Evocation

CHAPTER ELEVEN

DAVID

Brunch at Santiago’s was a monthly ritual for David’s clique. Santiago’s was a trendy fusion bistro that served bottomless mimosas and the best eggs Benedict in the city. The restaurant had buttery leather booths tucked into dim corners that were perfect for gossiping. But today, they were dining al fresco at one of the wrought-iron tables that lined the exterior. David was nursing a San Pellegrino on ice with his shades on against the late spring sun while Antoni verbally processed his decision to ghost his most recent almost-boyfriend.

“I feel like I’m in the right. At least… I’m definitely not in the wrong here.”

“It depends on what you mean by ‘in the wrong’,” Nathan said, adding a handful of raspberries to his mimosa. He had been doing much of the active listening and advice-giving up until this point, since that wasn’t really David’s forte, and Cameron had been distracted through their first round of drinks – daydreaming about writing an academic rebuttal to some dead theologian, probably.

“I’m asking if what I did was shitty.”

Nathan looked pained. “Uhhh… do I think it’s shitty? No. Do I think it’s the nicest thing to do to someone? No.”

Antoni crossed his arms over his chest. “What does that even mean? I’m looking for a yes or no answer.”

“I think it depends!”

“Why are you asking him?” David demanded, begrudgingly involving himself in the conversation. If he left it alone, Nathan would hedge for a half hour until he roused Antoni’s temper. “He couldn’t make a decision if you put a gun to his head, and he’s straight.”

“Hey,” Nathan protested. “I’m the only one here who’s married. That counts for something. At least I think I’m the only married one. Cameron?”

Cameron made a vague, noncommittal noise that suggested that the idea of marriage was preposterous to him. No one had ever been able to figure out if he was seeing anyone or not, but for some reason it was hard to imagine.

“Antoni, I won’t hold your hand about this,” David said, dismissing the question with a wave. “Every time I see you, it’s the same thing. You’re sure there’s not someone else you’re hung up on who’s getting in the way of you connecting with Grindr randos?”

Antoni kicked him under the table, shooting him a daggered glance with his eyes. David had certain suspicions about who that might be, but it wasn’t his place to say. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t poke the bear, however.

“I’m asking for real advice, David.”

“I’m not gonna give it. What was wrong with this guy anyway? Same as the last one?”

“Nothing was necessarily wrong; everything was fine and then he just started getting really attached and was trying to plan months in advance with me, and I started getting really claustrophobic, you know, and–”

“Same as last time, case closed,” David said.

Antoni fumed, but then he caught sight of something past David’s shoulder and gave a sigh of relief. “Rhys, thank God. Settle an argument for us.”

David tensed. This wasn’t possible. Rhys had not been to brunch in six months. Not since the fight.

David turned around. Rhys McGowan approached the table with his hands tucked into the pockets of his peacoat, dark curls tossed by the wind. He came to a stop next to their table and tucked his sunglasses into his jacket, and David still wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t hallucinating. This was all strictly off limits. David had gotten brunch in the divorce, by default, when Rhys had started making excuses for why he hadn’t been showing up.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rhys said. The lateness wasn’t strange. Rhys was always the last one to arrive, either because of the commute in from Jamaica Plain or from his sporadic Sunday church attendance. What was strange was that he was here at all. Nathan and Cameron shared a meaningful look as Rhys took a seat between them, but no one commented on his sudden appearance.

David caught the scent of candle wax and incense as Rhys swept past him and intuited that Rhys had just been kneeling in some chapel moments before. David suddenly wanted a mimosa, or three. The craving hit him like a freight train, but he swallowed it back down along with a few swigs of sparkling water.

The table went right back into their old rhythm, Nathan passing Rhys the drink list while Antoni launched into his crisis of the week. The kid never missed a beat.

“Is it wrong to not call someone back after you’ve been seeing them for two months, give or take?”

“Who is it this time?” Rhys asked. “Guy or girl?”

“Does it matter? Just some guy I’ve been hanging out with.”

“Romantically?”

“More or less.”

“Of course it is; who raised you? Always do someone the courtesy of a call when you want to break something off.”

