5. Everett
5
EVERETT
Cassian
The Past
He turned his first lover into a ghoul.
Cassian strolled down the lantern-lit cobblestone, the brassy glow bouncing off the brick establishments of the city known as Augustus. Established two-thousand years ago, Cassian had witnessed many wars between mortals to conquer the urban settlement, as it sat on the border between the Eastern and Western Hemisphere. It had brought many souls into his Land.
The city’s population thrived as the century waned on. Though Cassian never had any interest in stepping foot on its speckled cobblestone, here he was—obsessively turning over a soul named Arran in the back of his mind. A demigod born in Kaimana to a lesser goddess, murdered by Malik, Finnian’s older brother.
Cassian remembered every soul in his realm. It was his duty. Arran had entered the Land about a year ago with an immense amount of trauma.
He was sent to the Grove of Mourning, a sacred part of the Land where struggling souls roamed. It was a place to go when one needed time to process and recover from their mortal life before setting forth on the path of healing that the Lavender Fields provided.
After Cassian had broken out of Finnian’s sigil in the temple, he’d returned to the Land and immediately ordered Mavros to spill every detail of the young god to him. He’d paced the square feet of his sitting room a hundred times over, livid, his hands itching to latch onto Finnian’s neck after their encounter.
It was then when Cassian visited the soul, concluding its way of death was to blame for the mental despair burdening him. Mutilated and shredded by Malik’s blade. The pain and suffering he’d endured had been horrendous, and he had lasted four years at Finnian’s side as an undead creature.
Why did the young god release him? If he were building an army for power, it made no sense. He would need as many souls as he could acquire. Perhaps he pitied his past lover. If that were the case, it gave Cassian a better idea of Finnian’s true character beneath his apathetic ruse.
Cassian rubbed his fingertips against the pad of his thumb as he walked. A poor distraction to keep his hands from entering the pockets of his trousers.
Nathaira had advised against expressing any of his usual gestures. The only thing that had come to mind was the occasional hand swiping through the hair, but she quickly pointed out the way he constantly stuffed his hands in his pockets. A habit he was painfully aware of now.
He turned the street corner to a more crowded pathway. Currents of mortals rushed on either side of the cobblestone, loitering outside the businesses. Grease-stained, rugged men, after a long day of manual labor, stood with promiscuous women on their hips.
Shoulders bumped into him. He overheard the lewd remarks they tossed amongst one another. The lanterns lining the sidewalk decreased in number until barely any at all lit his path. Darkness settled like a fog between the buildings.
The tavern came into view up ahead.
It had been two years since he’d faced Finnian in the temple. The young god vanished, and it had taken Mavros time to locate his whereabouts. It appeared Finnian had learned a spell to hide his aura from Cassian. The game infuriated Mavros to a high degree and became a personal priority for him rather than an order.
Approaching the tavern, Cassian’s hand lifted for his pocket, but he caught himself mid-movement, pressing his fingertips against the lines of his palm.
There was a slight edge quivering beneath his skin. An unease, as he casually brushed his fingers over features that were not his—a shorter nose, the tip rounded and exposing the divots of his nostrils; low cheekbones framing curved eyes; a set of jaws giving his face a more circular shape.
The whole thing was absurd. Shape-shifting to alter his appearance entirely. Meddling in the Mortal Land to hunt down a young god when he could’ve easily sent Mavros in his place.
Cassian had many things to tend to. Preparations for the monthly Council meeting was at the top of his list. He dreaded it immensely, mostly for the fact that he was forced to sit at a table and watch the High Goddess of Fate flash her elegant smiles and speak in poetic riddles when a yes or no would easily suffice. Cassian hated flourishment.
He smoothed the velvet lapels of his tailcoat. Focusing on what was currently in his control helped. The mere thought of Ruelle was suffocating. He could not afford to be distracted.
Cassian stopped in front of the entrance of the tavern, smoothing out his crisp collar. Its frosted windows were slick with condensation. The bell chimed against the door with each arrival and departure. Above the entrance a sign read: RED FOX TAVERN.
