Right Hand Magic (32 page)

“Everybody’s staring at us,” I whispered.

“Let them go ahead and stare,” he replied. “It’s time certain things changed in Golgotham. Here’s to our first night out as a couple.” He touched his glass to mine. “And many more ahead.”

“I’ll drink to that.” I smiled. “Here’s to the right kind of change—for both of us.”

“You know my people can read auras, right? That means we can see the energy those around us give off, both positive and negative. Do you know what I saw the first time I met you?”

“A nump?”

“You have
never
been a nump in my eyes—and you never will be,” he said emphatically. “No, what I saw was a beautiful halo about your head. It looked like a hybrid of a sunflower, a stained glass window, and a mandala, and it spun and pulsed like a kaleidoscope. I’ve never seen anything like it before. That’s why I automatically assumed you were a psychic or a medium. When you said you weren’t, something inside me said,
This woman is worth knowing
. I knew right then and there, no matter what, you and I were destined to be together.”

“That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. Most guys would just say, ‘I thought you were really hot.’ ”

“Well, that, too,” he said, winking at me over the rim of his champagne glass.

The bandleader—a dapper-looking huldu with a gray goatee—gave a short downstroke, directing his ensemble with the cow’s tail hanging from the special vent in the back of his dress pants. The band promptly launched into an up-tempo Glenn Miller cover orchestrated for panpipes, lyre, aulos, bodhran drum, and didgeridoo. It should have been an unholy cacophony, but somehow it worked. Several couples got up from their seats and headed for the dance floor.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

“I’d love to,” I replied, offering him my hand.

He gallantly wrapped my arm about his and escorted me to the open dance floor. He watched the dancing couples as they twirled past, waiting for an opening, then quickly stepped in to join the crowd, drawing me in after him. He pulled me close against him, resting his hand against my hip as we circled the floor, the other dancers pressing in against us. I could feel him burning against my thigh like a banked coal, so I moved so that my own heat pressed against him. It was as if we were locked together below the waist, joined at heart, hand, and loin.

No wonder I’d had such lousy luck in the romance department in the past—all my previous lovers had been human. And not one of them would have been willing to die to save my life; of that I’m certain. Hell, most of them couldn’t be bothered to put the toilet seat down. Although, to be fair, I probably wouldn’t have jeopardized my life for any of them, either. But as I looked up into his golden eyes, shimmering like twin suns, I knew there was nothing I would not dare for my warlock prince.

 

 

We began undressing each other the moment we entered the door. I hungrily kissed his face and neck as I loosened his tie, while he reached behind me and fumbled with my zipper.

“It’s about
time
you two got back,” Scratch commented acidly from his guard post atop the liquor cabinet. “Lukas took Hello Kitty out to the movies.”

“Beat it, Scratch!” Hexe said, flapping his tie at the familiar. “Scat!”

“I
beg
your pardon?” the familiar sniffed.

“You heard me! Go sleep in Lukas’s room tonight.”

“Oh, you’re doing
that
again, huh?” Scratch said, rolling his eyes in disgust. “You mortals and your revolting mating habits!” With that, the familiar snapped open his batlike wings and flapped out of the room.

“Your place or mine?” I winked, kicking off my Choos.

“Mine.” He grinned. “I have my own bathroom.”

“I
knew
there were perks to fooling around with the landlord!”

Before I was halfway to the stairs, Hexe scooped me up in his arms, taking the risers two at a time, both of us whooping and laughing the whole way. I was impressed by his strength and how effortlessly he carried me, as if I were a doll.

Hexe’s bedroom was at the very end of the second-floor hallway, overlooking the garden. He gave the door a kick with his foot, and it swung open to reveal a room twice the size of mine. In the center of the room was a king-sized four-poster, with bedknobs shaped like owls.

As he set my bare feet back onto the floor, I gave him a deep, wet kiss, lolling my tongue around in his mouth. We stumbled toward the bed, our clothes falling along the way, and we tumbled onto the sheets, giggling like children at play.

