The Brotherhood - Believe It Or Not Part 3

Harrisonblinked in surprise. The vision vanished.

Huh. What was I just thinking about?

He turned in a slow circle, trying to put his finger on what he'd been pondering. So annoying when one forgot things like that.

What time is it? Blast. I'll be late. I can't miss this.

Grabbing the rest of what he needed -- keys, breath spray, and so forth --Harrison headed for the door.

He stopped briefly, prompted for some odd reason to check that his socks matched. Then, shaking his head, he moved on.

After the apartment door had closed, the small black catHarrison had ousted earlier minced into his office, preening her whiskers.

Silly man, to think locks and doors could keep her out.

Foolish man, not to believe in even the ordinary magic all cats possessed.

Very, very stupid man, not to recognize a big dog even when it wore a cat's body.

Lilith-the-cat hopped up ontoHarrison 's computer chair and summoned up the dissipating remnants of Martin's last e-mail. When she needed the mouse to scroll down, she s.h.i.+fted easily into her human form, long black nails clicking onHarrison 's scrupulously clean desk. In her opinion, when she wore feline shape, mice were only good forone thing.

"Well, well, well," she murmured. Like her son, Lilith talked to herself and didn't give a d.a.m.n what people might think. "Not bad, Liam. You've got b.a.l.l.s, son, trying to match these two. You'll make me allkinds of proud if you don't watch out. But, okay, fine. I'm not touching the rest of that crowd with a ten-foot pogo stick; they're all yours. I think I'll have a little fun with these two guys, though."

She grinned the sort of grin that would have sent linebackers running away in tears. "No need to let sonny-boy know I'm fiddling around unless I have to, I think. And I don't believe I will. Oh, yeah. This should be fun."

s.h.i.+fting back into cat form, Lilith licked one paw, tapped the air, and created a portal. She hopped through with a flick of her tail, headed for Amour Magique.

And they said you couldn't find quality entertainment anymore.

Chapter Two.

"Well, that was amusing," Martin murmured.

Satisfied with how the night's work had begun, he closed the lid of his sparkling new laptop and carelessly shoved it onto an overflowing nightstand. In doing so, he knocked over a half full cup of tea, three unlit tallow candles, a small silver bell, a plastic figurine of a black cat, and a nearly new bottle of lubricant. The entire collection landed with a tremendous clatter and made one h.e.l.l of a mess.

"Oh, honestly." Martin clicked his tongue. Just his luck. Taken individually, the a.s.sortment of junk was harmless trinkets. However, the way they'd landed, the items had come together as perfectly arranged elements of a spell. Couldn't just tidy them up. They were already humming with magic, and nature hated a vacuum. The energy had to be used for some purpose.

Leaning over the edge of his bed, kicking aside rich purple sheets in annoyance, Martin examined the grouping. It appeared there were two ways the spell's power could be directed. He could summon up a panther, but the animal would probably be more than a little p.i.s.sed off at being magically yanked away from his jungle. Cats had their own brand of sorcery and didn't take kindly to others tangling in their affairs.

His second option would be to conjure up a full English high tea with little cakes in the shape of tabby cats.

What to do, what to do?Releasing a peeved panther in Amour Magique would be tons of fun; on the other hand, he could really use a snack.

In the end Martin opted for munchies over mayhem, and with a wave of his hand -- purely for show, even if there was no one else there to see it -- rolled in his own version of room service. Mmm. Smelled good.

Taking a hearty bite of a watercress sandwich laced with wasabi, Martin reflected that if he'd just let the cleaning staff of Amour Magique into his rooms to tidy up, as management was always pestering him to do, he wouldn't get himself into these situations.

As if.

Martin had nothing against housekeeping, but honestly, a man's home was his castle. He deserved atleast a little bit of privacy. And if an accidental spill of his own could conjure up bloodthirsty beasts, who knew what would happen if a member of the cleaning staff decided to dust off his Work table where he composed most of his spells or poked a bit of this or that to see if it was "real" magic?