People came and went, chatter and laughter spilling from the door. The chaos made him long for his bedchamber. A gentle fire crackling in the hearth. The sip of a warm cup of lemon tea. He could pretend he came and did not find the young god when Mavros inquired about it.
Despite the appeal, it would be irresponsible and only make the situation more troublesome at the upcoming Council meeting. Once learning of it, they would expect Cassian to have handled it. It was unlike him not to do so. Allowing loose ends to spiral gradually out of control and create bigger messes was unacceptable, both for the Council’s standards and for his own.
Cassian topped the steps to the tavern and reached for the door. It flew open before he could grab onto the handle and a man staggered out, belligerently singing and swaying as if gravity had abandoned him.
The horrid stench of liquor stung Cassian’s nose. He held his breath, leaning a bit to the right to avoid bumping into the drunk mortal, and slipped inside before the door closed.
Cassian sauntered through the cloud of smoke to the bar and sat on a stool at the end, refraining from resting his arms on the bar top. The streaked, amber globs along the glossy surface looked to be quite sticky.
He joined his hands in his lap and observed his surroundings.
“You got your two pints. Now piss off. I’ve got others to keep,” the barkeeper chided two taller gentlemen while drying glasses.
A slender, hairy man with arms the density of toothpicks laughed, downing his beer as he strolled off.
“Nobody fuckin’ talks to me like that, ya hear?” The other with short, brunette strands slurred the words, slamming his pint down on the surface of the bar, his outcry barely coherent. The frothy liquid splashed across the bar top, spraying those sitting in its vicinity.
“Oh, fuck off!” someone crooned from the other end of the bar.
Those sitting nearby shot the man glares, while others dismissed him and carried on with their drink and conversation.
The barkeeper stopped drying the glasses and stepped up to the edge of the bar. “You start something, and I’ll finish it. Ya hear?”
A wave of tense silence passed between them. The barkeeper’s threat seemed to hold some leverage, because the man backed away on his heel, his balance swaying a little.
He lifted his pint up to scowling lips, turning away from the barkeeper.
The barkeeper cocked his eyebrows with a twitch to his lips that said, smart choice, and continued to work.
The man joined a table of people in a dark corner. A playful yelp came from a woman sitting on a different gentleman’s lap. Another pair relaxed across from them, drinking and smoking rolled paper stuffed with tobacco leaves.
The vices of mortals were often dull and uncreative, and Cassian grew bored—even slightly annoyed—by the stimulation of the noise and smells congregating beneath the small roof of the tavern. The sooner he located Finnian and cursed him, the sooner he could return to his realm and revel in sweet silence.
“Sir,” the barkeeper said with a loud clap to it.
Cassian snapped his attention to the mortal in front of him.
“What will it be?” The barkeeper had a stocky frame with a round face and expressive eyes, their color warm and welcoming, but the folded skin around them showcased his exhaustion.
“Bourbon,” Cassian answered. “Neat.”
The bartender pulled a bottle out from underneath the counter and poured the bronze liquid into a glass. He slid it across the bar top to Cassian and gave a curt nod. “There ya go, mate.”
Cassian bowed his chin in gratitude and brought the glass to his nose. The sharp aroma of alcohol was a welcome distraction from the body odor and tobacco stench amalgamating in the air around him.
He sloshed the contents around the glass, subtly glancing at those sitting beside him. Finnian was more than likely under disguise. After Cassian’s random visit to the apothecary, Finnian would’ve been foolish not to?—
“ Bitch . Don’t ignore me. Aye !”
Cassian spun around in his stool to find the unmannered man from earlier standing in between two tables, his face contorted, gripping a young woman by the wrist.
She gaped up, shocked by his sudden touch, flicking her eyes all over his angry expression. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
“I gave ya a compliment, and ya just fuckin’ ignore me.” He jerked her closer towards his face, the force of it jostling her dark hair over her cheek.
She shook her head frantically, eyes wide like a frightened animal.
At the sign of her fear, the tension in the mortal’s shoulders loosened, and he laughed, the sound slimy and vile. “Ya owe me now, don’tcha agree?”