David’s mood swung from awestruck to irritated on a dime. Who did Rhys think he was, re-inserting himself back into their lives like he had never left, like he hadn’t been stringing David along with his inscrutable list of boundaries for six months? He really thought he could just slot himself back into his usual seat and pick up conversation right where he left off, even though David was banned from setting foot in his house?

“Why?” David shot back. His father had always said his attitude was the cause of all his problems, and it tended to rear its head when he needed to shut up the most.

Rhys poured himself a glass of water from the decanter in the middle of the table. “It’s the right thing to do. And Antoni, if you feel guilty about it, that’s your conscience telling you that you’ve done something wrong and that you need to apologize. It sounds like this is keeping you up at night, so there’s your answer.”

“That’s Catholic bullshit,” David said. “Nine times out of ten, guilt is just internalized shame holding you back. If you don’t like what you did, don’t do it again. But don’t beat yourself up about it.”

Rhys fired a warning shot with his eyes but didn’t rise to the challenge, just buttered himself a piece of artisanal focaccia.

“If you really want my opinion, Antoni,” Rhys continued, as though David hadn’t even spoken, “if you aren’t ready to have a serious conversation with someone you’re seeing, you aren’t ready to be seeing him. You keep having these opened-ended flings and then freaking out when the other person tries to take them somewhere. Be more intentional from the start.”

“Bullshit,” David repeated with a dry laugh. Now he was remembering why Rhys drove him up the wall when they didn’t have the veneer of professionalism between them to keep things civil. The moralizing, the endless judgement of other people. “Dating should be about having a good time with somebody else.”

Rhys spared David a withering glance. “And how’s that been going for you recently?”

Nathan leaned further across the table, nearly putting his body between the two men. He had always played referee, even back in the days when Rhys and David’s spats were the product of living together. Cameron would always delicately remove himself from the situation, and Antoni usually took Rhys’s side, the little bastard, but Nathan strived to be impartial.

“It’s been a while since you came to brunch,” Nathan ventured carefully.

“I’ve been busy,” Rhys said smoothly. “Everyone is making their final thesis rush on the library, and I haven’t had enough time for my own research. I’ve been trying to get my work out there more. Publish or perish, you know.”

Only Cameron had any sort of understanding of the demands of academia, and he nodded sagely.

“You know, Kitty’s been missing you,” Nathan said. “We should all go out on the boat sometime.”

Rhys’s eyes skimmed over Nathan’s face, so fast that someone who wasn’t David might have missed it. He was gauging whether or not he wanted to accept this peace offering. Nathan hadn’t handled the blow to their social circle well. He wanted everyone to get along, and he wanted everyone within arm’s reach of him at all times, for cocktail hours or sporting events or crisp walks across Harvard yard to find a decent cup of coffee after Society meetings. Nathan’s heart was too big for his own good, and he wore it proudly pinned to his chest like a wartime medal. Rhys was, by all accounts, a private and retiring person, suspicious of enthusiastic overtures of friendship. An invitation like this the instant he showed back up at brunch would probably be too much for him, and he would probably find a polite way to wriggle out of it.

“That sounds great,” he said, much to David’s surprise. He was making an effort, then. Actively working to reintegrate himself into their shared world. “Have Kitty phone Moira and we’ll hash out a date.” He even smiled when he said it, in a way that made Nathan beam right back with his sunset-strip grin.

“So,” Rhys said, settling into his seat as the waiter poured him a glass of champagne and orange juice. “Besides boats and dating, what have we been discussing lately?”

This opened the floodgates to a torrent of occult chatter as everyone tried to fill Rhys in on what he had missed. Antoni was still working through Bardon to great success, with a diligence that David was surprised to see in a sorcerer so young. Cameron had been cross-analyzing some infernal names in various texts, which made Rhys’s ears perk up, and David listened in silence as the two men swapped linguistic theories about the origins of summoning formulas. Nathan, as usual, was just happy to be there, and bounced between thread to thread without missing a beat. He was infinitely flexible in a way David could never be, filling the air with chatter. David couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. He was a social maverick, sure, but there was always a sense of performance to it. Nathan seemed genuinely at ease around damn near everybody. It reminded David of Moira, of her proclivity for making friends out of every stranger.

“David,” Rhys said, snagging his attention. “Will you take a walk around the block with me?”