Shudder. No, thank you.

He put the thought from his mind as he selected a scone, slathered it with raspberry jam, and bit in with relish. There were other, more enjoyable things to occupy his thoughts with.

For one, Harrison.

Martin hummed around a mouthful of raspberry goodness.Harrison had first caught his eye when another, lesser magician had offered Martin one ofHarrison 's books as a joke. Martin had been bored to tears by the dust-dry babble about physics and practical applications of science and yet highly entertained, too. He'd never met a man so utterly stubborn in his belief that if something could not be scientifically or laboratory-proved, it did not exist.

Ignorant scholar. Naive expert.Harrison really had no clue, did he?

Or perhaps he did, and deliberately blinded himself. Probably six of one and a half-dozen of the other.

Martin shrugged as he finished his sweet and reached for a dainty china cup of good strong Earl Grey.

Two sugars and a dab of cream. After all, he didn't have to worry about gaining weight, just as he didn't have to concern himself with wrinkles or silver hairs.

He hadn't changed in the slightest since first entering Amour Magique over two hundred years ago. A nice little perk for those employees so inclined to take advantage.

Martin, who knew he was vain as a peac.o.c.k, had happily opted to stay forever young. Who'd get old and wizened when they could stay young and pretty? Besides, fresh-faced innocence worked to his advantage. People who didn't know him didn't take him seriously. He liked keeping them off their guard.

All the better to really get them good if need be.

Draining the tea, Martin set his tray aside, balancing it on the laptop. If there were any crumbs or spills, he could always conjure up a new computer. It wasn't as if he needed an actual machine to cruise the Internet or send e-mail, anyway; he simply enjoyed doing so.

But what had he been thinking about? Ah, yes.Harrison . Martin had first been attracted to the man's mind, entertained by his mulish insistence that nothing but the concrete physical could possibly exist. He'd entertained ideas of teachingHarrison a lesson or two that would send the man screaming into the night.

Then, he'd seen the frontispiece on the book and decided he'd rather haveHarrison screaming in his bed.

Although he knew the man's features by heart, Martin summoned the well-thumbed book into his hands and flipped it open to the picture page. "Yes, you are delicious, aren't you?"

Exactly the type he went for.Harrison had a definite appeal even in a black and white photo. Tall and solid, with the promise of delicious muscles -- no doubt the man exercised according to a scientifically calculated regimen. A face that was not handsome but unique and interesting. A great deal of character inthose features, no matter howHarrison tried to squash it down. Eyes wide enough to see miracles if he'd only let himself look for them, and a generous mouth made for spinning yarns instead of dry lectures, not to mention kissing, sucking, nibbling, and other good things.

As icing on the cake, he had a dimple in his chin that Martin found positively cute.

A proud man in the eyes of the world, to be sure. Accustomed to being dominant. To being paid attention to. To being respected.

Martin glanced slyly at the selection of floggers, paddles, cuffs, and chains enticingly displayed on his wall. Ooh, it had been ages since he'd gotten to play with a virgin to dominance and submission. And he had a feelingHarrison would absolutely love Martin's kind of games if the man'd let his hair down. The big man had occasionally given away hints in his e-mails, the sort of things most people would overlook, which betrayed his conflicting fantasies of being mastered yet steadfastly refusing to bow his head to anyone. Martin loved dichotomies, the two sides of every coin.

The challenge of leadingHarrison to a place under the lash, a place Martin was certain he'd love in the end, would be a blast. It would be sweet, very sweet, to see him on his knees begging for whatever his Master chose to give. Although Martin might be slight, boyish, and blond; didn't live the lifestyle twenty-four/seven; and didn't indulge very often, he was one of the better Doms that Amour Magique could boast. Under Martin's hands as the Magician took charge,Harrison would find tremendous release.

In letting go, the scholar could find peace.