Cassian ground his jaw.
Do not intervene in mortal affairs.
He swiveled in his stool to face straight ahead, glaring at the shelves of liquor, and took a swig.
“Upstairs will do fine. What d'ya say, la?—”
A harsh thud cut him off.
Cassian turned his head.
A stranger held the man bent over a table, the side of his face pressed against the surface, his arm twisted behind his back. He was trapped by the stranger’s hold on his head—fingers decorated with rings.
The woman stood off to the side, her arms hugging her torso, cheeks flushed.
The bar grew silent. All eyes were on them.
Cassian studied the stranger’s profile, their raven-black strands, longer now, grown past their shoulders, and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
There were no signs of anger or excitement on Finnian’s face as he stared down at the back of the man’s head. “I’d be wise and leave her alone, or else I might think of ways to rid you of your hearing.”
Of course, he would be the one to interfere with mortal squabbles. Although his aloofness was impressive, it provoked a need in Cassian to locate his triggers and draw out emotion.
“Ya right bastard, when I get outta this….” The man spit out, furious, attempting to buck up and out of Finnian’s hold.
“I’d advise you to avoid laying your filthy hands on those who do not request it.”
“I’ll fucking kill ya!” the man snarled.
Finnian slanted forward, resting beside his ear. “Only after I boil your insides with one of my potions.”
The man’s body stiffened in response, proving he wasn’t completely ignorant. Fear swallowed the glaze in his pupils as they flung around, trying to see Finnian’s face from the angle he was stuck in. “I-I apologize, mate.”
Satisfied, Finnian pushed away from the man, releasing him.
The man straightened, avoiding Finnian’s gaze, and quickly left the tavern.
Voices began to mingle. Glasses clinked in the room once more.
Cassian took another drink to blend in, closely watching the young god out of the corner of his eye. Despite not being able to sense his aura, Cassian couldn’t decide if Finnian presenting himself with so little glamor was bold or reckless.
Finnian turned his focus onto the woman, and his eyes fell on the bruises blotting her wrists. His hard shell of an expression softened, and he brought his hands between them in swift, practiced motions that were lost on Cassian.
However, Cassian couldn’t stop watching the glint of Finnian’s rings as his fingers shifted and formed shapes. The backs of his hands were smooth and the shade of a sun-ripened walnut, with a river of veins running beneath his skin. Long, dexterous fingers. Well-manicured fingernails.
He averted his eyes to the woman. Whatever was communicated brought a grin to her face as she signed something back.
Finnian gave a crooked smile in response, along with a light laugh Cassian wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t been eavesdropping with his divine hearing.
A low flutter in his belly took him by surprise, and he slightly tilted his head, noting how the sliver of emotion drew lines around the young god’s eyes and filled out the hollowness of his cheeks.
Apparently, there was more to him than Cassian had seen in the apothecary. Infuriatingly cocky and a defiant bastard, yes, but evidently he had some admirable traits, like being considerate, valiant even.
Finnian bid farewell to the woman and exited the tavern.
Curiosity was a fickle thing.
Cassian did not want to admit that Finnian had caught his attention, therefore he simply told himself he would only investigate the matter further before cursing him. Observe him a bit longer, maybe tail him back to his lair to find it stocked full of suffering souls, or a following of mages who, too, could bring back the dead.
Cassian paid his bar tab and followed.
He tailed Finnian down an alleyway. As they walked, he casually studied the backside of the young god’s lean build, noticing the loose trousers around his hips and legs, suggesting they’d not been properly tailored.
Finnian’s pace came to an abrupt stop, forcing Cassian to dip between two buildings.
He watched closely around the corner as Finnian turned his attention towards a metal bin against the brick.
He strolled over to it and lifted the lid, freeing a wave of decay in the air. The stench did not faze him, though.
To Cassian’s surprise, Finnian began digging through the bin and tossing rotten food and trash down at his feet. He buried his hands deeper in the rubbish.
Then, his arms stopped moving. A flash of anger struck across his face, curling his lip and pulsing in his jaws. The muscles in his back flexed underneath the thin, white fabric of his linen shirt as he pulled something out of the bin.
