Evocation

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

RHYS

Rhys resolved to put the night of the gala as far out of his mind as possible. He didn’t have the mental space for it, not with the totality of the High Priest’s duties dumped into his lap. Wayne preferred handshakes to contracts and overstuffed filing cabinets to electronic records, so coming in after him was a much bigger bureaucratic headache than Rhys expected. The drafty High Priest’s office was his first undertaking, and he spent long hours sorting through old membership records and trying to parse the sticky notes Wayne had scribbled ideas for rituals on.

Strictly speaking, he wouldn’t be High Priest until after his ascension ceremony, but Wayne stepped back right away, offering little in the way of guidance. This, Rhys knew, was part of the challenge of the position. There was no manual he could study to learn how to be a good High Priest; he just had to forge ahead and try to avoid pitfalls.

The transition of power ate up all his free time, with its many official and unofficial meetings. Moira was patient with him at first, gently nudging him towards meals and sleep when their paths crossed, but eventually she got angry.

“If you’re gonna keep acting like you don’t have a wife, I’m gonna stop acting like I am one,” she threatened one day, shouldering her purse as she stormed past him in the hall. She grabbed the keys to the Lincoln, not telling him where she was headed. Not that he deserved to know.

“Love,” he began weakly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t act sweet on me now that I’m mad. I can only take so much of this, Rhys. Eventually, you’re going to have to make some hard choices. I’m not saying it’s me or the Society, but I am saying that I refuse to go on like this indefinitely. Get your head on straight before you try to talk to me again, please. I’m going out with my friends. Don’t know when I’ll be back. Figure out dinner for yourself for once.”

Then she was gone, the front door swinging shut behind her.

“Be safe,” Rhys said miserably to the empty house.

Antoni was a Godsend. He always seemed to be available to help Rhys in whatever way he needed, no questions asked. He stuck around after hours to help sort paperwork in the High Priest’s office, and even though Rhys knew Antoni had his own designs and aims, that he was positioning himself as indispensable in order to build social cache with the new High Priest, Rhys also recognized a genuine gesture of friendship when he saw it. In this way, Antoni was there when Rhys finally hit the wall of exhaustion and pressed his hands over his eyes.

“What do you need?” Antoni asked.

“Some goddamn loyalty,” Rhys said, tossing the folders back on the desk.

Antoni crossed his arms and sighed. “You’ve got it, Rhys. From me, anyway.”

“I know, I know. But the older guys think I can’t tell my ass from my elbow, and the younger set think it’s open season on however the hell they want to act. And Moira… Moira is pissed at me.” He braced his hands on the desk and leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut. He wanted to lie down for a long, long time and not wake up until somebody else had sorted everything out. “I need a foothold, I need stability, I need…”

Antoni stepped forward and leaned over the other side of the desk, lowering his voice to that firm, steadying place that had pulled Rhys out of the pit of despair so many times. “You need a second in command.”

“I would, Antoni, but you’re too young. The older set would eat you alive.”

“You think I don’t know that? I wasn’t talking about me.”

Rhys looked up at him, pinning him in place with his dark gaze. “No,” he said, his voice rough-edged. “Don’t even suggest it.”

“You know I’m right. Who else can put everyone at ease in one go? Who else knows you well enough?”

“He’s not trustworthy.”

“You’re biased. Give him a chance.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Hell no. You think he wants second? If you want him to agree, you’re going to have to convince him. But you know I’m right.”

Rhys sighed heavily, letting his head drop forward until his chin touched his chest. He felt wound tight as a spring.

“Fine. I’ll consider it.”

“That’s all I would ever ask you to do.”

Rhys gave a cynical smile. “You’re cut out for politics, I’ll give you that. Go home, Antoni. Go see your siblings and enjoy the rest of your night with your parents. I need to think.”

Rhys thought about it for the rest of the day. A day of cleaning up Wayne’s messes and hearing out every Society brother who demanded an audience and missing Moira so badly it ached. She had stayed out all night after she walked out on him, and even though she had texted him twice to let him know she was okay, and which one of her friends she would be staying with, it still hurt like hell. They managed to patch things up a bit the morning after, but something still didn’t feel right.

“Are you upset about the kiss?” Rhys said after they had hugged and apologized and chatted through less stressful things. Testing the waters, realigning their relationship.

“I was mad at you yesterday, not David,” Moira said, glancing up from the laundry she was folding on the bed. She handed Rhys a fitted sheet, because she could never get them right, and he folded it crisply. “And I was mad because you couldn’t pull your nose out of a book long enough to take notice of me.”

“And for that, I’m very sorry. But that’s not what I asked, love.”

Moira sighed and tossed down a sock.

“I don’t know how I feel about it. A little bit of me is relieved, a little bit of me is excited, a little bit of me is hurt, I suppose. It changes day to day. Mostly, I want you close. And I want David close. And I want us all to untangle this godforsaken knot together.”

