Ink and Shadows (23 page)

“I’m not,” Lust remarked, tilting his head back to watch a stream of shadows overhead. “Look at how thin the Veil is. Things are going to start crawling out really soon. I don’t want to be here when that happens.”

All around him, Lust felt the pull of humans on his calling, their covetous nature hooking into him and yanking small pieces of his control back and forth. He ignored them all, concentrating on the need trapped behind the thin painted door to Kismet’s private hell.

“Can’t you feel the tightness of the mortal world on you? That sticky wrapping on your face when you walk? I’ve never felt it so thin. Not like this. It’s incredible.” Lust fought the pull of a couple walking down the street, their hands intertwined. Their fingers winked gold, the rings’ matching bands wrapped around other fingers far from their mates. “Someone’s done something that he shouldn’t have. There’s something wrong with this one.”

Kismet’s soul literally wept with need, and Lust’s cock twitched in response, nipples tingling beneath the rub of his shirt. Kismet’s wants were nearly overpowering, energizing Lust down to his bones. “I want to know what’s going on. Use it if we have to.”

“Use it how?” Gluttony’s eyebrow crooked, a thick golden stud waggling in his nearly ebony skin.
“It’s not like we can auction him off.”

Squat bodied and rounded, his face naturally creased in a smile, dimpled and merry. Never lacking company, he often shadowed Lust, moving through the world of the humans with a practiced ease. Chasing after the thinning Veil and the mortal at the center of it didn’t make much sense to Gluttony, but he was willing to see it through, more out of loyalty to his brother than anything else.

“I don’t know,” Lust admitted with a casual shrug. “And maybe auctioning him off isn’t a bad idea.”

The other Vice prodded at the bony remains of a wraith. In a few days, under the glare of harsh sunlight, it would disperse, leaving nothing behind. The creature’s skull bore the marks of several blows. Gluttony poked his fat fingers through its eye sockets, nearly jumping back when a tendril slithered out of the hole.

“Why are you doing this?” Gluttony looked up from the wraith’s bones. “Why are you dragging me into this with you?”

“Why do I have to explain everything to you?” Lust hissed between his teeth, exasperated at his brother’s apathy. “This kid is important. I don’t know why, but I can feel him pulling at me, and it’s like kissing a star.”

“And you think this kid will do what for you?” the Vice asked, poking at a lingering tendril of inky blackness lying on the broken cement walk. It dissipated under the touch, unable to hold it cohesion when struck with flesh.

“Think on it. We’re more vital than any of the immortals, but we’re relegated to the back of the bus, sucking on the scraps of fame they might toss to us, like dried chicken bones leftover from a stew,” Lust said. “This kid is worth something. If we have control over him, who knows what we can do?”

“If we’re so important—” Gluttony leaned against the wall of the building, sniffing at the remnants of carnage caught along the Veil’s stickiness—“then why are we hiding here in the shadows sniffing around a human that probably will be more trouble than he’s worth?”

Lust replied, “Shut up and help me do this.”

Kismet, lost in the scent of acrylics and the images unfolding in his head, continued to paint, dipping brush strokes into his nightmares, then onto the canvas. Lust inhaled deeply, filling his body with the scent of the artist’s pain, cut sweet with the powerful drive of hidden passions. So much lay beneath the surface, pushed down deep below Kismet’s conscious thoughts, nailed down into a coffin of denial. The loss of family hung a shroud over the young man’s eyes, a loneliness haunting him. Narrow shoulder blades worked furiously beneath Kismet’s thin T-shirt, arcing motions dipping bony wings beneath the cotton.

The Vice jiggled the knob, hearing it rattle in his hand. His temptation to just walk in was strong, but Lust wanted to draw this moment out, savor something instead of consuming it whole. If he played the boy’s emotions right, Lust could have the artist eating out of his hand, willing to do anything to satisfy him. “I just want for us.”

“You should have been Envy.” His brother shook off Lust’s jealousy with a wave of his fat hand. “Why aren’t you satisfied with what we have? You’d never get any peace, always bobbing about to deal with bigger things.”

“Don’t even talk to me about Peace.” The Vice stroked at the door separating him from the artist. “What a weak piece of shit.”

“Everyone has their use, even Peace,” Gluttony reminded him. “You don’t have any idea what this kid can be used for, do you?”

“No, not yet.” A patter echoed under Lust’s fingertips, drumming a pattern along the doorjamb. “But I have to get ahold of him before any of the others do. Someone wants him bad. Bad enough to change the world.”