Finnian gripped what appeared to be something large, long, and covered in black fur.
A leg.
He hauled the animal out of the bin and carefully kneeled to lay it on the ground.
A knot formed in Cassian’s stomach.
It was a deceased dog, its body bloated and attracting a swarm of flies. The dog’s fur was damp and bald in some areas, its skin yellowing. Cassian could tell from the twisted angle of one of its back legs that it had been injured.
“Do not fret.” The glint of a crystal caught in the lamplight, drawing shapes along the cobblestone as Finnian placed it on the center of the dog’s bloated stomach. “ Vivifica .”
Wispy ribbons curled out from the gemstone, a kaleidoscope of reds and purples and blues twisting and cradling the dog’s corpse. Finnian flipped his palm upright and slowly lifted it. A glowing, phantasmal orb levitated through the ground, floating in front of Finnian like a jellyfish wading in the sea. Small, translucent flecks, like dust in sunlight, orbited the soul.
Cassian pushed his tongue against the backs of his front teeth. The departure of one of his souls affected him. He felt the hollow ache take the place of a weight that had once been there. It was momentary, but Cassian was hyper-aware of the totality of souls within his Land. The first time he felt the shift, he had immediately sent Mavros to investigate.
Cassian’s muscles constricted in his shoulders as his divine power roused within.
The young god was stealing one of his souls. Right in front of him.
Do not let him get away with this.
With the guidance of his hand, Finnian merged the soul into the dog’s solar plexus. A small gust of power pushed his long bangs back from his face, revealing a wicked smirk. Finnian was proud of what he was doing, proud of keeping a soul from healing in the Land.
Cassian’s pulse rose as his molars ground against each other.
A whimper sounded and the dog’s body convulsed.
Finnian pocketed the crystal and lifted to his feet.
The dog slowly came to life and climbed up.
Tail wagging, it looked up at its savior.
Finnian leaned down to pet the top of its head. “Much better.”
The dog’s tongue fell out of the side of its mouth, almost as if it were smiling.
This wasn’t right. It was cheating the cycle of life. Souls could not be sustained inside broken bodies. What the young god was doing went against Cassian’s sole purpose as the High God of Death and Curses. And yet, despite that, Cassian’s gut clenched in disagreement with the voice nagging him to step out and punish Finnian for his actions.
The world and its cruelty were hardly fair, but they were necessary. To know pain was to gain the ability to grant compassion. Neither could exist without the other. He’d accepted this philosophy long ago. But before him stood a young, unseasoned god with a terrifying ability to raise the dead. He could create himself an army of souls at his disposal, and there he was, searching through trash to revive an abandoned dog.
“You are free to do as you wish,” Finnian said to it. “I’d start with tearing out the throat of the individual who broke your leg and stuffed you in a bin to die.” He gave the top of the dog’s head one more scrub before straightening and continuing on his way.
The dog twisted its head, watching Finnian stroll down the alley.
Once the shadows of the looming buildings swallowed his silhouette, the dog rose and sauntered in the opposite direction, passing where Cassian hid.
It stopped and regarded him, panting and its tail wagging in a calm rhythm.
Cassian stared down at the visible chunk of bone exposed in its back leg, the hanging piece of skin dangling on the side of its shoulder, the pink meat of its flesh showing. It was a ghoul now. Undead but alive. Incapable of healing but spared from pain.
Creatures of mortality feared death. They saw it as an end. A journey into the cold Land of the Dead where life did not grow, where there were no pleasures like the ones life provided. A terrible myth Cassian was eager to rid from the terrified souls that appeared on his riverbank or at his gate.
An urge expanding in him as he crouched down and patted the dog’s head. “Hello, little fellow.”
Perhaps this was the reason he hesitated to curse the young god. It was evident Finnian had strong reservations with death, and Cassian wanted to prove to him those reservations were unnecessary.
The dog stepped forward to lick Cassian’s face, but he kindly held it back. “I appreciate it, but how about later? Greet me when I return to the Land.”
