Epilogue #2
He reached out to touch Mister Stabby, and Jack blocked him, saying, “I’m not getting stabbed every day by whatever you end up making. Back me up, Samantha.”
Samantha’s eyes blazed as she hissed, “Clayton, if you don’t get this… thing out of my house right now, I’m going to destroy your new oven!”
Clayton paled at the threat. “You… you wouldn’t. I spent months working it into the chapter house budget. You love my cookies more than anyone else!”
Mister Stabby chose that moment to fart out a tiny gout of flame, setting the foyer’s two-hundred-year-old rug on fire.
“Get it out of my house!” Samantha shrieked and began swatting at the unicorn once more.
Clayton scooped Mister Stabby off the floor and tossed him through the door to Mal, who handed him off to Eira.
Eira immediately shoved him back to Mal, saying, “I’m with her.
She’s the only one in the whole lot of you who isn’t completely insane.
” Eira dusted her hands off after unloading the soot-covered unicorn and looked at Samantha.
“How do you keep your people in line? We should share notes because mine are worse than herding cats.”
“Threats and treats,” Samantha replied with an unhinged light in her eyes. “And don’t be afraid to follow through on your threats. Fear is your friend. If they’re not terrified of you, you’re not doing it right.”
Eira nodded sagely. “This one gets it,” she said to Grampy, who hadn’t been paying attention to anything. He’d been staring at Clayton’s flower bed. The one he’d been working on the day he’d met Eira and the kids and nearly bled out on the lawn.
Grampy squinted and said, “Did you know there’s blood on your garden edging?”
“What? I thought I’d gotten it all.” Clayton was ready to go and inspect his beloved rose garden, completely forgetting the volatile situation at hand, when Samantha said, “Take care of it next week. You clearly need a few personal days to sort out your family.”
Clayton eyed her warily. She was sweaty, singed, and irritated, but she wasn’t scared of Mal at all.
He took in Jack, who appeared so harmless and cheerful that Clayton would have been fooled if he didn’t know Jack had won a game of tug-of-war with a goddess just so he could reclaim Marshall.
Then Clayton looked at Marshall, who seemed so oblivious to the situation that Clayton was concerned he’d suffered brain damage from whatever Jack had done to make him forget Mal’s existence.
“I’ll see you next week, then?” Clayton asked hesitantly. He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He began corralling his kids out the door like a smart man.
Mister Stabby made a bid for freedom, leaping from Mal’s arm, and Clayton caught him mid-air by the horn just as he exited the door.
“Without the unicorn,” Samantha clarified.
“Yes, of course,” Clayton agreed, holding the wildly thrashing beast out at arm's length.
It spurted flames in every direction in outrage, but Mal had done something to keep Clayton safe from its fire.
Merry had shown that, regardless of Mal’s claims, she only had a small amount of control over the beast. With Mal’s intervention, instead of getting burned when Mister Stabby went on a rampage, Clayton only felt a gentle breeze tickle along his skin.
Just when the front door slammed behind them and Clayton thought he was home-free, Trouble came jogging up the walkway to the chapter house.
Cym, the new patriarch of the Blaike family on paper, but an adorable, homeless mooch in reality, called out, “Clayton! You brought your family? How awesome is that?” He raced to the top of the steps, and Clayton’s eyes flashed with panic.
What was Cym doing outside? His grumpy murder hobo keeper, Fourteen, had him on such a tight leash that Clayton had assumed the possibility of Cym meeting Mal to be slim to none.
Stupid, useless mantra. Clayton had been back in the Real for less than an hour, and his magic had already gone straight to shit.
Clayton tried to subtly stand between Cym and Mal, but Cym darted under Mister Stabby, still dangling from Clayton’s hand, and got right up in Mal’s face.
Sweet Vis. Cym’s magic was volatile and barely under control. It was known for turning unhinged people into raging monsters. What would it do to Mal, an already unhinged and occasionally raging monster?
Clayton’s butthole clenched tighter than any butthole ever should as he waited to see if his lover was about to turn into the giant whatever-the-hell-asaurus he’d been earlier when he’d glutted himself on too many demons.
“Hello, Stillbringer,” Mal said in a relaxed tone.
He was enjoying himself, the filthy bastard. He was absolutely thriving on the chaos around him and likely on watching Clayton’s imminent mental collapse.
“Hello, brave person who’d better be treating Clayton like his own personal god,” Cym said, voice dripping with venom.
“He seems to like the way I treat him,” Mal said easily.
Cym narrowed his eyes. “Your magic clings to every inch of him, so he’d fucking better.”
