Chapter 16

CHAPTER16

Callan leafed through his book while Myth napped in the shade of the tree next to him. The passages he’d crossed out were illegible even to him, but he still knew the words they contained.

Devour him, take his magic. Make it my own. I don’t need fixing. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.

How very trite. Callan would have cut the page out entirely if not for the parts that contained the magical theories he’d devised once his own body started to lose its shape.

Athan’s ring sparkled on Myth’s finger now, and for all that Callan wanted to snatch it back, he had to admit it suited the pretty little thief more.

Myth grumbled and rolled onto his side, flinging an arm across Callan’s legs. “Tell me you have food.”

“I do not,” Callan answered. He closed the book and let it fall into a shadow. “But you might be able to beg some off the coach coming this way.”

Myth craned his neck to see the oncoming carriage, but he made a face. “Too rich. They’d just shove me in the mud and laugh as their horses sling shit onto me.” He paused, and his face took on a delightful little look of mischief. “Besides, sometimes it’s more fun not to beg. I still have a few spells left that I can use to get close, and I’m sure there’s plenty they won’t miss.”

“I think you love begging,” Callan said with a salacious smirk. “But in this case, I agree with you.” He reached into the shadow of the tree and sent out a tendril, racing closer and closer to the carriage.

When his shadow and the carriage met, the horses suddenly spooked. One of the spokes on the wheel came loose, and the carriage driver and guards all shouted in surprise. Everybody scrambled to get the coach to stop, just far enough away from Callan and Myth that they didn’t notice two figures sitting in the shade.

Myth startled, too, quickly sitting back and trying to blend in next to the tree. “Callan!” he hissed. “Now they’re on high alert!”

“How did you intend to get them to stop?” Callan asked, getting up smoothly. “Don’t worry. They won’t see you here. Just don’t step out into the sun.”

“I had a spell that would’ve made them a little sleepy. Just enough to suggest a nice stop for lunch and a rest,” Myth grumbled. But he didn’t seem dissatisfied. His eyes were as bright as ever as he gauged the distance between the tree and the carriage. “There’s not a lot of shade between here and there.” He ruffled through his bag for a moment, bringing out a dull-looking charm. “This will help.”

Callan ran a shadow over the charm. It was crude, as all the spells Myth’s friend had made were, but it would help keep people’s attention off Myth.

“Do you need my help figuring out where the valuables are being kept?” Callan asked, already sliding toward the carriage.

Myth snorted at him. “There’s a hidden panel on the lower back side of this particular type of carriage,” he reported, staring intently at it for a moment as a shimmer of faint magic emanated from him. “I can sense jewels there. I can’t eat those, though, so…” He continued to look closely at the carriage. “Fancy food will be inside the carriage with the fancy folk, but the guards should have some simple pies or whatnot in their saddlebags.”

Callan nodded, not surprised but still impressed at how quickly Myth had assessed the situation. Without another word, he slipped into the shadows and raced ahead to lurk around.

There were two people in the carriage itself, a man and a woman. The woman was older, dressed in fine silks and decorated in far too many necklaces. The man must have been her son, and he looked absolutely miserable to be there.

“Incompetent buffoons,” the woman muttered before opening the carriage door. “You almost got us killed! Hurry up and fix things before we’re beset by bandits!”

“Sorry, your ladyship!” the coachman shouted back. “The wheel broke!”

While that went on, Callan dipped a cold finger inside the young man’s head. He almost laughed when he saw exactly what the young man spent his time imagining: his mother drowning, or getting stabbed, or being decapitated.

What a lovely family.

Callan grabbed one of the fancy cakes just before the lady sat back down. She reached for her platter, and was confronted by empty air.

“Joachim! You stole my cake!” she accused.

Callan smiled to himself while the two erupted into a shouting match, then went to rejoin Myth.

Myth was peering into the open area the panel had been hiding, and he came out with a small bag. He stuffed it into his satchel without looking inside, and he silently slid the panel back into place as Callan approached him with the stolen cake in hand.

