The Brotherhood 12: Believe It Or Not Read online

  “My only worry is that I have offended you.”

  “Bullshit, that’s your only worry. Liam, your heart’s way too big for an incubus. It’s gonna get you in trouble someday.” Lilith placed a finger against her lips. “No, wait, it already has. Do you have any idea what this little adventure is gonna cost you? Sonny Jim, you’ve been alive for sweet, fancy Moses knows how long, and even I can’t tell if you’re going to be able to hack what you’re up against with Harrison.”

  “I know it will be hard.”

  “Damn right.”

  “But I believe I can do this.”

  “You’d better. When any son of mine sets out to do something, I expect him to do it right. Meh. You’ll probably be okay, but I’ll give you a word of advice.” She flicked him a sharp, knowing glance. “All those other guys in your Brotherhood will be okay. Harrison, though, he’s different.”

  “He... troubles me. There is something about him in particular that makes me uneasy.”

  “It should. Harrison is a serious nonbeliever. A man that set against love, sex, and romance is gonna be a tough nut to crack, given the deal you made and your vow to find true love for all the Brothers. He’ll fight hard against someone daring to play matchmaker. Besides, by the time you get to him, you’re gonna be pooped. So be prepared, kid.”

  “I see. But why?”

  Lilith shrugged. “The Wheel of Fortune turns and turns, and I don’t mean the game show. How old is Vanna, anyway? Her and Dick Clark, I swear they sold their souls to something. They should’ve come to me. But yeah, Harrison’s been around the carousel of fate so many times he ought to be permanently dizzy. Hint: he’s had a lot of bad luck when it comes to love in his previous lives. Tends to pick exactly the wrong man until he finds ‘the one.’ He’s got a soul mate, y’see, but every time they get close in a new life something goes kerboom, and they’re parted for another cycle. That kind of a karmic bitch builds up into a heavy load after a while. You know how it goes.”

  Ah, Liam reflected ruefully, he was getting old. So that was what he had been unable to comprehend. He should have come up with these answers on his own. “I begin to grasp the complexities involved. But, tell me, has he given himself in love before? Can that knowledge come back to him, too?”

  “The guy’s karma is pissed off, so to speak, but yeah, he could fall in love again if you tickled him right. If you found the man he needs.” Lilith tugged thoughtfully on a lock of her hair. “Think real hard. Let me smell that fire burning in your wooden noggin. Anyone coming to mind?”

  Liam thought carefully, sorting through this man and that one, until he found and traced a line of connection. Unexpected, yes, but a track worth following. “I believe so, Mother.”

  “Gonna share?”

  “It might be unlucky. I think not -- unless you command me to tell.”

  “Nah, I’m cool. And, hey, I know you mean it for the best, but fulfilling your vow is going to be risky and exhausting like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Could make you some enemies. So watch your ass. ’Kay?”

  Liam bowed his head. “I thank you, Mother, and I will heed your warning.”

  “Heed, schmeed.” Lilith, she whom nations had once feared and worshiped -- and whom those who knew well enough still revered -- leaned back and propped up her thick-soled, leather lace-up boots. “You called, I came, I saw, I warned you, blah-diddy-blah. So. Tequila?”

  “Gladly.” Liam grinned and rose to his feet to fetch the bottle.

  Seeing his mother again and receiving her blessing, such as it was, renewed the most valuable weapon in Liam’s arsenal.

  Hope.

  Chapter One

  Late evening on the night of the Brotherhood’s planned trip to Amour Magique.

  The Night Mare played again. She loved to gallop through such verdant pastures. Collin had been a wonderful ride... until the dragons had pushed her away.

  No one was going to meddle in her meddling with Harrison.

  Innocent of the spirit’s games, Harrison lay dead to the world, and dreamed...

  The Night Mare watched.

  A barker in a top hat and natty tails raised his voice to shout over the amassing crowd of flappers and dandies, jaded with the world, eager to view something new and interesting.

