Evocation

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

DAVID

Rhys’s ascension was on a Sunday, at an hour in the morning when decent people were either in church or still asleep in bed. But David had never been decent, and he wouldn’t miss this ceremony for the world.

He double-parked the Audi outside the Society headquarters, trusting the charm hanging from the rearview to prevent anyone from ticketing him, and took the steps two at the time, a Neiman Marcus bag swinging from his arm.

The lounge was more crowded than David had ever seen it, with Society brothers mingling with guests, some familiar, some foreign. David nixed the pleasantries and cut down the hallway to the High Priest’s office, nearly colliding with Antoni in the process.

“Antoni,” David said, putting a steadying hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Where’s Rhys?”

Antoni nodded towards the High Priest’s office. “Still getting ready.”

David headed down the dim hallway and eased open the door. Rhys was standing with his back to David, fussing with his necktie. David watched him for a moment, savoring the small pleasure of the thing.

“Need some help with that?” David asked.

Rhys turned at the sound of his voice. He had dressed for his ascension in a deep plum suit, narrowly cut with an iridescent kerchief blooming out of the breast pocket. He wore rings on nearly every one of his fingers, and there was a blink-and-you’d-miss-it smudge of khol along his lash line. His curly hair had been corralled into submission and set perfectly.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Rhys said, an irrepressible smile tugging at his lips. He wasn’t upset. Quite the opposite. “It’s bad luck, you know.”

“I think you’re getting your ceremonies mixed up,” David said, shutting the door gently behind him.

They hadn’t spoken much since Rhys had recovered in the Beacon Hill house after his brush with death. He had spent only one night under David’s care before returning to work, and then he had disappeared almost entirely into the strange machinations of running the Society. David didn’t go hunting for him. Rhys had a lot on his plate, and David didn’t know what he was supposed to say to him except thank you, and a whole host of other things that would be incredibly stupid to speak aloud. He hadn’t texted Moira much either, because he couldn’t help but feel as though he was intruding in her life, somewhat. They had kept their promises to one another, and now he wasn’t sure whether he had a place in her life at all.

David crossed to Rhys and set the bag down on the desk. He reached for Rhys’s tie, deft fingers untangling the silk as Rhys stood still and let David attend to him. A month ago, this would have been unthinkable, too preposterous for even his wildest dreams. But now, Rhys was close enough that David could smell his verdant cologne, and David was diligently straightening his tie as though this sort of thing was allowed. David kept his eyes on his work and kept his touch perfunctory and professional, but it was impossible not to remember the last time they had been this close – when Rhys had kissed him, firmly and unapologetically, like David was something worth fighting for.

The only two people I have ever loved, he had said. The tense of that statement got under David’s skin. It left the current status of Rhys’s feelings up to interpretation.

“What’s in the bag?” Rhys asked, pulling David from his reverie. He took a steadying step back, putting a few inches of saving grace between him and Rhys.

“I already threw the receipt away, so don’t bother trying to tell me to take it back.”

“David…” Rhys warned. His voice was stern, but his eyes were hungry as they travelled over the bag. He could pretend all he wanted to, but Rhys had always loved gifts. He just didn’t like feeling beholden to the giver.

David held up a hand, silencing his protests. “Just so you don’t feel guilty, this is your ascension present. I’m well within my rights to get you something. It’s the one time of year when bribing your High Priest is allowed.”

It was a joke, of course, but there was a grain of truth in it. Rhys had been showered in free dinners, cufflinks, fountain pens, and tie pins. Antoni had demonstrated his friendship with a bottle of brandy and a first edition of one of Rhys’s favorite books, and Cameron had cemented his loyalty with an eye-wateringly expensive wristwatch. David suddenly felt very exposed as he realized he wasn’t trying to smooth over any lingering hard feelings or curry favor with this gift. He was giving it simply for the pleasure of watching Rhys open it.

Rhys looked pained for a moment, then he swallowed. “Fine, fine. Let me see.”

David slid the bag across the desk, making sure the paper was arranged crisp and straight. Their fingers brushed as Rhys accepted the present.

“Enjoy the experience,” David said. “You only have one first time.”