Myth’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed it. “I’m not sharing. You go eat your evil or whatever,” he muttered around a mouthful of cake. “Gods, this is good.”

“I don’t eat evil,” Callan protested with faux indignation. “I savor the hunger and satisfaction of others. Like yours right now.” He smiled wickedly. “If I ate evil, I would probably have to devour half the people here.”

“I don’t think I’d argue if that loud noble was one of the ones you ate,” Myth muttered around bits of cake. He paused, though, then asked with seemingly genuine curiosity, “Can you tell if someone is evil by looking at them? Or do you just make them evil, then devour their brains or whatever?”

“I can tell what somebody desires. Like that woman—all she really desires is for people to acknowledge her. She married a bit higher than her station, and her peers still look down on her.” Callan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “She’s probably this loud and controlling because she’s clinging to what power she has. Her son, on the other hand, just wishes she’d keel over and die already.”

“How charming,” Myth said with a curled lip. He glanced over at the horses, wiping his mouth. A few bits of crumbs and icing remained, and Callan leaned in to lick them away.

Myth went still, but when Callan’s tongue slid along the seam of his lips, he obediently parted them. Myth always tasted sweet, but with the recent treat on his lips, he tasted even better. Perhaps he should spoil the little thief more often.

Before too long, though, Myth pushed gently at Callan’s chest and drew back. “Food,” he whispered. “Then time to get out of here. They’re replacing the wheel pretty fast.”

Callan looked over to where the men were fixing the wheel. The horses stomped their feet, sensing him but not knowing where the source of their discomfort was. One of the guards in particular had a dark, aching hunger inside him, and Callan wondered what it would take to sate him.

Myth nudged him, pulling him out of his distraction for a moment. “Let’s hurry.” He crept his way around the wagon to where one of the horses with saddlebags was standing and moving restlessly. “Shh,” he murmured to the horse, patting its neck. “You’re safe. You’re a good one, aren’t you?”

As invested as he was in making sure the horse didn’t give him away, Myth seemed to lose track of his surroundings. The guard Callan had been eyeing canted his head, turning and scanning the area.

His eyes fell directly on Myth, and an ugly, twisted smirk curved onto his lips. He left his bickering group without anyone seeming the wiser for it as he started to stalk the thief.

That rather was the problem with spells meant to repel attention. They stopped working once the attention had been grabbed. Callan settled himself in a shadow and watched the guard circle around quietly.

The hunger inside him surged when the guard got a better look at Myth.

Myth’s head lifted slowly as the sound of footsteps started to approach him, but he didn’t seem in any particular hurry. He’d probably assumed it was Callan coming close to him.

When Myth saw the guard, he froze, but he knew as well as Callan that it was too late. Myth didn’t have many options at this point. He could deal with one guard and hope that help wasn’t summoned, which was probably what he thought to do.

He couldn’t see inside the guard the way Callan could, couldn’t see the images of Myth bloody and broken on the ground in front of him.

Just a thief. Nobody will miss him.

Myth took a few steps away, digging his hand into his satchel. Trying to find another spell, perhaps? That would take far too long, and the guard was already lunging to grab Myth.

The only thing the guard wanted now was to sate his bloodlust and turn Myth’s pretty face black and blue and absolutely bloody.

That would serve all the pretty people right for turning him down. That would serve him right for turning the guard down.

Callan should have simply allowed it to happen. The guard’s satisfaction pulsed around him, filling Callan.

Myth slammed the palm of his hand into the underside of the guard’s chin. The guard yelped and released Myth, allowing Myth to sprint away—with the entire saddlebag in his hands.

The guard opened his mouth to shout and alert the entire group to Myth’s presence.

Before a single word left his lips, Callan stuffed cold and shadows down his throat. The guard wheezed and fell onto his knees, grasping at his throat.

Callan watched and waited while the guard slowly suffocated, the life slipping out of him.

It took Myth a few seconds to realize he wasn’t being pursued, that no one had shouted, and he turned to face Callan. His expression was one steeped in disbelief, and he shook his head fervently, whispering “no” to Callan.

