A Touch of Magic

by Isabelle Adler

  Ty drove him all the way to his apartment, which still looked like it had been in the path of an elephant stampede, and deposited him at the door. He wore a stony expression the whole time, and Cary was too damn hazy to ask any questions. Later, he was furious at himself for not doing anything, for not asking Ty to come in and stay the night, even if it meant sleeping together (or rather, passing out) on a slashed mattress. As it was, he’d fallen asleep, curled up in a ball on the couch, as soon as the door closed after Ty, fully expecting to have a much more meaningful talk with him the next day.

  But Tuesday came and went, and there’d been no sign of Ty. Cary waited for him to call, or pick up his phone, or drop by, or…do something. But there’d been nothing. Every time Cary called Ty’s cell phone, it went straight to voice mail. It was as if he’d disappeared off the face of the earth without a word.

  The memory of the next few days was somewhat blurred, but there was no doubt they’d been hell. Cary had trouble sleeping, but when he’d finally manage to doze off, he’d dream of that night in the barn. He’d hear the gun going off, and see Leland toppling. There was smoke in his lungs, suffocating him. He’d watch helplessly as Ty swung in his chains, and he’d wake up either thrashing or soaked in cold sweat.

  The physical pain of his injuries could be dulled by the analgesics, but the pain that had settled deep down in his chest was constantly there, twisting and gnawing at his insides. He wondered what he’d done to make Ty leave him. When Cary had broken down by that lake somewhere along Route 50, Ty had looked at him like he’d gladly trade his soul for Cary’s happiness. There was simply no way a man who was indifferent could look at someone the way Ty had looked at him then.

  He’d been wrong about so many things before in his life, but he couldn’t have been wrong about that.

  That was what he’d been telling himself for the last two months, while slowly piecing his life back together. He was on the last stretch of his savings, but he’d gotten his agent to work things out with the Garland to book more shows starting next week and sort out the cancelled shows.

  Eventually, the bruises had faded, and his arm healed. Even the nightmares became less frequent. But the real ache had never gone away.

  He had to find Ty, to ask him why he’d split. Ask him if he’d been wrong in his assumptions… But Ty wasn’t an easy man to find, and Cary had absolutely no means of contacting him.

  However, there was someone who could.

  He took a deep breath and knocked on Sebastian Monroe’s door.

  It swung open immediately, startling Cary just a little, and Sebastian peered out, giving him a critical once-over. Strands of dark hair, which he was obviously growing out, fell haphazardly around his face, and his fingernails were once again painted bright red.

  “Darling,” he said, opening the door wide to let Cary in. “What in damnation took you so long?”

  Cary walked inside and halted in indecision. At Sebastian’s gesture, he perched on the edge of the silk sofa while Sebastian poured them both fragrant tea from a chipped porcelain teapot. Cary fidgeted with the ring on his finger, the band smooth and cool under his fingertips—a promise he was almost afraid to believe anymore. Perhaps he’d been reading too much into it. Perhaps it had only been a gesture of apology, a payoff. It was difficult to tell what was real and what wasn’t. Maybe he was clinging to something that had never been there, to a ghost reflected off his own confused emotions.

  “So, you want me to get in touch with Ty for you?” Sebastian adjusted his long silk dressing gown, gold with flying herons embroidered in purple, around him as he took a seat across from Cary.

  “How did you know?”

  Bas just shook his head with an expression of utter pity.

  “Please, darling. Now, stop fretting. I’ll talk to him for you, and I’ll even do it for free.”

  “Why would he listen to you?” Cary asked. Now he felt a bit stupid for coming, asking for Sebastian’s help. It felt so pathetic, like something a desperate lovestruck high-school student might do. Surely, Ty had the right to call quits on him if he wanted to.

  “Ty has this annoying little habit of actually caring for his friends, no matter how he tries to convince himself to the contrary. Works every damn time.”

  Cary grimaced. He wanted to see Ty again, but it kind of rankled that he’d rush to Sebastian’s aid at the drop of a hat, and dismiss him so casually. The thought did little to boost his confidence.

  “He cares about you,” Bas said, much more gently. His pale gaze was sympathetic as it rested on Cary. “In fact, I think it’s more than just caring, God help him. He’s doing that stupid ‘protecting himself by disassociation’ thing.”

