Evocation

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

RHYS

Rhys was in the library when he got the call, elbow deep into a manuscript about Icelandic runestones. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw the caller ID, then plummeted into his stomach when he heard the state that David was in. He punched out of work twenty minutes early, unthinkable on any other day, and threw his bag into the Lincoln, then drove fifteen over the limit the whole way to the courthouse, cursing every red light. David was waiting for him outside, leaning heavily on the banister of the courthouse stairs. Rhys threw the car into park in an illegal spot and swept out of the door.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” David said preemptively, waving Rhys away as he circled his hand around David’s arm. Rhys ignored him, guiding him to the waiting car with a firm, steadying pressure.

“You’re not. Get in.”

“Just drop me off in front of the condo; I can handle it from there. I just can’t drive like this. I can barely feel my hands.”

“No way,” Rhys said, depositing David in the passenger side of the car. “I’m taking you straight to Leda’s.”

“Rhys,” David began, gearing up to argue. Rhys slid into the driver’s seat and tensed his hands around the wheel, shooting David a stony look. It was the same look he used to forbid David from ordering a fourth round, or from working until dawn. It sent a jolt of power through him, to have David in his car and under his care, even though he was worried and irritated besides.

“No, you asked for my help and you’re getting it. I want you where I can see you and I want Leda to take a look at you. Call your sister, David. And don’t sugarcoat things. This has gotten way out of hand.”

Rhys didn’t know much about Leda, but he did know that she was local, and she was one of the few people in the world David trusted. They had grown up together for a time, and she might be able to talk some sense into him.

David looked like he had half a mind to argue, but he was pale and wan.

“Fine,” he said. “What about Moira?”

“What about her?”

“If we’re doing this, I want her here.”

“I’ll call her. You focus on Leda.”

His hands shook slightly as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and hit the only number he had on speed-dial.

“Hey, sis,” he said when Leda picked up the phone. “It’s been a minute.”

Rhys drove into the crowded Allston neighborhood, pausing only to pick Moira up at a train stop along the way at six thirty. She made fretful sounds while David caught her up on collapsing in the courthouse, then gave him an earful for letting things get so far. Good, let her scold him, Rhys thought. He deserved all that and more for being too thickheaded to accept help when he needed it.

Rhys wrenched the car into a parallel parking spot near the address David rattled off, then opened the door for David, then Moira.

The building David had them stop in front of was not an apartment building or a penthouse, or even a private office. It was a nightclub, wrapping salaciously around the corner and painted matte black from head to toe. A bright red sign towered above their heads, silhouetted by the sun setting in the distance: The Black Swan. A conglomerate of concertgoers smoked and threw back beers on a narrow balcony that wrapped around the second level, their voices carrying easily through the muggy air. Inside, Rhys could hear the distant, steady thump of drums.

“David, I’m not dropping you off at a nightclub,” Rhys said.

“Leda owns the club and lives upstairs,” David said, looking very tired all of a sudden.

David walked right past the main entrance and buzzed a ringer on a tiny, narrow side door, so unmarked that Rhys almost didn’t see it. A moment later, it was opened by a huge man in a tight black mesh shirt. Silver daggers dangled from his ears. The entire outfit would have been comedically overwrought if he didn’t seem so committed to it.

“Aristarkhov here for Leda,” David said, completely unphased. “Two guests.”

Rhys wondered how on earth he knew how to deal with bodyguards, and if it was a byproduct of his carefully calculated unimpressed face or of a childhood spent living under the threat of assassination. It was always hard to tell with David.

The bouncer stepped aside and gestured for them to enter, then locked the door behind them with a resounding clang.

Inside the club, the music was louder, pulsating against the walls. They were in a narrow side stairwell, but Rhys could still hear the wail of electric guitar from the pre-show music being piped in over the loudspeakers.

“This way,” the bouncer said.

They had to hike up the stairs one by one because the passage was so tight. Rhys nearly tripped a couple of times in the dim lighting. He was coming up behind David, trying to keep his eyes fixed on the glow-in-the-dark masking tape that outlined each step, when a woman’s voice echoed out into the stairwell.

“Look what the cat dragged in!”