“I swear we will,” he said, beating the wrinkles out of one of his folded shirts. All his laundry smelled like the jasmine detergent Moira loved. “But you can always talk to me about how you feel about things, you know that, don’t you? I’m going to keep checking in with you from time to time, if that’s alright.”

“That’s alright,” she said, sounding so vulnerable.

She looked up at him with those soft eyes, and Rhys couldn’t help himself. He leaned in and kissed her. She let him.

Rhys and Moira might be on the rocky road to recovery, but that didn’t mean he was out of the woods yet. It was impossible for one man to haul the Society back on track through hard work and long hours alone, and he had been a fool to assume he could do it. Antoni had been right. He needed a second pair of hands helping him out, he needed more inter-Society clout, and most of all, he needed leverage.

He needed David.

Rhys stopped over at Saint Paul’s for a few minutes before the Society meeting on Thursday, finding a quiet spot between the pews to kneel down and pray. The glass beads of his rosary passed easily through his fingers as he fretted, losing track of his decade again and again. He was more nervous than he should have been, all things considered. David was the one who had seriously overstepped boundaries at the gala, he was the one who had withdrawn afterward. Rhys held the position of power, and all the authority and respectability it conveyed.

So why did he feel like he was the one about to do something illicit?

He stepped out into the sun just as the church bells rang six overhead, and he called his wife. Moira had taken the evening off, so he wasn’t bothering her at work, at least.

“Hey, baby,” she said on the other end. She sounded slightly congested, but her voice was kind. “Everything alright? I thought you were in a Society meeting.”

“I’m heading there now. I’m thinking of doing something a bit… unorthodox. I want to run it by you first.”

“Shoot,” Moira said. This was a familiar dance to them. There had been a time when Rhys hadn’t made a single move in life, magic, or his career without consulting her first.

“I’m abdicating some of my responsibilities to a second in command. Asking for help.”

“Thank the sweet Lord. Finally.”

“There’s more. I’m thinking of asking David.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone as she thought. “You’re sure you two can handle that? David probably won’t take kindly to a silver medal.”

“I think I can convince him. He’s the natural choice, and it would take a lot of pressure off me. It would give me more time. For you. For us.”

“I’ll admit that doesn’t sound bad… Do you think you can bring him to heel? Realistically?”

“I think I need to stop trying to control him and let him do his own thing. Within boundaries, sure, but I’m done micromanaging.”

“Wonders never cease.” Moira sneezed on the other end, once, then twice.

“Are you sick?” Rhys said, appalled. “Is that why you took today off work?”

“It’s just a summer cold; I’ll be fine. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You let me worry about being worried. Make yourself some tea and get some rest, okay? I’m coming home early tonight. I’ll bring you some of that Italian wedding soup you like and a sweet from the delicatessen. You want a cannolo? Two cannoli? Hell, I’ll buy the bar.”

Moira laughed on the other end, and the sound was a balm on Rhys’s soul. How had he lost track of what was actually important in this life?

“If you’re okay with it,” Rhys said. “I’m going to go talk to him now. Then I’ll head home to you, alright?”

“I’m okay with it. And, Rhys?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be late.”

With that, the line disconnected.

He found David wrapped up in conversation with Cameron in a cloud of cigarette smoke in one of the corners of the meeting hall. David’s green eyes cut over to him as he crossed the room, and as always, the effect was startling. You would think Rhys would have gotten used to being looked at by David, but some things never changed. Even now, Rhys couldn’t help the stutter in his heart.

“Could I see you in my office, please?” Rhys asked.

David took a languid drag, taking his time with the inhale. His eyes raked across Rhys, searching him for a motive. “What about?”

Rhys shot a glance at Cameron, who was studying their conversation like he would an exegetical text. “It won’t take long.”

With that, he turned and started down the hallway towards his office, trusting David to follow.

David made him wait, which wasn’t surprising. David was petty enough to wring every last power play he could out of his diminishing station within the Society. With Wayne gone, he was no one’s favorite anymore. He was just another brother, and one who had recently called undue attention to himself at the gala. His relapse had become an open secret, one that was evident in the shifty ways the other brothers looked at him.

If there was anything David hated, it was being demoted.

By the time David arrived, Rhys was sitting behind Wayne’s desk. His desk, he reminded himself. The Society and all its problems were his to handle now.

“David,” he said with a sigh. “Come in. Sit down.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t send your messenger boy to summon me,” David said, lowering himself onto the edge of the leather chair across from Rhys’s desk. “Antoni’s been running around doing all your dirty work lately. You got him on the payroll yet?”

“We’re not here to talk about Antoni.”

“You look like hell,” David pronounced, leaning back in his chair. “Power not agreeing with you?”

