11. Butler Knows Best

11

BUTLER KNOWS BEST

Wren stared at the picture on his phone. It was an older man in a suit, thin with graying hair, and he was pointing excitedly at the rubber ducks printed on his cummerbund. "Why's Hector calling me?"

Hector was Fang's butler; Fang had programmed Hector's number into Wren's phone right before they'd left, as an emergency contact.

"Beats me," Fang said. "Answer it."

Wren swiped to accept the call, putting it on speaker mode. "Hello?"

"Wren!" Hector said cheerfully. "Is Boss Master with you?"

"Yes?" Wren glanced hesitantly at Fang. "Why're you calling me instead of him?"

"He's busy, isn't he?"

"Well... he's driving," Wren answered carefully.

"Good. Boss Master, remember to keep both your hands on the wheel at all times."

Fang narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"

Was this going to be... bad?

"I have nothing planned," Hector said in a tone so fake, Wren winced. "Now, Wren, my dearest Boss Consort. Did Boss Master tell you? He used to—"

Fang growled, his hand twitching like he wanted to grab Wren's phone and throw it out the window. "Hector."

"He used to flick little snot balls into his classmates' hair."

Wren stared. Fang grimaced. "I was eight. "

"Don't let Boss Master touch the phone," Hector said. "I have so many of these stories to tell you, and I can't do that if you end the call early. Like a premature ejaculation. No one likes that, Boss Master. Certainly not your Consort."

Wren blushed and looked between his phone and Fang, ever so torn.

Fang growled, his cheeks pink. "Shut up, Hector."

"Now, surely you agree that hearing these stories will make Wren laugh," Hector said.

"Not at my expense!" Fang snarled.

"If you're courting him at all, and I think you might be, then he needs to know."

" No. No one needs to know about—"

"Here, why don't I tell Wren another one?" Hector chirped. "Once upon a time, when Fang was a wee lil one, he caught a wild bird and brought it to his parents' bed—while his parents were busy trying to make more siblings for him."

Fang made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a growl. "Hector. Shut up."

"But how does Hector know that story?" Wren whispered.

"I'm good friends with Fang's parents," Hector said. "Back to the memory. Fang was too young of a cub to understand why his parents were making sounds at each other, and they weren't in time to stop him from leaping onto their bed. With a big, flapping bird. The feathers went everywhere. The bird might've pecked his dad's sensitive parts. No one was happy that day."

The image of Fang as an excited child with a newly-captured bird set off all the flutters in Wren's chest.

Fang ran his hand over his face. "Fuck."

"Are you okay, Fang?" Wren whispered.

"No," Fang muttered.

Wren looked at his phone, thinking about ending the call.

"Whatever," Fang said, looking away. "Listen to him if you want."

"But you don't want me to!"

Fang's expression turned into something complicated. "Maybe you should."

On the other end of the line, Hector cackled. " Oh. Boss Master is weak for you. I've never seen him weak for anyone before. You must be something special."

Wren's face flushed hot. "I'm just me!"

But when Fang glanced over, there was a softness in his eyes that Wren hadn't seen before.

"You're not just you, Wren," Fang said quietly. "You're more than that."

Wren's heart skipped.

"Aww," Hector said. "You should—"

Fang shot the phone a dangerous glare and growled in warning.

"You should take a look at the book I packed in your bags," Hector said gleefully. "I heard you were in need of some... lines. "

Impossibly, Fang's cheeks turned pink.

"I've marked out the best ones with neon tabs and highlighter ink," Hector said. "They will knock your socks off, Wren."

"Is this... that book?" Wren blurted.

There was a book that had begun circulating amongst Hector and his butler brothers; Blade's butler Hong had given Wren a copy and winked at him several times. Wren had peeked into it once, out of curiosity.

Those pickup lines were so terrible, only the eternally-damned would be desperate enough to use them.

"I don't need help from a book," Fang muttered. His ears were pink, though.

Wren stared.

"Anyway," Hector crowed. "Another story?"

"Tell them when I'm not around to tear my ears out," Fang grumbled.

"I like those stories," Wren said. "They're funnier than mine."

"Oh?" Fang glanced over. "Tell me some of yours."

"The most embarrassing ones," Hector added. "We'll dock points if they don't make us cringe."

Fang rolled his eyes. "You're willing to throw us both under the bus because it's not your humiliation, Hector."

"Ah, I would share my stories with you, but you're not courting me." Hector sounded smug.

The pink on Fang's ears had gone down to his neck.

"Maybe I'll tell you my stories one day," Hector said. "After your courtship is successful."

"My—" Fang stumbled over his words.

Wren stared. Was Fang nervous about making a move on him?

Fang growled. "Either tell a story, or end the call."

He sat and clutched the wheel like he was facing down a firing squad, and Wren had to reach over to touch his forearm, guilt heavy in his stomach. "I can end the call."

Fang frowned, glancing at him. "Don't you want to know?"