Would he be saying that, if he knew what the guard wanted to do to Myth? But Callan inclined his head at him and raised his arms in mock surrender.

The guard took in a long, choking breath and began to cough.

Callan shifted over to Myth’s side. “You might want to leave before he does warn everybody.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t do that to begin with,” Myth mumbled, looking down at the guard for another moment. “Thanks for grabbing him so fast, but… don’t kill people, okay? He was just doing his job. Let’s get out of here before he recovers.”

“His job?” Callan allowed his shape to lose some of its solidity. “Is it his job to beat everybody who reminds him of the one person he can’t have? Or…” Callan dipped into the guard’s mind to luxuriate in some of the memories.

He stole one memory of a pretty smile and a kind word, one that had fueled many lustful fantasies.

Callan laughed as he settled back into himself. “Five.”

“What?” Myth asked, confused. “Five what? There are only three other guards. Plus the driver, and the nobles. Still more than we have, though, so we should go.” He tugged at Callan’s arm.

“Five young men he’s beaten until their faces weren’t quite so pretty anymore. And two he raped while they begged with bloody faces.” Callan got up and trotted ahead of Myth. “All right, off we go.”

“What?” Myth repeated, his bewilderment turning into horror. “Callan… He did that? Why… No, you can’t. We can’t.”

“The only thing I could do is kill him. And that’s bad,” Callan said innocently. “Maybe he’s learned the error of his ways already. Maybe he’ll turn over a new leaf. Maybe he won’t return home to murder the one pretty smile he desires the most.”

“Callan…” Myth said, his voice a bit weaker. “Are you… Are you sure?”

Callan slid behind Myth and placed his hands on his shoulders. “All I know are his desires. But see for yourself.”

He dropped them both backward, and led Myth through the shadows to those dark, pulsing, delicious desires radiating out from the guard.

He’s mine he’s mine he’s mine.

How dare he flaunt his beauty. How dare he tempt me. How dare he reject me.

I want him I love him I hate him.

“You see?” Callan purred against Myth’s ear. “He thought you were pretty. How very flattering. You’re almost as good as the one he desires most.”

Myth stared, wide-eyed and mouth slightly open, as he clung tightly to Callan. “He wouldn’t…” he started weakly. “Not with people around.”

“You’re a thief,” Callan replied with a hint of mockery in his voice. “Of course they wouldn’t mind if he beat up a petty thief, especially once they realized you stole their treasures.”

Myth shuddered, fingers sinking into Callan’s intangible form slightly. “You can’t let him do this to people. You have to stop him.”

Callan brought them back out of the shadows and settled them both on a tree branch, hidden from view. “How am I meant to stop him? I give people what they want. This man wants to possess somebody, not be free of his obsession.”

“I want him to die,” Myth said, fervently enough to where it actually managed to surprise Callan.

“Are you sure?” Callan asked. He ran his finger along Myth’s jaw and leaned close enough so that their lips almost touched. “If I give you this desire, you might not be who you want to be anymore.”

Myth swallowed hard, but then he leaned forward slightly and brushed his lips against Callan. “I…” His voice trembled. “Y-yes. If it’ll save someone else, then yes. I don’t care what it makes me. I’ll still be alive. They’ll still be alive.”

“Very well.” Callan kissed Myth, pouring more of his shadows into Myth, before sinking down once more and racing over to the guard.

He appeared before the guard in his human form, and the man startled when he saw Callan.

He tried to shout again, but Callan gripped his neck with a shadowy tendril.

“Shh,” Callan admonished, placing a finger against his lips. “It’ll terrify your brethren a lot more if you simply died without a single sound. What plague beset you, they’ll wonder. Is there a mage who’s sabotaging them? Or perhaps somebody else here did the deed.”

The guard shook his head and uselessly clawed at Callan’s shadows.

“But I thought you should know, before you die…” Callan wrapped more shadows around the guard, forcing his limbs against his body and squeezing tighter and tighter. “You’re dying because you were stupid enough to attempt to act out your desires in plain view. Please. Learn some discretion.”