  “Protecting himself?” Cary said incredulously. “Against what?”

  “Being hurt. Nothing hurts like love, does it? You know what I’m talking about,” Bas said. At Cary’s silence, he added: “Now you go on. I’ll make sure you lovebirds get your happy reunion again.”

  IT HAD BEEN a good show. Granted, Cary was making almost no money since he was still paying the Garland for his willful breach of contract, but he was very close to eliminating his debt and starting to turn a profit. Either way, he was slowly building a name for myself while learning to subtly weave his magic into his performance. Even the slightest touch of it produced amazing results. He had to admit that even the most intricate illusions in the world could not compare to the real thing when it was done right.

  He kept it simple, though, sticking to the classic illusionist repertoire. He was still finding his footing, figuring out what he could do, what he’d be best at. There was plenty of time for him to tweak things before he ventured on to greater things.

  Cary took off his top hat (he really needed to invest in a better stage outfit) and opened the door to his dressing room. And stopped dead.

  It was like déjà vu, watching Ty get up from the old oversized armchair at the back of the dressing room. Only this time, there was no gun in his hand. He stood, silently regarding Cary, his face partially obscured by shadow. He was wearing a leather jacket, very similar to the old one that had been ruined on that memorable night at the farm. His sun-bleached hair was cut even shorter, and a thin white scar, about an inch long, crossed the side of his forehead.

  Cary’s heart surged and then plummeted as he reminded himself not to get his hopes up. It had been two weeks since his visit to Sebastian, and despite the sorcerer’s grand promises, Cary had already convinced himself it had been a fool’s errand. He closed the door behind him with a soft click and tossed the hat on the vanity.

  “So, um, hi,” Cary offered, immediately hating himself for being a doofus.

  “Hi,” Ty said. Cary thought he sounded a touch apprehensive, but he must have been imagining things. What reason did Ty have to be apprehensive?

  Cary took a deep breath. It was just like when he’d thrown his grandfather’s amulet into the lake—throwing his hopes and dreams and yearnings out there, and hoping that somehow everything would be all right.

  “I’m sorry for making Bas call you, but I had to see you,” Cary said, searching Ty’s blank face for some sort of reaction. “Because I missed you like crazy, and I don’t understand why…why you’d disappear like that. I thought we had something going. Maybe I was wrong about that, and hey, maybe it was only the adrenaline talking, because how can you fall in love with someone you’ve only known for two weeks? It was one hell of a ride, and if that’s all it was for you, that’s okay. I’ll never bother you again. But if I am wrong, please, just tell me.”

  Cary fell silent, swallowing hard. There was no easy way to say it, no way of letting Ty know what was in his heart without laying it bare and bleeding before him. But he had to. He owed it to Ty as much as he owed it to himself.

  Ty took a step forward, coming under the bright fluorescent lighting of the mirror bulbs. His eyes burned with intensity.

  “I’m sorry too, Cary.” His voice was hard. “For bailing on you. I’ve
been stupid and cruel. Thought I could forget about you and go on with my life, but I can’t, because it’s a damn lie. I’d been telling myself I was doing the right thing by staying away, especially after everything I’d done, and everything I’d planned on doing. How could you ever love someone like me? But I won’t go on being afraid any longer, because that would mean losing you, and I can’t do that. God help me, I’ve tried.”

  Cary didn’t remember moving, but suddenly they were in each other’s arms, kissing so hard their teeth clashed, needy and impatient, as if they could cram months of separation into a few seconds.

  “I missed you so much,” Ty gasped when they finally broke apart for air. He was holding on tight, as if Cary would disappear if he let go even for a moment.

  “Whose fault was that?” Cary asked, but he couldn’t hide the stupid grin that spread on his face. During the last two weeks, he refused to let himself think about Ty. So what if the world seemed less joyous, the colors around him more muted? Time healed all wounds, even a broken heart.

  But, looking into Ty’s eyes again, Cary realized how wrong he’d been. He loved him, and that made all the difference between living and existing.

  “I’m sorry,” Ty repeated. “Baby, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  “Then show me just how much.”