Rhys paused, fingers hovering over the bag, and then reached inside and removed a taupe shoe box. A Christian Louboutin label was embossed into the top in swirling cursive letters.

Rhys’s breath caught visibly, and a surge of delight flooded through David.

“You did not,” Rhys said.

“I did,” David replied. “Open it.”

Rhys lifted the lid delicately, as though he was worried about leaving fingerprints on the pristine packaging. Nestled perfectly inside were a black patent leather pair of red-bottom men’s loafers. They were iconic, and they retailed for close to a thousand dollars.

“I can’t think of anything that radiates power and status more than those shoes,” David said. “You’re High Priest, now; you deserve them.”

Rhys gingerly set the box down on the desk and pressed his knuckles to his mouth, looking at David hard.

David just looked right back, completely unremorseful. “I’m sorry I was a dick about the Priesthood. But Wayne was right to choose you. We’re lucky to have you. I…” He caught himself and swallowed, thinking better of getting too vulnerable. “Yeah. We’re all lucky.”

“Thank you,” Rhys said.

David nodded, forcing one of his careless smiles. “Honestly, I just got tired of looking at those terrible old loafers.”

Rhys gave a laugh and began to pull off his battered dress shoes, lining them up next to his desk. Then he carefully removed the paper from the Louboutin’s and unlaced them with an archivist’s steady hands. David watched, satisfaction blossoming in his chest, as Rhys slipped them on and laced them up.

“Feels pretty fantastic, doesn’t it?”

A boyish smile burst across Rhys’s face, and David felt physically pained.

“Better than fantastic.”

“Good. Well, I had better get out of here and let you finish getting ready. I just wanted to make sure those got to you before the ceremony. I figured you’d want to wear them.”

David turned to see himself out, but Rhys caught him by the wrist. The touch seared against David’s skin, kicking up his heartbeat.

“Have you been alright?” Rhys asked, and he almost sounded nervous. “Since that night?”

“Alright as anybody can be,” David said, honestly. He kept talking, because Rhys’s fingers on his wrist were warm and real and he didn’t want the contact to end. “I take my vitamins, I see my therapist, I get through it. I’ve been keeping sober, throwing myself into work to make up for lost time. How have you been?”

“A little weak, but no worse for wear. I should be fine for the ceremony today.”

“What you did,” David began carefully. “You saved my life, Rhys, but you gambled yours. I know we managed to pull you back from the brink when you were in the circle, but if the curse really has been grandfathered onto you, then the terms still apply. You’ve got until you’re thirty to find a way to end this. And the years go by fast, trust me.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Rhys said, squeezing gently. We. The word coursed through David like electricity. Rhys imagined a future with David in it, but in what capacity, David wasn’t sure. “But I don’t want to talk about that today. Today is for celebration. Can you still… do you still have your gifts? I know you were worried about losing them once the curse was lifted.”

“I haven’t totally lost my touch, thank God. Things don’t come quite as easily as they used to, but the skills are still there.”

“Good. That’s, um. That’s good.”

Rhys was obviously nervous now, and he just kept holding David like he was going to pull him closer at any moment.

“What’s going on, Rhys?” David asked quietly. He could hear low voices outside the door, the scuttle of footsteps as the Society made preparations, but he didn’t care. This cramped little room was the only place on earth that existed, as far as he was concerned. Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but he never got the chance, because the door clicked open, and Moira walked inside.

“Am I interrupting something?” she said, with mirth in her eyes.

Rhys rolled his eyes and beckoned her closer. “Neither of you are even supposed to be back here. Breaking rules on my first day.”

“Expect plenty of it,” Moira said, sauntering over. She was wearing a huge lavender fur coat over her black dress.

David expected Rhys to let go of his hand, maybe put a little distance between them, but Rhys kept holding him as Moira pushed up on her tiptoes and kissed her husband. Rhys slid his thumb down into the soft center of David’s palm and pressed gently, and the sensation nearly made David weak in the knees. Rhys didn’t let go until he was done kissing Moira thoroughly.

“Is this new?” Rhys asked, gesturing towards the coat. “This looks like that Gucci coat you’re always going gaga over.”

