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Mated To The Demon Prince

Hellcat #1

Sadie Sins

WWW.SADIESINSBOOKS.COM
Copyright and Disclaimers
Mated To The Demon Prince: Hellcat Volume #1
Sadie Sins
Copyright 2018, Sadie Sins, Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form, or by any
means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or
mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the
publisher. Except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the
critical reviews, and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by
copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events
are all fictitious. Any similarities to real people, places, events, living
or dead, are all coincidental.
Table of Contents

Hellcat #1
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Free Books
About the Author
 CHAPTER ONE

Was it possible to go crazy listening to the man who owned the

sexiest lips ever? Even if he was talking nonsense at the time, TJ was
still the sexiest man Sean ever had the annoyance of arguing with.
“Just one kitten. He’s so small, he’s like half a kitten. You’d
barely notice him.”
Crazy. TJ was going to drive him crazy. “There’s no way in hell.”
Sean decisively typed out a string of code and hit enter. “No.”
“Please, man?” TJ whined over the wireless headset Sean was
failing to ignore. “He has nowhere else to go. I swear, once you meet
him, you’ll totally fall in love. He's the cutest little ball of fluff. And
his eyes! Oh, Sean, if you saw his eyes, I just know you'll love him.”
TJ was his friend of forever and an all-around animal lover.
Sean usually didn’t hold it against him until moments like this.
Moments which were growing more frequent as TJ decided he was
lonely and needed an animal friend to brighten his days. Sean didn’t
need a cat; he needed a boyfriend. A hot, sexy, preferably fur-free
boyfriend who didn’t meddle in his life.
“Stop calling me from work trying to get me to adopt one of
those four-legged beasts.” Sean squinted at the nearest of his four
computer monitors. “I have enough problems without adding a
kitten into the mix. Do you even understand what their fur will do to
my setup?” He had three computers dedicated to IT work, and he
couldn’t risk them being clogged up by fur, or fleas, or whatever the
hell the little beasts covered themselves in. Pets. Why the hell would
TJ think he wanted a pet?
TJ, who worked at the local animal shelter, didn’t even pause at
Sean’s bitchy tone. “I'm sending you a picture. Once you see him…
Ha.” The sounds of a digital camera snapping filtered through his
headset as TJ chased down the prospective kitten.
“Leather couch. I have a fucking leather couch,” Sean growled
determinedly. “Do you even know how much the blinds on my
windows cost? I’m not letting some little clawed monster near my
Egyptian cotton sheets. It would be a fucking disaster.” There was no
way in hell he was taking in a mangy cat. He didn’t care if it was a
baby and it needed a home. He hated pets, and he most certainly
hated fur. “I’m allergic,” Sean added in the hopes of stopping the
conversation flat.
“Liar.” TJ snorted derisively, only to hiss a moment after. “Oh,
claws are not for hugging, little guy. Shit.” The sounds of him
struggling with what Sean could only assume was a monstrous kitten
with ten extra claws filled his ears. “I emailed you the photo,” TJ
returned after a moment. “He's adorable. You have a huge fucking
apartment and no one to enjoy it. Stop pretending rooms are for
things. Love him, and take him home, and stop being a miserable
bastard about everything.”
Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The only person he
wanted to take home and love currently wouldn’t shut the fuck up
and leave him alone. He never should have answered the phone.
Sean’s computer chimed. It was his personal computer, the only
one not currently being used to remote into a customer’s hard drive
for virus clean up. Damn it. Sean sighed as he rolled his chair to the
side and woke the computer from its screensaver mode. He paused
and licked his lips when the desktop image appeared. It was a
closeup of a hot, short haired man being spit roasted by two buff
guys cut mostly out of the shot. It was no accident the hottie in the
middle looked just like TJ. Sean spent hours photo-collaging the
image to ensure TJ looked as depraved and ruined as possible.
“Well?” TJ prompted excitedly as the silence stretched on.
Sean inhaled sharply and pulled his hand up from where he was
unconsciously reaching for his half hard dick. “I don’t want a cat.”
“Just because you don’t like pussy doesn’t mean you can’t like a
kitten,” TJ teased cheerfully. “Come on, look at him. He’s adorable.
You know you want him.”
Sean grunted at the bad joke and opened the email reluctantly. A
pair of bright, blue eyes surrounded by gray fur glittered back from
the screen. “I’d have preferred a dick pic. It's hideous.” Sean clicked
the email closed and rolled back to the other monitor while TJ wailed
dramatically. Seriously, you’d have sworn he physically assaulted the
gray, ugly beast. Although not much larger than his fist, the kitten
had a squashed nose and a ridiculous amount of fluff. It looked like
the sort of thing Sean might mistake for a giant roaming dust ball
when vacuuming. Probably even by accident.
“His eyes, Sean. He has the soul of a poet,” TJ insisted.
Sean rolled his own thankfully poet free eyes toward the ceiling.
“Will you stop it already? I don’t want a pet. I don’t have time to feed
kittens, and exercise them, and give them, you know…” he trailed off
with a wave of his hand.
“Basic human companionship?” TJ supplied flatly.
“Attention,” Sean grunted. “Pets are a time suck. All they do is
want food, then they poop the food, and sometimes they sleep. All
the other time they want stuff from you. They’re just like people.
There is nothing of value in any of it.” Living alone was much better.
Easier. Not to mention, if he got a kitten, TJ would come over all the
time.
Sean bit his lip and slowly rolled back to the other computer
screen. His eyes fixed on the image of TJ being fucked senseless by
two faceless men with big dicks. A cat could be the perfect excuse to
get TJ to visit more. He could pretend the fluffball was sick or needed
training. It could lead to them playing on the floor with TJ all sexy
laughs that demanded kisses and blowjobs…
Sean shook his head roughly and reached down to squeeze his
hard cock through his sweatpants. Bad. Very bad. TJ was his friend,
his completely straight friend. TJ was his shy, sweet, straight friend
Sean kept promising to himself he’d stop thinking about sexually.
Just… Fuck, but just look at him! TJ was so hot, so unassumingly
sexy with those flashing brown eyes and plump lips. He had that hot
Latin lover look but with none of the confident swagger. No, TJ was
impossibly shy, and it made Sean want to do things to him. Dirty
things. Mean things that would have TJ begging him to stop all while
cumming a river.
Sean clicked to a folder on his desktop. He teased his tongue
over his teeth as he opened up the first of many nude images he had
of men who looked suspiciously close to the same build and face of
his sexy best friend. He was such a cockslut. Get TJ on his knees in
front of a dick, and he would totally be a cockslut…
 “This is exactly why you need a pet, Sean. You have no fucking
clue how to share your life.” TJ’s voice took on a quality Sean tried
very hard to block out as he gave a few experimental tugs on his cock.
“You seriously need to get away from your computers before you
forget how to talk to people. If you give them a chance, they might
even like you.”
“They shouldn’t. I’m a fucking bastard and you know it,” Sean
muttered. He closed his eyes as he held onto a mental image of TJ
with his ass cheeks spread open, and his fluttering pucker waiting for
his tongue, his fingers, his cock. If TJ even knew half of what he
thought about when it came to his straight best friend, he would
never talk to him again.
“Bullshit,” TJ snapped. “Sure, you say some stupid stuff, but
that’s it. Everyone says stupid shit. People like you, Sean. I like you,
and I happen to be an amazing judge of character. You should come
out with me and some of my coworkers. We have a thing every
Friday. It’s super chill, and I know you’d have fun if you gave it a
chance.”
“I can’t go out,” Sean said a little too harshly. Fuck, he was so
hard. Actually having TJ talking in his ear while he was playing with
himself was beyond hot. It really didn’t matter what he was saying,
just that it was him. The sound of TJ’s breath, his voice was all Sean
needed. He could easily imagine TJ in the room, kneeling between
his thighs with those perfect lips of his wrapped around his cock.
Aw, fuck. Sean wriggled in his chair and spread his legs wider.
With one hand he pushed his pants down his hips, and with the other
he reached in and pulled his hard cock out. Sean held his breath
when TJ’s voice returned and washed over him.
“I know. I’m not asking you to actually leave the apartment. I
was thinking we might have it at your place.”
“Oh,” Sean murmured as he stroked down his rigid shaft. Fuck,
this was such a bad idea. “You want it here?”
“Don’t say no right away. Just hear me out,” TJ rushed on. And
fuck, didn’t it just sound so fucking good to have TJ try to convince
him to fuck him? To take him, and show him what being with a man
would be like? Sean bit his lip and tried to drown out what his friend
was actually saying.
“They’re really friendly, really nice. Some even help to train the
service dogs, so they understand, you know, about people not all
being the same. No one would judge you…”
“Uh huh,” Sean whispered as he clicked to another picture. This
one was of a TJ lookalike with his hard dick hanging out of a pair of
tight white briefs. TJ’s expression bordered on despair, and Sean
made the image smaller so he could see the desktop screenshot of TJ
being double teamed at the same time.
“And if you got to know people, maybe you’d be more compelled
to want to go out, right? I mean, you can’t want to just stay in your
apartment forever.”
“Right.” Sean breathed out slowly. His head tilted back as he
thrust into his warm palm. “So right. TJ, could you just…?”
“What? What’s wrong?”
Sean grinned as he reached for the bottle of lube he kept in the
desk drawer specifically for browsing porn. “Nothing. Just
wondering how many dogs humped you today.”
“Fuck off, you ass. They’re just very enthusiastic to see me.”
“Yeah, but how many?” Sean snickered at TJ’s angry growl. He
was forced to bite his lip and fight a moan as his lube-slick fingers
wrapped around his cock. Fuck. Fuck, he wasn’t going to last like
this. Talking to TJ was far more interesting when he could
masturbate. “Two? Three? Seven?”
“Damn it, Sean. I’m trying to have a serious conversation with
you. This is important. It might be life changing for you.”
“Uh huh.” His eyes fluttered shut as he slowly fucked into his
hand. “So… you were saying?”
TJ huffed as he tried to regain his train of thought. “Damn it,
okay. I just think it would be good motivation, something positive to
make you want to go out into the world.”
“A kitten?” Sean asked with brows furrowed.
“No, having friends over. That is, well, meeting my friends,
making friends, and, you know, getting to know people. I think it’ll
help you want to leave your place.”
“TJ, driving me out of my apartment isn’t really… Oh.” Sean’s
breath skipped as his balls tightened. Fuck, he was already close, so
fucking close. He licked his lips and tried to pull back from the edge.
He didn’t want to cum yet. TJ in his ear was too fucking sexy to rush.
“Sean?”
Hell, if he said his name like that one more time, he was going to
blow. “Hold on a sec. I’m trying to focus.”
 “Oh. Sorry.” TJ gave him a beat but just couldn’t seem to stay
silent for long. “You sound out of breath. Tell me you’re not freaking
out over this. I don’t want to freak you out. This is supposed to help,
you know?”
“Uh huh. Eight…” Sean murmured as he stroked his cock from
base to swollen tip. He squeezed around his sensitive head and
slicked his palm in a tight twist before sliding down his shaft again.
He was well aware how breathless he sounded and was too far gone
to care. He wanted to fuck TJ. He wanted to fuck him hard,
relentlessly, until he was crying his name. “Nine.” He glared at the
computer screen where his slutty TJ was sucking cock like he was
made for it, begging for it. Sean stroked his throbbing length tighter
and wondered what TJ’s ass would feel like gripping around him,
riding him, as he took every inch of his cock. “Ten.”
“So, what do you think?” TJ prodded, oblivious to how Sean was