  He had exactly what they wanted. What they’d come to see.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, come and feast your eyes upon this wonder of wonders, this most amazing of artists, this daredevil of disaster!” he chanted enthusiastically. “No, you will not believe what you are about to see, ladies and gents. The man you’ve all been waiting for is ready to dazzle your very senses. Watch as he attempts to free himself from three thick chains -- yes, three! Three thick chains -- underwater! Oh, yes, yes, young lady, this is definitely something to tremble over. Those who are sensitive may wish to look away. But the rest of you, come and witness this wonder of wonders. Will he make it out alive?”

  The barker wanted to tug at his collar, uncomfortably aware that Houdini didn’t care if he survived. Made the barker nervous. Hush-hush rumor had it that the guy had been unlucky in love. Hadn’t everyone else been in the same boat at least once in their lives?

  Guy needed to move on. Trouble was, the barker kind of figured that was what Houdini was trying to do with these stunts.

  Move on for good.

  The Night Mare tossed her mane. This was an interesting start and a promising trail.

  More. Deeper.

  She galloped forward.

  “Henry? Are you there?”

  “Shh.” Henry covered his lover’s mouth with one broad hand. He tugged the man’s slim body against his own and removed his palm to replace it with his lips. “Someone might hear,” he whispered against his lover’s mouth. “Then it’s over for both of us.”

  “We’re hidden. No one followed me. I’m sure of it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Sure as I can be. Kiss me again.”

  Henry met the man’s tempting lips, unable to resist their allure. He tasted the yeastiness of the beer his lover had been drinking and a faint hint of precious rosemary. He tasted the man himself and could not help but moan.

  “Oh, yes,” his lover crooned. “Come with me. Our usual place in the wine cellar should be fine. No one will find us there at this time of night. Move your feet, Henry.” Henry’s partner in sin pressed the full length of his body along Henry’s, rubbing against him. Both were aroused -- they always were during these brief stolen moments, despite the danger -- and they had to bite back cries of excitement.

  All the same, Henry shook his head. “I don’t trust the cellar tonight.”

  “Whyever not?”

  “I just...”

  “Don’t you want me?” Henry’s lover wickedly grasped Henry’s rear and squeezed. “I want you buried up to your bollocks in my ass. I want your lips around my prick. I’ll die if I don’t have you soon.”

  “Die.” Henry felt a chill that left him uneasy. “The word rings in my ears as if a prophet has cried out. I would you had not spoken it.”

  “What do you think I am, a magician?”

  “I have often wondered.”

  Henry’s lover rolled his eyes. “Rubbish. Kiss me again, and see if you find courage against this meaningless fear.”

  Their lips met, the kiss long and eager. Henry had all but forgotten his unease and would have tugged his lover along to their usual meeting place, equally eager -- if, at that moment, Father Abbot had not come around a corner where no one should have been wandering.

  He saw them, and then he raised the alarm...

  The Night Mare pawed the stony ground beneath her feet, whinnying a laugh as the sleeping Harrison writhed in his bed. He didn’t like that memory, did he?

  She’d let him have another.

  “No. You don’t understand. I am his -- brother. Let me in, please. I only want to take him a cloak against the cold and some food to ease his hunger.”

  The burly guard, soli
d as an oak tree with almost no neck, shook his head and then spat at Hal’s feet. He honked like a gander when he laughed. “Aye, and I know what kind of ‘brothers’ this bugger’s had. Likes o’ him don’t need no cloaks. Cold days or warm, they gets no special treatment.”

  “The food, then,” Hal pleaded. “I know how the Tower is like to feed him. Please, let me send him the victuals.”

  “Hmph.” The guard glared down his short, squashed nose. “Aye, and wouldn’t I be a stupid man to agree? It’ll be poisoned, I wager, to help him ’scape the chopping block, or there’ll be a set o’ lock-picks baked into a pork pie. Get on with you. I’ll have none o’ this.”

  “Please!”

  “Are you wanting a room o’ your own in the Tower?”

  “No.” Hal gave up in defeat. “No.”

  “Be on your way, then.”

  Hal took his basket and walked away, dejected and fearful. He’d taken too great a risk by coming to offer what he could to his beloved. King of Fools, he’d hoped they would let him in to see the man he loved. S’truth, he had even dreamed they might have a moment alone to touch, to kiss, to share one last embrace.