“Brand new,” Moira purred, looking pleased as a cat with cream. Something in her expression tipped Rhys off. He blanched and peeled back the collar of her coat to look at her label. Moira burst into a peal of laughter, and David couldn’t help but smirk.

“David,” Rhys began. “This is…”

“What she deserves,” David provided. Moira slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. He was struck for the dozenth time by how natural it was to pull her in closer, to breathe in her floral scent and bask in her body heat. David usually couldn’t see auras on people unless he was trying hard, but her aura was so bright today, so electric with excitement and joy, that she radiated an amethyst glow. He had shipped the coat directly to her house with a note, not sure if she would have taken kindly to an unannounced house call, but now he saw that she would have been undoubtedly delighted to see him.

Rhys looked at them both with a strange expression, odd only in how open and vulnerable it was compared to his usual standoffishness. David couldn’t tell how he was feeling, exactly, but he seemed slightly overwhelmed.

“You both really should go get in your places,” Rhys said. He gave David an apologetic look. “I’ll catch up with you later. Thank you for the gift.”

The ascension ceremony was usually a private affair, strictly for Society initiates, but Rhys had rebuffed tradition in favor of an open ritual. Select guests were allowed, including some close friends and family of Society members and representatives from other occult groups. The Society members – David couldn’t strictly call them ‘brothers’ anymore, since Kitty had just started her initiation exams – were gathering on a chalked circle in the middle of the room, chatting quietly as they took their places.

Leda was here for her own whimsical pleasure, but also, David knew, as a representative of the shadowy cabal of interconnected chaos magicians she presided over. She had traded out her leather jacket for a slouchy blazer, although the clothes underneath were still as black and low-cut as ever. She cut a striking figure standing next to Moira, leaning down to whisper something in the other woman’s ear that made her grin.

There were other people in attendance David knew only by reputation, including the head of a major Wiccan coven from Salem and the married leaders of a local Rosicrucian chapter.

“I didn’t realize we were going to have such an audience,” he said, sidling up to Leda. “I didn’t think Rhys had this many friends outside of the Society.”

“He doesn’t,” Moira said. “But he’s smarter than Wayne was. He knows the Society can’t thrive in isolation anymore.”

“I think we’ve done just fine for ourselves,” David said, adjusting his cufflinks.

Leda shot him a smirk. “Have you? Eating away at the endowment in your basement ritual room and doing the same old spells over and over again?”

“Alright, maybe things have gotten a little rote.”

“You’ve got no political power in Boston anymore. If Rhys keeps making the right connections and schmoozing the right people, maybe someday you will, again.”

David just shook his head, baffled. He would never have considered doing anything with the High Priesthood except sitting on power and dolling out nepotistic favors to his favorite people. But Rhys was expansion-minded; he had genuine aims for the Society as a whole, with obvious plans for how to achieve them. It was his first day acting in any official capacity and he was already a force to be reckoned with pulling strings behind the scenes.

David was convinced in that moment of how truly right Rhys had been for the Priesthood, and he was struck with a reckless sort of admiration for his oldest friend. Rhys was always at his best when he was designing some scheme. The Priesthood gave him all the resources and leverage he needed to shine.

David gave Leda a nod and squeezed Moira’s hand before he took his place in the circle, right between Antoni and Cameron. The lights dimmed until the only illumination came from the candles Kitty had lit at strategic points around the room, and everyone fell silent.

Rhys appeared through the doorway and took his place on the raised dais in the center of the circle. In the flickering light, he looked otherworldly, like a prince of demons taking the shape of a man.

David stared. He had been rebelling at the thought of having to kneel for anyone as part of this ceremony, but suddenly he didn’t have any trouble imagining getting on his knees for Rhys. If anyone deserved obeisance, it was him.

Generally, the ritual would be led by the former High Priest, but Wayne was somewhere tropical with his ringer off, and so Rhys led it himself. He spoke the words of invocation clearly and confidently, summoning his own spirit court to witness the momentous occasion. The performer in David found that he enjoyed having a larger audience than usual, and he savored the awed gasps that rippled through the crowd as the spirits swirled into visibility in the shape of shadows and floating black masses. Rhys held them all at bay with a sharp word and the angle of his outstretched hand, and David’s psychic intuition tingled as they settled in to watch from the corners of the room.