fading in and out of the conversation.
“How many was it?” Sean chuckled when TJ swore in his ear.
“Eleven.”
“Dude, I’m serious. This is… Why are you counting?” TJ’s voice,
if possible, became angrier. “Are you exercising right now, you
asshole?”
Sean groaned and threw his head back. “I’m seriously trying,” he
lied shamelessly as he thrust into his palm again. “Twelve.” TJ would
be tighter. He’d be tight, and the noises he’d make being opened by
his cock would be loud, desperate. His. Sean’s breath stuttered, and
he stilled the rocking of his hips and tried not to give in to the
delicious pressure building. “Fourteen,” he shuddered.
“You forgot thirteen,” TJ muttered. “Let me know when you’re
done and can actually focus on me.”
He was focused. He was so focused his balls were going to turn
blue. “You’re an attention whore,” Sean whispered. He wondered if
TJ could hear it, the hard, hungry part of him that wanted him to be
his whore. He wanted him always on his knees, waiting for him, TJ’s
body his and only his.
“No, I’m just trying to have a conversation,” TJ shot back. “Do
you remember those, man? You know, where you don’t stare at a
computer all day?”
“I’d go stir crazy… fifteen… if I just sat in front of a computer all
day.” Sean’s gaze slipped from the tip of his cock dripping precum,
up to the image of TJ with his mouth wide open and full of dick.
“What, you want to come to my gym? I’d let you come.” He’d let TJ
cum as many times as he wanted. He’d suck him until he was begging
for release. He’d fuck that tight hole of his and his mouth; TJ’s lips
were made for fucking. They were so plump, so fucking red and
perfect for drizzling cum all over…
“Maybe,” TJ mused as the sound of a cage closing echoed over
the line. “Free is always good. Gym memberships are so expensive in
the city.”
Sean squeezed his eyes shut as a vision flashed in his mind of TJ
bent over a weight-bench in a pair of skimpy shorts tangled around
his sneakers. TJ’s face and shoulders were bright red, his caramel
toned ass and thighs rock hard and wet with sweat. The moans he
made were so perfect as he took Sean’s cock and every hard,
demanding thrust he pounded into him.
“Fuck.” Sean grit his jaw tight, and his head fell back as his
entire body jerked in the computer chair. He came with a drawn-out
growl as hot, milky streams of cum pulsed from his tip and splattered
onto his sweat drenched stomach and flexing abs.
“Ha, you know, on second thought…” TJ chuckled awkwardly,
the sound nearly drowned out by barking as he passed the kennel. “I
don’t want to tell you what you sound like, man, but it’s obscene.
Pornographic. I hope you go to the gym alone, or people might get
the wrong idea.”
Sean, who covered his hand over the mouthpiece of his headset
to keep from letting TJ hear the many swears he was cursing as he
tried to recover his breathing, returned to his counting in a more
even tone. “Twenty… Twenty-one…”
“You’re so full of shit,” TJ exclaimed. “You’re at fifteen, tops.”
“Do you want to count?” Sean’s grin felt too tight on his face as a
familiar depression sank around him. It was a dream, a lie of his
head. It was always going to be a fantasy even with TJ’s voice
whispering in his ear. “What exactly are you saying?” Sean reached
for the box of tissues he kept in the same drawer as the lube and
wiped the cooling cum from his stomach. “You think when guys do
pushups it sounds like they’re fucking? Pervert.”
TJ snorted. His voice was a little too high-pitched when he
retorted, “No, I think when you do pushups it sounds like you’re
cumming. Totally different, you deviant.”
 Sean stared moodily at the ceiling, his mind still full of images of
TJ acting like a hungry cockslut for him. Not real. Fuck, it wasn’t ever
going to be real. Sean ran his fingers over his chest and thumbed his
nipple through his t-shirt. “Just how often do you think about me
cumming, straight boy?”
“Gah, stop being gross! I said it sounded. Sounded! I didn’t say I
was thinking about it.”
“Right, right. My mistake.” Sean gave TJ enough time to think
he let it drop, then added in a low voice, “You’re thinking about my
dick right now, aren’t you?”
“Damn it!” TJ yelped while Sean chuckled darkly.
“Hey, you’re the one bringing up fluffy pussy and cum jokes.
You’ve got a filthy mind, TJ. I swear you called me just so you could
have someone to traumatize.”
TJ’s breath hitched, and all the laughter drained from his voice.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“For fuck sake,” Sean growled. “What, you think because I can’t
leave the building, I can’t handle a dirty joke?” His voice was edged
with an anger sourced straight from his own guilt. He was jerking off
to the sound of his best friend’s voice while TJ—fucking perfect
prince TJ—was worried he hurt his feelings.
“You know I would never…” TJ’s words were so slow and
cautious, Sean couldn’t bear to hear them. Fuck, he was such an
asshole. The things he wanted to do to TJ felt like a sick, demented
disease he wasn’t ever going to be free of. He couldn’t have him. He
wanted him, and he was never going to have him, and he was just
fucking everything up no matter how much distance he tried to put
between them. Why the fuck did he keep doing shit like this?
“Sean?” TJ called worriedly. “I said I was sorry.”
“Stop. It’s fine. I’m just fucking with you,” Sean snapped,
desperate to have the conversation drop. “Stop acting like some
virginal princess who can’t handle a dick joke. It’s just a fucking
joke.” Sean groaned internally as he heard the callous words tumble
from his mouth. Fuck, he was just digging a hole straight to Hell at
this point. He was such an asshole. TJ was a virgin and so fucking
sensitive about it, and still, still the perfect fuck was focused on
trying to make sure Sean’s feelings weren’t hurt. Shit, why couldn’t
he stop being such a dick?
 Sean went to pull his pants up, and his gaze fixed on a droplet of
cum he’d missed. His eyelids grew heavy as he thought of TJ licking
at his skin to clean it. He’d hold it, savor it, a spot of pearly white on
his red tongue. “You thirsty?” Sean asked. He couldn’t stop himself
even now, even after having once again said something totally shitty
to his best friend.
“Uh, a little, I guess,” TJ answered, his tone subdued. “Why, is
my voice weird? I was shouting at one of the dogs earlier. It slipped
its leash and booked it straight for the street.”
Sean closed his eyes and bit his lower lip hard. TJ sounded like
he was sucking cock. He sounded like he was waiting for cum to be
dribbled onto those perfect lips of his. He sounded like he was
panting in his ear, inches away while touching himself.
“About the cat…” TJ was definitely more subdued. He was being
cautious, tiptoeing around him, and Sean hated it.
“The pussy?”
TJ paused, and this time the awkward silence didn’t fill with
laughter. “You know what I mean.”
Sean did, and he took no joy in harassing TJ over it. For
whatever reason, TJ was a glutton for punishment today and still
hadn’t hung up. He’d been calling him every day now. Sean wasn’t
exactly sure why, but maybe he was really worried about the ugly
little cat.
“The kitten. He’s a boy, for one. Not that you can tell when
they’re so little.” TJ’s tone changed as he tried to lighten the mood
like the upstanding, unattainable, perfect being he was always going
to be. “He needs someone to love him, Sean. He’s all alone in the
world and, well, when I see him I think of you.”
Sean sighed heavily. “Thanks, that totally makes me not want to
slit my wrists. Care to throw in how I suck at dating and will never be
happy as well?”
“Fuck—Sean, that’s not what I meant!” Sean was pretty sure he
could literally hear TJ’s heart crack through the headset. “I want to
bring the kitten over so you can meet him. What are you doing
today?”
“Jerking off. All day,” Sean said without humor. It was probably
true. He couldn’t stop thinking about TJ. Getting away with
masturbating while on the phone with him sure as fuck hadn’t helped
anything. TJ heard him cum. TJ heard him cum, and even thought
he heard him cum. Fuck, yeah, he could totally jerk off to that for an
entire day.
Sean sat up and tucked away the tissues and bottle of lube as he
waited to see if his rude comment had pushed TJ to hang up or not.
“When’s a better day?” TJ persisted, the stubborn fuck, his voice
obnoxiously cheerful.
Sean grinned bitterly. “You ever think maybe you’re crowding
me, man? I’ve got a shit ton of work to get done.”
“Take a break,” TJ snapped, and all the pleasantries stripped
away. “I haven’t seen you in weeks, dipshit. It’s not like you have
anywhere to go.”
Angry swearing. The perfect prince was close to breaking. Sean
stood from his chair and headed for the kitchen. “Oh, are we
throwing that in my face now? Maybe if you spent more time dating
instead of worrying over my pathetic ass, you’d be laid by now.”
“My fuck—Sean! No. Giving a fuck about you is not worrying,
first of all. Second, you are not pathetic, and I’m so fucking sick of
you saying shit about yourself like that.”
Sean rolled his eyes. He should have insulted the cat. TJ was less
likely to go into lecture mode when he wasn’t saying truthful as shit
stuff about himself. “Uh huh, yup, I’m a perfect angel. You’re right,
I’m brilliant. Genius. Yes, I’m a genius.” Sean kept his voice a bored
drawl even as agitation tensed his muscles tighter and tighter. He
hated this. He hated this more than TJ trying to get him to make
friends like he was some pathetic outcast on the playground.
Sean stalked back into the living room and paced as TJ angrily
rattled off all the many reasons he wasn’t a piece of shit while Sean
continued to treat his best friend like a piece of shit.
“Are you done?” Sean asked when TJ finally took a breath.
“No. You’re an asshole,” TJ added sharply. “You’re totally being
an asshole right now. You’ve been acting like an asshole for ages, and
I’m sick of it. Stop being an asshole, Sean!”
This was when he was supposed to ask TJ something
embarrassing that would send him over the edge and hang up with
the declaration of never talking to him again. It was on the tip of his
tongue, but Sean couldn’t bring himself to actually say it. If he were a
decent human being, he’d just tell him. He’d tell him he loved him.
TJ could have a nice cry about how he could never love him back,
and then—only then—would it be a promise that TJ would never,
ever talk to him again. Because, for whatever fucked up reason, TJ
kept coming back no matter how shitty Sean acted.
Sean sighed dejectedly and threw himself into his chair. “Fine.”
“W-What? Wait, what?” TJ stuttered in shock.
“Bring the cat down,” Sean grunted. “Just don’t expect anything.
I need order, and a fluffball will only fuck up everything. Not to
mention litter boxes are totally disgusting.”
“Please, not having a litter box is way grosser,” TJ joked half-
heartedly. “Uh… okay, then.” He managed to not sound happy even
though he’d gotten the answer he wanted. Sean was far too used to
that tone. He worked hard to make sure TJ wasn’t happy around
him.
Fuck, he hated his life.
TJ coughed nervously. “Sean, about Friday. I really do think it
would…”
An odd sensation weighed the air around him, and Sean blinked
as the hair stood up on his arms. He looked up nervously as the lights
faded and buzzed through the apartment. “What?” Flashes suddenly
sparked and cracked alarmingly around the room, and he jumped
out of his seat with a yelp. “Fuck!”
Sean whirled around, turned back to his computer, and stared in
growing dread as the project he was working on for the last two
hours flickered strange, glowing symbols.
“Oh, fuck. Mother fuck, no. No, no, no!” Sean grabbed at his hair
as sparks shot up all around his computers.
“What… Sean? What a… his…?”
Sean twisted the headset off his ear so he didn’t have to hear
TJ’s static confusion. This couldn’t be happening. Hours of work
gone. Hours.
The flashing abruptly stopped, but Sean’s work screen didn’t
return to normal. A single, large symbol stretched across the
otherwise blank screen.
“No.”
He reached forward and clicked the monitor power, but nothing
changed. The symbol remained on the screen, an obnoxious purple
burning toward hot pink the longer it glowed. His mind whirred, and
Sean crossed the hardwood floor with large strides to the windows.
He shoved the blinds aside and peered down with dawning horror at
the moving truck out front of his apartment building. “Aw, fuck. This
can’t be happening.”
Spirit Movers. Fucker.
“Sean, what the hell is happening? Why is my phone screen
glowing purple?”
TJ’s voice finally jolted Sean back, and he twisted his headset
into place. “It’s a witch. A witch is moving in.”
 CHAPTER TWO

“My life is over.”