It would have been tempting to lureHarrison in on his own, but that was taken care of. So fortunate that Liam had arranged forHarrison to visit the club. And oh, boy, didn't Martin know all about Liam, having watched his deal with Silas in secret, then seen and felt the power in the Tear Liam had traded. Martin had been the one to magically affix that Tear over the door to Amour Magique. Not much scared the Magician, but he'd been on pins and needles handling that little baby. Brrr.

b.a.l.l.sy move on the little guy's part, though. It would've been chancy for all of them if the Tear had rejected Amour Magique, much as a human body would refuse to accept a transplanted organ. Big-time risks, oh, yeah.

But they'd gotten lucky. The Tear had settled right in. Great for business, attracting not only humans but also every paranormal being within spitting distance. Martin chuckled. Lord, if he were the type to feed off s.e.xual energy, his powers would be fatter than a pig ripe for slaughter. He'd gotten a major kick out of watching the men in the club go absolutely ape-s.h.i.+t in their blind l.u.s.t for one another under the Tear's influence.

Whether he believed it or believed it not,Harrison would get a big whacking dose of that good old lovin'

feeling when he walked into Amour Magique. l.u.s.t, along with the little spell Martin had cast earlier in his e-mail, should haveHarrison just about ripe for the plucking.

So far, so good.

Martin glanced across his chamber to his rather nice rococo clock which, although well-aged, still kept perfect time. There were things he was sure Silas -- the current manager, though the man persisted in presenting himself to the club's patrons as the owner -- would want him doing just then, but who cared about Silas? Martin knew how to do his job, he did it well, and the way he figured things, he still had plenty of time to laze around and enjoy himself. Speaking of which...

He thought about coins again. One of the tenets by which Martin worked was that every coin had two sides. The path of destiny had innumerable forks and branches. For everything that was, there were a thousand could-have-beens. People never knew until they acted how things could have been different.

Martin, on the other hand, could almost always look forward down any path he cared to and see what lay in store with one choice or another. Chuckling softly, he opened his Third Eye, which lent him magical sight, and selected a trail that would lead to a vision of what he most desired. A happy dream of something thatcould come to pa.s.s if he played his cards right.

Ah. Yes. There.

Martin saw the vision play out:

Harrison had come, as bidden, to Martin's chambers, obedient as a puppy and just as eager for affection from his Master. He was the bigger of them, far more powerful through the shoulders, but that made it all the more exciting to see him on his knees, head lowered and hands splayed out on his thighs.

"I believe," he said quietly. "You asked me, sir, what I thought. I've decided. I believe."

Martin indulged himself by running his fingers through Harrison's curly hair, tousling it into a mess. An adorable mess. "Good, pet. I believe you've earned a treat."

"Master?"

"Service me." Martin's hands went to the fastenings of the black jeans he favored. His c.o.c.k was hard, pressing against the zipper. "Take my d.i.c.k in your mouth and suck me off. If you please me -- if -- I'll give you something else. A tight ring to prevent you from coming while I lash your back with the suede flogger. I'll drive you until you break, and if I feel you've earned it, I'll let you climax. There. How does that sound?"

Harrison, deliciously humbled, quivered with antic.i.p.ation. "Yes, sir. Please, sir, let me taste your c.o.c.k."

"Since you ask so nicely." Martin freed his p.r.i.c.k and regarded it with pride. He rather enjoyed being well-hung. CouldHarrisontake the whole organ into his mouth? It would be interesting to find out. He thrust his d.i.c.k atHarrison's eagerly parting lips. "Go on, pet. Suck."

Wet heat closed around his c.o.c.k, and a tongue remembering long-unused skills began to lick, to taste, to please...

Martin shut his Third Eye with a contented sigh. Then, he laughed. Anyone who knewHarrison would call Martin insane for thinking such a scenario was even remotely possible. Ah, but they couldn'tSee what might be, could they? Harrison had a sub's heart, just waiting to be uncovered, to go there and even further, and Martin was looking forward to a good evening's worth of exploration.

