CHAPTER SIX
RHYS
Rhys arrived at the Society on Saturday early to soothe his jangling nerves, and camped out in his usual velvet chair in the corner of the hall. Meeting David here had somehow seemed more appropriate than out at a café, but it still felt dangerously close to socializing. That was against the rules he had laid down after his and David’s latest falling out, the ones that carefully circumscribed his life and ensured David stayed on the outside of it.
This was just business, Rhys reminded himself. He was just here to deliver Moira’s natal chart reading and to discuss a topic of purely academic interest. That wasn’t breaking any rules, and that didn’t mean that he and David were on good terms.
Rhys’s hands itched for something to hold, and he considered fixing himself a gin and tonic from the small but always-stocked bar. He thought better of it at the last minute, partially because it was two in the afternoon and partially because it seemed unkind to drink that early in front of a recovering alcoholic.
He tried not to think about how the motivation behind his restraint was inherently gentle. Friendly, even.
David arrived right on time, sweeping into the room like he owned it. His already golden complexion was set off by a tan he probably acquired sailing with Nathan and Kitty, his hair impeccably set. Rhys’s jaw tightened. David radiated aristocratic privilege and generational wealth. Everything Rhys couldn’t have, no matter how hard he worked or how furiously he networked.
In a dark, bitter corner of his heart, Rhys hated David for the effortlessness with which he navigated the world. And he hated him more for having the audacity to look that good while doing it.
David took a seat next to him. Not across from him, as was their custom when the rest of their set were around, but right next to him, in Antoni’s usual seat. Close enough that his knee brushed against Rhys’s.
Rhys jerked back from the touch a bit too quickly, earning a scoff from David.
“I’m not going to bite you,” David muttered. “And whatever I’ve got isn’t catching. At least I don’t think it is.”
“We haven’t figured that out yet.”
“We? So now you’re on board with the investigation?”
“Don’t get carried away,” Rhys said, producing a manila envelope from his messenger bag. The bag was battered from long days and longer nights in the library as an undergraduate, but it was real leather, and full of sentimental value besides. Not that Rhys could afford to splurge on another one.
He tossed the envelope down on the small table in front of them, and David leaned over and began to flip through the contents. His eyes flicked over Moira’s tidy handwriting, taking in her sketched diagrams of constellations and her diagnosis of the placements of the stars at the time of his birth.
David studied the pages so intently that it almost seemed indecent to watch him, like Rhys was witnessing something intimate. This close, he could see the flicker of David’s eyes behind his heavily-lashed lids, watch the bob of his Adam’s apple while he swallowed. This close, Rhys’s skin felt hot and too tight.
Rhys laced his fingers together and cleared his throat.
David glanced up at him, pulled back out of his private world. “Am I boring you?”
That flat, sarcastic intonation burrowed right under Rhys’s skin, and he scowled at David. “I was curious as to your thoughts, actually. But if you’re going to be rude, I can just leave.”
They were quickly approaching one of their tipping points, when irritated barbs would either spark into an all-out fight or be accepted into the normal lull of conversation. David looked at Rhys like he might really take a bite out of him, then seemed to think better of things and shrugged.
“It’s certainly thorough. I didn’t realize astrology got so specific.”
“Moira’s good at what she does.”
David merely nodded, taking in the notes for a few minutes more before fixing Rhys with a perceptive, green-eyed gaze.
“She is, isn’t she? But then again, you always had a soft spot for magical people.”
Rhys refused to meet David’s eyes.
“How did you two meet?” David went on.
This got Rhys’s attention. He stared at David, wondering if he had somehow misheard. “Since when do you care?”
“I’m just making polite conversation, Rhys, no need to go on the defensive.” David flipped to the next page, running his finger along one of Moira’s diagrams. “It was when you were still at Williams, wasn’t it? After I graduated?”
“That’s right,” Rhys said, settling into the story despite his unease around the other man. It was one he had told a thousand times, one he still loved to recount despite present company. “We ran into each other at the same crossroads outside of town, both hoping to do a ritual during a certain cosmic alignment. We needed to kill time before it started, so she invited me into the bed of her truck, and we read each other’s tarot cards and shared a bottle of mead. We ended up missing the alignment, we got so lost in each other.”
“There’s another part to that story though, isn’t there? Something about a name?”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Have I told you this one before?”
“I might have overheard it once or twice. But I like hearing you tell it.”
Rhys blinked, a little taken aback at the flicker of naked honesty from David, usually so above-it-all.
“The ritual I had planned out… It was supposed to reveal the name of the person I was going to marry. I met Moira that night instead, so I guess I got my answer.”
David nodded to himself. And for a moment, Rhys thought he might say something else unexpected, something earnest, or even kind. But then David flipped the envelope shut and tossed his head, that same guarded look back in his eyes. “Thanks for playing messenger boy. Was there anything else?”
That ‘anything else’ felt awfully open-ended, and Rhys wasn’t sure what David was getting at. Rhys shifted uncomfortably in his chair, a dozen things to say bubbling up to the surface. He wanted to dress David down for what he had done to Moira all over again, but he also wanted to ask how David had been, and then actually listen to the answer. He wanted to tell David to keep his distance and not get the wrong idea about them being friends again, but he also wanted to make sure that David’s condition hadn’t gotten any worse. He wanted to put as much space between himself and David as possible, but he also wanted to thread his fingers through David’s hair and tug.
In the end, Rhys settled on politics. The emotionally disengaged machinations of Society politics made him feel safe. That was where the world made sense. “Actually, now that I have you…”
“You could have had me anytime. It was you who told me to keep my distance.” David said it matter-of-factly, like he was laying out evidence in a court case.