“Your life is not over,” TJ said reasonably over the headset. It
was drowned out by the sound of two light bulbs in Sean’s kitchen
popping and showering glass to the tile floor.
Sean spun, went to his computer setup, and slammed his palm
on the switch for the power strip. Nothing changed. The strange
symbol glowed in taunting mockery on all four of his computer
screens. Fuck, the magic was feeding the current. This wasn’t good.
He could feel his business along with his little scrap of independence
dying right before his eyes.
“We’re not zoned for magic.” Sean’s shock was slowly giving way
to anger. “There are over thirty apartments in this building. You can’t
just go throwing in a magical element without the right buffers.” Not
just an element, it was a magic practitioner. Spirit Movers were
contracted only by the magically inclined. It wasn’t one fucked up
magically cursed item, but a creator of all things magical about to
come into his apartment building. It didn’t matter how much Sean
invested in proper shielding, his technology was going to be a hunk
of melted metal and plastic the moment a witch stepped into the
building.
Four years. He built this business up from nothing over the last
four years. He slaved without breaks, starved more than he ate, and
only just got to the point where he could finally pay off the fucking
loan it took to buy his equipment in the first place. This wasn’t
allowed to happen. He couldn’t let this happen. This was his fucking
life and he wasn’t just handing it over to some careless, spark happy
witch.
“Sean? Hey, are you there?”
“Quiet,” Sean snapped as he looked around his satisfyingly
immaculate living room which doubled as his office. He just needed
something big, like a bat. How did he live in the fucking city and not
have a hunk of baseball bat to slug at intruders? Sean stomped into
the kitchen and grabbed the tea kettle off the stove, thought better of
it, and reached for a frying pan instead.
“Sean, talk to me. You’re doing that muttering thing. Tell me
you’re not losing your shit.”
Sean snorted in irritation. “I’m not losing my shit. I’m just going
to go down there and tell them to get the fuck away from my
building.”
TJ sighed heavily. “Come on, you know you can’t…”
“Blunt force trauma can still hurt a witch, right? They’re still
human, after all.”
“Wait,” TJ interrupted before Sean could storm out the door.
“Just take a breath and hold the fuck on. This is a witch we’re talking
about.”
“I don’t care if it’s the fucking mayor!” Sean wasn’t sure exactly
when he started yelling, but yelling felt like the thing he needed to
do. He swung the frying pan, satisfied by the heft of the metal.
“Witches have to abide by the same regulations as everyone else,
otherwise it’s chaos! I can’t handle fucking chaos.” Sean tried to take
a calming breath, his face too flush and throat tight all of a sudden.
“I’m just going to go down and calmly explain other people live
in the building. And bringing any sort of magic into an unbuffered
space can lead to the total destruction of any and all electronics.”
Sean swung the frying pan again, his mouth set in a grim line.
“Right, tell that to the ass end of a wand when that witch is
turning you into a stain on the sidewalk. Just calm down, Sean. My
shift is over in an hour. I’ll come by and talk for you.”
“Like fuck. I’m not waiting for you. The second they move all
that shit in here, my computers will be fried. That’s thousands of
dollars down the fucking toilet.” Sean stopped his erratic pacing and
slapped his hand to his forehead. “Oh, fuck, I’ll have to move. They’ll
want references. Credit checks. Fuck, TJ, they’re going to want to talk
to my parents.” The frying pan fell from his hand and clattered
noisily to the tile floor. “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. My life
is over. I can’t run a business in the same building as a witch, and I
can’t move.”
“Breathe. Sean, there is no reason to believe any of that. You’re
just making shit up in your head and…” Another light bulb blew
overhead, and Sean jumped in surprise. He scrambled until his back
slammed against the fridge. Feeling trapped, he glared at the bare
socket which was glowing a suspicious purple. TJ continued,
oblivious. “People work with witches all the time. Hell, witches are
total entrepreneurs, and not only do they hire a ton of freelancers
like yourself, but also improve the local economy. I’m sure whoever
is moving in has no interest in fucking up your business.”
Sean shook his head fiercely. TJ was too fucking nice, and naive
as fuck, and when not sucking cock in his mind, totally distracting in
all the wrong ways. “The building isn’t zoned. I have it in fucking
writing. I never would have started a tech-based business in a
building zoned for magic. I’m not an idiot. Magic kills tech.”
“Breathe,” TJ insisted while completely ignoring his brilliant
point. There was a quality to TJ’s voice, a demand, and Sean paused
and slowly drew a breath in. He could practically hear TJ’s lips
inches from the phone. He wanted to fuck his perfect lips. It would
shut him up. TJ just talked too much, and Sean could think of so
many naughty ways to make him shut up.
“There, you feel better?”
“No.” Sean ran fingertips over his lips and imagined kissing TJ,
sucking his cock into his mouth, and making him so hard he’d beg to
be allowed to cum. He liked when TJ begged. He liked when he
begged him to be nice, and then Sean wasn’t, and TJ just kept
begging for more.
“Take another breath.”
Sean refused; he didn’t have time to jerk off. Thinking about TJ
while breathing would only lead to masturbation. He glared around
his apartment as a thought struck him. He had it in writing!
Sean stalked to the bedroom and went to the bookcase. He
keyed in the combination and quickly rifled through the papers piled
within the small safe. It took him a minute to find his agreement with
the property management. “It’s in the third paragraph of the lease;
no magical interference will be allowed into the apartment. This isn’t
just about my business; this is basic regulations to be able to use a
television or cell phone. You can’t run a fucking lamp around magic
without fear of something fucking up.”
“Then call the property managers and yell at them,” TJ said as
reasonably as possible. “For the love of fuck, just don’t pick a fight
with a witch.”
Sean growled and headed back to the living room. He jumped
and grabbed his chest when the overhead light exploded in shards
and trickled onto his head. “TJ, if I could disconnect from you, I
would have already. You can take the batteries out of your phone but
it won’t make a fucking difference. The witch isn’t even through the
damn door yet, and all the tech is fucked in the building.” Sean
grabbed his keys from the bowl in the kitchen after he brushed the
glass from his hair. “I’m going down there and telling them they’ve
made a mistake. They’re out of zone and have to move their truck at
least a quarter of a mile away.”
TJ sighed in exasperation. “No, you’re not, Sean. Just focus on
your breathing. I’ll be down there in less than an hour. Fine, I’ll blow
the rest of my shift off. Just chill, and I’ll be right there.”
“I’m not fucking waiting! You didn’t see my setup!” Sean pointed
to his glowing computer screens, only to growl when he realized TJ
couldn’t see shit through the headset. “The only other people home
this time of day is the elderly couple on the first floor. What exactly
are Mr. and Mrs. Luthra going to do? They’re both probably having
heart attacks from all their lights exploding.”
“Either that or they haven’t noticed,” TJ said, his voice even and
soothing. “The Luthras are pretty laid back. Just calm down. I’m
leaving now.”
Sean bared his teeth and growled. “Fuck you. I’m not a damn
five-year-old. I don’t need you to hold my fucking hand to deal with
this. Fucking bullshit.” Still, Sean stopped his angry march and
stared warily at the front door.
“Uh huh.” TJ’s voice was muffled over the sound of a cage
clicking shut and the excited mewls of a half-dozen kittens. “Traffic
shouldn’t be too bad this time of day. It’ll take ten minutes, top.”
“I go to the gym every fucking day. Every day. I don’t need your
help. It’s right downstairs,” Sean insisted, his voice sharp.
“Yup, it’s pretty fucking awesome, man. I can’t drag myself to
the gym consistently once a week, and you go every day.”
Sean inhaled sharply as his mind flashed to a vision of TJ in the
gym, shorts around his ankles and ass up in the air waiting to be
punished for not keeping to the schedule. The little whore. His bad,
fucking sexy cockslut.
“Don’t condescend,” Sean muttered, feeling breathless and
frustrated at every level. Fuck, he hated his life. Fucking hated it. He
crossed the distance and slammed his fist down on the door.
 “You know I wouldn’t do that. I seriously wish I could work out.
I’m going all flab since I left college.” TJ’s cheerful tone drained
away, and in his mind’s eye, Sean could see his friend’s familiar,
worried expression. “You know the path is different, Sean. You can’t
get to the front door from the gym.”
“Fuck you.” Sean wasn’t sure if he was directing the curse at TJ
or the light bulb that just exploded overhead. “My computers are
going to be on fire the second they drag something magical through
those doors.” He knew what he had to do. He was determined, but
when Sean grabbed the door handle, he couldn’t bring himself to
turn it. Fuck. Motherfucker.
For a brief, unnerving moment, Sean could see the path it would
take to get from his apartment door to downstairs. It was a twisted,
crooked walk where the edges felt dark, and every doorway led to a
maze of hallways and potential danger. Sean’s heart pounded in his
chest loud enough for him to finally notice over the sickening wave of
heat lurching through him. Fuck, he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t
stay, but he couldn’t leave.
TJ’s voice broke through, calm and full of a reassuring smile.
“Ten minutes, man. That’s it. You know how movers are; I bet they
take an hour break before they even get started.”
Damn it. Fucking damn it. Sean huffed, stomped back to the
living room, and threw himself into his roller chair. His hands were
clammy with sweat, and he rubbed them distractedly on his pants
while the racing of his heart slowed to something bearable.
“Ten minutes,” Sean said too sharply as he fought to regain
control of himself. “If they come through those doors with something
computer destroying before you get here, I’m totally blaming you.”
“Fair enough.”
TJ, as usual, was far too agreeable, and Sean found it completely
infuriating. “You never told me how many,” Sean snapped. He
slumped in his seat and covered his eyes with his hands. He felt
small satisfaction when TJ grunted, and his voice lost the placating
tone of before.
“Stop being a dick. Dogs jump on everyone like that.”
“They sure don’t hump me, whore.”
TJ sputtered at his crudeness, and Sean fought a wave of heat.
He really didn’t want to start calling TJ a whore. He just knew once
he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop, and he’d start calling him far
worse. Bitch. Dick slave. Fuck toy. Cockslut… TJ was such a hot, sexy
cockslut.
“Pretty sure Blake was the biggest dog around,” TJ said under
his breath, like he was afraid of how Sean would react.
Sean snorted in surprise. “Fuck, you got me there. Damn.”
TJ chuckled, and his cautiousness slipped away when Sean
joined in. “Well, it’s true.”
Sean shook his head while he snickered. The cockslut. His
fucking gorgeous, unattainable cockslut.
It took fifteen minutes for TJ to get there, and Sean freaked the
entire time. After seven minutes of counting to himself between
swearing and stockpiling heavy metal kitchenware for a brawl he
would never have, Sean moved to the window so he could glare at the
moving truck down below and will it to go away. They just needed to
realize the terrible mistake they made and never return. There was
no way they could let a witch move in. The building wasn’t zoned,
none of the other occupants were consulted—there were regulations,
damn it! What was the point of regulations if no one followed them?
He needed to do something. Anything. Sean stomped back to the
window and pushed the blinds aside. He ran his fingers along the sill
and the sides as he sought the clasp to open the panes. His windows
were cost effective models that kept the room at the perfect
temperature, but they didn’t actually open. Normally it would have
been good news—he never wanted his windows to open—but now it
was another barrier between him and yelling down to the men below.
He couldn’t even drop a note out a small opening.
He felt like a caveman unable to get an email out to the property
managers. He’d have to resort to smoke signals, likely by setting his
wall on fire because the fucking windows wouldn’t open! Who made
windows that couldn’t open? What, did they think he was going to
do, throw himself from the fucking building?
Oh, he might throw himself from the building if it prevented
magic from getting inside. He was pretty sure you couldn’t cross a
crime scene.
“Crazy. You’re going crazy, dumbass,” Sean muttered. He was
completely cut off from the rest of the world without his tech, and he
couldn’t remember the last time he felt so trapped in the apartment
while actually alone. It was the same brick walls and reclaimed
architecture, but it all felt suffocating. Sean hadn’t really noticed how
the Internet and telephone were the only connection his isolated
world had to the rest of reality. As long as he didn’t want to leave, it
was very easy to ignore how he couldn’t.
Sean pulled from the windows before he did something stupid,
like attack them with a frying pan. He kept his headset around his
neck and focused on the sounds of TJ trekking through traffic and
pedestrians as he rode his bike to his apartment. TJ was the only one
left in his life who cared about him. Not that he should, TJ was the
last person who should care about him.
 “Damn it, TJ, stop breathing.” TJ, of course, didn’t hear him. His
phone was in his pocket while he biked, and Sean could hear every
noise he made. He sounded like sex. Hot, sweaty, grunting sex. Every
heavy huff of breath was a torture Sean couldn’t escape.
He needed to do something. Sean growled and took halting steps
toward the door. He just had to walk out the door. He just had to
open the door, walk down the hall to the elevator, and get out on the
ground floor. It was so fucking easy yet impossible. Every minute he
failed to leave his apartment was a minute he sacrificed to his tech
being destroyed for good. It wasn’t just his tech, but his business, his
life. Sean knew it, but it didn’t change anything. Every time he
approached the door to leave, his vision grew dark around the edges,
and his heart pounded alarmingly in his ears until he couldn’t move.
He went to the gym every morning. Every morning at 7 am, Sean
would open the door, leave his apartment, and take the elevator to
the second floor. He went out every damn day. He could leave the
apartment, he could. But it wasn’t 7am, and he wasn’t going to the
gym, and his fucked-up brain knew.
“Sean, you still there?” TJ huffed as he fumbled one handed with
his cell phone. “Just a few more blocks left. Do you need me to come
up?”
Yes, fucking yes. He’d give anything for TJ to rush up to the
seventh floor and save him. TJ could save him, kiss him, and promise
to never leave again. They could spend all day in bed where Sean
would encourage loud, desperate cries from TJ’s perfectly plump
lips.
