Chapter 19
The blue guitar was the first thing Caspar saw.
The colour seemed to shimmer like waves as the person strummed the chords.
Though it was an electric guitar, the person played it without plugging it in, still achieving the right sound—almost like magic.
The guitar’s stem was thick and professional looking; Caspar didn’t have much experience with instruments outside of eighth grade and crummy garage bands with Anthony, but he knew a nice one when he saw it.
Les Paul, maybe? He was dazzled by the quality and enchanted by the colour for several seconds before he realized this random person was a stranger and he was in the middle of Caspar’s new apartment, sitting on the box for his new IKEA table.
A bin of Harlequin romance novels had been stacked next to the table; from the amount of red-covered books scattered on its surface, the intruder had clearly been going through his Sheikh romance stash as well.
“Hey! Just what the—”
Malek was already on his feet, yelling accordingly.
His words came out so quickly Caspar barely heard them.
When the stranger looked at them both, he revealed a young face with pale skin and blue eyes.
A kid—maybe a teenager, or just out of high school.
Nothing more. His brown hair was so long it touched his shoulders, adding to his youthful appearance.
If not for the strong jawline and flat chest, Caspar would have mistaken the boy for a girl.
“Hey, Malek. Long time, no see, huh?”
The kid stood from his makeshift seat and put the strap of the guitar around his shoulder so he could keep it close by as he played a slow song.
Malek let out a loan groan. He seemed to go from wanting to tackle the kid to being enchanted by the guitar’s shiny surface. “What the hell are you doing, William? Didn’t Twigs—”
“Twigs chased me away, yeah, but she dropped these.” William pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. The first one was flipped over so a drawing of a blue man holding a guitar, exactly like the one William had now, stared back at them. “Seem familiar to you? Because it’s real familiar to me.”
Malek turned pale as he shut the apartment door and slid the locks in place. “William, enough games. Put those cards away and put down the guitar. This isn’t your apartment and it isn’t your life to fuck up.”
“Those aren’t your books either,” Caspar mumbled. No one seemed to hear.
“I knew it,” William said excitedly. “This is you! Malek from All Trades. The only free djinn remaining! I can see the blue around your skin when you’re angry. Jesus. I knew it, I knew it, I—”
“I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice.
” Malek lunged across the room. When he grabbed the neck of the guitar, the strap around William’s back snapped, like the handcuffs Malek wore on the prison bus.
Caspar watched in awe as William stumbled from the impact and nearly fell on the ground.
He caught himself before hitting the carpet and flopped onto the couch, scattering cards as he did.
Their painted surfaces flashed as they fell down, like a rainbow after a storm.
The ones that landed face up on the carpet all seemed to be jacks, but weren’t the typical jacks in a fifty-two-card deck.
The blue-skinned djinn that was supposed to be Malek was part of it, but there were other cards with yellow and red people, all holding up a different instrument.
Djinns, Caspar realized. Malek’s band, All Trades—like jack of all trades. This is so cool. But fear still lined Malek’s face—something deeper than being annoyed by a random high schooler who had become his stalker for the afternoon.
“This is mine. You can’t have it.” The guitar seemed to glow an iridescent blue as Malek held it close to his chest. When he strummed it idly, the notes played a new song, much larger and more complicated than Malek’s strumming.
From the way Malek closed his eyes, Caspar guessed he could feel the music.
“I bought it,” William complained. He rubbed the back of his neck as if he’d injured it. “You should at least trade me something for your precious fucking guitar. A wish, maybe?”
“Fuck you. You broke in here, so how about I don’t call the cops? That’s our trade.”
“You wouldn’t call them. Then you’d out yourself. Admit it—I’ve got you.”
“The only thing you have right now is a game of fifty-two pickup.”
When William stood up to yell again, Caspar raised his hands.
“Enough. Both of you. Stop it. No one is calling the police and no one is leaving until I figure out what the fuck is going on. So someone catch me up.” When no one said anything, Caspar huffed and turned to William.
