Chapter 4
Deejay
The courier Loretta sent me, a Medusa, stands under the colonnade of my front door late in the evening, a parchment envelope held out to me as a return from King Primus. I take it from her as I open the door wider. “Please come in,”
I offer. I may need to return service, and she knows this as she steps into my house, looking around wide-eyed.
I’m sure it’s not what she expects from the ruler of a domain, but I have too many kids to bother with showing off my wealth. I use IKEA like it’s going out of style for the rooms where I allow the kids to traffic through.
I lead her through the house to my office. This room I keep locked because it holds state secrets—snort—and because I don’t want the kids in here. I spent a lot more money on the furniture in here to make it both respectable and cozy. I hired an interior designer, gave her my vision, and let her have at it. I have a huge mahogany executive desk with a comfortable leather chair behind it, bookshelves lining the walls with books that I have to keep grubby kid hands off of, and a leather couch where I can sit and read. Along the wall behind my desk, I keep a supply of liquid refreshments. I point the messenger to the sofa. “Have a seat.”
I pour her a juice glass of a concoction of orange juice and vampire blood, a stimulant that most non-humans enjoy. “Orange Sunset?”
I ask to be polite.
She smiles brightly, the green snakes on her head standing up in anticipation. She’s young, maybe fifty based on the length of her snakes, which stand in a halo around her head at just shoulder length. “Thank you, Maledict.”
I hand her the glass, then sit behind my desk, opening the letter from King Primus.
It’s a single page written by hand in beautiful script:
To Father Deejay Aquino D’Aquino:
The loss of our Siren truly sorrows us. Thank you for kindly informing us of her unfortunate death. We have written to Loretta Long of the Houston Hub of the Non-Human Community informing her of our intention to pay reparations to the Demesne D’Aquino for the attack on your citizen in the amount of fifteen thousand U.S. Dollars. We have no intention of pursuing a suit against the death of our citizen and consider the matter settled forthwith.
Best Regards,
The Triton King Primus
That’s a nicely worded way of telling me to fuck off. The amount he offered for the attack on Matt is about half of what I would get if I called him to court in front of an unbiased judiciary, which annoys me. Not that I want nor need the money, I certainly don’t, but that he thinks because I am a small domain, he can slight me. If I let him get away with this, I may open my domain up to any number of other problems with the kingdoms and governments of other species and realms who might think they can overpower me for their gain. The Hub provides jurisdictional protection, but I can’t expect them to fight all my battles for me. I must prove I can maintain the borders of my demesne against outside threats otherwise my independence will be taken from me and I will become nothing more than a citizen of the Houston Hub. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except that as a ruler, I have the opportunity to bypass human law that might get in the way of my goals by having access to humans in positions of power who can work with me. I wouldn’t have that access as a regular citizen of the Hub.
And now it’s time to remind the Triton King why the Maledict got his own demesne and has the clout to keep it.
I pull a sheet of my official stationery from my drawer and write a short and to the point note on it:
Triton King—
The diarrhea will end when I have in my possession an envelope with $30,000 marked as reparations for the attack on my citizen, and another envelope with $100,000 for forcing me to defend my domain against the invasion of your kingdom into my demesne, and another envelope with $2,000 marked for me personally as an apology for your insult.
—The Maledict
I gather my power, pouring my words and intentions into it. It doesn't have to be perfect, and curses can be a bit tetchy, but I’ve spoken this particular curse before, though never to a sheet of paper, which changes it, but only a little. “Any person except me who touches this letter will be stricken with non-lethal, but traumatic diarrhea until the intent of the letter is fulfilled.”
The curse forms into a ball dripping with the tar of my magic and sinks into the paper, covering it for a brief moment before disappearing altogether.