Sean glared at the door and pulled his headset up so the
microphone was by his mouth. “I’m fine. I’ll be down by the time you
get here.” He might have to smash the window and jump out to do it,
but by fuck, he wasn’t going to let TJ rescue him like he was an
invalid. This was his burden, his fucked-up brain of a burden.
He turned from the door and his gaze slipped to where his cell
phone was across the room. The screen was lit up with a purple
symbol. Whatever the magic circuit was, it didn’t seem to matter how
far away Sean stood for his headset to get reception. Sean could
understand why they were experimenting lately to try to get magic to
work with tech. There were benefits, you know, if everything didn’t
end up exploding.
 There was hardware that could be installed to keep magic from
usurping an electrical current, but the shit was beyond expensive.
The landlord was required to install the buffers that protected the
workings of the building. There was no way Sean’s apartment was
the only one losing light bulbs and electricity. Magic had the
potential to be a limitless power source, but without the proper
current regulators, it was also quick to fry everything. Hence
regulations.
Sean growled under his breath. Why was this happening to him?
Why now, after he made such a big deal about finally being
independent and not needing any help? Things were tight already. It
wasn’t like people were lining up for virus removal when the latest
generation of computers came with magical-based defenses he
couldn’t compete with. There was a time when magic and tech
couldn’t mesh at all. Now there were a few elite dickbags who created
magic-based worms to wreak havoc, and then they raked in the cash
to ‘cure’ the problem.
Sean would love to be one of the few technicians knowledgeable
enough to fix a magical virus, but it required being able to do magic—
not a skill you could just learn. You were either born with it or not,
and he was happy to be free of the vile stuff. As it was, Sean couldn’t
even stop the computer from jumping to an unstable power source
whenever magic came too close.
He felt like he was going to jump out of his skin. Sean took
quick, careful steps with socked feet to avoid the glass in the hallway
and slipped into his bedroom. So far, the room was untouched, and
his minimalistic decor, dark furniture with clean lines, and orderly
closet were free of broken glass. The way his lamps were glowing
purple, Sean had little hope his room would go unscathed for much
longer.
He glared into the bureau mirror and gave his sweatpants and
stained t-shirt a critical once over. Fuck, he was always a mess these
days. Maybe TJ was right. Maybe he needed an excuse to groom and
be presentable.
He ran a hand through his messy blond hair and stared sideways
in the mirror, so he could catch his gaze from behind the narrow
glasses he always wore. TJ liked his eyes. It was one of the things
he’d blurt out that left Sean forever guessing if he was flirting or just,
well, liked his eyes.
 Sometimes TJ flirted with him, but it was in that joking, childish
way Sean thought would have stopped now they were in their mid-
twenties. Sean was hot, and TJ wasn’t blind or anything, just
obnoxiously straight. He was straight but weird about things, like his
eyes. TJ called them jewel-green and wanted him to get contacts.
And for TJ, Sean would do just about anything, except his eyes dried
out too much from staring at computer screens all day.
He could shave, at least, and maybe dress in something that
showed off his arms. The exercise was to help him relax, give him
focus, make it seem like he wasn’t a fucking crazy person in a cage.
He wasn’t going to complain about the six pack abs that kind of
showed up overnight, though. The real question was, how could he
subtly show them off to TJ?
What was he doing? Was he seriously thinking of using this as
an excuse to hit on his best—and let's face it—only friend? Sean
snorted softly. Fucked in the head. He was so fucked. Disgusted with
himself, Sean deliberately ruffled his hair into a mess and headed to
the closet for something clean.
What the fuck did you wear to meet a witch? Strike that; what
did you wear to yell at a bunch of lost movers to keep their client’s
volatile gear as far from the building as possible? Sean had a feeling
whoever worked for a magic type were either magical themselves, or
really fucking tough to put up with all the trouble witches created.
Witches were all trouble.
Panic again fluttered in his chest and his clothes blurred before
his eyes. Fuck, he couldn’t handle this. A witch couldn’t move in. It
had to be a mistake. Once he got down there and talked to the
movers, it would all be figured out. TJ was right; you just needed to
talk to people. Sean nodded to himself. It was the logical thing.
Witches didn’t move into unbuffered buildings.
All attempts to convince himself to dress in tight, ass hugging
jeans were eventually ruled out. He wanted to look like he had a job,
and that what he said had some damn sway. Sean settled on a
semiprofessional pair of khakis and a deep blue polo shirt. As he sat
on the edge of his bed and laced up his boots, he tried not to think of
the last time he went out. It was four months ago, easy. Sean tried
not to count the days. It just made it oppressive to combine a
number with his absolutely irrational fear of leaving the apartment.
 It wasn’t some big phobia or anything, not really. At least, he
refused to call it that no matter how many words WebMD threw
around. He didn’t like to leave his apartment. Sean spent a lot of
time getting his place perfect, and there was nowhere outside these
very stable walls where he felt safe. Things made sense in his
apartment, and he was the kind of guy who needed things to make
sense.
Magic was one of those things that never worked the way it was
supposed to. Not only did it not work, but it broke every fucking
thing just by existing. Sean had no interest in being broken any more
than he already was.
“Hey, I’m here,” TJ announced cheerfully.
TJ. Sean jumped up from his bed, tugged at the collar of his polo
with one hand, and flattened his hair down with the other. He hadn’t
seen him in over a month now. TJ kept calling, but Sean would make
every excuse he could think of to avoid him. Fuck, he should have
shaved. He should have worn the contacts. Damn it, he should have
thrown on those totally hot jeans.
“Whoa, have you been out here? Holy fuck.”
Sean quickly pulled himself from the mirror. “What? What is
it?”
“There’s a news van with cameras and shit. I should have
brought some of the rescues down.”
Sean froze and struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.
“Cameras?”
“Yeah, I think it’s one of those celebrity witches. I never follow
those things, but everyone looks really excited.”
Oh, fuck. “What do you mean by everyone?”
TJ was oblivious to the strangled tone of Sean’s voice. “There’s
like a hundred people out here, and they all have these weird glowing
purple symbols on their shirts.”
“Like the one on your phone?” Sean grabbed the wall as his sight
dimmed, and it took him a moment to remember to breathe. Fuck, a
celebrity witch. They were the worst. They were the worst, and if
anyone could bully their way through regulations and laws, it was a
magical celebrity. Fuck, his life was over.
“Wait, I think I know who’s in charge. Hold on, buddy.” TJ
sounded far too cheerful, and Sean struggled not to vomit. Static
crackled in his ear as TJ approached the moving truck and the
magical items it held. It was bad. It was really fucking bad if TJ was
calling him ‘buddy.’ Fuck. He was so fucked.
He was going to have to move. He’d lose it all; his business, his
security, his home of the last four years. Could he ever build it back
up again? He wasn’t even sure how he did it the first time. He was a
fuck-up, and to have him succeed in anything never made sense. He
dropped out of college, slapped something together he called a
business the same time the damn industry was dying around his
ears. How could he hope to do this all over again? He shouldn’t have
been able to even get as far as he had.
Maybe this was the result. Maybe this was how the universe
balanced out those few months of stability where he finally felt like
he could breathe. Sean knew it was too good to be true. He knew he
didn’t deserve any of it. The universe gave him hope, and now it was
dumping him back in the gutter where he belonged, broken and
useless.
Static crackled right before TJ’s voice cut in again. “…is how it
looks. The movers know they can’t bring the stuff in until the
regulators come in and finish their installation. Except, well, they
weren’t expecting the cameras. Their boss is on their ass cuz he
thinks they look lazy. They want to bring stuff in, so they’re looking
for the safest items.”
“No. Don’t tell me they’re coming in here with magic,” Sean
whimpered. “It’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake.”
“I didn’t say that.” TJ coughed awkwardly. “Okay, I totally said
that. They haven’t yet, though. They know they can’t, but they really
need to look like they’re doing something. They’re trying to get a hold
of the property managers, but I guess traffic is messed up from the
crowd, and it’s making it difficult for them to get here. Holy shit!” TJ
made a noise Sean only ever heard from the mouth of an excited
teenage girl and toddlers of all genders. “That’s a phoenix! There is
an actual phoenix out here. Oh, my fuck, a miniature dragon! Sean,
it’s no bigger than my arm. Get down here right now. You don’t even
understand what you’re missing!”
Sean slumped against the wall and groaned. Damn it, TJ turned
into a total flake the moment something fluffy and idiotic showed up.
“Yeah, I’m good right here.” Cameras, a crowd of star-struck fans,
and magical monsters who never walked the Earth outside of a
witch’s power? There was no way in fuck he was going near any of
that. No doubt a permit for those exotic beasts would not be available
upon request. “Did the movers mention when they’d be leaving and
taking the magic with them? Tell me they’re just using the parking
lot.”
TJ, who was distractedly cooing at something likely capable of
eating him alive, was too interested in the animals to sugarcoat
things anymore. “Dude, she’s moving in. It’s the right address and
everything. Have you been listening at all? The regulators messed up
the time. They were supposed to be here before the movers but got
stuck in traffic. The news messed everything up. It’s Magnolia
something or other. I guess she’s a big fucking deal. Like the next big
thing in the magical world.”
Fuck. Motherfuck. This couldn’t be happening. What was he
supposed to do?
“Sean? Are you…?” TJ was cut off by a cheer. It was quickly
joined by other voices until it was a roar of one word shouted again
and again.
Magnolia.
Oh, fuck. Sean pushed off the wall and threw himself at his
bedroom door. He stopped, turned, and grabbed the lease from the
bookcase. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t.
“Do you need me to come up?” The sound dulled as TJ ducked
somewhere quieter. “Sean, are you okay? Tell me you’re not freaking
out up there. I know stuff like this can seem overwhelming, but you
can’t build it up in your head. The movers aren’t through the door.
There are trained regulators on their way to prevent any issues with
magic going haywire. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.
Sean? Are you listening?”
Sean wasn’t listening. He could barely breathe. His life was
fucking over. Approved. The management approved the move
without telling anyone, and now his life was over.
It had to be the shock. When chaos swept in, doorways stopped
looking like barriers of safety to his fucked-up brain. Sean couldn’t
really explain it, the same way he couldn’t explain why it was so
difficult to leave his apartment when it never used to be. His front
door slammed behind him, and his steps were muffled on the hall
carpet as he stumbled to the elevator. He needed to keep the movers
outside. He’d chain himself to the door. He didn’t have a chain, or a
lock, or any sort of plan really. He hadn’t even thought to bring the
tea kettle. It didn’t matter; he needed to do something before every
scrap of stability was stolen away from him.
A witch couldn’t move in.
“Sean, is that the elevator I just heard?”
“I’m fine,” Sean said automatically as he punched the button.
“Stop worrying over nothing.”
There must have been something in his voice. TJ became both
stern and impossibly calm all at once. “Sean, I really don’t think you
should come down here. There are a lot of people, and I know how
much you hate crowds.”
TJ wasn’t even trying to lie to him anymore. “I’m fine.” Sean felt
strangely calm, actually. Could he barricade the doors with
something? There were two large potted plants by the outer doors, if
he remembered correctly. Maybe he could drag them in front of the
doorway and then stand in front of them.
“Just stay where you are. I’m coming up. Have you eaten yet? I’ll
get us takeout and we can throw a DVD on. It’ll be fun.”
Right, cuz spending time with the gorgeous best friend he
couldn’t fuck was always a delight.
It was. Fuck it really was. He loved TJ so much.
Sean remained silent as he watched the numbers light up and
the elevator glided down. He hadn’t taken the main elevator but the
one that led to the gym on the second floor. There was a private
stairway only the residents knew of. TJ wouldn’t have a fucking clue,
which would give him plenty of time to run around the building and
throw himself in front of the doorway. Once he showed the movers
the clause in the lease—a binding fucking contract—they’d have to
back off. There was no way magic was getting into his building.
Regulations mattered. Rules fucking mattered.
Sean was relieved to find the hallway empty when the elevator
doors swung open. Broken glass crunched beneath his boots as he
stalked past the gym entrance. He brandished the rolled-up lease in
his hand like a sword as he threw the inner door open that led down
a brief flight of stairs into the small tiled room that contained a
rundown vending machine, faded stock painting of the ocean, and
askew rug by the door. Sean paused and stared at the vending
machine critically but eventually dismissed it. There was no way he’d
be able to carry it all the way to the front of the building, even if it
would be the perfect size and weight to block the doors.
 He was five feet from the exit when the heavy security door
swung open. Sean staggered to a halt as someone slipped through the
gap. It was a slender, dark-skinned woman in fashionable sunglasses
and a wide-brimmed black hat. She turned her back to him and
peered out the door, then quickly shut it tight with a sigh.
Sean’s mouth gaped open when he recognized the pointed tip on
the top of the newcomer’s hat. Witch! It was the witch! “You’re… You
can’t,” he stammered and waved his lease accusingly. “You can’t
come in here until the regulators set up!”
“What?” Magnolia turned with a sculpted eyebrow quirked
inquiringly. “What can’t I…? Aw, crap.” Sean followed to where she
was looking the same instant the florescent tubes above shattered in
a rain of glass. Purple flames glowed from the bare circuits and shot
outward with a violent roar.
Sean squeezed his eyes shut and ducked down to protect himself
from the shards. Heat seared his face, but it was the sound of static
that reminded him too late. He fumbled blindly for the headset
hooked on his ear the same moment it combusted into flames and
the vending machine exploded.
 CHAPTER THREE