David set his glass down definitively, staring at Rhys as though he had just proposed they go halfsies on buying a casino together. “Now?”

Rhys just gave a take-it-or-leave-it sort of shrug. Nathan politely pretended not to notice the negotiations going on, but Antoni looked outright offended.

“You just got here, Rhys. You disappear for the entire winter and now–”

“Let him go,” Cameron said.

Antoni fell back in his seat, seething, but he didn’t say anything else. Rhys reached for his wallet.

“I’ve got it,” David said.

“No, you don’t,” Rhys replied, and tossed what he owed down on the table. David added a few larger bills to the pile, enough to cover the table’s tab, but he was hardly paying attention. Rhys was here, and he wanted to talk to him privately. David didn’t know whether he wanted to punch Rhys in the mouth or cling onto him for fear that he was just going to disappear again, but either way, he was having fits. Quietly, of course. Subtly, so as not to give Rhys the satisfaction of knowing the effect his presence had.

A temperate spring breeze hit them as they stepped onto the street, and David quickened his pace to keep up with Rhys’s stride. David was taller and his legs were longer, but Rhys walked with mercenary intentionality. David had no idea how this was supposed to go. Was he supposed to wait for Rhys to speak first, or volunteer some kind of apology? He felt like he had apologized more than enough. If Rhys was here, walking alone with him on a sunny afternoon, then his most cardinal rule was already broken. They were already socializing outside of a Society meeting, and that meant David could barrel through any other taboo he wanted.

“Antoni is going to be pissed at you,” he said. “You show back up for ten minutes, get his hopes up, then break his heart.”

“Antoni’s fine.”

“Antoni idolizes you. He’s been mad at me for keeping you away from him ever since you cut me off. You know we go to the same gym, right? He refused to spot me for a month after you stopped showing up.”

“You don’t think he has a crush, do you?”

“How should I know? Not my business. Besides, if he’s pining after anybody, it’s not you, and we both know it. I think he’s just pissed you pulled a disappearing act.”

“Well.” Rhys wrinkled his nose as they crossed the street and walked alongside a string of ivy-adorned brownstones. “Maybe it was wrong of me to cut everyone out for so long.”

There wasn’t the shadow of a joke on his face, but David sometimes had trouble telling when Rhys was joking even when the punchline was right in front of him.

“I expect you to tell him that. I don’t want to be your go-between.”

“I will. But I’ve been meaning to talk to you. This seemed like the easiest way.”

David realized he was holding his box of cigarettes, rotating it around in his fingers. Rhys made him nervous when he was like this, reticent and unpredictable. David’s fingers itched for his lighter.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

“Go ahead.”

Rhys slowed to a stop beneath one of the beech trees shading the sidewalk so David could light a cigarette. Then, to David’s great surprise, Rhys nodded at the carton. “Can I trouble you for one?”

The muscles in David’s neck tensed. He felt as though he were being invited into one of those old carnival games: step right up and stick your hand in the shadowy vase and you might pull out a prize.

Or a snake.

“You haven’t smoked since college.”

“For everything a season, right?”

David retrieved a cigarette from the box and held it out to Rhys, who placed it between his lips expectantly. David wasn’t much for chivalry, but Rhys hadn’t lit his own cigarette the entire time they were together. Rhys hadn’t allowed him to get close enough to touch him, much less help him nurse an old vice, since their falling out six months ago. It was hard to say if this was an invitation or not, but David took the chance and brought the tiny flame up to Rhys’s face. He lingered there long enough for the cigarette to catch, not knowing if he was going to get his hand bitten off.

Rhys drew the smoke into his mouth ponderously, watching David with hard eyes and a curious tilt to his head. It reminded David of a bird. A crow, maybe.

“How have you been? Any more blackouts?”

David gulped down his own cigarette, not relenting until the smoke burned the inside of his lungs. It was how he had learned to smoke at fourteen, right before his father carted him off to America and dropped him in some prep school where he wasn’t allowed to even look at a cigarette. He still snuck them, smoking them behind dumpsters and faculty cars like they were going out of style.

“No, no more of that.”

“But?”

A cool, stray wind blew in from the south, catching the smoke out of Rhys’s mouth. They weren’t all the way to summer yet, and David wasn’t all the way sure he wanted Rhys to know the extent of things.