Callan chuckled to himself and continued to constrict the man. While he waited for the slow agony of death to take its toll, he rifled through more memories, devouring the nicer ones and allowing the old terrors to stay.

“Oh dear,” Callan murmured as he found one memory of the man’s father raping a woman right in front of him. “That’s your mother, isn’t it? How dreadful.”

The guard sobbed silently, tears streaming down his reddened face.

Callan shoved every bad memory the guard had ever had in front of him as the life faded from his body.

“Leave me the fuck alone, you fucking pervert,” a very pretty young man had said, and that was the last memory Callan left him with before he died.

Callan pulled his shadows away and allowed the corpse to drop unceremoniously to the ground.

The horses stamped their feet, and the cloud that had gathered over them passed on, leaving Callan standing in full sunlight.

“Well. That was fun,” Callan announced to the horse, before dropping into a shadow and joining Myth on the tree again.

Myth was as pale as death. “He’d have kept doing it,” he said, his voice trembling violently.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” Callan asked, amused.

Myth shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them a heartbeat later. “That was the right thing to do,” he said. “He was a murderer. A rapist. He was going to keep hurting people.”

“He truly would have,” Callan said. One of the guards still alive spotted his dead compatriot and raised the alarm. “Would you like me to tell you what each of them desires? You can decide which of them should die.”

Myth bit his bottom lip, and for a moment, he seemed to truly consider it. Then he slowly shook his head. “No,” he whispered. “I… I don’t deserve that power. I was… I should’ve just…”

Deserve.

Callan sneered at him. “Why not? Why don’t you deserve it? Who does deserve the power?”

Myth glowered at Callan, though there was very little heat to it. “I don’t know! All right? But maybe I should’ve turned him in…” He trailed off, grimacing, and Callan quirked his brows. “Okay. Maybe I couldn’t have, but this isn’t something I want to get in the habit of doing.” He swallowed hard. “Was this what Lore meant?” he asked, as though Callan had any idea of what he was talking about. “He said that people who deal with shades… They turn into other people. I’m already turning into someone else.”

Callan took Myth’s chin and tilted it up, forcing their eyes to meet. “Whatever you turn into, it’ll be beautiful,” Callan said harshly. “Forget what other people said. Do what you want, take what you want. You made this choice. This is something you want. Nobody else gets to dictate who you should be, who you have to be.”

‘You aren’t this person!You’re better than this!’ a bright, shining person had once said to Callan.

But the phoenix only saw what he wanted to see. He wanted everybody to fit into his neat, correct little boxes.

Callan wasn’t that person, and he never wanted to be that person. Callan took what he wanted.

And there, shimmering behind Myth’s eyes, was the desire to do the same. That aching, yawning desire, carefully banked, because Myth thought he didn’t deserve it.

“I don’t think people should always do what they want or take what they want, especially when it involves taking people’s lives. I’m no god, Callan,” Myth said quietly, the words so at odds with that want.

“No? Then why are you a thief? Why did you steal that amulet, if you didn’t think you deserved better than you had?” Callan asked. His shadows traveled over Myth’s body, squeezing lightly.

Myth shuddered beneath that ghostly touch, and he looked helpless for a moment. “It’s not about deserving,” he said weakly. “It’s… it’s like a job. I need money; they don’t need their fancy jewels.”

What a disappointing answer. Callan glanced down at the carriage. The lady was urging them all to get the fuck away, and nobody wanted to hang around the corpse. They didn’t even toss the dead man to the side of the road before they continued on, all paranoid that there was a murderer in their midst.

“Lying to yourself is a very bad habit,” Callan said to Myth before diving down into the shadows.

A little bit immature, perhaps, to leave in the middle of the conversation, but the feather inside his chest was suddenly flaring up, making Callan’s insides roil in unpleasant ways.

Not to mention his master clawing at the edges of his mind, trying to unravel him, angry at being ignored and demanding that Callan devour Myth.

They still needed Myth.

Callan still wanted Myth.