“Holy fuck! Why is everything made of shit here? Damn it.” Magnolia
pulled a wand from the metallic leather purse hanging off her arm
and whipped it at the vending machine. “Son of a…!” The purple
glow flared into a roar of flames in response to the magic, and the
vending machine shuddered and began to melt. “I hate tech. I
fucking hate it.”
Sean groaned from where he was curled up on the tiled floor.
His sight was consumed with glittering flames, and the only noise
was a loud ringing in his ear and muffled voices. Everything hurt.
Everything. It hurt even more so when he went to move, and his
muscles screamed in protest. Sean struggled to get up onto his
trembling knees and found blood streaking his khakis. His hands
were scraped raw from shattered glass and wouldn’t stop shaking.
Black high heels, shiny with a stiletto heel, stalked past where he
was kneeling and stopped. “Jamie? Jamie, what the fuck did you
send me into? You told me the regulators would be all set up. There
is a crowd of dumbasses wrapped around this entire building!”
Sean swayed and tried to focus as darkness dimmed his
eyesight. His face was on fire, possibly literally. He grasped for where
the headset once hung, his fingertips stiff and throbbing pain. “What
happened?” He clasped his hand over his ear and blinked rapidly,
but nothing made sense. Sean’s gaze followed the stiletto heel up to a
narrow, cocoa skinned ankle and shapely calf. Nausea churned his
stomach the moment he tried to raise his head any higher, and Sean
gripped the back of his neck as he lurched forward.
He missed the angry shriek as what was left of his lunch sprayed
onto the floor. Sean’s thoughts were a jumble of half sights and
confused memories. He fumbled fingers around his left ear, and his
brows furrowed from the strange sensation. It felt wrong. It didn’t
feel like anything; it was like plastic and strange twists. He wasn’t
sure if it was because his fingers were messed up, or his ear was very,
very wrong.
 Sean couldn’t tell how much time passed as his body revealed
every ache and pain, and he tried to figure out if he still had an ear.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to pull a breath in. Air
was elusive as he gasped and fought to get his lungs to work. The
door that led into the apartment building crashed open, and TJ came
barreling through. His tanned face was flushed red, and the shirt he
wore for the animal shelter was stained with sweat. Sean couldn’t
tear his bleary gaze away; he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“Sean!” TJ’s dark eyes were huge as he froze and stared at where
Sean was hunched on the floor. “Oh, fuck.” Blood was splattered on
the tile, and Sean’s clothes were smoking a strange, dark purple
color. TJ’s gaze fixed on the side of his head where Sean couldn’t
hear, and his expression crumpled to heart wrenching for a moment.
Without another word, TJ jumped down the steps and crouched next
to him.
“It’s okay. I’m going to get you an ambulance.” TJ reached for
his back pocket before remembering he no longer had his cell. “Fuck,
I had to throw my phone when it started smoking. The thing blew
seconds after I heard the explosion in here. Fuck.”
Dear fuck, he loved him. Sean stared dazedly up into TJ’s
worried face. He could laugh about gaining flab from not working
out, but TJ was gorgeous, fit, with the most calming, loving smile. A
weak smile curved Sean’s lips as he stared at the fear in TJ’s
beautiful, brown eyes flecked with gold. He seriously loved him.
Dying wasn’t remotely scary just so long as TJ was there.
“Sean, hang in there. Fuck.” TJ looked up at Magnolia, who was
pacing the small room as she snapped orders into her phone. “Hey,
can you make a call? We need an ambulance.”
Magnolia didn’t stop her agitated steps as she glanced
disinterestedly in their direction. “No, that’s not going to happen.”
“What?” TJ glanced away, only to turn back slack jawed. “You’re
the witch,” he blurted.
“I’m a master sorceress, not some backwater wiccan.” She
sighed and stopped walking. “Magnolia DeVaun. I’m sure you’ve
heard of me.” When recognition failed to reveal on TJ’s face,
Magnolia took her sunglasses off. She looked him up and down with
an assessing gaze, and a smirk twisted on her perfectly glazed pout.
Her sharp eyes narrowed as her gaze fell to Sean. “His wounds are
superficial. It’s nothing a few healing spells can’t handle.”
 “No! No magic.” Sean lurched back and tried to scramble away.
He only heard half of what was exchanged, but he was certain any
wand pointed his way was going to kill him. TJ went to grab him, but
Sean slipped from his grasp when pain shot through his body. “My
computers. My phone was in my apartment. I have to see if they’re
dead.” Sean gasped for air while he muttered in desperate bursts. He
couldn’t stop shaking, the motion a quiver through his entire body.
“Sean, calm down. Just…” TJ sighed helplessly when Sean
stumbled from his well-intentioned attempts to help him, and he fell
to the ground. Sean clutched the side of his burnt face as he struggled
to breathe.
“What’s wrong with him?” Magnolia stomped over and glared
down at where Sean was heaving for air on the floor.
“Besides the fact he’s been in an explosion, his glasses are
melted to his face, and one of his ears is full of metal?” TJ snapped
rhetorically. “He’s having a panic attack. You came in here before the
building was buffered, and you fried his entire business. Not to
mention we can’t even get an ambulance in to get him patched up
because of all the traffic from your appearance. None of this was
handled properly.”
“Hey, the regulators were supposed to have been here already,”
Magnolia said defensively. “This is the only building zoned for
commercial work in the area. Believe me, I would have preferred
something upscale and modern, but the competition over territory
rights is brutal for professional magic users. I was told this would all
be straightened out before I got here. As for that mess outside…”
Magnolia stalked to the outer door and pushed it open with a scowl.
“I don’t know who tipped the fucking media, but there’s no way I can
stay out there with those crazies. They think magic is a fucking god-
code or something, and none of them want to pay for it. Do you want
to go out there and make stupid disappear?”
TJ glanced at the gap of the door and found a dozen people
staring back, standing only feet away. All of them were wearing shirts
with the purple symbol once blazoned on his now fried phone. “Shut
it. Shut the door,” he hissed under his breath.
Magnolia huffed and glanced over her shoulder. She jolted when
she saw the crowd gathered around the entrance. “Damn it.”
“Magnolia, can I get your autograph? Oh, a photo! Smile
Magnolia!”
 Magnolia’s expression twisted to pure disgust, and her voice was
clipped and cold when she spoke. “Sorry, darling, but your camera
isn’t buffered properly.” Her wand twitched between her perfectly
manicured fingers, and a camera in the crowd fizzled into a smoking
plastic heap with a cracked lens. Enthusiastic oohs raised in
response.
“Awesome! Can you sign it?” The girl, whose camera was
smoking on the ground, turned wide eyes to Magnolia. “Please, it’s
gotta be a collectible now.”
“Magnolia, curse my camera too!”
“Mine too!”
TJ coughed in disbelief, and his unease grew as more people ran
up to the open door. Someone was shouting outside, and he had a
terrible suspicion it was a call to the large group of fans at the front
of the building.
“I loved your interview in Tricky. Is it true you’re still looking for
love?”
“Are you challenging Mistress Flora for enchanting rights this
season?”
“When you cast, do you need to use your dominant hand?”
“Magnolia, just one picture.”
Magnolia took a step back as someone grabbed the door, and the
crowd surged forward as one.
“Magnolia, my mother is really sick. Can you bless her foot for
me?”
“Her foot?” Magnolia stared blank faced as a human foot was
shoved in front of her nose. It was severed at the ankle and was
apparently from the holder’s mother. TJ had to give her credit,
Magnolia sounded incredibly calm once she found her voice. “Sorry,
I’m in the middle of a move right now, and I’m not taking new
customers.”
TJ grabbed Sean by the shoulder and pulled him up roughly.
“We’re leaving. Now. Right fucking now.”
Sean swayed and grabbed TJ’s arm for balance. Even though all
his senses were a mess, his nose seemed to be compensating. TJ
smelled good, of sporty body wash mixed with the scent of his sweat.
Sean licked pained lips and wondered what it would be like to kiss
him. TJ couldn’t get angry at him when he was half exploded. He
might even kiss him back…
 Sean stumbled again and nearly fell. He couldn’t keep upright,
and he wasn’t sure if his legs were fucked up, or it had to do with his
weird ear.
“No, run. We’re running.” TJ hauled Sean and helped push him
forcefully up the small flight of stairs. “Your place, then we’ll figure
out how to get an ambulance. Shit, two feet. Why does she have both
of her mother’s feet with her? Holy fuck, what a psycho.”
“TJ, I can’t breathe,” Sean protested. He grabbed blindly for the
door before it could smack him in the face.
“Breathe later. Those were pieces of a fucking person. Holy fuck,
the smell.” TJ fumbled with the door while he shouldered Sean
upright. He stilled when a slender hand reached from behind him
and pushed the door shut. “What the fuck are you…?”
“Quiet.” Magnolia spoke a few clipped, foreign words under her
breath. A black void formed in the center of the door and pulsed out
to consume the wall in front of them. “Hurry up or I’m leaving you
with these freaks.” She smacked her hand on TJ and Sean’s
shoulders and shoved. Sean tried to resist, but his feet refused to
listen, and he was propelled forward into the dark portal.
“Honestly, the nonsense of all this. I gave clear instructions to
everyone. There was absolutely no reason any of this had to happen.
The couch; no, not that one! That’s older than the country. Put him
over there by the cages. No… Did I stutter, Jamie? You assured me
this was taken care of. I arrived and it was a madhouse. I had to port
just to escape the crazies. You promised me a simple, productive
move, not another freak convention. That skitzo was out there again,
this time with another foot. I don’t care how it looks in the papers…”
Magnolia’s voice boomed as she paced back and forth and her
high heels clicked angrily on the hardwood floor. Sean had no idea
where he was, and his gaze struggled to focus as TJ half guided, half
carried him to a couch and made him sit. The architecture looked
oddly familiar, and with a wince, he realized he was still in the
building. Magnolia had an apartment in his building.
Aw, fuck.
This wasn’t happening. None of this was allowed to happen. The
lease, crumpled to the point of unrecognizable, fell out of Sean’s
hand. He didn’t notice since the sensation failed to reach his fingers.
Sean shook uncontrollably while TJ pulled his feet up and turned
him until he was stretched out on the buttery leather couch.
“Sean, breathe. Just breathe. Can you hear me?” TJ’s face peered
down at him, and Sean focused on his kind expression. Sweat
dripped from TJ’s short black hair onto his forehead, and it made
him look ruffled and out of control. His brown eyes, usually on the
verge of laughter, were full of tears as he looked Sean over.
“Your face is burned.” TJ gingerly touched Sean’s glasses where
the metal was fused to his flesh. “You’re lucky your skin didn’t melt
off. What the hell happened? I heard an explosion, and my phone
blew up a second after. This can’t just be from exposure to magic,
right? Did she curse you?”
Sean couldn’t speak. His breath was caught in his chest as TJ
leaned over him and his mouth edged close to his. He wanted him,
needed him. Having TJ worry about him was this fierce, selfish joy
Sean didn’t ever want to release. He wanted him.
“She broke me,” Sean whispered, unable to pull his gaze from
TJ’s perfect mouth.
“What? Sean, I need to know if she—uhhh…” TJ blinked rapidly
as Sean crossed the small space and brushed their lips together.
 Perfect. He tasted perfect. Sean exhaled heavily and fell back on
the couch, the effort having exhausted him.
TJ stared down at him as his cheeks quickly flushed red. “Sean,
are you…? Are you even…?” He gave up trying to talk when Sean shut
his eyes and curled to the side. “Uh, right. You should rest. I’ll, um,
get you some water while we wait on that ambulance.” TJ
straightened from where he was crouched and gave him a final
questioning look Sean kept his eyes closed through. He walked
unsteadily from the room, and Sean let himself relax fully on the
leather sofa.
He shouldn’t have done that. Fuck, he really shouldn’t have done
that. It was hard to feel guilty when he could still smell TJ’s scent and
still taste him on his tingling lips. He wanted TJ to come back and
cuddle with him, curl around him until he slept. TJ could feed him
soup and dote on him for as long as it took for him to heal. He could
move into his place and kiss him to sleep every night, and when Sean
was finally better, TJ would do more than kiss. He’d slip between the
sheets and give his body to him, his cries, every drop of cum…
A dream. A cruel lie of a dream.
Sean couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t head over heels in love
with TJ. For one miserable year he tried to convince himself TJ
might return his hidden feelings. It was the same year Sean was
disowned for being gay and ended up living on TJ’s sofa. Nothing
good came from revealing his sexuality. If anything, Sean felt cursed,
a victim to a long line of emotional assaults where his parents
abandoned him, his friends rejected him, and love, love was always
one sided.
Sean tried not to love, just, it was impossible when it came to TJ.
He was selfless, caring, and always calm among the worst of storms.
While Sean’s world forever spiraled out of control, TJ was a rock of
compassion and generosity. It wasn’t like he was particularly rich or
anything; TJ lived in a little flat in a slummy part of the city, but
somehow it was idyllic. His job didn’t pay much, but he loved every
moment of it. TJ had friends, confidants, people who made him
smile and brighten, and it all just came so easy for him.
Sean knew he could only bring misery to someone as perfect as
TJ, but he couldn’t let him go. If he were a decent human being, he
would have pushed TJ away years ago. He tried. Fuck, he was a
bastard every time they talked, just to make TJ see reason. TJ still
hung in there trying to make Sean into someone worthy he could
show off to his friends. And fuck, Sean wanted to let TJ pretend he
could be better if it kept him reaching out. He’d rather be an asshole,
than completely broken hearted and alone.
“Jamie, I said call the lawyers. I don’t give a fuck what time it is
over there. I have a sparker with half his face blown off, and I don’t
want to be sued.” Magnolia’s angry steps stopped. “What, water?
Yeah, fine, this way.”
Silence descended as Magnolia led TJ to the kitchen, and her
steps clicked and faded. Sean sank back into the couch with a heavy
groan. He was in throbbing pain and lost in a numb buzz of red that
had no relief even in his mind. He blinked his eyes shut, surprised to
find they were open. His brain wasn’t processing anything properly,
and the darkness behind his eyelids felt more real than the room he
was in.
Would anyone care if he died in that explosion? What if his head
was severed just as cleanly as that foot? Would anyone miss him?
Would the clients waiting for their computers to be fixed demand to
find out what happened to the IT specialist who let them down?
Would his parents call TJ to see if he somehow died hetero with a
girlfriend? Would TJ think about him fondly on the anniversary of
his death while shaking his head about how Sean wasted his life?
He was wasting his life. He hadn’t achieved anything, and when
he came close to being okay, it was all taken away.
Sean’s eyebrows furrowed as something hot and silky brushed
his forehead. Breath teased over his wounded cheek and stung
through the descending numbness. Sean reached up to brush the
strange sensation away, and his burnt fingers connected with
something solid and large hovering over him. Soft.
TJ would care. He was the only one who cared he was alive. It
was a burden on him; Sean was either a burden or a fuck up. He
couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t be what everyone wanted him
to be, and the only option was just not to be at all. His parents would
be happier to never have a son. TJ’s life would be better if he never
had to check up on his neurotic, social reject of a friend who was not
so secretly in love with him.
By default, Sean’s life would be much easier if he stopped
existing. He couldn’t even get his fucking brain to let him walk
through a door when he needed to.
 Breath ghosted his forehead, and Sean cracked his eyes open.
The darkness remained, and his blurry gaze focused on long, black
strands of hair as lips brushed the side of his face. A hot tongue
lapped his singed flesh, and Sean gasped as the world rocked. He
squeezed his eyes shut and groaned as pain, heat, and a soothing
noise washed over him.
Was that… was something purring?
Sean’s glasses clattered to the floor, and it took him a moment to
realize they were no longer seared into his skin. “What?” he
mumbled as wet heat burned up his neck. Sean clutched weakly to a
shoulder, powerful muscle and hot skin firm beneath his shaking
hand. A hot mouth latched onto his ear. “What are…?” Sean tried to
pry his lashes open, but they felt too heavy to move. His face
contorted, and he jerked as pain lanced through his head. “F-Fuck,”
he choked out. His ear felt on fire—on fire while being ripped off and
chewed up.
Sean’s hand was pulled free from his death grip on the stranger’s
shoulder, and lips rubbed over the damaged flesh. “Hurts,” he
whimpered as every inch of skin those lips and tongue touched
roared with fresh pain. He wasn’t sure if the skin was peeling from
his bones, or healing as he clutched at the hand holding his. A pins
and needle sensation followed as Sean’s nerve endings tingled, and
his brain tried to process whatever the hell was happening.
TJ? Something… someone… “Oh.” Sean breathed out softly as
his fingers were sucked into a hot mouth, and a velvet tongue coated
and caressed his digits in long, sensual strokes. The pain slipped
away to be replaced by a new madness. A heat flickered through
Sean, and flames lit him up from the inside out with every suck and
lick to his skin. Teeth nipped at his fingertips and Sean gasped and
reached his free hand up to tangle into silky hair.
It was good, so good, and he needed more. With an unsteady
exhale, Sean tilted his head and sought the mouth tormenting his
hand. Lips swiftly covered his, and he groaned as he was devoured by
demanding, consuming kisses.
Sean fought the dizzying motion of the room and used his
handhold of hair to tug the stranger closer so he could nip at his lush
lips. Saliva dripped hot down his chin as a tongue plunged and
stroked into his mouth to explore and taste. Fire roared through his
sluggish body, and Sean moaned and rocked his hips as he sought
friction for his aching erection. “Y-Yes… Again. More,” Sean
whimpered as he humped against the hard body hovering over him
and ground against a bare thigh.
Rough hands pulled him up and wrapped him into a powerful
embrace. Sean sluggishly chased the lips trailing wet over his jaw. He
wanted to taste him, needed to tangle with his tongue again. He tried
to pull the hard, muscular man closer, but each kiss drained Sean of
the little energy he had remaining until he felt boneless and lost.
Sean’s head fell back on the couch as his body refused to hold itself
up. He moaned in despair until lips returned and kissed him in a
hungry burst.
It was perfect, so perfect, and he groaned to find he couldn’t pull
the other down against him the way he wanted. The only relief was
when hands ran possessively down Sean’s heaving chest and sides as
they sought the hem of his shirt. Yes, this is what he needed. Skin on
skin.
“Sean, I have your…” TJ’s voice cut off, and he froze in the living
room entrance. “What the hell? What the fuck is that thing?” The
water he was carrying fell from his grip and shattered to the
hardwood floor in a spray of liquid and glass.
Magnolia followed at the sound of destruction and stalked into
the room. She pulled from her phone with a dark scowl once she
caught sight of Sean and his mysterious kisser. “You son of a bitch.
Bad! Back in your cage this instant!”
Sean groaned when he was released abruptly, and he sank
heavily into the couch. His body was dripping honey, his lips swollen
and tingling, and his cock throbbing for release. It took a few tries,
but he eventually managed to crack his eyelids open. Beautiful purple
eyes gazed deep into his for a frozen, perfect eternity. Sean sighed
and blinked. His eyes refused to open again no matter how desperate
TJ’s voice became as it echoed in the darkness.
 CHAPTER FOUR