  He ached so for his heart’s love that he often dreamed of him -- and woke with tears on his cheeks and seed on his stomach. Thus, he had acted foolishly and borne out this day’s action.

  Fool, fool, and fool again. Ungrateful fool, for his lover had refused to name the man with whom he’d been spied in the midst of a carnal act. He had thought to spare Hal, but now Hal had probably brought his own death down upon his head. The guard might have been dull as a dung heap, but Hal had seen him putting two and two together.

  Doom approached on heavy feet. Hal could hear the clunk of its hooves already. He had no hope; he knew what would be.

  Hal’s lover was of high enough rank to be imprisoned in the Tower. The official charge was congress with the Devil and practice of the black arts -- and to be sure, there were lords who’d gladly have seen his partner’s head in a basket for such a thing -- but everyone knew what was really what. And so the man bided in the Tower to await the taking of his life.

  Hal, a common man, would be lucky to have a stay in a dungeon pit before the axe chopped off his own head.

  The Night Mare was pleased, well-pleased. Harrison’s mind tasted delicious. So many lives to choose from! Selecting yet another, closer to home, she whickered a chuckle when she gave the memory a nasty twist and thought about how he would like this one.

  A dream within a dream.

  Henry’s lover turned to face him, his visage that of a man long dead. Skin had dried and shriveled over once-handsome features, and his teeth were bared in a bony skull’s grin. “Kiss me, darling. Don’t you still love me?”

  All Henry could do was stare, horror drying his throat and numbing his lips. No. No. He remembered now. The man he had once loved belonged in his grave. Not here, not walking and talking and reaching for him with parchment-dry hands -- --

  “Ignore him,” a silky voice suggested from behind Henry. “No. You’re not Henry. You’re Harrison. He’s a thing of the past. I am here in the now, the present.”

  Harrison turned hastily, both to escape his dead lover’s lidless stare and to face down the intruder. “You,” he breathed, startled. He’d seen this man before. He wasn’t quite sure where, but...

  The Night Mare reared angrily, stamping her hooves. Not again!

  The oddly familiar stranger fascinated Harrison. He had one blue eye and one brown, and he wore an expression of both cunning cleverness and Puckish humor. He was covered in only a silver-embroidered robe of purple brocade, which had been left hanging open to reveal his naked body.

  Such a body!

  Pale golden skin flowed smoothly over lithe muscles. A very small amount of gilded hair trailed down to his cock, which was dark red and swelled thick, as perfect as the rest of him.

  Harrison looked and liked. His mouth began to water.

  The stranger fondled himself blatantly. “Yes, that’s it. Look at me, not him. Do you like what you see?”

  “We’ve... we’ve met before.” Harrison struggled to remember. “Where do I know you from?”

  “Dreams. The past, present, and future. Here. There. Everywhere. I forget, myself, when I wake up. Every time.” The man shrugged. “We’ve never exchanged spoken words outside of sleep’s realm, but that’ll change. I’ll be seeing you soon, Harrison. I’ll be seeing you on your knees, pleading for this.” He stroked his cock while his mismatched eyes twinkled wickedly. “You’ll look so sweet when you beg.”

  Harrison tensed with anger. No one topped him, and no one made jokes or sly gibes at his expense. No one. “Fuck you!”

  “You will. I will. Soon. You won’t remember me when you rise from your nap, mind. I’ll play the game a while yet, so long as it entertains me. Now, wake up.”

  The stranger snapped his fingers.

  The Night Mare screamed a horse’s shrill scream, galloping away in a lather of fury and frustration. Had the incubus meddled with all his men?

  She’d settle this score, she vowed, and then she left Harrison behind... for the moment.

  Harrison sat bolt upright in bed, choking off a hoarse yell before it could escape his throat. He dragged in heavy, shaking breaths instead, feeling himself sweating huge cold drops. His sheets were a twisted mess, leaving most of him bare to the air.

  The dreams again.

  Just dreams.

  Only dreams.

