, Sodge.”
Kieran placed his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers against his lips, waiting.
Sodge straightened a little more, although no remorse showed on his face. No fear or regret, either.
After a moment of silence, it was clear he did not plan to deny the allegations. Kieran gave him a little credit for that.
“You’ve put me in a tight spot, Sodge,” Kieran went on, dropping his hands and leaning back. “I would like to honor my father’s position for you—I’d like you to keep your home—but I simply cannot allow you to stay here if you plan to share sensitive information. After this, I cannot trust you.”
“I didn’t do anything you haven’t,” Sodge said. “You came slinking into your father’s house under false pretenses, learning his secrets and spying on him, like a filthy rat.”
“Yes, I did. And when he found me out, he planned to kill me. I do not plan to kill you, Sodge.”
“
Go ahead. It will be a hero’s death.”
“You are not a hero. Because of you, many people died. Because of you, a man’s future has been jeopardized.”
“Yes, well, the Demigod of New York has always been lacking in her ability to close a deal. Your father always said that.”
“Then why go to her?”
“Because she is of Zeus, and I thought she would jump at this chance.”
“She did. Good call. If you do not plan to take up a position with her, I must decide what to do with you.”
Sodge stood there stoically, looking straight ahead, and offered no help or direction.
“You liked working for my father,” Kieran said to stall, wishing Sodge would give him something, anything, to work with. His mother had thought Sodge was good at heart, though irrational when it came to Valens. Kieran didn’t want to kill another little piece of his past if he could help it.
“Of course I did. He was fair and just. If I had gone around your father’s back and done this, he would’ve tortured and then killed me. He was not a soft man, like his son has turned out to be. He was an exacting leader in this uncertain age.”
Kieran sighed. “Shall I ask you to leave, is that what you’d like?”
“I have nowhere to go. That must’ve crossed your mind.”
“It has. It has also crossed my mind that you’d rather die than give a blood oath to me. Which leaves me at an impasse, I’m afraid. I can’t have you in my home without some way to control your scheming. I can make some calls—see if anyone else will take you.”