“You’re never leaving.”

Sean bolted upright with a shout. His heart pounded in his ears
as he fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand. His hand grasped
empty air, and Sean had to grip a cushion to keep from careening
sideways on the narrow couch. He wasn’t in his bed. He blinked
rapidly as he looked around the blur of an apartment he quickly
realized wasn’t his.
His dream crashed back in vivid reality, and with it a dozen
terrifying scenarios. Shit, did Blake come after him? Did he break
into his apartment and kidnap him? Sean threw his legs over the
couch, ready to run and dash for the nearest exit. He froze when he
heard a crack, and something gave beneath his shoe. Crap. His
stomach twisted, and he bent down and gingerly picked up his
crushed glasses. He stared at them first in dismay and then dawning
realization when he found one of the stems melted and red with
dried blood. His blood.
The explosion. The witch. His computers.
“Aw, fuck.” Sean hunched back on the couch in a defeated
slump. Damn it, the witch.
Something moved out of the corner of his vision. Sean fumbled
with his glasses and pressed them haphazard to his face to peer into
the shadows. There was a cage barely five feet away. It was huge, at
least eleven feet wide, with thick heavy metal bars that ran from the
floor all the way up to the ceiling.
Magnolia just moved in and already installed a cage in her living
room? Shadows were palpable like a heavy mist, and the longer Sean
stared between the heavy bars, the more he was certain something
magical was keeping him from seeing within.
He licked his lips as something swished at the bottom of the
cage. For a moment, he swore a tuft of a tail flickered out. He
breathed deep as a memory tickled at him. The flash of lips on his, a
tongue… Had he kissed someone? Had he… TJ?
 Had he kissed TJ? No, that was crazy. There was no way TJ
would even know how to kiss like that. Sean pressed a palm to his
face. He felt flushed and beyond confused. Who the fuck had he
kissed?
The shadows moved again. Sean leaned forward as he tried to
see into the darkness of the cage. Behind him high heels clicked,
announcing Magnolia’s presence.
“I wouldn’t recommend getting so close, Mr. Slater. My pets
have been known to kill for less.”
Violet eyes peered out at him from the darkness, intense and slit
with sharp pupils. Sean inhaled abruptly as he remembered the feel
of a hot mouth running over his body, lips sucking on his flesh, and
teeth nipping over slippery skin. A dream? Had that been…?
Sean pulled back as his mind tried to click it all together. “Why
do you have such a big cage for such a little cat?” More importantly,
why did Magnolia have a cat in a cage, and why was she hiding it
with shadows in her own apartment?
Magnolia narrowed her eyes when a house cat pressed its dark
face to the bars of the cage and purred invitingly. “It’s not important.
How are you feeling?”
“Alive,” Sean grunted, unable to turn his eyes from the cat. It
didn’t add up. His mind was still swirling with his nightmare, but
Sean felt something else pushing and trying to break in. He felt gritty
and dry… and like maybe he forgot something extremely important.
Oh, hell, he did. He kissed TJ. Fuck. Fucker. Motherfucker.
Magnolia stepped around the couch dressed in an ornately
decorated top of black silk, lace, and silver buttons. Her thighs were
wrapped in a black pencil skirt. Her large brimmed hat of yesterday
was switched out for a cute miniature of a similar style that was
cocked among her perfectly coiffed black and purple curls. Her
stilettos were painfully steep, and as she stepped, Sean could see
little bat wings carved into the leather of the blood-red colored shoes.
With her warm, cocoa skin, immaculate makeup, and expensive
clothing, Magnolia looked like a high class corporate model instead
of a brewer of potions or curses, or whatever it was the magically
inclined got up to.
Sean knew enough about witches to never wear a watch around
them, and never, ever invite one to his building. Now here he was
trapped in a witch’s apartment next to a cage that was big enough to
hold him. Magnolia looked perfect and rested while Sean felt ragged
and sore all over, and it only added to his ill will of the moment.
“Your face appears to be fully healed. No scarring at all.”
“Where’s TJ?” Sean looked around warily, suddenly worried for
his friend. The explosion was a blur in his memory, but he could
remember TJ and something about severed feet. Fuck, if anyone hurt
TJ he was going to lose his shit.
Sean moved to get up. His glasses toppled from their precarious
perch on his nose and went straight to the floor. “Crap.” He squinted
as he reached down, but the moment his fingertips found his goal,
the glasses tugged from his hand and flew into Magnolia’s. While
Sean tensed, she pulled her wand from the waistband of her skirt and
waved it over the broken lenses.
Sean held his tongue when Magnolia handed his glasses back.
He could feel the magic on them, and he couldn’t help but wonder if
there could be side effects. He didn’t want to end up radioactive or
something. “Uh, thank you.” Sean cautiously slipped his glasses on,
and a small smile broke free when he found they were actually fixed.
They might even be better than before they first broke. “Thank you,”
he repeated and this time meant it.
Magnolia tucked her wand away and continued to stare down at
him. She wrapped her arms across her slender torso. “Your friend
had to leave some hours ago, but he wanted you to know you could
reach him at his work number. He was very upset I wouldn’t let him
move you while you were passed out.” Magnolia gave him a stern
look. “You do realize the dangers of moving someone who’s been in
an accident, correct? If you’re injured while in my care, I would be
liable.”
“Uhh…” Sean stopped trying to figure out if the magic in the
glasses were seeping into his eyes, and he raised his head with a
start. “What do you mean I passed out? Like fainted?”
“Yes, you were drained.” Magnolia waved her hand dismissively,
but Sean couldn’t help but notice when she said ‘drained’ it sounded
more like an attack than anything to do with exhaustion. “Mr. Slater,
your friend also mentioned you’re proficient in computers. I thought
I might be able to come to an agreement in regards to your destroyed
property.”
“Wait, can we get back to the passing out part?” Sean blinked
and his shoulders slumped as Magnolia’s words sank in. “You mean
Another random document with
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 II
RÊVERIE EN CRAU.