“I’m still feeling… off. Sick, like Moira said. I’m sensitive to every little whisper of psychic activity, but I can’t focus on any of it. I feel…”

He grasped for the right words. Rhys waited patiently. David had very little experience precisely naming his emotions. Somehow, that endeavor felt more frightening than the blackouts.

“I’m getting tired way faster than I should. Fatigued and dizzy at work for no reason. And I can’t sleep. Can’t sit still.”

Rhys nodded, then took up his pointed stride again. “We’ve been thinking,” Rhys said, “about your offers at the house.”

“I meant them both.”

“I know you did. I know what you’re doing, David.”

“What am I doing?”

Rhys looked like he wanted to answer, but he pulled his punch at the last instant and just shook his head. “I don’t have time to take on another huge research project. I’m slammed at the library, and I have barely any time for my own summoning work.”

Something sank like a stone right down to the bottom of David’s stomach. He wished he was surprised.

“It’s fine. I appreciate you thinking it over.”

“I’m not telling you no. I’m setting my boundaries.”

Boundaries, more boundaries, so many that David thought he might strangle himself in them. Irritation ignited in his chest and caught fire on his tongue.

“I’m not playing fucking emotional Jenga with you anymore. Listen, if it’s going to be too much trouble, I’ll get someone else. I don’t want this to turn into a Thing.”

Rhys touched him lightly on the elbow to lead him across the busy street, face entirely unbothered by David’s outburst. Maybe he was getting used to them again.

“It won’t be. That’s why we’re talking about boundaries. I’ll help you out with this, because I don’t want to see you run yourself into the ground and because I would drain my savings account for any one of those books in your father’s library.”

“And?”

“We can try talking, if you want. I don’t know if that will help this whole process or make it worse. But I’m getting tired of being petty and I’m tired of doing backflips to keep our social calendars separate.”

“My God, Rhys McGowan, tired of being petty? Somebody hospitalize me, I’m obviously much worse off than any of us feared.”

Rhys tried to shoot him a disapproving look, but it morphed into a smirk somewhere along the way. David recognized that smile, half-reproving, half-amused. It had been his constant companion at Williams, through late night raids on the occult section of the library and vodka-fueled quick-and-dirty summonings on dorm room floors.

“I’m not saying things can go back to the way they were, but we can try to figure something out.”

“Fine by me. Do you want me to bring the books by your house? I can have them shipped over if you want.”

“No, Moira still doesn’t want you coming over. She wants to keep all this separate from our home life.”

There it was. The catch. The hoop David would have to jump through like a well-trained dog if he wanted any scraps of Rhys’s attention.

“Don’t you think that’s a little ridiculous?” David pressed. “Where else are we supposed to go?”

“The Beacon Hill house. I thought that was obvious?”

“Rhys, you know I hate that house. If there wasn’t so much money tied up in it, I would have burned it to the ground as an eighteenth-birthday present to myself.”

“It seems ideal. There’s plenty of space, nobody to ask any questions, and all the primary documents are on-site.”

David snapped another cigarette out of his carton. “I’m just supposed to sit around in dear old Dad’s place while you read books? I’d rather die, thanks. I have an apartment, you know.”

“I hate that godawful modern monstrosity.”

“Easy, it’s a million-dollar condo.”

“It’s an overpriced Ikea showroom. Be reasonable. We’re not lugging an antiquarian library up twenty stories for the sake of your blood feud with your dead dad. If we’re going to do this, we do it right.”

David smoked in sullen silence for the length of the street, bobbing and weaving between the foot traffic until he and Rhys turned another corner. Here, the narrow residential street was quieter, lined with commuter cars.

“Well, if we’re going to do this, then I’m going to be honest with you,” David said finally, stabbing his cigarette butt out underfoot. “I don’t know what her problem is with me. Does she think I’m some kind of homewrecker? Come on.”

“She doesn’t trust you, David. She has no reason to. Frankly, I respect that.”

“When have I lied to her? When have I ever done anything shitty except the one thing I did in good faith and then apologized for later?”

This wasn’t going well. David hadn’t intended to bring up Moira, not now. Not ever. There was no way through this conversation that didn’t end with him coming out looking bad.