“I thought you said power looked good on me,” Rhys shot back, the temptation irresistible. Even after all this time, and with the mantle of High Priest heavy on his shoulders, he couldn’t resist drawing David Aristarkhov into one of their sparring matches. It felt too good, too familiar.

“Can’t hold a man accountable for what he says when he’s been drinking,” David said with a shrug. “Especially not me.”

“How have you been?” Rhys asked, softening his voice. “Since?”

“Sober,” David snapped, his eyes flashing. He looked like a petulant prince when he was angry, and the sight always made the bottom drop out of Rhys’s stomach. After all these years, he was still weak for David. He should hate himself for that, but lingering affection for his oldest friend had crept in so slowly over the last couple of months that he had already made space in his heart for it. It felt impossible not to be affected by David now, not when he was sitting right in front of Rhys looking like that.

“That’s not what I meant. Listen, I called you in here because I…” Rhys tried to broach the topic at hand and open negotiations but found he didn’t have the heart to. He always thought it would feel good, sitting on this side of the desk with David on the other, but it didn’t sit well with him now. “This doesn’t feel right,” he muttered, and then stood and circled around to the other side. He perched on the edge of the desk closest to David, lacing his fingers together in his lap. They were so close their knees were nearly touching. Up close, he could see the bruised shadows under David’s eyes.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” Rhys noted. “More nightmares?”

David gave him one of his infuriatingly cordial lawyer’s smiles. “That’s not your concern anymore.”

“What if it was?”

One of David’s eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. “What do you mean?”

Rhys plucked up a pencil from a golden tin on the desk and twirled it between his fingers, chewing the inside of his mouth. It seemed best to just lay all his cards out on the table, nerves be damned. He and David were way overdue for this conversation, a conversation in which Rhys was actually honest about how much he needed David, not just as an ally, but as a friend. But saying so in such certain terms felt terrifying, so Rhys couched it in the language of the Society.

“I’m drowning, David. The Society is fracturing under my fingers, and I’ve barely gotten started. I’m dealing with resistance and backbiting from all sides, and Wayne didn’t exactly leave his house in order. I need help.”

David narrowed his eyes. “What kind of help?”

Rhys met David’s eyes. It was a hard thing to do, and all of a sudden, Rhys felt like he was drowning in green, choking on summer ivy and overgrown grass.

“In the past,” he began carefully, “High Priests have appointed a second in command. It would be within my right and covered by precedent. I want it to be you, David.”

David crossed his arms. “And what does a second in command do, exactly?”

“Whatever I need him to.”

“You’re trying to hire me to be your lapdog.”

“No, I’m asking you to be my guard dog.”

“Say I agreed,” David said. “What do I get in return?”

Rhys spread his hands in front of him. “Free reign. You know this Society inside and out. Wayne kept you on a short leash, but I’m not interested in doing that. Form coalitions, dig up new rituals, make staff appointments, advise me, for God’s sake. Just promise to back me and defer to my veto if we ever clash. Otherwise, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“I want to scry,” David said. “Wayne promised me that, and you know I’m the best there is. I don’t care who’s leading the ritual, I want to scry.”

Rhys swallowed. If he granted David this request, that meant they would eventually end up in the summoning circle, back-to-back as spirits swirled around them. Rhys hadn’t been in that position with David, hadn’t trusted him like that, since their fight in conclave.

“Granted. Just promise me you’ll occasionally let someone else into the circle to practice, otherwise no one will advance in their studies.”

“Done.”

“And if I don’t think you’re well enough to scry, I have the right to tap someone else in.”

“Oh, come on–”

“I’m serious, David. I’m not risking you for the sake of a summoning. End of story.”

David glowered for a moment, but Rhys held fast. Eventually, the psychic relented. “Fine. But I want free reign of the inner sanctum. I want to be able to come in after hours and practice or hold breakout circles with members that I choose.”

“Done. I’ll have another set of keys made.”

David blinked, as if he hadn’t been expecting the concession.

“Is that all?” Rhys prompted.

David’s eyes narrowed. “It’s just… I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Rhys sighed. Suddenly, he was very, very tired. Tired of arguing with David, tired of standing on opposite sides of a battlefield littered with a thousand unkind words. He was getting too old for it, and it had gotten him nowhere. It was time to lay down arms once and for all. If David wasn’t interested in a ceasefire, fine. But Rhys was done fighting.

“I was way too harsh on you the night of the gala. I want plenty to do with you, David. But you’re going to have to work with me in order for that to happen.”

David watched him with guarded eyes, tilting his head this way and that as though trying to find a fracture in Rhys’s earnestness. Rhys didn’t blame him. Earnest wasn’t exactly Rhys’s style, but he was desperate. And he refused to serve an entire term as High Priest with David sulking around looking wounded, agitating dissenters against him. The clearest way through the thicket of problems that had sprung up around him was to cooperate with David.