… Le train repartit d’Avignon, triomphalement accompagné par

les innombrables voix argentines ou graves des innombrables
beffrois, clochers et tours d’horloge, qui, mis en gaieté par le soleil,
s’égosillaient sur le coup de midi derrière les remparts.
Il faisait un petit mistral qu’on devinait, sans le sentir, à l’azur plus
profond, plus vibrant du ciel balayé, à des tourbillons de sable noir
en train de cabrioler dans les graviers de la Durance, et surtout aux
grands saluts que nous adressaient les cyprès plantés en rond
autour des fermes ou alignés sur la limite des champs.
Des collines grises, couvertes d’herbes grises ; de loin en loin, se
mirant aux larges eaux du Rhône ralenti, un château, de grands
murs en ruine ; et tout à coup, Arles une fois dépassé, la Crau, la
plaine immense de cailloux, sans un arbre, sans un buisson,
pierreuse et sèche pendant des lieues, où de loin en loin apparaît le
toit plat d’une bergerie. Là-bas, tout près de l’horizon, à un endroit,
vous diriez des cailloux plus gros ; on reconnaît, en regardant mieux,
que ces cailloux sont des moutons. Maigres moutons qui, sous le
bâton des baïles nomades, passent là leur hiver, affamés, retournant
du bout du nez chaque pierre pour trouver dessous un peu d’herbe
pâle. Mais patience ! ils savent qu’aux premiers beaux soleils,
aussitôt les neiges fondues là haut, le troupeau, boucs en tête et
toutes les sonnailles sonnant, remontera par le « chemin romain »
vers les montagnes où sont des herbages si drus et parfumés de
tant de fleurs.
Elle n’a pas de bout, cette Crau ! malgré la hâte que met le train
à fuir son infini monotone. Je me suis un jour rendu compte de son
étendue en regardant, du haut d’une des tours hardiment plantées
par les Sarrazins sur les derniers gradins des Arènes, la tache rouge
qu’elle faisait au milieu du pays d’Arles en moisson. En été, quand
l’air flambe sur les cailloux, la Crau, comme le Sahara, connaît les
féeries du mirage ; et les Grecs contaient que Jupiter fit grêler ces
pierres du fond du ciel pour fournir des armes à l’Hercule tyrien, en
train de combattre je ne sais quelle sauvage tribu des Gaules.
Depuis, de savants géologues, à la place de Jupiter, ont inventé
le déluge alpin. Les cailloux de la Crau, sacrés jadis, s’en vont
maintenant par charretées, ils servent à empierrer les routes ; le
canal d’Adam de Craponne, recouvrant de ses limons fertilisants ce
qui en reste, conquiert chaque année à Cérès quelques mille
« cannes » de sol aride. Mais le caillou reparaît toujours après les
pluies et les labourages, mis à nu par l’eau dans les ravines des
champs ou soulevé par la charrue. Travail dur et de tous les jours,
lutte incessamment renaissante, et cela, non-seulement dans la
grande Crau, mais dans une foule de Crau plus petites, étalées en
étages successifs par la rupture du chapelet de lacs qui jadis
remplissaient la vallée où coule maintenant la Durance. La lutte
contre le caillou est, des Alpes jusqu’à la mer, la moitié de la vie
rurale.
Rien ne berce et n’endort la pensée comme le ressac régulier
d’un train. C’est ainsi que, tout en courant vers Cannes et Nice et le
paresseux Midi des orangers et des palmiers, je rêvais arrosages et
défrichement, et rudes cultures montagnardes.
Soudain la Crau si triste m’apparut plus triste encore ; un
souvenir venait de me serrer le cœur.
Je me revoyais en chemin de fer, au même endroit, par un jour
pareil, vers la fin de l’hiver de 1871. Après tant de malheurs et de
désastres, on ne voulait pas désespérer. C’était l’heure des
dernières levées ; les vallons, les coteaux, retentissaient matin et
soir du bruit des tambours. Des mobilisés s’embarquaient aux gares,
d’autres s’exerçaient avec de vieux fusils au milieu des champs,
autour des villages. Dans le train, les conscrits chantaient. Un
spectacle, hélas ! inattendu, arrêta net leur Marseillaise. Descendant
à l’horizon dans les brumes du Rhône, le soleil du soir ensanglantait
l’interminable plaine. A droite, à gauche, en avant, en arrière, sur dix,
vingt rangs, bousculées dans un désordre, un effarement de
déroute, hors des rails, parmi les cailloux, s’entassaient des
locomotives. Locomotives de toutes sortes, rouillées, disloquées,
aux aciers ternis, aux cuivres couverts de boue, quelques-unes
trouées, bosselées, portant la marque des balles. Près de nous un
employé expliquait la chose : c’était le matériel du Nord, de l’Est,
refoulé par l’invasion et qu’on avait dû, à cause de l’encombrement,
garer là comme on avait pu. Les monstres de fer venus de là-bas où
était l’ennemi semblaient vivre, et des têtes de mobilisés aux
portières, paysannes encore sous le képi galonné de rouge,
devenaient pâles subitement à cette première vision de la guerre.
Le train file, des arbres paraissent, la Crau est déjà loin derrière
nous. Voici Saint-Chamas, l’étang de Berre dentelé et bleu comme
un golfe grec. Les collines qui sont autour palpitent dans une brume
transparente ; sous le soleil d’aplomb semblent rire les vagues
innombrables, allumées de rayons, frémissantes, éclaboussées ; on
dirait qu’une invisible main y jette les diamants à poignée.
Le spectacle en est merveilleux, mais pour aujourd’hui ma joie
est gâtée ; et quand, ébloui, je ferme les yeux, c’est encore la Crau
farouche que je vois, la Crau de l’année de la guerre, avec le soleil
sanglant, et les longues ombres des locomotives !
 III
AU PAYS BLEU.

Connaissez-vous Antibes ? Un petit port avec son phare ;