He pressed his palm against the dog’s chest, and his divine power pulled. The same spectral sphere Finnian had summoned from the command of his necromancy balanced in Cassian’s hand.
The dog’s shell of a body laid lifeless once more.
A form transfigured in the shadows. An Errai emerged, cloaked in graphite, face concealed by a mask of white and black marble reflecting off the warm streaks of the lamplight.
“My lord.” They bowed their head in greeting before stepping up and holding out their hand.
Cassian transferred the soul to them and quickly spun around, putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to lose track of the young god.
He came out onto a main street. Pansies decorated the cobblestone pathways. White brick establishments with painted windowpanes lined the walk. Ivy crawled across the exterior. Horses trotted down the streets, pulling carriages.
Cassian could feel the faint twinge of magic in the breeze. He could feel the remnants of Finnian’s power and followed it like an animal’s trail.
He turned off the main street and spotted vermillion wisps trailing like smoke in front of a theater hall. It was a large, several-story-tall brick structure with arched walkways and a columned peak reaching from its rooftop. Horse-drawn carriages lined the west side of the entrance, unloading patrons.
Cassian hid out of sight behind a nearby building before teleporting inside the hall.
He dropped into a grand corridor on the fourth tier lined with thick velvet drapes, individual entrances to reserved boxes. It was a possibility the young god would be on the floor-level where most of the middle class sat, but Finnian didn’t seem to be the type to enjoy the proximity of such close company.
The corridor was filled with travelers. Cassian maneuvered his way forward without knocking shoulders with mortals, tailing the magical trace as the strings of an orchestra echoed from within the auditorium.
He came to a stop in front of the entrance of a box at the end of the corridor. His gut tingled with an odd sense of anticipation.
Quietly, he peeled the curtain back and peeked inside.
Finnian sat with a concentrated posture, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, intently watching the performance.
Cassian peered out at the orchestra positioned at ground level in front of the stage, their movements possessing an irresistible synergy as they played. Two women in leotards and ballet slippers twirled and soared in dance to the melancholic notes of the music.
He knew little about the arts but could appreciate them when necessary. Though, it seemed the young god appreciated them fervently.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cassian assured himself the bump in its bridge was still there.
With the amount of divine power he’d put into shape-shifting, there was no way Finnian would figure out his identity. He’d turned his pale strands black, his alabaster skin the same honey-tan shade as Finnian’s, and had thoroughly reconstructed his facial features to rounder lines, rather than their usual sharp, broad strokes. The final touch had been altering the luster gold of his eyes to an indigo blue. It would be impossible for Finnian to recognize him.
With that assurance, he casually made his way to a chair on the other side of the aisle, on Finnian’s right side, and took a seat.
The god acknowledged him with a subtle sidelong glance.
Cassian’s heart skipped as he waited. To avoid the predicament that he’d found himself in last time, he’d descaled the traces of his powerful presence. All his efforts proved to be working, because the young god did not spare him another look.
His muscles relaxed. He settled into his chair and fixed on the lovely scenes of song and dance before him.
“ You were in the Red Fox.” Finnian kept his focus on the show, his chin propped on the heel of his hand. Cassian could clearly make out his rings now—silver bands around the base of his index and ring finger and another sitting on top of the knuckle of his pinky.
Perception was clearly a strong suit of the young god.
“I was merely curious.” Cassian pushed his words out at a quicker pace, recalling Nathaira’s advice to change his mannerisms and not be so himself . Apparently talking in smooth, slow syllables was another thing he did often. “I found the way you communicated with the woman to be intriguing. The movement with your hands.”
“Sign language,” Finnian said without looking at him.
“I’ve never witnessed it before,” Cassian lied. He knew what the language was and had seen it a few times in his years. He was well versed in all languages, as he had a variety of souls in his realms from all different backgrounds. However, he never expected a deity to know the language when they themselves had no use for it. Deafness was seen as a flaw, and deities did not have flaws—a concept Cassian believed to be the biggest lie in existence.
“Glad to be of service,” Finnian muttered. “Now, if you will, be quiet.”