Clayton looked down at himself, but since he still couldn’t see magic, he saw nothing. He didn’t put it past Mal to sneakily put a magical no trespassing sign on him, just for kicks.
“It’s okay, Cym,” Clayton said hastily. “Mal is my boyfriend—”
“Co-parent,” Eira corrected.
“Husband!” Merry shouted
“No, he’s more like your partner-in-crime,” Holly said.
“Mate.” Mal’s voice rang out in finality.
“We should have biscuits with dinner,” Grampy said to no one in particular.
“Yes, we should, Grampy,” Clayton agreed in an overly cheerful tone. He was taking the statement as a lifeline and running with it. “Let’s get home and start on dinner right now.
“It’s morning, Red,” Mal said, voice filled with amusement. “You made a huge deal about how we had to get here bright and early to make a good impression, remember?”
“So this is your new sweetie?” Cym asked, bulldozing past Clayton’s pitiful attempts at deflection.
The Stillbringer, as young and new to his powers as he was, had an uncanny ability to see to the heart of every situation, and if he wanted to, he could bring the power of creation itself to meddle in whatever way he saw fit.
Clayton really didn’t want to see what would happen if Cym decided to meddle with Mal.
The gods only knew what Cym was able to learn just from looking at Mal.
Further scrutiny from him didn’t bear thinking about, so Clayton unleashed the reins on his anxiety and started talking as quickly as possible.
“Yes! He’s my new gay lover, Mal. We’re gay together. Very, very gay. It’s lovely finding someone to be with. To be gay with. We’re gay.”
Everyone on the stairs gaped at Clayton, and Mal burst into laughter. He pushed Cym out of the way and pulled Clayton into his arms.
“Mine,” Mal announced, kissing Clayton firmly on the mouth. “Mine, mine, mine.” He punctuated each mine with a kiss.
Cym’s mouth twitched, and he began to laugh. “Okay, fine. You two are clearly meant to be together. Just don’t eat my friends, Mal, and we’re good.”
Clayton raised his eyebrows. Cym had some pretty nasty, quite recent, personal experience with nightmares and demons, so for him to hint that he knew what Mal was and casually give him his approval was all but unthinkable.
“You know what he is?” Clayton asked in a whisper. “And you don’t care?”
“I have my own experience loving a person that some people consider a monster,” Cym said, tilting his head to gesture over his shoulder.
Clayton jumped in surprise when he realized Fourteen, Cym’s hulking, silent bodyguard, had been behind them the whole time, perched in a tree like he was on a surveillance mission.
“Where in the Jiminy Christmas did he come from?” Eira gasped, clutching her chest.
“Sorry.” Cym smiled sheepishly. “He does that. He’s really good at hiding.”
“Too good,” Mal said, frowning at Cym’s pet killer. He focused his attention on Fourteen, and his face screwed up like he’d bitten into a lemon. “This guy tastes awful, Red. How can you stand to be around him?”
“Because I’m not in the habit of tasting people, unlike some uncouth individuals I know.”
“How could I not taste him? He’s all over the place. Can we leave now, Red? This guy is going to ruin my appetite.”
Fourteen watched the entire thing stoically, without comment, but Clayton thought he saw a glint of amusement in his eye.
“Gods, yes. Please get us out of here before I have an aneurysm.” Clayton nearly got kicked by Mister Stabby and almost put him down before thinking better of it.
If he freed the unicorn, he’d have to chase him again, and then they’d probably run into a god who hated unicorns or something, and Clayton would have to deal with that, too.
Pass.
Mal made a flicking motion with his fingers, and a portal popped open.
“You’re not supposed to be able to do that here,” Cym said in awe.
They’d portaled in on the sidewalk, which was just shy of where the arsenal of protections Samantha’s companion set up began—the very first being a ban on any form of outside teleportation. In theory, Mal shouldn’t be able to create a portal until they reached the sidewalk again.
Clayton knew very well that Mal had been playing nice, and he didn’t put it past his monster to portal wherever the hell he pleased, but it didn’t mean he needed to flaunt it at Clayton’s place of work.
Mal had grown much stronger since his demon-eating spree. He had a whole new range of powers that Clayton had only begun to discover, and from this little display, he realized he could never bring Mal to the chapter house again.
What if his lover decided to take over? If he succeeded, would that make Mal his boss?
Never. Clayton straightened his spine. Never, ever would that happen.
Mister Stabby tried to kick Clayton again, and Clayton pitched the little beast toward the portal. It twisted agilely like a cat and made a little poof sound as it went through.