“I thought we were supposed to keep our distance.”

“Fuck distance,” Rhys said, with a conviction that surprised him. His heart was hammering in his chest. This should be strictly political, he should keep his wits about him, but his mouth was forming words without clearing them with his brain. He was too invested in David to keep things professional, and he should have never locked himself alone in a room with the other man. He wasn’t strong enough to say no to him. Not after years of holding him at arm’s length. “I’m tired of doing this dance. I’m being real with you right now, so be real with me.”

David leaned forward in his seat, his eyes searing into Rhys’s. All of a sudden, Rhys’s blood was singing in his veins.

“Alright, McGowan. Show me real.”

Something that had been pulled tight in Rhys’s chest for years snapped. He grasped David by the chin, savoring the shock in the other man’s eyes. David stiffened, but he didn’t pull away. He just stared at Rhys like he had committed some blasphemy, pupils blown wide.

In one intoxicating rush, Rhys remembered what this was like, to have the richest, most powerful, most arrogant man he knew entirely at his mercy. He heard Moira’s voice in the back of his head: you can have whatever and whoever you want in this life, Rhys. Just don’t ever lie to me.

Rhys pulled David closer and kissed him firmly.

At first, David was rigid with shock. But then Rhys trailed his fingers down to David’s throat, holding him in place, and the psychic made a small, helpless noise. David always blossomed under a commanding touch.

David’s lips parted and he surged against Rhys. In an instant, Rhys was pushed back onto the desk, David’s hands braced securely on either side of him. Outside, figures milled past the frosted glass door. Someone could walk in on them at any moment – Antoni, probably, with more papers to sign. But Rhys didn’t care. This office was a private world of his own making, one in which he was king. In this world, he got what he wanted, and what he wanted was David.

Rhys bunched his fist into David’s shirtfront, pulling him in tight. He couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss David with enough fervor to get his point across.

This is all we’ve ever deserved,Rhys was trying to say.

David dropped to his knees with a fluidity that took Rhys’s breath away, fingers deftly unfastening Rhys’s belt. He was so goddamn beautiful like this, his mouth swollen with kisses, brows knit together in concentration. It was almost impossible to deny him. Just looking at him was agonizing.

Rhys threaded his fingers through David’s hair, almost pulling, but not quite. That was an indulgence for another place, another time, when they were able to enjoy each other properly.

“David,” Rhys said. “David, David.”

He meant for it to be an order, but it came out sounding like a plea. David looked up, green eyes lit from within, and smoothed his hands up Rhys’s thighs.

“Not here,” Rhys said, voice strained. “Not like this.”

Something flashed behind David’s eyes – annoyance, or desperation – but then it was gone. He gathered himself together and pulled himself to his feet with that same infuriating elegance, adjusting his cuffs into perfect place. When he looked at Rhys, the fire in his eyes had dimmed.

“What do you want from me in return?” David asked.

“What?” Rhys asked, a little delirious. His head was spinning. He hadn’t had a hit of David in years, not really, not on his own terms, and now he was high as a kite on it.

“What do you want from me? In return for my support. Gloves-off realpolitik. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“David,” Rhys said on a sigh, fighting the urge to pull him close once again. He had miscalculated. This wasn’t strictly political and never had been. He was a fool to think otherwise. “That isn’t what that was about–”

“As for what you really want…” David said, brassy voice smooth and unbothered. He was still standing very close to Rhys, close enough to share breath. Rhys pressed his lips together into a thin line, shifting on the edge of the desk. If someone walked in, it might look like they were conspiring or caught in some other similarly compromising position. But he had no desire to move away.

“Sway the older set to my side,” Rhys said carefully. His heart was still beating rapidly in his chest. “At least convince them to give me a chance. I just need you to buy me time with them. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Done,” David said.

God, Rhys didn’t know if he wanted David more on his knees or like this, cool and commanding. Rhys swallowed dryly. The drafty room suddenly felt close and hot, and he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He laced his fingers together. “Do we have an accord?”

David stuck out his hand. Rhys took it in a strong, warm grip, and was taken aback when David switched up his grip to slot their fingers together. He pulled Rhys closer, squeezing hard as he gave him a threatening look. “If you screw me, Rhys, I’ll end you.”

“The sentiment is entirely mutual.”

David gave him a sweet smile, then unlocked their fingers and shook Rhys’s hand. “Good.”

“David,” Rhys began, wanting to explain himself, to apologize, something. He never got the chance. David leaned in and nipped Rhys’s lower lip between his teeth, just enough to sting deliciously. Rhys gasped, hands drifting up to grip David by the biceps, but David had already stepped away.

“I’ll hold you to that,” David said. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and disappeared out the door.

Rhys was left flushed and lightheaded, wondering what he had agreed to.