Rhys finished the final puff of his cigarette and put it out in a nearby trash can. “She doesn’t know you.”

“We’ve known each other for what, four years? Since before you two got married.”

“No, she’s seen you around, and sometimes you share clients. She doesn’t know a thing about you. Not about your history, or your goals, or your likes and dislikes, and certainly not your family.”

David recoiled, repulsed. “Why the hell would she? Is she my doctor? My wife? My accountant? Why not just ask for my social security number while she’s at it?”

Rhys pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He took a deep, steadying breath. “Listen. How do I say this? You’re important to me.”

“I’m touched,” David said, voice flat.

“Let me finish,” Rhys said, holding up a stiff hand. “You’re important to me, and she sees that, so she wants to be on good terms with you as well. You two don’t have to be friends. You don’t even have to understand each other; God knows, you’re polar opposites. But she has always been willing to try, at least.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Because you bulldoze her. You walk all over anyone who doesn’t go along with your every whim. You don’t see it, but you do. And I know you don’t mean it, but that isn’t an excuse.”

Cold trickled down the inside of David’s ribs. Rhys was burning through every bit of his goodwill. “Wow, it sure is honesty hour. I’m not sure if I prefer this or the silence.”

Rhys turned suddenly on his heel, and David almost crashed into him. Rhys’s voice was steady, but his eyes blazed. “I love her, David.”

“Christ, you nearly barreled me over. Don’t be dramatic, nobody is questioning–”

“I’m not done. I love Moira all the way to hell and back. I love her more than money, more than my own pride and ambition. That woman is my home, and I am more than willing to prioritize her – vehemently, if need be. If she tells me she needs something to feel safe, she gets it. End of story.”

David jutted his chin out combatively, but he knew better than to tangle with Rhys on this. He had been on the receiving end of that honed, blind devotion before, and he knew how far Rhys would go to follow it.

“And what does she need now? A cozy conversation about our feelings over tea and cookies? Sorry Rhys, but that is just never going to happen.”

“She just wants to come along with me to Evgeni’s house.”

David barked a laugh. “To what? Chaperone me?”

“Help, if she can.”

This gave David pause. With the way this conversation had been careening, he’d assumed Moira had zero interest in taking him up on his offer to show her around the spirit world. If she had any other opinion of him besides hatred, Rhys was doing a poor job of conveying it.

“She actually wants to work with me?”

They rounded another corner, Rhys falling in behind David as they slipped between an apartment building and construction scaffolding.

“She hasn’t decided yet. That’s between the two of you. But she’s amenable to spending a little more time with you so she can figure it out.”

“Is this the part where you tell me to stop trying to involve her in my scary, immoral necromancy?”

Rhys came to a stop, and it was only then David realized they had merely circled the block. They were right back where they started, on the corner outside Santiago’s. At the other end of the outdoor seating area, the three Society brothers carried on their conversation over a second round of drinks.

“That’s not my call to make,” Rhys said. There was something pleading in his eyes that threw David off balance. “This is her choice, and I know you aren’t trying to hurt her. Just… be careful. She’s got a lot of shit she hasn’t worked through rattling around in her head, and no offense, but so do you. I don’t know what happens when you put two people like that in a room together with ghosts, and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to either of you.”

David sifted through all the smart comments he could make in response before discarding them wholesale. Instead, he just nodded somberly. Rhys was a chronic killjoy and worrier extraordinaire, but for once, his fears might be founded.

Rhys gave a jerking nod in response and started to move away towards his car. “We’ll come by this weekend. Does eleven on Saturday work?”

“Fine with me.”

“Thanks for the cigarette and the walk.”

“We managed to go about…” David glanced at his watch, “ten minutes without shouting at each other. Call Ripley’s.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Rhys chastised, but that smirk was back. “This whole thing is just me doing you a favor, alright? Don’t expect anything else.”

“You’re not my type anymore, anyway,” David said archly, even though he knew Rhys wasn’t talking about sex. He was referring obliquely to something far more precarious and frightening: Friendship. Real openness and trust with each other.

David’s chest tightened, old fight-or-flight instincts kicking in.

“Sure,” Rhys said, and waved at him, half-dismissal, half-farewell, as he slid into the Lincoln.