I fold the letter up and place it into an envelope, addressing it to King Primus. I place my seal on it, melting wax over the back of the envelope and stamping it with the symbol of my demesne, a fist at the center of a stylized triquetra. I grab another envelope, just a plain white one, out of my desk drawer and a small stack of one-hundred-dollar bills, visibly and verbally counting out two thousand dollars, and putting it in the envelope.
When I look at the Medusa courier, she is pointedly staring at the envelope holding the cursed letter in my hand. “It’s not going to affect me, will it?”
she asks nervously.
“It will only affect anyone who touches the letter, not the envelope. I will pay you triple your going rate to put it into Primus’ hands, double if you put it in the hands of his right-hand person. And here is two thousand dollars to forget you know about the curse until the letter is opened.”
The Medusa takes both envelopes. “I can usually get it to the King’s secretary, but I will make my best attempt to put it in the King’s hands and if I manage it, I will be back for that tip.”
I nod with a grin. “Please do.”
I lead her back out of the mansion and then head to the kitchen. I could use a cup of warm milk. I like to have a little something to soothe the soul before I head to bed, sometimes it’s wine, sometimes tea, but tonight I need the comfort of hot, sweet milk.
As I settle into the comfortable chair at the breakfast nook, milk in hand, Matt lumbers into the kitchen, wearing nothing more than a pair of tight athletic shorts that leave very little to the imagination. I’ve seen these shorts and they were not too tight the last time I saw them. His warm honey skin covers massive muscles, defined and shocking to my eyes. I knew the man was stacked, but I haven’t seen him bare-chested, and wow—he’s...mouthwatering. I’ve got a nice six pack if I tighten my abs, but he’s relaxed and showing ten distinct rectangular trenches, not to mention that sexy as fuck vee on his hips and his massive pecs. Even his ribs have defined muscles on them. There is zero part of him that is at all soft. Well, except his cheeks—no, I’m wrong, the roundness they had when we met is gone now. His face has officially lost its roundness, he’s now all rough angles, strong features, and ohmyholyfuck sexy as hell.
And I should not be having these thoughts at all, I know that, but only a dead person would look at that and be unimpressed. I am not dead, and it’s been a long time since I even had the opportunity to look at someone half as delicious as Matt is. He looks like he could manhandle me, and fuck if that isn’t a lovely thought.
So lovely that I have a difficult time setting it aside and returning to the safe headspace where I'm not lusting after a seventeen-year-old. If anyone finds out about this, I could get in serious trouble, so I quash these thoughts and feelings, and think about things that do not include Matt’s form and figure.
He grabs a glass from the cabinet and pours a cup of cold water from the pitcher I keep in the fridge before coming to sit with me at the breakfast nook. “Is there anything I can read to help me learn about non-humans?”
he asks before sipping his water.
I focus on his face, doing an admirable job of keeping my eyes above his chin, thankful for the distraction of something benign to talk about. “Yes. I have an encyclopedia of non-human species. I also have plenty of books on many different species as well, but the encyclopedia will give you a good foundation for non-humans. As a political leader and ruler of a domain, I had to learn how to deal with the various non-human cultures rather quickly, so most of my books focus on that.”
“I’ll start with the encyclopedia. I didn’t see it in your library, though,”
he frowns.
Matt frowns a lot, but mostly I’ve noticed it’s an affectation of his thinking-face. I smile to offset his frowning face and because I simply like him. My first impression of him being my kind of person has proven true. “I keep the important books in my office where the kids can’t get at them.”
“Ah,”
he nods, expression clearing. “What title do you take? President, king? You keep calling yourself a ruler, but that doesn’t really speak to your manner of government.”
Embarrassment flushes through me because this is actually one of the few things I sort of regret in my life. “I was in an emotional place when I established my rule,”
I prevaricate with a grimace.
Matt’s normally stoic face twitches as he notices the embarrassed flush in my cheeks. “What did you do?”
Just like ripping a band-aid off, I get it over with in a rushed breath. “I called myself Father of the Demesne.”