Rhys glowered at him. “You and I don’t exactly do well in close quarters, remember?”
David leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, probably flipping through his mental book of all the arguments he could dredge up. His favorite ones: the ones that made Rhys look like the bad guy.
“Where do you want to start? The time you walked out on me or the time you tried to kill me in conclave?”
Rhys didn’t take the bait. “I’m not looking for a fight, David. We might not be friends, but I don’t have any ill will towards you. If I did, I wouldn’t have let you into my house. I would have hexed you six ways to Sunday instead.”
“See, those sound like fighting words to me.”
Rhys took a deep, steadying breath and leaned in closer to David, shrinking the gap between them. David’s eyes flickered to Rhys’s mouth for a millisecond.
“I’m worried about you,” Rhys said, voice low. His stomach did a somersault, telling him that he was treading into dangerous waters. He should keep his distance. He should pretend not to care. “You show up to my house, talking about demons? That’s not like you. Have you been having any more of those sick spells?”
“Spare me the sympathy, please. You know I don’t go in for it.”
“Then tell me what’s really going on here.”
David’s eyes flashed with annoyance, but he didn’t make another smart comment, or excuse himself to leave. That was a small victory in and of itself. Rhys couldn’t remember the last time one of their conversations hadn’t blown up in his face.
“I’m not sure,” David said. He smoothed his hands over his eyes, and looked very tired all of sudden.
Had he been sleeping? Old, treacherous instincts to soothe, to offer David a soft place to land when he bottomed out, welled up inside Rhys. It would be so easy to touch him, in this dark corner of the room with nobody paying attention to them. He could reach out and squeeze David’s knee, or spread his palm against his thigh, or…
No,Rhys chided himself internally, guilt making him feel suddenly sick. None of that.
“I’ve been turning it over in my head, but none of it makes any sense. And there was something else. Something I didn’t mention before. A name.” David’s gaze darted over to Rhys, almost like he was second-guessing what he was about to say, but then he gave over his secret. “Whatever took over during the séance spoke to me. It called me ‘son of Anatoly’.”
“Your father’s name was Evgeni.”
“I know. But I’ve been mulling it over, and I realized that I have seen that name before. A long time ago. In the library at the house on Beacon Hill.”
Rhys felt his eyebrows creep skyward. “You’re going back there?”
“Sounds like I have to, if I want to figure this out. I was thinking this weekend, maybe.”
Rhys’s voice softened, perhaps more than he wanted it to. He spoke before he could stop himself. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, David.”
David gave him a wry look. “I thought we weren’t friends.”
Rhys caught himself and drew back into his seat. Stupid. It had been stupid to show his hand like that; he didn’t know what he was thinking.
You can never think straight when you’re around him. You know better than this.
He took a long drink of his water to cover his embarrassment, then steered the conversation back into more comfortable waters.
“You’re right. I want to talk about the Priesthood.”
This caught David’s attention. He took in every inch of Rhys, trying to sniff out a motive. Rhys didn’t blame him. He wasn’t a liar – there were more elegant ways of getting what he wanted – but Rhys did very little without an ulterior motive. Even charity miraculously ended up benefitting him in the long run.
“I won’t pull my name out of the running, if that’s what you’re asking,” David said.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you,” Rhys said, showing his teeth when he smiled. “Running unopposed would make me look weak.”
“Speaking of opposition, you’d better watch your back. Antoni might be your friend, but he’s hungry. He’ll swipe the crown right out from under you if you give him half a chance.”
“It’s not Antoni I’m worried about. When the time comes,” Rhys said, crossing his ankle over his knee and trying to look at ease, “will you kneel? Or should I be expecting a coup?”
Every Society brother took a knee and swore fealty to the new High Priest during the ascension ritual. It was a dusty old bit of pageantry, but like most rituals, it held weight for Rhys.
David retrieved a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips, smiling to himself. Rhys hated that imperious curve to David’s mouth. He hated its surety and arrogance, and he hated the way he still couldn’t help but admire the shape of it.
“I won’t put this organization through a schism,” Rhys said firmly. He didn’t know if he was trying to threaten David or plead with him. He just knew it was important that they get on the same page about this, and quickly. “I won’t do it.”
“No need to worry about a coup,” David said finally, smoke pluming from his mouth. The familiar scent of David’s brand of cigarettes stung Rhys’s nostrils, transporting him back to a time when everything that was dear to him smelled like that. “Because it’s you that will be kneeling for me, McGowan.”
Rhys opened his mouth to reply, but his attention was diverted by a movement over David’s shoulder. Wayne had appeared out of his office and was in conversation with another one of the older Society brothers over by the fireplace. David followed Rhys’s line of sight and then gave a Cheshire grin.
“Daddy’s home. Do you need to run on over and pay obeisance?”
Rhys grimaced at him. “Some of us worked for the connections we have, David. I wasn’t born with a crystal ball in my mouth.”
Wayne’s eyes fell on them both, and Rhys felt a cold jolt go through him, as though he were a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
“Trouble,” he muttered. “Three o’clock.”
David shot one more surreptitious glance Wayne’s way as the High Priest began to make his way across the room to them.
“I’ll let you handle this one, I think,” David said, pushing up to leave. “You’re so much better at getting lectured than I am.”
“David,” Wayne said, settling a hand on his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here today. Could I speak to you in my office for a moment?”
Rhys smiled at David with serene self-satisfaction. It was obviously not he who was in for a lecture.