CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
DAVID
David spent the next four days in a fugue state. One of the worst hangovers of his life blurred together with the spinning head and roiling nausea of spirit sickness. He ignored every phone call that wasn’t from his therapist, and answered her questions in as few syllables as possible. Humiliation burned through his chest whenever he thought about the gala and its aftermath. Usually, this was when he would throw himself into his work or hit the gym for three hours until he could barely breathe, much less remember his own failures. But his body refused to allow him to even circle the block without giving out on him, so he confined himself to his bedroom and a steady diet of sparkling water, saltine crackers, and tasteless freezer chicken penne. His stomach couldn’t handle anything more substantial, and his id was screaming for another drink to file the edge off the shame, so he resisted the temptation to run down to the corner market for groceries.
He slept through Thursday’s Society meeting and couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t have it in him to show his face that week, not when Rhys was sure to be flocked with well-wishers and glowing with favor. He hadn’t called, which was fine. David didn’t expect to ever hear from him again after the stunt David had pulled at the gala.
He told himself he was fine with that, too.
When his phone did ring, it pulled him out of a black, dreamless sleep. David flipped over the phone on his bedside table, then groaned when he saw the caller ID.
“Wayne,” David said, pressing the phone to his ear.
“David, hello! How are you?”
“Great,” David said, pulling the expensive down comforter over his head.
“I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t at the meeting today. We missed you.”
“Yeah?” David asked, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t holed up in his bed. He rolled onto his side, looking out his expansive windows to the apartment across the way. The cute young lesbian couple who lived there were having dinner at the open window. David hated them for their happiness. “Who scryed?”
“Cameron. He doesn’t have the knack for it, I’m afraid.”
Good, David thought. “That’s too bad,” he said, savoring the schadenfreude.
“I heard you haven’t been feeling well.”
“I’m fine,” David said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’ve just been working too hard. I took the day off.”
“Good, good. Then you’ll be up to getting some dinner tonight. Abe and Louie’s at eight thirty?”
David passed a hand in front of his face and took a deep breath. “Sure. Sounds good.”
Abe and Louie’s was a classic white-tablecloth steakhouse in Back Bay, decked out with a heavy wooden bar lit by low golden lighting. It was Wayne’s favorite, and he had brought David here once before as a gift on his 21st birthday. David had put away a huge ribeye and three glasses of wine until he was glowing with a merlot buzz and the praise Wayne dished out. It was his favorite kind of memory, where he was the center of attention, being recognized for his hard work, with no whiff of criticism.
Now, he wasn’t sure what Wayne’s angle was. David had spent the last few days convinced that he had been deposed from his seat as Wayne’s favorite by Rhys, and that the current High Priest probably didn’t want anything to do with him. Maybe, David reckoned glumly as he pushed his way through the restaurant doors, Wayne had called him out here to let him down easy, to turn him out of the Society in a private, civil way.
But when Wayne saw him, he smiled that same warm smile and shook his hand firmly before pulling him into a one-armed hug.
“So good to see you,” he said, as though there was no one else in the world he would rather be taking dinner with. “Have a seat, please.”
David smiled in a way he hoped looked friendly, not pained, and swept into the empty chair. The waiter fussed over them both for a moment, but once David had ordered his Perrier and the salmon, he and Wayne were left in peace.
“You look well,” Wayne pronounced. “Not sick like they were saying.”
“Who’s they?” David asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Rhys?”
“No, no. I spoke to Nathan. He said you haven’t been feeling much like yourself lately.”
David had known Wayne long enough to know when he was working up to an uncomfortable talking point. He cut him off at the pass. “Did he see what happened at the gala?”
Wayne leaned back in his seat and spread his hands. “This isn’t an interrogation, David. It’s been so long since you and I were able to talk man to man. I thought it would be good to catch up. But yes, I heard you had a bit too much to drink at the gala. It’s nothing to be ashamed of; it happens to the best of us.”
He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Wayne could never quite grasp that to David, alcohol wasn’t an ill-advised one-night stand. It was more like a drawn-out, toxic relationship with a lover who smacked him around but kept him coming back for more.
He didn’t ask if Wayne had seen him with Rhys. If that lecture was coming, there was no dodging it, but he wasn’t in the mood for quiet sympathy and firm-handed advice. Confrontation seemed more comforting and familiar, so he steered the conversation in that direction.
“Well, as you can imagine, I was a little surprised by your succession pick. It didn’t seem in line with conversations you and I have had.”
Wayne didn’t even have the grace to look guilty. “I never made you any promises, David.”
“You led me on.”
“I let you know you were at the top of my list, and that was true. But so was Rhys. Surely, you knew that.”
The waiter appeared with braised salmon for David and a prime cut of beef for Wayne, and David took advantage of the interruption to let a glower flicker across his face.
“Would it be out of line to say I think you made the wrong call?” David asked once the waiter had disappeared.