“He probably did it to himself. A Ouija board and chicken blood. That’s what we’ll find inside.”
Gluttony worried at his lip, pulling at it with his teeth. “Someone’s going to end up paying for that. Probably him.”

“No, he’s not,” the Vice disagreed. “He’s human. Free will, remember? Every damned thing they do is their choice. Chances are someone’s been sent to stop him from being, and something wrong happened.”

“That kid inside isn’t worth anything more than any of the other specks of meat on this Earth.” Gluttony edged past Lust, peering through the crack in the curtains. “He doesn’t look like much. Pretty but just another mortal.”

“Look around you, brother. There’s a wraith carcass at our feet. Battles are going to be fought over this one. We’d be stupid not to take advantage of that.” Lust looked up at the sky again, seeing the cloud breaking apart and reforming into a larger stormy horror. “If we don’t move, we’re going to be caught in the middle of a war that neither one of us can win.”

“Better hurry, then,” Gluttony fretted. He was ill suited for ambition, preferring a quiet life spent among mortals who knew how to indulge. Lust’s need for recognition from the others perplexed him, something Gluttony secretly felt would be his brother’s downfall.

“Want to keep an eye out for our peeping Tom across the courtyard? If he comes in after the boy, we’ll have to do something about him.” Lust’s knuckles dragged along the rough surface of the stucco, barking the skin. The pain felt good, a familiar sour bite on his tongue. Pressing his moist mouth on the dirty windowpane, Lust breathed, a smoky mist clouding the glass. “Open the door, pretty boy. Open the door for me.”

Kismet’s face caught the light as he turned, hearing the call whispering under the door. Fingers trailing over the fold of his elbow, he stumbled back from the half-imagined dream, acrylics muddied from colors run together. Lust stepped in, slithering away from the noise of the street, sliding his hand around the door’s edge and pulling it shut. There was a snick of the bolt mechanism hitting the strike plate, hanging before sliding into the hole gouged out by a screwdriver.

“
Someone’s come knocking, Kiz
.” Chase’s silvery voice worked into the curve of Kismet’s eardrum, rattling around with a steel ring pitch. The young artist winced, screwing down his teeth over his bottom lip until he could taste the sharpness of his own blood.

“Shut up. God, can’t you just shut the fuck up?” Kismet’s fingernails scraped at his own cheeks. Savagely opening up his flesh, Kismet tried to bury his brother’s voice in pain, shoving Chase’s digging whispers behind the sting.

“
You want me to shut up? Like that night
?” Chase drew closer, his form wavering and nearly lost in the waves of agony burning through Kismet. “
I shut up then, Kizzie. And you didn’t even wake up to
watch me die
.”

“That wasn’t my fault.” Kismet stepped away from the canvas he’d painted, catching his foot on a lump in the carpet. “God, I was a kid. We both were kids. You’re not even real. Fuck, why the hell am I talking to myself?”

When the door cracked open, he turned, seeing the two men in the doorway. His blood screamed as it sucked the last few grains of heroin from its reserves, burning through the drugged peace, leaving nothing behind.

Lust stood for a moment, letting his essence enrapture the young man, reaching out with trembling fingertips. Sliding his hand into Kismet’s shaggy mane, he leaned in close, catching the last hot breath from the young man’s mouth, drawing it into his own. The Vice reveled in Kismet’s chemical craving, the sharp sourness of his blood run thin with tarry powders. The boy no longer felt human. He’d be forever caught behind the Veil. That excited Lust to no end.

The floor lay scattered with discarded clothes and several pizza boxes, white cardboard hardened from dried moisture. A locker’s lid held evidence of Kismet’s addiction, the burned bottom of a cut-off aluminum can scorched from use, its crease smoky from heated liquids. Lust grabbed the boy’s arm, then turned Kismet around as Gluttony came through the door, his eye still fixed on the mortal watching through the curtains across the way.

“Who are you?” Kismet shook off Lust’s hands, distancing himself from the Vice.

“Baby, you’ve known me all of your life.” The Vice slid his arms around the young man’s waist, fitting his body against the slender curve of Kismet’s hips. “I’m pretty sure if I were a god, you’d be one of my priests.”

“Get out.” There was something about the man that was confusing. His thoughts were muddied, even more so than with the heroin lingering in his system.

Lust wrapped his influence around the young man, tilting the world onto its side. “You don’t want me to leave, baby.”