A jostle of limbs and a near-stumble later, Rhys was standing at the top of the landing with Moira pressed up against him. The bouncer stepped aside to reveal David, enveloped in the hug of an astonishingly tall woman dressed from head to toe in black. Rhys wasn’t sure he knew anyone who even owned leather pants, but Leda looked as comfortable in them as most women looked in jeans.

“David,” Leda said, squeezing her little brother to her chest. “You look like hell warmed over.”

“I missed you too,” David said sarcastically, and took a step back. Leda and David didn’t look much alike, except for the strong jawline and hooded eyes that looked sly on David and soporific on Leda. This could have been due in part to the heavy makeup she wore: charcoal with a splash of glitter. Where David’s complexion was golden, Leda’s was olive, and her teased mane of curls was darker than her nightclub’s paint job.

She waved away her bouncer with a sultry wink. “Thank you, Luis. I’ve got it from here.”

He gave her a smile that softened his entire demeanor for one flickering moment. Then he disappeared down the stairs to return to his post.

David arched an eyebrow. “Dating the staff? Really?”

“Technically, I’m not his supervisor, so technically it isn’t unethical.”

“Technically. What happened to Eon?”

“Nothing.” She turned her incandescent attention on Rhys and Moira. From this angle, Rhys could see that she had shaved one side of her head. “Are these your friends?”

“This is Rhys McGowan and–”

“Oh yes, the ex! How could I forget! You fucked David up real bad; I heard all about you after you left,” she said with a laugh, and pulled Rhys into a hug. She had to bend down to do it, and he suspected that even out of her platform boots she was six feet tall. “God, I don’t blame him. Look at those pretty eyes.”

“Leda,” David said, flatly. Rhys was too red in the face to respond at all, and Leda had already moved on.

She squeezed Moira like an old friend, then pulled away to take her in, still holding her hands lightly by the fingertips. “And you’re Moira, right? I love your shoes! Are they vintage?”

Moira nodded, a little dumbstruck.

“Leda,” David said again, sounding incredibly tired.

“Well, come inside. The place isn’t exactly tidy, but you’re welcome to it; make yourselves at home. David, sit down, you look like you’re about to hit the floor.”

Leda’s apartment, a loft with a sloping roof, was comfortable, by Boston standards. Black leather couches beckoned from atop mandala rugs, and there were three gleaming electric guitars lined up along the back wall. The thick-paned industrial glass windows were draped with sheer crimson fabric, and most pieces of furniture had been painted the same matte black as the outside of the building. It had a sort of relaxed grungy glamour that reminded Rhys of his teenage affinity for The Crow.

A tapestry was draped across the arched doorway into a bedroom, spray painted with a white circle from which eight arrows emanated. Rhys froze in the doorway. David nearly crashed into him, and Rhys stepped grudgingly inside. He shoved his hands down deep in his pockets and stared at the painted symbol.

Chaos magician, he thought. He had never met a chaos magician, but he had read about them, and his hardline sensibilities balked at all the nihilism and hedonism in their philosophy.

“Who wants a drink?” Leda sang from the kitchen. There was the banging of cabinets and tinkling of glasses. “David, vodka soda?”

“No, thanks,” David replied, dumping himself on the couch.

“Gin, then? I’ve got New Amsterdam or Tanqueray if you want to be bougie.”

“No, thanks,” David said again, a little more firmly.

Leda poked her head out from the kitchen. “Oh, right, sorry! Sobriety! I’ll pour you an ice water. Moira?”

“I’ll take a beer if you have one,” Moira said.

“I’ve got four kinds, come here and pick. Rhys?”

“David didn’t say you were an occultist,” Rhys said.

Leda slouched against the doorjamb and screwed the lid off a microbrewery lager. “Isn’t everyone in this family? I don’t have David’s psychic eyes, but I do pretty well for myself.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” David muttered. He looked more comfortable here than in the Beacon Hill house, but only marginally so.

Leda eyed Rhys up and down, and somehow managed to make the gesture look lascivious. “I hear you’re the big sorcerer on the block now. Ceremonialist, right?”

“I like form and tradition. And to do things right.”

“Well, I like to get results.”

“Don’t start, Leda,” David groaned.

