Breaking Ties (11 page)

He snorts, scowls and makes his way downstairs while I fist-pump in victory. “Check and mate.”

I crack the beer and reposition in front of the screen. We don't have a couch yet, outside of James's futon which is across the room and takes too much trouble to move. The show returns from commercial break, showing a steamy bathroom, the shower running, and a curvaceous silhouette visible through the frosted glass.

“Hell yes. Houston, we have side-boob.” I take a swig of the beer, the door opening on the screen to show the kind of camera shot you usually only see on Cinemax, the steam clearing to reveal Secret's perfect—

Static.

Static?

“Oh
fuck
no!” I rush behind the screen, examining the cables, not really sure what to do if I find anything, considering that the TV works by magic, as far as I know.

“Spence?” I hear James on the other side. “Spence? You there?”

“James?” I make sure everything's plugged in the right places, to the furthest of my knowledge. “The TV's on the fritz, could you command it to work or something? And maybe rewind? I almost got to see Secret McQueen's breasts in high definition.” I head back around the TV to the screen. “Would've given me material for a few we—” I look around. “James?”

“Over here, Spence.” He sounds tired, but that's not what's shocking. What's shocking is that James is now on the screen, surrounded by a circle that's glowing with silver light in a room with red walls covered in Sigil that glows as well. His skin is pale, faint outlines of veins showing on his skin. “Spence, I'm in trouble.”

“James?” I tap the screen, which ripples like water, but doesn't give to my touch. “Why are you in the TV?” I suddenly grin wide. “Holy shit, are you in TV land? That's actually a place?”

I get a hard eye-roll from him. “I'm scrying, you idiot. This is like a phone call. The TV's the only reflective surface I figured you'd look at.”

I tilt my head. “How'd you know I'd be watching TV at this exact second?”

“You haven't shut up about that show for a week. I knew you'd be watching.” James takes a deep breath. “Spence, I don't know how long I can keep this going, so I'll make it simple. I've been taken by dragons, specifically their king, and I don't know where they've taken me.”

He has my attention. “Should I grab Dave? This seems like something he should get in on.”

“Dave would get in trouble if he were involved. He's on difficult footing with the council as it is, given that not only is he poor…”

I motion to the loft and the quarter-of-a-million-dollar skylight. “This is poor?”

“The other dragons call him the Impecunious. That means…”

“Too poor to bother conning. I know.” I shrug at his surprise. “Chain between imp and
S
in Scrabble and it's a bingo. So no Dave, you want me to get Ozzie? I'm surprised you contacted me instead of your boyfriend.”

James blinks, confused. “Okay, that came across a little bitter. As far as I know, Ozzie's meeting with his dad, and I have no idea where. I figured I'd find you here…”

“Sitting on my ass watching TV. Thanks.”

He glares suddenly. “Spencer? I'm being held captive. Do you think you could put the brakes on the bitchiness? I don't know what these guys are going to do. And considering you
were
sitting on your ass watching TV, you don't really have a leg to stand on in this.”

“I could decide to not help.” I close my eyes. It's not his fault he's into another guy. “Okay, okay. What do you need me to do?”

He leans forward, planting his hands on the floor to support himself, sweat beading on his brow. “I need you to go to my sanctum—”

“Storage locker.”

“Fuck you. Go to my sanctum and…” he coughs a couple times, “…I've got some notebooks there, and you should find a brick.”

“A brick?” My jaw drops slightly. “Why a brick?”

“I put a beacon spell on it, keyed to me. Bricks are made from stone and earth, so they hold enchantments well.”

“So you needed something you didn't have to conjure and it was the only thing around.” I get a middle finger for that. “So brick, notebooks, anything else?”

“Yeah. There's something down there that's wrapped in white silk. Be careful with it.” He gasps hard. “I can't keep this going. The beacon will…” He coughs, a bit of blood leaking from his nose. “Say ‘find' in Sigil, it should work even for—” The screen goes static again, then crackles, pops and goes dark.