I take a deep breath as my embarrassment continues. “I didn’t realize how very awkward it would be for everyone to call me Father Deejay Aquino D’Aquino, which is my title on the paperwork for the demesne, I sound like a fucking religious leader. So, I paid Loretta to spread the rumor that I preferred to be called the Maledict. At this point most people just call me the Maledict, though in official letters to the realm, I am addressed as Father. It’s pretty fucking awful.”
Matt chuckles softly, bowing his head to hide it. “That is pretty awkward. Forgive me if I stick to Deejay.”
“Please, please do,”
I nearly beg.
“Do you have a book of laws for your demesne that I should read? I’d hate to accidentally break the law here.”
I can tell by his question that he still worries that I might kick him out, but I will keep assuring him that will never happen until he trusts me.
“I really only have one law on the books, and it’s just that anyone who lives with me becomes a citizen of my realm. That’s it. Otherwise we respect and uphold the laws of the Houston Hub, under whose jurisdiction we fall. The most important laws on their books can be summed up simply: don’t reveal the secrets of non-humans to humans, don’t harm non-human children, and don’t mess with a non-human’s money. Almost everything falls under those three categories, but those are just the laws of the Hub. The Hub also upholds the laws of individual governments when they are not in direct contradiction of those three laws. So, for example, murder is illegal in most governments but not specifically forbidden by the laws of the Houston Hub. However, if a non-human citizen of the Hub murdered a citizen of another nation or realm, the Hub would prosecute its citizen under the laws of the victim.”
“And what if the murder occurs between citizens of the Hub?”
“Depending on the motivation and the circumstances it would be prosecuted under the child-harm laws, the financial crimes laws, or the non-disclosure laws. Or some combination of the three. If you kill a person who is employed, you’re messing with not only his income but the income of his employer. If his employer is human, you’re risking the exposure of non-humans to humans. If he has a child, you’ve harmed the child by taking away its parent and source of income. And honestly, the severity of the punishment depends on which of the three the crime is prosecuted under. A financial crime conviction has a corporal and financial punishment, but a child harm conviction is always a capital crime.”
Matt frowns again as he considers my answers to his questions. He remains quiet long enough I begin to wonder where his thoughts have taken him, but then he speaks again. “You killed the Siren. How is that situation going to be resolved?”
I can’t contain my vicious grin. “The Siren was a citizen of the mer-kingdom. This falls under the international rules of warfare. She was an invading force, and I dispatched her. I’ve written a formal letter of complaint to the Triton King Primus, received a return letter politely telling me to fuck off, so I sent back a cursed letter to remind him why this little demesne was established and that he owes us reparations for his citizen’s invasion. I expect to receive those reparations posthaste.”
Matt eyes me warily. “A cursed letter?”
“Anyone who handles the letter I sent will have uncontrollable diarrhea until my demands are met,”
I snicker, wickedly amused by my own alternative solution to an international insult.
The muscles in Matt’s jaw twitch like he’s trying not to smile, but I can see the minuscule curve up of the corners of his mouth. “That will probably be effective.”
I study his reserved expression and the tension with which he holds himself. I really wish I could get him to relax around me. “Are you worried that I’m going to curse you or kick you out of my realm?”
I ask, reaching over and grabbing his hand as a means of establishing a physical connection between us.
Matt hesitates but takes my hand and holds it in his. “Sometimes,”
he admits.
“I promise you, Matt, you and Cary are mine. You belong to this demesne, to me. I will protect you and keep you. You do not have to carry with you the fear that I will abandon you. It’s never, ever, ever going to happen. I’m going to adopt Cary, he’s going to become my legal son, and I don’t abandon my sons. The offer is open to you, but even if you choose not to be legally adopted into my family, you will always be part of this family.”
And that’s why I should not be delighting in the feel of his callouses, or the strength of his grip, or the heat that bleeds from his hand into mine warming my usually cold hand. I really need to get this shit back under control.