“I’m just making polite conversation,” Leda said. “I’d like to hear how you guys do things up in that old boys’ club. What’s a secret society even like? Do you ever get anything done through all that red tape? Or is it really all just orgiastic bacchanals?”

“Nobody’s having any bacchanals,” Rhys said tightly.

“Your loss,” Leda said with a wink. “They’re eye-opening.”

She retrieved a glass of ice water from the kitchen and handed it to her brother, then felt his forehead with the back of her hand.

“You’re running hot. Have you had a fever?”

“I’m just overexerted,” David said, waving her away. “I’ve been working too much.”

Moira’s eyes flashed in irritation. “Seriously, David? You collapse in court and have some kind of godawful vision, and that’s all you can say? You’re impossible; this is why you’re so sick. You won’t accept any damn help.”

Rhys rubbed a soothing hand between Moira’s shoulder blades.

“Tell her what’s been happening,” Rhys said to David. “All of it.”

David told her. He started at the beginning and spared no detail, relating the blackouts, the nightmares, the long hours spent in the Beacon Hill house trying to get to the bottom of things. He was just getting to the part about the family curse when a wave of something, either pain or nausea, made him drop his face into his hands.

“I don’t feel so hot,” he muttered.

“You can say that again,” Leda said. “You’re practically turning green. Lay down, will you?”

David didn’t have to be told twice. He stretched out on the couch, pillowed his arms under his head, and was unconscious in a matter of minutes. Apparently, it had been too long since he slept.

“Poor idiot,” Moira said with a mixture of pity and irritation. “I can’t believe he let it get this bad.”

“I should have brought him to you a long time ago,” Rhys said to Leda.

Leda gave a stretch, and her tank top hiked up enough to show a belly button piercing. “Oh, I doubt he would have let you. I only ever hear that he’s been in trouble after the fact. It drives me up the wall. But I’m glad you brought him.”

Rhys shifted from foot to foot. It was probably fine to leave David here and get back to his own life, though he found that he was hesitant to do so. He didn’t exactly feel comfortable in Leda’s den, especially not with all the chaos magic paraphernalia lying around, but he didn’t want to be rude by running off, either.

Moira, as though making the decision for him, settled into the chair nearest David. She apparently intended to stand watch, at least for a little while.

“Did you and David grow up together?” she asked, making polite conversation as always.

“Oh no,” Leda said, gesturing to herself expansively. “I’m just the humble bastard child of a previous tryst. No claim to the famous Aristarkhov name. Evgeni met my mother when he was in Turkey on business. Split shortly after I was born.”

“Another glowing endorsement for the man’s character,” Moira muttered. She reached out to smooth a stray curl away from David’s eyes, and Leda followed the touch with an intrigued quirk of her brow. It was an intimate gesture, and it probably didn’t fit with Leda’s understanding of her brother.

Leda sat down on the other end of the couch and gestured for Rhys to take a seat in the free armchair. Then she settled in, lit herself a cigarette, and started telling her story in a low, lulling voice. “We didn’t grow up together, but we did live together for a couple years. I was sixteen, David was nine. Mom figured it was time for her to go off on some Tuscan summer adventure to find herself, and for me to meet my father. So, I got shipped off to two years of Orthodox school in Saint Petersburg. I didn’t even know I had a brother until I got there. Evgeni never thought it was important to mention he got married.”

“That must have been a shock,” Moira said.

“It was hardly the weirdest thing about that house. I had only ever lived in an apartment in Istanbul, and the next thing I know I’m getting dropped off in the snow outside this huge pre-Soviet mansion out in the middle of the woods. Butlers, statuary, a carriage house, whole nine yards. And there’s this tiny Russian child waiting for me at the door to tell me that I am not allowed to play with his toys, and that he’s a very powerful magician, so I had better watch my step.”

Rhys gave a soft snort. David had always had the same winning temperament, apparently. He had to admit, Leda was a good storyteller. And it was obvious from the way she hovered near David, eyes flicking over every so often, that she loved her brother to death. Rhys could respect that, at least.

“Mom said Evgeni was a rich eccentric with quirky hobbies. She didn’t mention they included casting spells to insulate his international accounts from stock market crashes. The things that went down in that house were wild. But I figured out pretty quickly why she shipped me off: for Evgeni to whip me into shape.” Leda smoked ponderously, tipping her head back and blowing a couple of smoke rings. She was savoring their attention, drawing out her story to build tension. This was where Rhys saw the most resemblance between David and his sister: their irresistible impulse to perform.