He raised himself on one elbow and looked down at me, smoothing my hair out of my face with his wizard’s hand. I, in turn, ran my fingers over his shoulders, his neck, and across his hairless chest, exploring his physique with my sculptor’s touch.

Where my mother would look at Hexe and view him as “inhuman” or “deformed” because of his cat-slit pupils, extra fingers, and strangely colored hair, I exulted in his otherness. I didn’t set out to fall in love with Hexe; yet here I was, trembling in his arms as if I had never been with a man before in my life. I wrapped my five fingers about his six.

He seemed to know exactly how far I needed to go, and he steered me there as slowly as he could, making my desire double up against itself, until I was writhing beneath him, hanging suspended from a precipice. I gave voice to something between a laugh and a moan as I dissolved into ecstatic relief, wrapping my legs about him while he buried his face in my hair.

When it was over, he rolled onto his back and pulled me to him, so that my head rested on his bare chest. He gestured with his right hand, and flowers leaped from his fingertips. Slowly they drifted through the air, filling the room with their delicate perfume. I watched in quiet amazement as the blossoms slowly dissolved, their beautiful colors fading like a rainbow in the sun, until they became lacy whiffs of pale gray smoke. We lay like that, our limbs loosely wrapped about each other, for the rest of the night, exchanging whispers and kisses, until the morning star was lost in the lightening sky.

 

 

I awoke the next day to find myself staring up at a painting on the ceiling depicting a group of beautiful young Kymeran women draped in diaphanous veils, dancing among rose tendrils. Comets shot across the blue sky above the carefree dancers, while at the very epicenter was a dragon, rising from a pillar of flame.

Hexe lay curled beside me, his naked body as pale and pure as marble in the early-morning light. I sat there for a long moment and watched him sleep, drinking in the sight of him. Now that I was able to view his naked body in full daylight, I was pleased to see that all his hair was the same shade of purple as that on his head. His splendid physique would make a wonderful subject for a statue. . . . With a start, I realized that Hexe’s body was an exact flesh-and-blood double for that of the original
Dying Gaul.

How strange I should find myself in bed with a man who bore such a strong resemblance to the statue that first sparked my imagination and curiosity, all those years ago, and inspired me to become the artist I had now become. Then again, Golgotham was the place for strange things. And there was nothing stranger than love. Although we were born of wildly different cultures, there was something in our hearts and brains that drew us together and kept us there. I could no more cease to love him than I could cease to breathe.

Since it was still relatively early, I thought I would surprise Hexe by making breakfast. I remembered the Mexican clay-pot coffee he’d made for me, and I decided to return the favor. I went back to my own room and slipped into a T-shirt and jeans, then headed downstairs.

A quick inventory of the kitchen pantry informed me we were out of coffee and milk. The nearest corner market was Dumo’s, two blocks away on the corner of Horsecart Street and Beekman. I could get there and back in plenty of time before Hexe woke up. I grabbed my coat—still crumpled on the floor from the night before—and headed out on my grocery run.

It was a beautiful fall day in the city. It wouldn’t be long before winter would arrive, muffling the streets under blankets of slush and snow. But until then, the sky was blue and clear, the air crisp and refreshing. I tilted my head back, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of sunshine on my face. It was funny how being in love made everything seem just a little bit special, as if the world had been washed clean for my benefit, and presented to me sparkling new.

Due to the nocturnal habits of the majority of my neighbors, the streets at that time of day were largely empty, save for the Teamsters making their deliveries to the various restaurants and other businesses. That was why it took me only five minutes to find and buy the ingredients I needed at Dumo’s.

As I stepped out of the store, I happened to glance across the street where I saw a chestnut centaur hitched to a delivery wagon and recognized the burly upper torso of Kidron’s brother, Rowdy. Judging from the furniture on the back of the wagon, he was either moving someone in or out of one of the row houses lining Horsecart Street.