Kitsune are mocking me, Fae have shot at me, Fate's put me on a job, there's an order of bigots who want to kill me, my mom replaced me with another kid, Dad's back in town, and now? Now James is being held captive by dragons.

A sidekick's work is never done.

Chapter Eleven

Spencer

December 19, 9:17 pm

No matter my opinion of James's boyfriend, I still give him a call, mostly because he has a car and I don't feel like calling my dad so soon. It doesn't take him long to get to the diner once I mention that James is in trouble, and I meet him outside to prevent Dave from finding out. I will tell the dragon if I can't mount a rescue in the next twelve hours.

Ozzie rolls up in his gunmetal Benz, and I get in before he even has a chance to say anything. He's dressed in a dark suit, beard and hair tied with black ribbon. “Jesus, Oz, someone die?”

He gives me a look that implies I shouldn't ask further. “Where am I going?” His gaze gets hard. “And this better not be a trick.”

“It's not a trick. James spoke to me through the TV and told me to retrieve magical artifacts from his storage locker.” I pause. “You know what? Just drive, because the more I tell the truth the less credible I sound.”

He does pull into what little traffic there is, the headlights on. The…ugh…zombies won't be out for another few hours, as they tend to start their shambling around midnight and do so until three in the morning. I don't know why James doesn't go out and blast a few to shreds every night; it's not like anyone would miss them and it's not like they're people or anything.

“So uh… How are things?”

Ozzie glances at me, a brow perked, and returns his attention to the road. “Regarding?”

“You and James. It's been six months, right?”

He nods, and I catch a hint of a smile there. “Yep.”

“Anything else to report?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing I'd tell a Coyote.” He's being relatively calm, considering that his boyfriend's being held captive, but then again, he was rational and in control when James was clinically dead right in front of him. Must be a Dwarf thing.

“Know anything about dragons that might help in tracking him down or busting him out?”

He shakes his head. “I figured you'd just talk them into releasing him, maybe exchange him for fake stock tips.” I catch his eye at that one. “Or maybe convince them to pay retail for a four-thousand-dollar home-theater system.” He grumbles. “Could've set that up at cost.”

“You care that much about me watching TV?”

At that, he keeps his gaze on the road. “Long as it keeps you from chasing my man? Yes.”

Okay, left field, meet Spencer. Spencer, left field. Pleased to meet you. Are you seeing anyone?

“I don't know what you're—”

“Every time James and I are in the same room within five feet of each other, you look away or don't make eye contact. When he turns around, you look at him. Your voice pitches a little higher when you're answering one of his questions. And you smile whenever he walks into the room like you haven't seen him in ten years. I'm not an idiot, Spencer, I have eyes, and I know when someone's sniffing around my boyfriend.” He exhales hard. “Do you love him?”

“Yeah.”

Holy fuck. Where did
that
come from? Not the tirade, the “yeah”. I mean, I don't
love
James, I just want a deeper friendship with him, that's all, to have his back, have him have mine, and be there for him for the important stuff and the petty inane shit that really matters at the end of the day.
Maybe
I want to kiss him, really kiss him and show him in one grand, beautiful gesture how I really—

Oh fuck, I love James.

“Well, tough shit. So do I, and he's with me.” He glares. “So
back off
.”

I offer weakly, “Does it help that I don't want to?”

“Back off?”

“No, I don't want to love him. I know he's with you, okay? It stings and it hurts but he's
happy
. Do you know the shit he went through? Do you know how much it means to see him happy now? Sure, I'd like to be the one making him feel that way, but I'm not. You are, and you're doing a good job at it. You don't belittle him or hit him, you just…” my heart sinks a little, “…well, you love him. And you haven't been stabbed to death so those are big points for you.”

He pulls the car over. “I don't
what
?”

“You haven't been stabbed to death. Most people wouldn't get huffy about that.”

“Why would I
hit
him?” Now he's angry. Oh shit, James hasn't told him about Heath.

“If James didn't tell you, I don't know if I…”

His jaw is set, and he turns the ignition off.