Rhys was suddenly reminded of something David had said about Leda, one of the few details he had let slip about his sister. She’s a powerhouse, he had said, with a sort of reverence in his voice that Rhys didn’t think David was capable of. At the time, he thought he had been referring to Leda’s musical aptitude, but now he realized, David had always been talking about magic.

Rhys had looked at Leda and only seen the chaos star and the smudged makeup and assumed she was a novice, more attracted to the aesthetics of magic than the practice of it. But when he set aside his prejudice and looked again, he saw the fire of pure, unadulterated power in Leda’s eyes. It was so bright it almost hurt to look at.

“Unfortunately,” Leda said, sucking her cigarette down to ash, “Evgeni’s lessons didn’t really stick. I preferred to walk my own path, and I got reprimanded for mixing and matching magic traditions and making up shit on the fly. And I snuck out a lot to go to rock shows and shoplift, so we never had that cozy daddy-daughter relationship. But David was a much better student. The prodigy. His heir.” She finished her cigarette and stabbed it into an ashtray with a bitter twist to her mouth. “It didn’t spare him any of Evgeni’s brutality, though, poor bastard.”

Moira opened her mouth, probably to supply some gentle change of subject, but then Leda’s front door opened a few inches. Her bouncer stuck his head in, looking much less intimidating now that they had all been vetted.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Luis said.

“No worries,” Leda said, pushing up to her feet. “Is everything alright downstairs?”

He glanced at his watch and glowered. “Band’s late. People are starting to get rowdy.”

“What about the opener?”

“Never showed. We’ve already broken up a couple of fights down there. Kids are trying to climb on the stage and shit. Are we good to send Eon and the rest of the band out there?”

Leda beamed at him with a love so pure and saccharine, Rhys almost wanted to look away. “Sure, pet. Tag them in. And bring them back up with you afterwards.”

Leda tossed her hair and wiggled her shoulders as Luis disappeared into the hallway.

“Isn’t he so dreamy?” she mused to the room. “Retired MMA fighter. Such a softie. He cooks me Brazilian food all the time and he’s phenomenal in bed.”

Rhys was so embarrassed he wanted to crawl out a window. But he managed to keep a stiff upper lip and ask a polite question. “He’s your boyfriend?”

Leda gave a devilish grin, and Rhys caught the unmistakable whiff of some bedroom dynamic that probably came with a contract and a collar. “Something like that. If you stick around long enough, you’ll meet Eon, too.”

Rhys flicked a glance to his wife. This was probably the most polite time for them to take their leave, but just as Rhys was opening his mouth to excuse himself, David stirred.

“Ouch,” David muttered, and coughed miserably.

Rhys was on his feet before he realized it, moving towards David with single minded concern. Leda watched him with keen, hawkish eyes as he lingered near David, wanting to touch him but not sure how to go about it, or whether the gesture would be welcome.

“How do you feel?” Rhys asked.

“Like I got hit with a freight train,” David responded, struggling to push himself up into a sitting position.

“You can stay the night if you want,” Leda offered, patting her brother’s knee. “I’ve got the Murphy bed in the next room. Just don’t drive like this, for God’s sake. Tonight, rest. Tomorrow, we’ll figure something out to help you.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Rhys said. “Moira and I should probably…”

David grabbed Rhys’s wrist before he could go anywhere.

“Stay,” the psychic said, with a such simple, naked need in his voice that Rhys was taken aback. “Just for another hour or so. Please.”

Rhys swallowed and nodded, savoring the steadying pressure of David’s fingers around his wrist.

“Sure, David. Whatever you need.”

“You’re all welcome to stay for dinner,” Leda said, sweeping to her feet. “Fair warning, it gets a little rowdy in here after dark. People like to come pay their respects after the show.”

“I don’t care,” David said. “Just don’t send me home where I might pass out and crack my head on the tile and not be found for days.”

“Don’t even say that,” Moira said, giving a little shudder.

“I’ll order something to eat,” Leda offered, plucking up an honest-to-God landline phone off the wall. “Pizza work for everybody?”