“David, come on. You didn’t really want the Priesthood.”
David stabbed a fork into his dinner with more viciousness than was strictly necessary. “Didn’t I?”
Wayne leaned across the table, his blue eyes shining keenly. “You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you really wanted to get tied up in all that bureaucracy and red tape. Doing things by the book has never been your strong suit, and while I do think you’re a natural leader, you don’t do well stuck behind a desk. That’s what Rhys is signing up for, and trust me when I say it’s a grind.”
“I could have done it,” David muttered, a treacherous emotion knotting in his throat. He wouldn’t get upset in front of Wayne; he refused to. “I would have been fantastic.”
“Maybe so. But you would have also been wasted.”
David shot Wayne a withering glance. “Spare me.”
“I’m serious. Rhys has worked long and hard to get where he is. But you were born for greatness, David. It’s in your blood. I haven’t forgotten about you.”
“Oh yeah? What’s my consolation prize?”
Wayne chuckled, shaking his head fondly. He had always indulged David’s bad attitude, ever since David had been fifteen and mouthing off to his father’s friends during a séance. Evgeni had always responded to David’s quips with a sharp word or a sharp slap, but Wayne was more understanding.
“How about the role of chief scryer, for starters?”
David refused to let any pleasure show on his face. “I already scry plenty.”
“Yes, but I’m talking about putting you in charge of the whole operation. You would have first dibs on scrying any working you want, and you would have more input on the kinds of workings we perform as a group.”
David pressed his lips into a thin line. Any other day, he would have been overjoyed with more free reign, and a new title to boot. But now it just felt like a pity promotion.
Wayne raised his water glass in a toast. David remembered distantly that toasting with water was supposedly bad luck.
“You do trust me, don’t you?” Wayne asked.
David consulted with himself and found, improbably, that he did. Wayne had been in his life as long as anyone left alive. He used to produce cream toffees out of his coat pockets for David when he visited Evgeni at the Beacon Hill house, and had always readily dished out praise after David emerged, winded and dizzy, from channeling. He had steered David away from total vodka-soaked ruin after Evgeni died, leaving David with millions to his name and zero supervision, and he had been there when Rhys had moved out, leaving David a dejected, jaded mess. David had spent a Christmas with Wayne and his wife in the Alps, for God’s sake, of course he trusted him.
“Yes, High Priest,” David muttered into his water.
“Not for long!” Wayne said with a grin, jabbing a finger in David’s direction. “Soon that title will belong to Rhys. Please do your best to defer to him. I understand that might be difficult considering your history, and what he must still mean to you–”
“Rhys McGowan means nothing to me,” David said icily, even though his chest was burning hot. When David felt threatened, he got mean, and when he had been a much younger man, he used to get mean and lie. Apparently, there was no growing out of some vices. “He’s a talented sorcerer and scholar, more than fit to lead, but that’s where my admiration of him ends. You shouldn’t worry about favoritism. There hasn’t been any fondness between us for years.”
Wayne nodded approvingly. “That’s my boy.”
The High Priest cut into his rare steak, a dribble of bloody juice running down his knife.
David sat in silence for a moment, and his own appetite – elusive as an unasked question – twisted in his gut. Finally, he gave in. “Wayne, you were close with my father, weren’t you?”
“I wouldn’t say we were close. Evgeni kept to himself. But we came up together in the Society. He was an excellent sorcerer. A bulldog in the ceremonial circle. He could break any spirit, get them to do whatever he wanted.”
David tangled his fingers together under the table, squeezing until his knuckles went white.
“He didn’t ever mention any sort of family… deal, did he?”
“You mean that old fairy tale about the Devil?”
David forced a smile. He was talented enough that he knew it looked convincing. “That’s the one. I’m just doing a little genealogical research. It’s an entertaining tidbit.”
Wayne chewed thoughtfully. “He might have mentioned it in passing. Something about your ancestor selling a soul for the power to charm people. I don’t remember the details, I’m afraid.”
David smothered a frustrated sigh. Another dead end.
Wayne leaned forward, fixing David with a look that usually predicated a lecture. “Now, I’m willing to overlook your absence today in light of recent events, but you know you can’t just disappear on us, don’t you? Especially now that you’re going to be taking on more responsibility.”
“I understand.”
“Can I count on your attendance next Thursday? The Society needs you. The boys wouldn’t know what to do with themselves without you there to set an example.”
David was an adept enough flatterer to know when he was being buttered up, but he accepted the compliment all the same. It took the sting out of the dull ache that had been throbbing under his skin ever since he had pulled Rhys into that alcove at the gala.
“Of course,” he said magnanimously, a little bit of that old glamour shining through. He didn’t feel at all himself, but being asked to make an appearance somewhere and perform his talents helped. That was what he had always been best at, after all. That’s what he had been bred for.