“A guy before you, he used to beat James. Badly. I met James the night he ran away from him, he was…” I flash on the image, the bruises, the fat lip, the black eye. “He didn't look too good.”

Ozzie's grip tightens on the steering wheel. “This guy. The guy who hit James. Tell me where to find him.”

“Well, points for the protective instincts, Tex, but that guy's dead.” I wonder if I should tell him that James was responsible for that. “Listen, we're getting off track here. James is in trouble and—”

“And he called you.”

“He didn't know where you were. Much like you, he figures I'll always have my ass planted in front of the TV. Hell, Dave hasn't been able to shut up about the playoffs, maybe James was trying to contact him, seeing as he's being held by dragons and Dave
is one
.” I give him a little glare back, screw it. “So how about we stow the bitterness until he's safe, okay?”

A couple seconds pass, and he starts the car again. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I.” I rub my face slowly. “Listen, this is a shock to me too, but I'm not going to get in between the two of you.” I try a smirk. “And I expect points for not making a threesome joke there.”

Ozzie continues watching the road as we grow closer to 100th and V. “You keep forgetting that I'm technically Fae, a Dwarf, and I'm from Texas. What you've admitted to?”

“Loving James?” I wince again. It shouldn't be so easy to say that. I can't be in love with him. I'm familiar enough with relationships, at least the ones I've seen on TV, to know that infatuation's practically indistinguishable from the real thing. It's only because I didn't get to tell James I was feeling weird about the friendship and wanted something a tiny bit more, but I got friend-zoned and I'm perfectly happy there. Honest.

“There'll be consequences.” He pulls into the parking lot for the U-Store-It, a small row of about fifteen storage lockers rented out by a rat that also runs a pawn shop and check-cashing service. “A Fae would toss you a practice foil, slash your throat with a saber and call it an honorable duel. A Dwarf would forge a hammer from Fae-steel and ensure you never had children by using said hammer to cause catastrophic injury to your testicles.”

I swallow hard as I get out of the car. “But, uh, you're not going to do any of that, right?”

He exits the Benz and makes his way around. “Of course not, but, Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm still from Texas.”

I'm immediately slugged in the stomach, and I fall to my knees, coughing, groaning. Ozzie pats my back gently. “Just breathe. If you need to puke, do it. No one'll think less of you.”

So I do. And he was lying about that last part—I do think less of me.

Once I'm done, he offers his hand and helps me to my feet, and tosses me a handkerchief to wipe my mouth, as well as a pack of breath mints. “Figured it's best for James if we work this out on our own.”

“Did we just work this out like guys?”

The Dwarf shrugs. “After all this, we'll have a beer and I'll point you at someone else who's hot and gullible. Then it'll be settled.” He looks up at me. “You know you should've expected that, right?”

I nod, and with that, he proceeds toward the locker on the far end of the row, where some Sigil is spray-painted on the door, the symbols glowing gently but insistently as we approach. I step toward the door, the words gibberish to me since I can only speak Sigil. But Ozzie can read it, given that his lips are moving as he looks it over. He smiles at the end of the written lines.

“He's been practicing his enchantment. It's a bit crude, not as good as a Dwarf's work but…” Ozzie picks up some gravel from the ground and tosses it casually at the door, the metal suddenly sheathed in vibrant silver bolts of electricity. “He needs to refine it against accidental tripping, but he's coming along.”

“So, how do we get in without him? Did he plan for that?”

He nods and scans the lower lines again. “That's odd. The last line isn't Sigil, it's not English either.”

“Well, what's it say?”

“
Pedo mellon a minno.
” He glances at me. “So apparently we have to bring a tiny fish to a melon that prefers the underaged?”

“No, wait wait wait. I know that from somewhere.” James is in to reading as much as I'm in to TV, and he loves his fantasy books as much as Dungeons & Dragons. It's likely why he's a passable sorcerer and isn't an asshole one, since wizards in fantasy movies tend to be noble and restrained so that they don't overshadow the protagonists. I mean, take Gandalf from
Lord of the Rings
. He couldn't just call his BFF the Lord of the Eagles and fly all their asses to Mordor and pitch the ring in Mount Doom on a flyby? Wait, that's it! That bit's from—

“I'm an idiot. Speak friend and enter.” Ozzie grumbles, looking at the door, and speaks in Sigil. “
Friend.
”

The door pops, crackles and slides upward.