“What the hell is this?” The large black man skidded, brought short by the paintings leaning haphazardly against the far wall. “Lust, what have you pulled us into?”

Screaming mouths emerged from bloody skies, wings feathered with slender scales arcing over
crumbled bodies, arms wrapped tight around broken heads. Skulls floated free of undefined limbs,
soaked through with tears, sorrow dripping from fingers bent back in pain. Wraiths howled in glee,
reaching out to the spectator just behind the painter. The entire world of the Veiled lay thick on canvas,
captured in the fluid horror of a young man’s madness, held at bay just outside of his control.

“He’s just insane,” Gluttony whispered, voice muted at the collection of his world in simple strong strokes. “He’s just like those other humans.”

“No, he’s not,” Lust insisted. “He’s immortal but without a calling. Feel him. How fucking cool is that?”

“You’re the one that’s insane, Lust. Look at this stuff. He’s gone over the edge. There’s nothing human left in him. The shadows have eaten it all,” Gluttony said, stepping farther into the room.

He approached Kismet’s newest creation. Long sheaves of wheat blotted harsh with boiled pinks and browns, dots of cornflower fighting against the strong hues of a diseased mauve. The hint of gold circles surrounded the dots, a floating sheen below clouds of squirming worms dripping from a rotted sky. “I know that face. I’ve seen that face before.”

“You know, I can hear you.” Kismet wove, nearly tumbling off his feet. “I’m right here, bastards. I’m just a little stoned.”

“Baby, I need you to be quiet.” Lust stroked the young man’s face, wrapping his influence around Kismet’s soul. “I need to think.”

Kismet resisted, dragging his feet on the floor. The heroin he injected numbed his body, but his mind was racing. Kismet felt Lust’s manipulations, knew the man was doing something to him but didn’t have the strength to fight it off. Erotic tendrils set his blood on fire, and Kismet purred under Lust’s wandering hands. As the Vice’s influence grew, it reached deep inside of the young man, breaking him down.

“Like giving candy to a baby.” Lust ran his lips over Kismet’s mouth, tasting the other man’s sweet
breath. “Gods, you are so one of mine.”

“I think it’s supposed to be the new Pestilence.”

Lust gave a quick glance at the painting, shoving at Kismet’s back, trying to get the young man out of the door. “He must have seen them, the Horsemen. That’s probably who tore apart that wraith outside.”

“Well, that’s it, then. Time to go. I’m not facing one of the Four. And I sure as hell am not going to stick around to see if those shadows are coming after him.” Gluttony pulled on his brother’s shirt, ignoring the young man. “Let’s find a calling far from here and just get there.”

“He can’t follow us.” Lust’s green eyes gleamed. “Feel around inside of him. He’s one of us but not one of us.”

“Then forget him. He’s the last thing you need on you right now.” The Vice gripped his brother’s
shirt, hauling Lust close. “I’m not going to cross the Horsemen just because you want something you
shouldn’t have.”

“We’ll make a run for it.” Lust shook Gluttony off. “We can hide among mortals until I can get us someplace safe.”

“We really don’t have a place to hide,” Kismet rasped, husky voice velvet and dark. Fervor gleamed in his eye, the altered heroin working through his blood. The addiction fed, he nearly collapsed in Lust’s arms, his limbs refusing to cooperate. “Can’t stand well. And the shadows keep coming at me. They shouldn’t. I’m stoned. They should leave me alone.”

“Yes, I’m going with crazy.” Gluttony threw open the door, reaching out with his mind for a human’s call, looking for something far away from the motel’s cramped courtyard. “I’ll see you later, brother. Well, either you or whoever takes your place when the Four are done with you.”

“Fucking bastard. Come back here!” Lust swore, grabbing at empty space when Gluttony rushed on to the call he found, his round body easing into the Veil’s folds, disappearing to someplace else. “Who helped you when you fell into that mess with the Virtues? I’ll keep the boy hidden.”

“I really need to stay. I have my stuff here.” Kismet shook his head, steadying himself on Lust’s shoulders. “Someone will take my stuff.”

“We are not hidden here, pretty.” Lust curled up close into Kismet’s body, feeling down the length of his thighs. The Vice grinned broadly at the thickening between his fingers, mouth hovering near Kismet’s parted lips. “I’ll just keep you drowned in me. That’ll hide you from any of others. Chances are you’re not going to call one of the Horsemen.”