"I don't want you to feel uncomfortable because of me."

At that, Fang's gaze grew warm. "You really are a treasure, Birdie."

"Aww, pet names!" Hector crowed. "Do you have one for Boss Master?"

Wren winced. "I'm—not good with pet names. I've never really given anyone one."

"What about McBitey?" Hector suggested.

Both of them grimaced.

"Mr. McFang," Hector said. "Fangs For Nuffin'."

Fang groaned. "Those are all bad."

Wren was about to say he liked Fang's name as-is, when he looked out the window.

A lone shopping cart trundled along by itself on the road shoulder, its wheels wobbly, its path weaving a little like it was drunk. In fact, it looked kind of banged up and miserable next to the empty landscape. Wren sucked in a slow breath.

There was magic in metals. It began as wisps of energy in metal ores, that grew concentrated as the ores were refined. When metals were turned into mechanical devices, their metal parts moved and interacted, and the magic changed to make those devices sentient. It was how door locks could smile, and how shopping carts could skid around and play with each other like giant, squeaky dogs.

Wren couldn't take his eyes off the cart. "How far are we from the nearest gas station?"

Fang followed his line of sight. "Thirty miles."

That was a long ways to travel by yourself.

They looked at each other, the line of Fang's mouth easing. "What do you want to do?" Fang asked.

"I... kind of want to make friends with it," Wren said hesitantly. "So at least it has a travel companion for a while."

"All right." Fang slowed the car down, pulling up behind the shopping cart.

Before Wren leaped out, Fang pressed a hand against his chest to pin him to the seat. Fang glanced out the window, studying the cars zooming by. "I think it's safe for you to talk to it."

Wren scrambled out of the car, hurrying over to the lone cart. At his approach, the cart wheeled around, lifting its flap hopefully.

"Hey," Wren said, touching its handle. "Are you lost?"

The cart squeaked its wheels pitifully and nudged his leg.

"Would you like to travel with us? We're on a road trip right now, but you can come home with us if you'd like."

The cart butted up against him and squeaked its wheels harder, making soft grr-grr sounds that made Wren think it was excited to have a friend.

Wren grinned. "When we stop somewhere, I'll introduce you to Fang and Steffie. We can all be friends."

The cart raised its flap, nudging harder at him. Wren's heart melted. Shopping carts were so friendly; he always liked seeing them around.

"Wren," Fang called sharply.

Wren froze. Fang didn't use that tone on him, unless—

When he looked up, he realized that another car had pulled onto the road shoulder ahead of them.

Wren didn't want to panic. But he absolutely did.

"Hey, buddy," he said, tugging on the cart. "We gotta go. It's not safe out here. C'mon."

They'd barely made five steps toward Fang's car when the doors on the other car opened.

Fang was already jogging toward Wren, grabbing his arm and ushering him back to the car.

"No time," Fang said tightly.

Men stepped out of the other car. Wren hoped that they were there for an unrelated pit stop, except they all turned to look at him.

His stomach clenched. He scrambled to write a midair rune, shoving the spell at them.

The spell expanded like an umbrella; one of the men lunged away before it could ensnare him.

"Crap," Wren whispered.

The man turned. His face transformed into something twisted and monstrous, with sharp teeth.

"Get in the car," Fang growled. He ripped off his shirt the next second, kicked off his shoes. The sound of tearing fabric filled the air.

Fang was naked for all of one heartbeat. With a silver shimmer, grey fur sprouted all over his body. His face lengthened into a snout; his limbs grew shorter, and a tail sprouted from his rump.

As a wolf, Fang was majestic, huge, so powerful that Wren wanted time to admire him for days.

They didn't have time now.

Wren shoved the shopping cart behind the SUV. He hurried to the side of the car to watch the fight; there was no point opening any of the doors, because Steffie was safest hidden in there.

The sharp-toothed man charged at Fang. Fang snarled and leaped at him. Wren tried to stay inconspicuous, scribbling more runes—for protection, for strength.

With each spell, he felt his magic drain more. Mom had told him there was a well of suppressed energy inside him that he had to unlock before he could use it; all it felt like was something shapeless and heavy somewhere behind his ribs.

No matter how hard Wren tried to prod at that buzzing, knotted thing, he couldn't make it unfurl enough to draw out the threads of its energy.

So he ignored it. He wrote another spell to make absolutely sure the other kidnappers couldn't move. Then he tried to write one to stall the one Fang was fighting.

Except the man-monster gave Fang the slip, and charged at Wren. It seemed to swell in size, teeth growing longer, claws turning terribly sharp.

There wasn't enough time. Wren's heart froze even as he tried to finish the runes. He needed a few more seconds—

He didn't have a few more seconds. The monster was already bearing down on him, jaw unhinging to take a huge bite of his face.

His heart stuttered. His hands shook.

