Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
MAL
SIX WEEKS LATER
“No phone calls during ahhhhnevermindI’msorry!” The flight attendant fled before Mal even had to look at him.
Heh. Mal had that effect on people, and he didn’t hate it one bit. He also didn’t hate that it was so strong that people didn’t bother him unless they absolutely had to.
When Mal was pissed off, almost no one had the guts to interact with him. His flight attendant must have had a set of brass ones to even try, because Mal was currently livid.
Fucking fuck that fucking little fuck from Boston. Mal was STARVING, and he had things to do. He didn’t have time for this fucking bullshit.
He punched a number he shouldn’t know into a phone no member of the Other should be able to touch without frying it into oblivion. When a prim, overly-educated voice greeted him, Mal snapped, “What?”
There was some very proper-sounding stammering, and then Mal received an indignant, “What do you mean, what? You called me.”
Mal’s lips quirked in amusement without his permission. There was something about the awkward, lanky guardian wannabe that got under Mal’s skin in a way he couldn’t ignore. Even through his extreme hunger and irritation, he couldn’t help but needle the man. “Are you sure about that?”
“I’m fairly certain I didn’t, considering I don’t have a phone.”
Mal snorted and couldn’t help but ask, “Then what are you talking on right now?”
“I—” There was a strangled sound, and then Clayton said, ”I wish I knew. One minute, I’m in the bath, and the next, the shadow in the corner started ringing, so I answered.”
The desperate hunger in Mal’s core faded into the background, and he laughed. The entire plane went silent and still, like a nest of mice hoping they wouldn’t be next as long as they didn’t catch a wandering predator’s attention as it passed by.
Mal didn’t have to wear a disguise while out among the norms. They didn’t see his differences from a normal human, because they didn’t want to see them.
They could barely stand to look at him. Mal could have a massive tail and he’d likely be able to walk down a busy street in broad daylight without incident.
If it weren’t for the Guard, Mal would probably do it, too. They didn’t like his kind very much, though, and were far more likely to try to kill him first without bothering to ask questions.
Mal didn’t blame them. His kind sucked beyond the telling, and Mal gleefully treated them the same way the Guard did every chance he got.
“A shadow, huh?” Mal prodded. He couldn’t say he was surprised. His magic made it so he could contact anyone he’d met before, whether they had a phone on them or not. There was also a small compulsion attached to the call, so the recipient would be forced to answer whether they wanted to or not.
He imagined Clayton sitting in the tub, desperately trying to ignore the shadow ringing in the corner of his bathroom, and a grin broke out across his face.
If anyone on the plane had dared to glance at him at that moment, their hair would have turned as white as Mal’s from witnessing the inhuman display of razor-sharp teeth in a mouth far wider than it should be.
The hint of purple to his skin could be explained away by someone who wanted to believe he was a normal human, but his shark-like teeth were a stretch too far.
If he wasn’t on a plane, he might have tried to hide his smile, but nothing short of a high-level dreamwalker could give him a challenge, and they wouldn’t be able to board a plane without shorting the entire thing out, let alone fly inside one.
Mal’s magic was special, just like him. One of a kind.
Mal was the only member of the Other on the plane right now—if he didn’t count the woman with latent magic in the back. And since she didn’t have a chance in hell of clocking him, Mal didn’t give a shit who saw his teeth.
It wasn’t like she’d be able to see him all the way from coach anyway. Mal stretched his legs to their full length in his large, comfy, first-class cubicle, and he leaned back to enjoy Clayton’s reaction to his provocation.
He was about to break in on the tirade Clayton had worked himself into about how even in the Other, shadows shouldn’t ring, and did he have any idea what time it was, and what kind of decent person makes shadows do inappropriate things so late in the evening, when Mal heard the sound of water sliding across smooth skin and dripping down onto floor tiles.
Mal had always had excellent hearing.
For a split-second, Mal’s ever-persistent hunger was drowned out by a completely different kind of hunger. This one also involved the tearing of delicate skin with teeth and claws in order to slake his hunger, but the desired outcome wasn’t the death of his victim.
“Are you naked right now?” Mal asked without thinking.
“Am I what? What kind of pervert calls up perfectly respectable strangers in the middle of the night to ask them if they’re naked? I’m hanging up now.” There was an awkward cough, and then Clayton muttered, “Once I figure out how to hang up a shadow, that is.”
Annoying and enchanting, just like Mal remembered.
“Maybe if I shine a light on it… Shit, my hand! No worries, I’m fine. Just a small incident…”
Clayton was one giant walking incident as far as Mal was concerned, and his area of effect was far larger than Mal previously imagined.
After some scuffling and the sound of a spell patch being ripped open, Clayton sighed. “Ok, fine. I don’t know how to hang up a shadow, so why don’t you tell me what you want, mystery pervert, so I can get ready for bed in peace.”
Mystery pervert? “It’s Mal.”
“What’s Mal?”
“Me. I’m Mal.” Had Clayton forgotten him so quickly? It had only been six weeks since they’d parted in Boston. Most folk couldn’t forget Mal in a hundred years, even if they wanted to, and Clayton had forgotten Mal in a span of weeks. If he’d even waited that long.
Well, fuck him.
“Do you get a lot of random people asking you if you’re naked?” Mal asked. He’d almost entirely forgotten the reason for the phone call in the first place.
“Hmm…”
Was Clayton tallying up the numbers? Had he forgotten Mal because he was too busy fending off perverts left and right?
Hmph.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to respond because I was busy researching how much audacity a person could contain before they died. By my calculations, you should be popping off any minute now.”
Mal snorted, causing the flight attendant to startle and plaster himself against the bathroom door in fright.
Clayton didn’t know the meaning of the word fear, and it was gloriously refreshing.
He was, however, chaos incarnate, which brought Mal back to why he’d called in the first place, so he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong? I can’t think of anything other than being turned into a single parent by a deadbeat loser who hasn’t bothered to check in since he split. Everything’s just bloody perfect.”
So Clayton did remember. Good.
“Are the kids okay? Did something happen to them?” Mal didn’t care. He didn’t.
“They’re fine. Eira and Grampy have moved into my place and are watching after the kids when I can’t be there. Why do you ask?”
Why indeed.
“My flight was just rerouted to Boston.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“I was on my way to Beijing.”
“So what?”
“From Seoul.”
“…” There was a sound of feet slipping on tile and copious swearing.
Mal grinned. Maybe his unwanted side quest wouldn’t ruin his week after all.