  Instead of an answer, Ty lifted him up, and they were kissing again, all the way back to the armchair. They landed on it so heavily the poor thing creaked and shuddered beneath them. Cary leaned back and spread his legs, making room for Ty while he was busily taking off his jacket and shirt. He bent down, kissing the side of Cary’s neck, more slowly now, taking his time to taste and bite and nibble, and Cary threw back his head, giving him as much access as he could. He bucked against Ty, both his desire and need evident without words.

  They fumbled as they divested each other of various articles of clothing, barely managing to stay on the chair in the process. They moved against each other, legs, arms and lips in a messy tangle, yearning for that closeness beyond the slide of skin on skin.

  It was like their first time all over again, with neither of them having come prepared. But it didn’t matter. There was no time for preparations or for prolonged foreplay—only the desperate mutual pleasure that ensured this was indeed real, that this was the first step in a long journey they would be making together.

  They rubbed their hard cocks together, striving for that delicious friction as Ty wrapped a hand around them both and leaned into Cary’s embrace. Cary dug his fingers into Ty’s hips and heard his grunt, but didn’t relent. There was no space between their bodies, nothing that would separate them. Pleasure pooled at the base of his spine, and every stroke, every kiss, every breath brought him closer and closer to that dangerous edge with dizzying speed.

  I love you. He closed his eyes against the imminent incandescent whiteout, but maybe he’d said it out loud, because it worked as surely as a spell. He heard Ty’s sharp intake of breath as he stiffened in his arms, and then hot wetness splashed across his stomach.

  Ty’s lips brushed against his cheek, his breathing broken and ragged.

  “I love you too.” His words were soft, barely audible, like ghost traces on his skin—a touch of magic that tipped him over into an infinite abyss, spiraling out of control in the spasms of climax, knowing he would land safely in Ty’s arms.

  “SHIT.” CARY SURVEYED the shards of a green glass lamp that were scattered all over the floor. The thing had been perched precariously on a wobbly side table, and they’d definitely not been careful. “They’re gonna make me pay for that.”

  “With all the piles of junk you have in here, I hardly think anyone would notice,” Ty reasoned and pulled him closer. They were snuggled on the armchair, naked, sweaty, and sticky, and so ridiculously content it was probably illegal somewhere.

  “So what were you up to these past months? Working?”

  “Nah,” Ty said. “Took a break for a while. I’ve got a lot of things to figure out.”

  “What kinds of things?”

  Ty shrugged. “All this stuff with Leland. Being stolen to Faerie as a baby. Maybe I’ll try finding my family. I’m good at finding lost things.”

  “I know. I was one of them.” Cary stroked his hand. Ty snorted in amusement and planted a quick kiss on his temple.

  “You’re not so bad at it yourself,” he said in a playful tone that was somewhat belied by his earnest expression. “And you’re damn persistent when you want something.”

  “That’s one way to call it,” Cary said. He pushed himself up on one elbow, looking down at Ty’s flushed face. “Maybe…we could figure out all these things together?” When Ty didn’t answer right away, he added in a rush, “I mean, you could teach me how to use my magic properly, and that could be useful, right? We could be a team—”

  “What about your show?”

  “I would still do that. It’s going rather well, actually.”

  “As long as you don’t overdo it,” Ty said gently.

  Cary sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll be careful.”

  The temptation to explore his newfound powers was great, but he’d witnessed too much horror not to realize he had to tread that path very carefully. The last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of another overambitious sorcerer or mob boss. From what he’d heard (after inquiring very discreetly), Tony Giordano had moved to Washington, DC with his sister, but that didn’t mean there weren’t other people on the prowl with the idea of a magical boost to their aspirations.

  Ty cupped the side of his face and leaned in for another kiss that left them both a little bit breathless. When they finally drew apart, there was laughter in his warm hazel eyes—laughter and something so profoundly tender Cary’s heart melted all over again.

  “Well then, Incredible Mr. Mars. I think we’re going to make an excellent team.”

  About the Author

  A voracious reader from the age of five, Isabelle Adler has always dreamed of one day putting her own stories into writing. She loves traveling, art, and science, and finds inspiration in all of these. Her favorite genres include sci-fi, fantasy, and historical adventure. She also firmly believes in the unlimited powers of imagination and caffeine.

  Email: info@isabelleadler.com

  Twitter: @Isabelle_Adler

  Website: www.isabelleadler.com

  Other books by this author

  Adrift (Staying Afloat, book 1)

  The Castaway Prince

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