One side of Cassian’s mouth tipped up as he refocused his attention on the show. It was easy to become captivated by the row of violins and how they moved their bows in synchrony. The song was full of sorrow, and the ballerinas conveyed tragedy and pain through their heavy movements, reaching towards something they couldn’t seem to grab onto, just out of reach.
“Tell me.” Finnian turned his head, granting Cassian his full attention—albeit with a blank expression.
Cassian met his look, waiting to hear what else he had to say. A desire to provoke him weighed heavily on Cassian’s tongue. To resurface the bold, defiant look Finnian had given him back in the apothecary. Or perhaps, to coax out a smile like he’d seen earlier.
“Are you a stalker, by chance?” Finnian asked.
Cassian couldn’t decide if he was genuinely asking or being his usual snide self.
But Cassian could understand why he thought such a thing. If he were being honest, he was exhibiting strange social behaviors—discreetly watching the young god at the tavern, following him to the theater, and inviting himself inside his private box. He hardly understood his own actions. Especially when he’d spent hours daydreaming of all the ways he intended to make the young god pay for their previous encounters.
“No,” Cassian said, peering back down at the stage. “I am simply lonely.”
He did not know what possessed him to say such a thing, but it was a truth he felt better confessing under the ruse of a stranger’s face. He could be whoever he wished to be in this shape-shifted form.
Finnian’s response was a single-syllable sound, refocusing on the show. It was difficult to gauge his thoughts—if Cassian unsettled him by oversharing, or if he simply did not care.
Cassian snuck a glance between him and the stage, noting the lines creasing over his forehead, the swirling look in his eyes, captivated completely.
“You are a fan of music,” Cassian said.
“Very much so.”
“Have you always been?”
“No.” Finnian paused, the muscles in his jaws ticking underneath his extended index finger along his bone. “I grew to appreciate it after it was almost taken from me.”
Cassian studied the side of his profile, roving over his sunken cheek to the polished patch of skin along his jawline before meeting his ear. A strong cast of glamor, but not invisible to a deity of Cassian’s caliber. A scar of some kind. “I am told loss grants perspective.”
Finnian snorted lightly. “Perhaps. Although, I am convinced I would’ve discovered my love for music without the additional trauma.”
Cassian subtly studied the heliotrope crystal lodged inside the young god’s ear canal. Its glint reflected under the dim lights of the box. Magic seemed to be laced in its properties. Was it some sort of device to assist with hearing?
There were only two ways a deity could sustain permanent damage—a strike from a more powerful deity, or an effect from one of Cassian’s curses.
Finnian had not stepped foot outside of Kaimana until his banishment. If he’d fought with another god, the Council would’ve heard about it. Which meant there was only one reasonable explanation. The unmerciful High Goddess who Cassian entrapped beneath the sea centuries ago had inflicted permanent damage on him. It made sense to Cassian why Mira had banished Finnian. The Council did not know of his lineage yet, and Cassian wondered if Finnian himself knew he was a High God.
“What is it about this piece you love so?” Cassian asked, slightly amplifying the volume of which he spoke, in case the young god’s right ear was impaired. His eyes swept over the glamor twinkling within Finnian’s long strands. Was the young god’s hair color truly black? Perhaps he had tampered with the texture of it to appear bone-straight.
Why do you care?
Deities using their glamor to alter or enhance their features was hardly abnormal.
A long somber second passed before Finnian replied with, “It breaks my heart.”
Something pinched in Cassian’s chest as he stared at the side of Finnian’s face. There was a dissonance in his gaze, arched by a tension on his brow. That curiosity in Cassian prodded deeper, interested in following the mixture of Finnian’s tranquility and torment to see where it led. What had his life been like until that moment? How did he learn to raise the dead? Why did he do so in the first place?
The theater erupted in applause.
Cassian’s breath hitched, slightly startled. He pulled his eyes to the bowing performers on stage and joined in and clapped his hands.
The audience below began rustling and exiting the auditorium, all attempting to be the first out.