The fealty ritual came next. One by one, each Society member entered the circle, stepped up to the dais, and took a knee in front of Rhys. Everyone else held the energetic circle open.

When it was David’s turn, he swept into a low bow in front of Rhys, dipping his head and averting his gaze in deference. He usually scoffed at ceremonial playacting, but he really tried to mean this one, to bring his heart in alignment with the ritual. Rhys’s hand swept lightly over his head, his thumb touching David’s forehead as if in blessing. It felt holy and profane at the same time, and David’s skin prickled at the touch.

Afterwards, when the candles were snuffed out and the lights turned back on, applause and cheers rippled through the crowd. The Society members jostled forward to clap Rhys on the back and pump his hand, and David fell back to watch it all unfold. He took a private, simple pleasure in watching Rhys bathed in all that adoration, getting everything that he had ever wanted.

A twist of pain intruded on the reverie, reminding David that Rhys’s life was full to the brim with satisfaction now. He had the world. Now that he was High Priest, there was very little David could offer to Rhys except his friendship and his talents as a scryer.

David excused himself early and headed over to Beacon Hill to finish preparations for the afterparty.

The cleaners had entirely transformed the townhouse. The furniture and rugs had been vacuumed until they shone in new colors, and the heavy curtains had been beaten clean and drawn back to let light spill into the house. The sun brought out the shades of gold and mahogany in all the dark wood and made the picture frames gleam. It was barely recognizable as the forbidding place he had grown up, when the ceilings seemed to stretch into black nothingness while the walls pressed in suffocatingly. Now the foyer almost felt welcoming, like a grand old hotel throwing open its doors to new clientele.

This was his house, he thought as he welcomed in Antoni and Nathan and all the rest who trickled in wearing their best suits, women and men decked out in silk and gold on their arms. This was really his house, his responsibility, his legacy. It wasn’t his father’s anymore and hadn’t been for a long time. Moira had been right when she sent his ghost packing. But it had taken David a while to warm to the prospect.

Hosting Rhys’s ascension party seemed like the right way to extend the olive branch of peace to the man who had beaten him out for High Priest, but it also felt like a renaissance of sorts. For the house, and for the Aristarkhov name. David found he didn’t hate carrying it around quite so much now, even if he wasn’t exactly proud of the legacy his father had left behind. Besides, he liked having an excuse to show off.

He had cauldrons of fresh flowers and foliage brought in and arranged next to buckets of imported champagne on ice. The wooden floors shined underneath all the loafers and high heels milling about, taking in every room. David had gone the extra mile and opened up the entire ground floor of the house to partygoers, so they could drift from room to room and find their preferred divans and alcoves to cozy up in.

“Dude,” Antoni said, eyes swimming with golden light and the third glass of champagne he was on. “I knew you were rich, but I didn’t know you owned the damn Smithsonian.”

David just smiled, sipping his mineral water, and thumped Antoni on the back.

Despite the glamour, the evening was not particularly formal. There was generally milling about and drinking with impeccable small bites passed around on silver platters, with Rhys set to make a brief speech later in the night. He and Moira took their time getting to the house, of course, probably being swamped by well-wishers at the Society. When they finally arrived, a big cheer went up through the foyer.

Rhys still looked like a conquering prince, and Moira had changed into an evening dress stitched entirely from black lace and sparkling beadwork. David was reminded of her wedding day, when she had worn eggshell lace, and now she looked every inch the chosen consort of an occult leader. David raised his voice with the others when the couple arrived, clapping briskly, and tried to ignore the twinge in his heart at how perfect they looked together.

This night was not about him, he reminded himself. This was about Rhys.

He managed to give Rhys a wide berth for most of the party, and even managed to avoid the temptation to drink or eat carbs or do anything else to take the edge off. But eventually, Rhys found him. Just like he always did.