After they got the annoying wrangling over real and not real over with, that is. Pity he couldn't just throw the man down and get started. Maybe he would. Either way, bendingHarrison until he broke his self-imposed chains would be worth the trouble.

This would be f.u.c.kinggreat .

"Guess I'd better get on with things before Silas strokes out," Martin said aloud as he rolled his eyes.

"Work, work, work."

He slipped out of bed and picked up his cast-aside black jeans and selected a black T-s.h.i.+rt out of a pile of clothes that he'd washed but never gotten around to putting away. So he was a bit of a slob. Anyone who objected could sue him or bite him. He really didn't care which.

The simple outfit should have been enough, but Silas insisted on an extra bit of frippery when Martin went out into the public eye: a long purple cloak with a high Dracula collar. As if any self-respecting magician with an ounce of dress sense would wear such a thing of their own free will. Still, Silas had given the order, and it didn't make Martin looktoo silly.

He hoped.

Martin exited his chamber. One of Amour Magique's portals waited obediently for him, but he waved it aside. "No thanks, friend," he said, careful to be kind. The portals were intelligent beings in their own way. "Maybe next time. You know I like to walk."

He got a sense of drooping disappointment from the portal before it shrank to a tiny black dot and vanished. Poor thing. All it wanted to do was please. Ah, well, he'd make it up to the portal later.

For those who walked, the way into the Heart of Amour Magique could be a nightmarish tangle.

However, Martin had had two hundred plus years to get familiar with the twisting paths and found his way with ease.

Duck under this set of pipes, go through the fake wall there, twist the bronze duck on this set of bookcases, up a flight of marble stairs, and voila.

The living, breathing Heart of Amour Magique. The "soul," for lack of a better word, belonging to its ever-changing body.

Right then the room it inhabited resembled the inside of a submarine, all dull gray paint and rivets, with a swampy, salty stench. Hmm. A bit cranky, was it? Usually the Heart liked hanging out in a nice, restful place with soft colors and cushy seats.

"h.e.l.lo, old boy," Martin greeted the club's intelligence, a little concerned. With the Magician, at least, the Heart liked to be addressed as male. "How's it hanging? Anything wrong?"

"There you are," Silas blurted, popping through a door on the opposite side. The mook tripped on his way in and staggered like a drunken man until he regained balance.

"Silas," Martin said wryly. "Martin, jeez, you've got to stop farting around like the whole world's gonna wait for you. G.o.d, you nearly gave me a heart attack, sitting here. There's already guys lined up two deep around the block -- twice, man, the line frigging wraps around twice -- and more coming, and you just stroll in here now?"

d.a.m.n. Silas, who thought he was far more important than he really happened to be, looked like he was just about ready to rip Martin a new hole.

Not exactly a new look on him.

One of these days, Martin decided -- not for the first time -- he'd get rid of some steam, have a little fun, and scare the literal s.h.i.+t out of Silas. The little p.r.i.c.k deserved a spanking, and not the good kind.

Not that night, though. Martin had bigger fish to fry, as it were, and Silas would just have to be swatted aside like the annoying gnat he was. "Calm down, Si, or you'll blow a blood vessel. I had a few things to take care of, and it's not like I'm actually late."

"Burst a blood vessel?" Silas snapped. "I should be so lucky, if that's all that would happen to me! But, no, I have to deal with you crackpot wizards and portals and elves and trolls and vampires and werewolves and now a friggin' incubus, of all G.o.d's creatures."

"Mmm. I don't think G.o.d had much to do with Liam's creation. Besides, you were pretty eager to do business with him when it came to the Tear, weren't you?"

Silas went brick red and grumbled something about "expanding profit margins."

Martin snickered silently. If you cut Silas, he would bleed greenbacks.

"Okay!" Martin clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Time to do that old black magic I do so well."