I was about to call out a greeting to the centaur when I spotted yet another familiar face. It belonged to Greer Bartholomew, aka Bartho, the photographer I’d met at my art opening. He was talking to Sylvester, the ipotane, directing him as to the order in which he wanted his belongings removed from the wagon. From the look on Syl’s face, Bartho was going to be damned lucky if, by the end of the day, he could sit down on anything without it collapsing. I turned and hurried back in the direction of home. I didn’t want Hexe to wake up and find me gone.

Upon returning, I set about preparing a fresh batch of Mexican clay-pot coffee and tried not to dwell on what the arrival of another artist—and fellow human—in my immediate neighborhood signified. On the upside, the leprechauns would have someone else to throw beer bottles at. But what was the downside? Maybe Uncle Esau was right, after all. Perhaps I
was
the harbinger of destruction.

“There you are! I thought I heard someone rattling those pots and pans.”

Hexe, his hair still tousled from the bed, was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, dressed in a silk dressing gown the color of wine and embroidered with dragons.

“I wanted to make us coffee,” I explained, pouring the fragrant mixture through the strainer. “I
was
going to serve it to you in bed, but since you’re already up . . .”

“I can think of better things to do in bed than drink coffee.” He gave me a languid smile. “I
could
use a little pick-me-up after last night, though.” He stepped behind me, nuzzling the nape of my neck. I leaned back, relishing the feel of his strong arms encircling my waist. “Is something wrong? I saw you frowning when I walked in.”

I shrugged my shoulders as I poured out two steaming cups of the delicious brew. “It’s nothing. There’s a storm coming, that’s all.”

“Really?” Hexe glanced out the kitchen window at the clear autumn sky. “I don’t see any clouds. ...”

“It’s still in the distance, but it’s on its way. I can feel it.”

“I love lying in bed on a lazy, rainy day.” He smiled. “Besides, as long as we’re together, it doesn’t really matter what’s going on outside my door. I don’t care if the world comes to an end, as long I’m with you.”

Had that speech come from anyone else’s mouth, I would have snorted and said something snarky. Instead, I wrapped my arms about him, resting my head against his chest. I could feel his heart beating, just for me, as mine now beat only for him. Whatever the future held for us, I knew that as long as it involved my loving him, and being loved by him, there was nothing to fear.

“You’re right,” I said as we headed back to bed with our coffee. “There’s no point in worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. Who knows which way the winds will blow? Perhaps the storm will pass us by altogether.”

Abdabs:
The frights/terrors; any number of creatures known for harassing/frightening humans. Used in Kymeran slang to connote annoyance, as in “Bloody abdabs!”

 

Ambi:
Someone who practices both Right and Left Hand disciplines.

 

Bastet:
A shape-shifting race taking the form of different big cats, such as tiger, lion, and panther. Also known as the Children of Bast.

 

Berskir:
A race of shape-shifters taking the form of various species of bear, such as grizzly, black bear, and polar bear.

 

Centauride:
A female centaur; also known as a centauress.

 

Charmer:
A wizard who creates charms for a living.

 

Chuff/Chuffing/Chuffed:
Euphemism for sexual intercourse.

 

Come-hither:
A spell that calls a man or woman against his or her will, often during sleep or in an altered state of consciousness. Because of this, the subjects of come-hithers rarely have any memory of what happened to them once the spell is lifted. This spell is a favorite of date rapists and stalkers.

 

Client:
Humans who pay to consult Kymeran witches and warlocks for any number of reasons.

 

Croggy:
A subordinate or acolyte.

 

Crossed:
Also known as cursed, afflicted, hexed, jinxed.

 

Dexter/Dexie:
Someone who practices Right Hand magic, such as lifting curses and curing ailments. Right Hand magic is protective/defensive, as opposed to Left Hand magic, which is malicious/offensive.

 

Dowser:
A psychic who specializes in finding lost things or locating fresh water.

 

Dunderwhelp:
A stupid or unwanted child.

 

Dysmorphophilia:
An inflicted preference for ugly sexual partners. A favorite curse among ex-wives whose former husbands have dumped them for a younger woman. Considered a nuisance curse.