“You. Spill. Who are you? And don’t fuck around with me, because I’ve had a hell of a day. ”
William folded his arms and pouted. He looked even younger. “I ran into Malek at Artie’s. You know, the brothel. I’m not allowed in, but I managed to get past Twigs last night, and I just wanted to look for my brother. I swear. I’ve been trying to find him for years. His name is Cecil and—”
“Okay, cool, whatever,” Caspar said. “Skip the sob story for now. How did you get into my fucking apartment?”
“I ran into Malek at the bar and reached into his pocket. I thought I’d get a key to one of the rooms so I could look for Cecil, but an apartment keycard came out instead.
Then Twigs chased me, and I grabbed this deck as I ran.
The rest was easy to figure out—and when I saw the guy delivering your IKEA table, well, I just bluffed my way through the front entrance, and now I’m here. ”
“And my guitar?” Malek asked, his voice hitched. “Where did you find this?”
“A pawn shop in Manitoba, ages ago. I’m from Saskatchewan, but when Cecil went missing, I knew I needed to follow him.
I used to play drums, but I couldn’t take those with me on the road, so I sold them for some start-up cash and left.
I stumbled on the guitar when I was looking to pawn some watches, and I had to have it. ”
“The same way you had to have those watches?” Caspar asked. “Or were those items acquired another way?”
William shrugged. He was a pitpocket, through and through, but he seemed guilty. The devious smile fell from his face, and he only mumbled about his brother and doing whatever it took to find him.
“So why did you buy the guitar?” Caspar asked. “If your brother was so important?”
“I… I just missed music, and I knew this was special. So I bought it and sometimes played it for strangers so they’d give me change.
I’d never made money that way before, so it was cool.
It wasn’t until I found the card deck that I realized it was yours.
I mean, I suspected, because I’d grown up listening to All Trades and a bunch of other bands, and I knew that you guys liked to colour-code your instruments.
It was probably why I wanted the guitar so badly—but I really had no idea. ”
“Well, now you do. It’s mine, and I’m taking it back.” Malek folded his arms over the guitar, more possessive than before. “And you should go. You can’t just walk into people’s apartments and expect to be welcome.”
“I know that. I just…”
“Want an autograph?” Malek asked. “What?”
“Ugh.” William ran a hand through his hair.
He mumbled something about wanting to see if it was all true, but Malek didn’t seem to hear it.
Malek gestured to the door again, his eyes almost violet with rage.
William paused when he walked past Caspar, almost as if he recognized him.
As he touched the doorknob to leave, he turned back to Malek.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb whatever this was. ”
“What makes you think it was anything?”
William gave them both a knowing look.
Caspar blushed. God, what was he even doing with Malek?
Were they really going to come in here and fuck?
Maybe Sully was right and Caspar was only touch-starved.
Or maybe Katja was right and he’d be out of it for the next little while because of the jewels, in spite of her potions and protections.
His ancestral memories didn’t quite feel like they were memories anymore—more like dreams that had no meaning or purpose and that he couldn’t recall until something strange triggered them.
A scent. A song. Caspar considered Malek’s blue guitar and wondered if his family had any instruments.
Was that why the guitar enchanted him so much at first?
Was that why, when Malek’s fingers gripped the guitar neck, Caspar wondered what they would feel like inside his body?
Maybe Caspar only wanted to curl up under the covers with Malek and have him tell him stories about his culture.
Their culture. They may not have been in the same family, but who knew what else they could share?
The desire he felt for Malek, Caspar realized, wasn’t just a grief-fueled way to distract himself from what he’d learned today.
He wanted to know Malek. He wanted to know every last thing about him.
Including this guitar. It was one of Malek’s four items. And if it was here, that meant there were only two more missing.
Malek was getting stronger because of it.
He loomed over William with a new kind of authority, his skin and tattoos all tinged a shade of blue.
He’d also broken the guitar strap like it was nothing.
His items couldn’t be bound to William because Malek was bound to him.
Caspar rubbed the ring, almost incidentally, until Malek shot him a look.
“Nothing is going on here,” Caspar said. “Other than you telling us where you found that guitar.”
“I wasn’t lying. A pawn shop in Manitoba, just outside of Winnipeg. Want me to draw you a map?”
“Maybe later,” Caspar said.
“Did you see anything else there?” Malek asked. “Like a microphone? A crown?”
“A crown?” William laughed. “What is this—the medieval era?”