“Am I making things up or have you been avoiding me?” Rhys asked. He had ambushed David on the landing of the stairs, where they could enjoy a birds-eye view of the party without being overheard. David turned to look at Rhys and could barely remember how to breathe. He looked so perfect standing there with one hand in his pocket, his weight resting casually on one hip. He looked like a head of state, like somebody who didn’t need David turning his life upside down with personal crises and family curses anymore.

“I’m just letting you have your moment,” David said, leaning against the staircase banner as casually as he could manage. Rhys came to stand next to him, close enough that David could smell the incense notes in his cologne. He was not going to survive this night.

“I had hoped that we were beyond lying to each other,” Rhys said.

David swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. A month ago, he’d gleefully challenged Rhys at every turn, talking back in conclave and going out of his way to get a rise out of him during social hour. Now he could barely look him in the eye.

So instead of looking at Rhys, David cast his gaze out over the parquet floors. Moira was dancing with Nathan, her face alight with a smile as Nathan twirled her clumsily. David wanted very badly to be the one dancing with her.

“Do you miss her?” Rhys asked.

David’s eyes flickered over to Rhys’s, just for a moment. “Maybe I do.”

“You can reach out to her, you know,” Rhys said. “She can still be in your life, if she chooses to let you have her. You can have me, too.”

“Rhys,” David said, voice low with warning. “Don’t–”

“Don’t tell me what to do, please,” Rhys said mildly, holding up a hand. “Just let me finish. I’ve had a long time to think about this, and if I don’t say it all at once, I’m afraid I never will. Just listen.”

David was a bit taken aback by being ordered around, but there was only one man alive who David let give him orders, and that was Rhys. So he swallowed down his arguments and waited patiently.

Rhys clenched and unclenched his hands at his side, the only indication that he was horribly, terribly nervous. “I know we’ve never been good at being good to one another, but I’d like to think that these last weeks… We’ve both grown and changed, and things are different between us now. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want, what I really want, and David…”

Rhys trailed off, pressing his lips together until they turned white.

“Yes?” David prompted, leaning in despite himself.

Rhys looked up at him, pinning him in place with his dark gaze like a butterfly under glass. He took David’s hand in his own and pressed a warm, openmouthed kiss to the pink scar running along David’s palm.

“Brothers,” Rhys said, voice hoarse. “That’s what you are to me, do you understand? Family.”

“You’re carrying around a curse with my name on it. I’m amazed you still want anything to do with me.”

“I won’t accept a world without you in it, David. I don’t care how I have you, I just want you close.”

“What are you asking me, Rhys?”

“You know what I’m asking,” Rhys said, voice agonized.

“If you’re going to ask me, do it right,” David said, heart beating out of his chest. He needed to know that this was real, that he wasn’t hallucinating what was happening. “I deserve that, at least.”

Rhys looked down at the ballroom, and in that moment, he really looked like a High Priest, regal and austere. Despite the raucous celebration happening below, it felt like they were the only two people in the room.

David loved him so ferociously that his chest ached.

Rhys turned to David and put his mouth close to his ear. There was no bravado in his voice when he spoke, no command, just the honest desperation of a man undone.

“I want you to be mine, David Aristarkhov.”

“Are you asking me to be your boyfriend, McGowan?” David quipped, but it was only to cover how fast his pulse was thrumming in his jugular. Impossible. This was impossible. But somehow, Rhys was really standing there with him, his hand hovering over his bicep like he was afraid to touch David. Somehow, they had come to this moment in time together, and a possible future was unfolding at their feet like a flower.

“Are you saying yes?”

David kissed him in lieu of an answer. It was a firm, unapologetic kiss, strong enough to be a pact. Rhys curled his fingers around the nape of David’s neck and kissed him back, right there in front of God and everybody.

When David broke the kiss, seconds or minutes later, his head was swimming with the taste of Rhys and the possibility of a life that felt like this, just this good, every single day.

“Come with me,” David said, grabbing Rhys’s hand and pulling him down the corridor.

“What are we doing?” Rhys said, but the deliciously dark cast in his voice made it quite clear he knew exactly what they were up to.

“Making up for lost time,” David said, and pulled him into a spare bedroom.