I stare at him, and he shrugs. “You think there's a Dwarf alive that hasn't read
Lord of the Rings
?”

I glower. “Damn it. If he asks you, tell him I figured it out too. Without any help!”

After rolling his eyes, Ozzie steps out of the way, and suffice it to say, the locker's a bit different than the last time I was here.

Initially, it was a bare space with a few marks of Sigil put on the walls in spray paint, as he prefers to do his circles in chalk. Now, the walls, ceiling and floor are
covered
in Sigil applied in a metallic silver paint, the characters small but legible. The floor itself has several concentric circles in the middle, all ringed with Sigil. Reading them proves to be a trial though, as the surface shimmers and wobbles with every step. The air hums with the occasional crackle, sparks dancing and leaping from character to character. It's odd, I know James is in trouble, held captive, but I'd swear he was in here, a step beyond my view.

“This must've taken him…” I stare in awe, afraid to step inside.

“Months. Couple hours a day, sometimes more. Enchantment needs a stable space, and he's working on learning that.” Ozzie strides in like it's nothing, the energy on the floor rippling with his steps, and he takes a moment to stand there and take a breath. “It just feels like him in here. It's turning into a legitimate sanctum, a pretty weak one, but still.”

I shrug and take a step inside. “He's still working his spells out of a storage lock—”

It's like James is right behind me, his hand on my shoulder, comforting and relaxed. The air practically resonates with him. I manage to shake it off since we've got work to do. “Locker. Right, uh… Let's get the stuff he asked for.” I run through the list in my head. “First and foremost, we need to find a brick.” I point at several shelves at the back that are beyond the Sigil.

Ozzie quirks a brow at me. “Right, right. The beacon. Of course.” He starts looking for it, rummaging through piles of notebooks, muttering subject matters under his breath. He seems familiar with the place, and I'll admit that stings. I know that a Coyote would hardly be welcome in a sorcerer's sanctum, but I would think James'd be cool with inviting a friend over to see his progress. Did he think of me at all when he was working on this place?

Maybe I should have laid off the storage-locker cracks.

I start my own search, and since the notebooks are beyond my ken (an expression I picked up from Rourke), I look for the brick.

The shelves are packed with notebooks, cassette tapes and CD-Rs with indie bootlegs, empty soda bottles with masking-tape labels,
FOR POTION RESEARCH
, tattered Dungeons & Dragons rule books, fantasy novels with ruined spines, Dashiell Hammett paperbacks, a bag of dice hanging from a shelf post…

And something wrapped in white silk, about eighteen inches in length, tucked behind autobiographies of Lenny Bruce and Frank Abagnale. He's reading about groundbreaking comedians and con men who turned their lives around…

I lift the wrapped object from the shelf, taking care not to knock over the books. A tingle goes through my fingers as I grip the silk, like I've been loaded up with static. The world seems to fade as I kneel to unwrap it carefully, a walnut stock first coming into view with Sigil carved into the wood. I pull it free, like a sword from a sheath, electricity popping in the air as I do so.

It's a shotgun, antique, the barrels long since sawed off, but showing new etchings of Sigil, though I can't make out any of it. I check, and the barrels are loaded with “shells”, but they definitely aren't shells. They're cylindrical stones, like diamonds, that have an inner silver light. When I touch one, I get a nasty shock and immediately close the barrels.

“Found it.” Ozzie smiles, taking out a brick that's been covered in Sigil, likely inscribed by a Sharpie. He notices me holding the shotgun and whistles softly. “He actually finished that?”

“What is it?”

“He's been researching energy sources, why his stone works, all that. He transmuted a few rocks into something from one of his books. Then he enchanted it to hold energy for later.”

I look down at it. “What kind of energy?”