Now that the show was over, Cassian scrambled in his thoughts to plan what his next move would be. The box they were currently in was small and hidden, a perfect place to seize Finnian and curse him. Although, after his experience in the apothecary and the temple, he had a feeling the young god wouldn’t make things easy. There would certainly be damage and a scene that would alert the mortals in the theater.
And gods forbid there be an invisible sigil mapped out along the floor of the box. If he fell trapped in another one of Finnian’s magical antics, he was sure he’d strangle the young god this time.
Cassian let out a light sigh, unsure what to do to dissolve the knot tightening in his stomach.
He stood up in unison with Finnian, smoothing the wrinkles of his tailcoat.
“Which side of the city do you live on?”
Finnian’s question prompted Cassian to lift his head, blinking at him in bewilderment.
Was he asking out of concern, or purely out of suspicion? Cassian scoured the vacant look on his face for answers, to no avail.
“I am a traveler. Augustus is a mystery to me.” Cassian cleared his throat, fidgeting with the buttons of his tailcoat. He had never been any good at lying.
“Very well. I will show you around.” Finnian beckoned for him to follow as he started towards the exit of the box.
“Show me around?” Cassian’s hand lifted to sail his fingers through his hair, a way to exert some of his nervous energy. Midway, he halted and dropped his arm back down to his side, with Nathaira’s warning going off in his mind— don’t act like yourself.
Finnian waited at the threshold with crossed arms. The stance broadened the contours of his chest, the tan skin of his pecs visible between the unfastened buttons of his shirt. An incomplete outfit without a waistcoat or a tailcoat. It was considered ill-mannered and sloppy to wear nothing but a shirt—unbuttoned nearly down to his diaphragm at that.
“It would be rude of me to abandon my stalker,” he quipped.
Cassian’s cheeks flushed at the accusation. “I was not stalking you. I—” He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth.
Finnian cracked a wide smile. Dimples cut into the grooves of his cheeks. Crinkles drew beneath his eyes, glittering with amusement as he stared at Cassian. “What is your name?”
A flutter caught in Cassian’s chest. He replayed the young god’s question in his mind. His mouth opened to respond with his real name, but quickly caught himself as he remembered his altered appearance.
He thought quickly, recalling the inventory of souls in the past decade that had journeyed from this region of the Mortal Land for a common name.
“Everett,” he supplied.
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Everett. I am Finnian.” He pulled the curtain back, gesturing Cassian to step through with a flick of his chin.
Cassian straightened his shoulders and breezed past him. As he took a deep breath, the unmistakable scent of licorice and herbs filled his nostrils. It smelled partially of the beer and smoke from the tavern, but mostly of a garden—lemon balm, yarrow, ginger root.
Traveling down the long stairway lined with velour and golden stitching, he snuck glimpses of the young god at his side, noting how Finnian positioned himself with his left ear, absent of a magical crystal, to face Cassian as they walked.
Cassian could easily do it. Slip his hand underneath the low neckline of Finnian’s shirt. Release his divine power and infect the young god’s mind. It would be done in less than a second. Another deity cursed, another problem crossed off Cassian’s to-do list.
A thought that constricted his gut.
He clenched his jaws, irritated by his own indecisiveness.
Why couldn’t he do it?
He rubbed his chin to keep his hand from his hair as they emerged into the street. The cool gust of night whispered across his skin. The moon hung like an ornament in the starry-lit sky, silver and fat and glowing across the town. The streets were less busy. A quietness drifted amongst the distant hooves of traveling carriages.
Cassian couldn’t recall the last time he’d strolled in a land that wasn’t his own. It felt nice, refreshing even, to be someone else in another’s company.
A temporary ruse.
Before the night’s end , he bargained with himself. He would curse the young god before the night’s end. But not yet. Not right now.
Thousands of years ago, after he earned his title, Cassian vowed to never make irrational decisions. While he did not regret becoming the High God of Death and Curses, he’d decided it on a whim and questioned his sanity for it every day.
It was the same voice of reason chiding in the back of his mind to wait as he put one foot in front of another, walking side-by-side with the young god, unsure of his own actions.
This wasn’t like him, and worst of all, he was enjoying it.