  They couldn’t hurt him. He was safe in his bedroom. The last of the evening’s light trickled in through neatly aligned blinds on curtainless windows, casting comfortably familiar shadows. Safe. Alone. Safe. He’d been sleeping, taking a quick nap after work, that was all.

  Nothing but sleeping.

  God, he had to get out of the Brotherhood. Ever since he’d joined the group his lawyer Simon had founded, the dreams Harrison’s therapist had promised were purged from his system had come back, getting stronger and stronger every night. These dreams were pure rubbish, as were all dreams. Merely the mind's way of processing a day's events. Still, he knew he’d be much more comfortable once he and the Brothers had parted ways.

  Harrison wouldn’t have involved himself with the Brothers if not for a certain unpleasantness a little more than a year back. Besides being a well-respected lecturer in sociology and cultural anthropology despite his young age -- not much more than thirty -- he was also the author of several books that disproved everything from myths to holy texts, to urban legends, to all types of so-called magic.

  He tended to make a surprising amount of enemies among his readers. Enemies who often tried to pass as friends. Harrison was usually clever enough to sort liars from honest men and women, but Shoshanna, who had posed as an eager fan, had fooled him. Damned female. She’d had the gumption to give a “tell-all” interview in which she’d claimed he had faked the evidence in every one of his books -- and then named him as the father of her child, insisting he had threatened her into his bed.

  Harrison snorted. As if after Oliver’s betrayal he’d have trusted anyone enough to sleep with them. Not that he’d told her any of that, of course.

  Well, he couldn’t bring Oliver to justice. Proving Shoshanna to be a liar, however, had been incredibly satisfying.

  The shock on her face when Harrison had ended up in a witness stand and calmly pronounced “I’m gay” had almost been worth the whole ordeal. He’d found men from the Oliver years who’d vouched for his sexual preferences and other folks of more recent acquaintance who had shaken their heads over Shoshanna and said under oath that she’d tried this sort of thing before. DNA testing had proven Harrison innocent, and that had been the end of that.

  He’d gotten away nice and clean. Clean, that was, except for his highly respected lawyer’s request -- more like a command -- that after what Harrison had been through, he should join the self-help group, the Brotherhood, that Simon had formed for gay men.

  Harrison had conside
red ignoring Simon’s invitation. For one, he hadn’t felt like meeting any new people; after the victorious but ultimately draining ordeal with Shoshanna, Harrison had wanted to be left alone. Ergo, he hadn’t much cared about being part of a support group. No, he hadn’t wanted a bunch of strangers’ so-called support.

  Besides which, the other Brothers were out-and-out messes. Gratingly brash punks, mincing queens, horrifying flirts -- and then there was Liam. Harrison didn’t even want to start thinking about the small man. The little twit put his nerves on a razor’s edge every time they met. Always so smug, as if he knew something no one else did and wasn’t going to share.

  More, Liam always seemed to find new ways to get them all in trouble. Case in point: tonight’s visit to a dance club. There were places where Harrison felt comfortable, but a techno-heavy, strobe-lit dance floor? No, no, and no again. The idea made him feel ridiculous and clumsy, bad habits he’d never grown out of and tried his best to hide.

  He’d voted against going but had been outvoted. So he’d agreed. Stupid move, but Harrison always kept his word once he gave it.

  Sighing, he glanced at his watch, a chunky, plastic, utilitarian model bought for accuracy instead of style. Seven? Damn, I was only going to close my eyes for thirty minutes. Should I shower and shave again? Probably.

  Oh, well. There are worse ways to spend an evening.

  “Meow.”

  A cold nose thrust itself into the crease of Harrison’s groin. He yelped, startled, and scrambled back, away from the pert, petite black cat that had seated herself on his bed. She sat calmly, as if she had every right to be there, regarding him with uncannily intelligent green eyes. A cat that did not and had never belonged to him, but one he knew all too well. Somehow, she’d managed to find her way inside his house at least once a day, every single day, for the past two or three weeks.

  Harrison wasn’t a big fan of cats. He made a living out of debunking superstitions and such, but the look in a cat’s eyes never failed to creep him out. If he ever decided to take the time for a pet, he’d buy a dog. Maybe goldfish.