A grey shape crashed into the monster from the side, sending it stumbling. Wren snatched the chance to finish his spell. He slammed his magic into it and sent it flying, holding his breath as the bolt hit the monster in its chest and it fell.

For long seconds, Wren and Fang panted, watching the too-still figure on the ground.

"I think it's down," Wren whispered. "For now."

Fang snarled and tore the monster's throat apart with his teeth.

"Is it dead?" Wren asked.

Fang tossed his head in a way that Wren couldn't understand. But he leaped at Wren, shoving Wren toward the car.

Wren got the message. He scrambled into the passenger seat; Fang waited until he'd slammed the door shut behind him. Then he snatched his ruined clothes off the ground, shifted back into a man, and threw himself behind the wheel.

The tires squealed as they peeled out of there. Wren barely remembered to twist around to check for his new shopping cart friend.

"It's following us," Fang reassured him.

Somehow, Steffie was still napping peacefully in her car seat.

They drove in silence for long minutes, Fang's face wet with grey blood.

Now that the rush of the fight was over, Wren's fatigue began setting in. He'd used too much of his magic; his limbs were beginning to feel heavy, and he blinked slowly, struggling to keep his eyes open.

After a while, Wren's phone crackled from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "Boss Master?"

Wren had completely forgotten about the call. He scooped up the phone, glancing at Fang. "Were you on the line the whole time?"

"Yes, actually," Hector said. "I sent Boss Master's friends a message."

"Thanks," Fang muttered, swiping at his face with his ruined clothes. "We stopped to befriend a shopping cart. A car pulled over in front of us and everyone got out. They were going to attack us. Wren immobilized most of them. The last guy attacked us and I killed him. We're getting the hell out of there."

"Gotcha. I'll add that to my report."

"Thanks," Fang said. "I should put on some clothes."

Wren hadn't even realized that Fang was driving completely naked, with just his clothes piled on his lap. "Um, I can climb into the backseat and pull out a change of clothes."

"Yes, please."

Wren took a deep breath and shoved aside his fatigue as best as he could. He unbuckled his seat belt and carefully climbed into the backseat, grabbing for the bags in the trunk.

He found a pair of pants and a button-down shirt. When he fumbled his way back into the passenger seat, Fang held out his hand.

Did he mean for Wren to dress him? Wren blinked. And carefully worked the sleeve of Fang's shirt onto his arm.

Fang laughed quietly. "I meant for you to hand me the clothes, but this works, too."

Wren blushed bright red.

Fang wriggled his arm into the other sleeve. His pants, he couldn't put on while driving. His shirt hung open, though.

So Wren reached over, carefully buttoning Fang's shirt, trying to ignore the way Fang's warmth whispered into his skin.

Fang huffed, his mouth curling into a sinful grin. "I appreciate this, Birdie."

Wren ducked his head and kept on buttoning, until he reached the last button. At least the pile of clothes on Fang's lap kept him decent. "You're less likely to be pulled over for public indecency now."

More laughter sparkled in Fang's eyes.

"I should help you come up with a nickname for Boss Master," Hector said in the background. "I'd suggest BM, but that could also mean Bowel Movement."

Fang grimaced. "Hector, shut up."

"Better luck next century. Oh, oh! What about Fanger Darling? Fangballs? Fangy-panties?"

Both Fang and Wren winced.

"Um, I think ‘Fang' is fine," Wren said. "Right?"

"Definitely fine," Fang said dryly.

Hector clucked his tongue. "You're both no fun."

"We're ending the call now," Fang said.

"But—" Hector squawked.

"End it, Birdie."

"Sorry, Hector," Wren said apologetically. He pressed the button to cut the line, and Fang sighed behind the wheel.

"I like him, I really do," Fang muttered. "But Hector can be such an ass sometimes."

"He seems like a good friend."

"He is. But he also drives me insane."

When Wren peeked at Fang, he found Fang's expression scrunched in a mix of exasperation and fondness. His heart swelled. Would Fang look at him that way, too?

Then he remembered the car full of kidnappers, and his insides twisted up. "Are we being followed?"

Fang studied the rearview mirror for a while, accelerating and changing lanes. "Doesn't seem like it. But if you have enough energy left, I'd like to change the paint job on this car. Again. I'm sorry."

"I'll do it, it's fine," Wren hurried to say. "I'd much rather us be safe."

Fang's smile fell. "It's not fine if it wears you out."

"Better tired than being followed. Do you think... those guys followed us all the way from the motel?" Wren asked hesitantly. "When you said someone was lurking around the car."

Fang sighed. "I don't think they did. I checked the car for bugs. But... maybe they were able to track it some other way? Like with magic?"

Wren froze. In their rush to get out of the motel, it hadn't occurred to Wren that someone might have spelled their car, too.

He closed his eyes and stretched his senses over the car, probing around the hood and wheels and corners.

And there, right behind the back wheel, next to the exhaust pipe, a faint pulse flickered.

Wren felt sick. "There's a tracking spell on us."