dominant le phare et le port, deux tours sarrazines rousses comme
la croûte d’un pâté ; et, à leur pied, une poignée d’étroites maisons
qui grimpent les unes pardessus les autres pour voir la mer.
Huit heures du matin ! il est grand temps, en bon bourgeois,
d’aller faire son tour de ville… Il y a dans l’air des odeurs de fleurs ;
entre deux boutiques, un grand dattier au tronc rugueux et dont les
palmes frémissent à la brise, dépasse le mur d’un jardinet ; une
orange qui se détache tombe, plouf ! avec un bruit sourd sur la terre
friable et sèche.
Ce bruit me donne des idées de campagne. D’ailleurs, à suivre la
courtine, le tour de ville est bientôt fait…
Je sors par la poterne. Qu’est cela ? les glacis des remparts tout
blancs, du givre sur la contrescarpe ! Aurait-il neigé cette nuit ?
Rassurez-vous : ce n’est qu’un tapis de marguerites fleuries par
milliers et serrées au point de cacher le gazon. En fait de neige,
Antibes ne connaît que celle qui brille là-bas à la crête des Alpes.
Sur notre gauche, des pêcheurs, faisant frétiller un petit poisson
à l’extrémité d’un roseau, agacent patiemment le poulpe ami de la
friture et le succulent crabe velu qu’ils supposent loger dans les
anfractuosités d’une roche. Cette roche, c’est l’Ilette.
Si nous nous arrêtions à l’Ilette ? Je sais dans la minuscule
presqu’île une anse minuscule à fond de luisants coquillages, où les
corailleurs ont coutume de retirer leurs barques, leurs dragues, et de
secouer leurs filets. Du bout de la canne, en fouillant la grève, on
peut faire là d’intéressantes trouvailles conchyologiques, sans
compter, les jours de bonheur, quelques morceaux de beau corail
rouge.
Pas de chance ! la place est prise, et j’y trouve, installés déjà,
une vieille dame qu’à son voile vert je reconnais pour une Anglaise,
plus deux fantassins de la garnison…
Allons toujours serrer la main au capitaine Fouque et dire en
passant un mot à son genièvre. Rien n’est sain à l’estomac comme
un verre de fin genièvre, et rien n’est sain à l’esprit comme la
contemplation d’un homme heureux.
Le capitaine Fouque est roi de l’Ilette ! Marin comme le Grec
Ulysse et comme le Marseillais Pamphile, ayant connu dans ses
voyages cent peuples et mille cités, après quarante ans de
navigation, le capitaine Fouque pourrait, s’il voulait, avoir maison de
ville et villa au Cap ou à La Badine. Mais son rêve était autre, et le
sage réalise toujours son rêve. Le capitaine Fouque a donc obtenu,
au prix de quels entêtements, de quelles persévérantes démarches,
de quelles luttes obstinées et sourdes avec le génie militaire ! mais
enfin il a obtenu la concession d’un trou du rocher, et dans ce trou il
s’est fait construire, en dépit des railleurs et des jaloux, la plus
charmante et la plus originale habitation qui se puisse imaginer.
Vous ne l’apercevez pas ? Nous y sommes ! Un pas encore, et sans
cette formidable haie de cactus hérissés et de figuiers de Barbarie,
nous nous promènerions déjà sur le toit. Descendons ; c’est par le
rivage qu’on accède à la maisonnette : une maisonnette comme
toutes les maisonnettes, à cela près qu’elle est incrustée dans le roc.
Devant, une terrasse treillagée, en belle vue, qu’ombragent de leurs
larges feuilles des courges grimpantes à fleurs jaunes. La porte
s’ouvre : « Bien le bonjour ! » Le capitaine est en manches de
chemise. D’un bout de vieux câble effiloché il frotte une clef qu’il
huile et fait reluire.
— « Toujours au travail, capitaine ? — Toujours au travail ! C’est
le diable pour tenir propres ces ferrements. A bord, voyez-vous, la
moitié du temps se passe à se battre contre la rouille. »
 A bord ?… en effet nous sommes à bord, dans une vraie cabine
de navire, avenante et propre, décorée de cartes marines, avec un
sextant, des lunettes, un hamac plié, et, pour fenêtres, des hublots
derrière lesquels on voit miroiter la mer bleue.
Le capitaine vit là, ne quittant sa cabine que pour son canot,
grand pêcheur, aux rames dès l’aurore, mais particulièrement
ragaillardi, les jours de tempête, quand, bien enfermé et entendant
les paquets de mer défoncer son toit et les vagues battre sa porte, il
s’imagine être encore entre le ciel et l’eau, sur son brick-goëlette, et
commercer noblement de poudre d’or, d’ivoire en dents et
d’arachides dans les parages difficiles du Grand ou du Petit
Macarambar.
— « A votre santé, capitaine ! Je vais de l’autre côté du cap,
jusqu’au golfe. — A votre santé !… seulement vous ferez bien de
prendre un chapeau de paille. Dans cette saison, il faut se méfier du
soleil. »
Un petit chemin, bordé de murs en pierre sèche où des lézards
courent, se détache de la grand’route et s’enfonce sous les oliviers.
De beaux oliviers ! non pas rabougris et taillés en rond comme
ceux qu’à bon droit les voyageurs raillent, mais poussés libres au
vent de la mer, hauts, tortus, noueux, séculaires, étendant largement
leur feuillage, dentelle si claire et si légèrement tramée qu’on voit, la
nuit, briller au travers la poussière d’or des étoiles. La nuit, c’est
charmant ; mais, aux environs de midi, les rayons percent, et
décidément le chapeau de paille n’est pas de reste.
Au golfe, c’est pire ou c’est mieux ! Mais n’importe : au risque
d’un coup de soleil, je veux m’asseoir, sans chercher l’ombre des
pins-parasols et des tamaris qui pourtant ne manquent pas sur les
dunes, je veux m’asseoir dans le sable tiède et fin, et de là regarder
les petites vagues innombrables, accourant de l’horizon, déferlant
avec un bruit de soie froissée, et bordant, d’un trait d’argent mince et
net entre l’azur de l’eau et l’or de la plage, la courbe de je ne sais
combien de lieues qui va des blancs rochers calcaires du cap
d’Antibes à la gigantesque proue de porphyre rouge, à pic sur les
flots, qu’on appelle la pointe de l’Esterel. Tout cela, d’ailleurs, n’est ni
rouge ni blanc, tout cela est couleur de soleil, comme la robe de
Peau-d’Ane ; tout cela flamboie et scintille dans une brume
transparente où semblent flotter les îles Sainte-Marguerite et Saint-
Honorat, qui sont la Capri et l’Ischia de ce golfe Juan, plus petit,
mais, sauf le Vésuve que remplace parfois sur les cimes du
Tanneron un incendie de pins ou de chênes-lièges, presque aussi
beau que le golfe de Naples.
Qu’ailleurs on s’irrite, qu’ailleurs on s’énerve ! Ici, bon gré, mal
gré, il faut prendre la vie en douceur.
Tenez (je vous montrerais l’endroit d’un geste si j’avais le
courage de me retourner), tenez, là, derrière ma tête, il y a une
cabane en planches, recouverte de roseaux. Elle appartient à un
Antibois de ma connaissance qui y remise ses engins de pêche. Un
matin, il trouva deux planches enlevées, ses filets mouillés, ses
palangrotes nouées d’un nœud qui n’était pas le sien. Des
maraudeurs, braconniers de la mer, avaient forcé la cabane
nuitamment pour se servir des filets et des palangrotes. Grande
fureur de l’Antibois : « C’est épouvantable ! On n’est plus à l’abri
chez soi… Je mettrai sur pied les gendarmes… » Il y a bientôt deux
ans de cela, et les planches enlevées manquent toujours. Une fois
ou deux par semaine, notre Antibois trouve ses filets mouillés et ses
palangrotes mal nouées. « Qu’est-ce que ça fait, puisqu’on les
rapporte ? Après tout, le trou est commode ; il fallait auparavant
toujours trimbaler une énorme clef dans sa poche… » Et, depuis, le
propriétaire a pris l’habitude d’entrer dans sa cabane à quatre pattes
par le trou que pratiquèrent les maraudeurs.
Le beau pays, et les braves gens !
 IV
LA MAISON DE GARIBALDI.

Il n’y a pas en Provence de nom plus populaire que celui de

Garibaldi. On s’obstine, il est vrai, à le prononcer Galibardi, mais
c’est naïvement et sans penser à mal. Tout paysan a chez lui un
Garibaldi, debout au milieu de sa famille, à cheval dans la fumée des
batailles, ou bien encore assis, les deux mains s’appuyant sur la
poignée du sabre, avec ses bons yeux clairs, ses longs cheveux et
sa barbe blonde.
Un jour de marché, étant tout petit, je rencontrai mon grand-oncle
qui revenait de la Placette. De loin, je l’avais vu arrêté devant
l’étalage d’un de ces marchands gascons qui exposent le long des
murailles tant d’admirables images en couleur, juifs-errants, figures
de saints, portrait de héros et de princes, pincées et fixées à une
ficelle par des bouts de roseau fendus.
— Tu ne sais pas, j’ai fait emplette.
Et, déroulant un papier qu’il avait à la main, il me montra… vous
le devinez : un superbe Garibaldi, enluminé de bleu et de rouge,
avec une couche de gomme par-dessus qui le faisait reluire au
soleil.
— C’est pour clouer dans ta chambre, au manteau de la
cheminée.
— Et l’autre ? demandai-je, car il y avait deux rouleaux.
— L’autre, c’est pour le pendant, il faut toujours qu’une image ait
son pendant.
— Et quel pendant avez-vous choisi ?
 — Ma foi ! comme le marchand n’avait plus que des saint Paul et
des saint Pierre, je me suis décidé à acheter encore un Garibaldi.
C’était, en effet, encore un Garibaldi, exactement semblable au
premier d’ailleurs ; de sorte que, pendant toute mon enfance, j’ai vu,
ô comble de la symétrie ! les deux mêmes Garibaldi chacun d’un
côté de la cheminée, me sourire quand je m’éveillais.
Les impressions premières ne s’effacent plus, et toujours, même
avant de savoir pourquoi, naïvement, obscurément, j’eus la religion
de Galibardi.
Aussi puis-je compter au nombre des émotions de ma vie la
découverte que nous fîmes, un ami et moi, sur le port de Nice, voici
bientôt quelque dix ans.
Bien que mon ami connût Nice par cœur, comme il connaît
Venise et Constantinople, nous avions eu toutes les peines du
monde à le rencontrer ce port de Nice !
Au lieu de suivre tranquillement le bord de la mer, les terrasses et
le coin de raoubo-capeou où, sur l’étroite route en corniche, entre le
roc vif et les flots, un vent enragé souffle à toute heure, on avait pris
le chemin des écoliers. On avait flâné au marché, admirant les
poissons, les fleurs, et surtout, sujet de tableau ravissant ! ces
originales revendeuses d’herbes qui pour se préserver du soleil, se
coiffent d’une grosse salade renversée, la racine en l’air et les
feuilles retombant autour des cheveux bruns frisés, ainsi qu’une
verte dentelle. Après cela, on s’était enfoncé entre les maisons de la
vieille ville passées à la chaux jusqu’au premier, suivant la coutume
arabe et provençale, rues silencieuses et fraîches, où jamais ne
descend le soleil, où jamais ne roule un bruit de voitures, escaliers
tortueux grimpant vers le Château, voûtes sombres enchevêtrées,
avec le petit judas des jalousies mystérieusement relevées aux
fenêtres closes, et les boutiques obscures et basses, ouvertes, sans
vitrines ni devanture, ayant pour étal deux bancs de pierre. Puis un
quartier, vague, plein de charrons, de forgerons, dans le brouhaha
poudreux des faubourgs qu’habitent les rouliers. Enfin tournant à
droite, nous sentons une bonne odeur de goudron et de marine. Des
pointes de mâts qui se dressent sur le ciel derrière les toits nous
dirigent…
— Le port !
Mais pas un port comme tous les ports : le port idéal, le port
classique, le port que les collégiens enfermés et qui n’ont jamais
connu les flots peuvent se figurer d’après Homère ou d’après Virgile.
Tout rond, tout petit, calme et clair dans l’ombre des coteaux
couronnés de verdure pâle, ses quais, au fond, vont s’abaissant en
une grève large à peine de quelques pas où, parmi le sable et les
galets, jaillissent les milles filets d’une belle source murmurante. Elle
n’a que le temps de naître, de refléter un instant l’azur, et puis elle
meurt dans la mer, joyeuse du peu qu’elle a vécu, en digne sœur
païenne d’Aréthuse. Des femmes y lavaient leur linge ; ailleurs, des
matelots remplissaient leurs barils. C’est Limpia, l’antique aiguade,
belle aujourd’hui comme il y a deux mille cinq cents ans, la nymphe
immortelle dont la grâce et la douce voix retinrent sur ces rivages
divins les marins grecs fondateurs de villes.
La nymphe Limpia m’envoya un rêve. Assis sur le coin d’une
borne, j’oubliai Nice et le siècle présent. Je n’entendais plus les
appels des gens du port, les cris aigus et musicaux des marchands
de poissons secs et d’oranges ; je ne voyais plus les petits vapeurs
noirs de charbon, les cordages, les pavillons, les fins voiliers aux
proues dorées et peintes, les tartanes dont la grande antenne
retombe comme une aile lassée… J’étais dans la crique de Limpia :
une forêt de pins mêlés de myrtes descendait des coteaux jusqu’à la
mer, et les premiers colons apportant la vigne et l’olivier, tiraient en
chantant leurs bateaux légers sur le sable, près de la source.
— Eh bien, dormons-nous ? fit mon compagnon.
Alors, me retournant, mal éveillé encore, j’aperçus en face de
moi, dans le mur d’une petite maison, une plaque en marbre
indiquant que Garibaldi était né là. Ceci me parut la continuation de
mon rêve grec, et je trouvai tout naturel que ce héros, comparable
aux héros antiques, eût vu le jour dans ce lieu sacré, près de la
demeure des nymphes.
 Vous rappelez-vous ce souvenir, ami Ziem, peintre des flots
bleus semés de voiles blanches ? et vous rappelez-vous la bouteille
de vin d’Asti que nous vidâmes incontinent à la santé de Garibaldi,
devant le comptoir, sans vergogne dans une buvette à matelots.
… J’ai voulu revoir, le petit port, mais on agrandissait le petit port.
Partout des maçons, des gravats, des pans de mur qui s’écroulaient
dans des tourbillons de poussière. Quand j’arrivai, un tombereau
emportait les derniers débris de la maison de Garibaldi, et les flots
d’argent de Limpia, sur les galets souillés de plâtre, semblaient
murmurer plus tristement.
Comme je regardais, un vieux, dans ce patois niçard, âpre et
rude provençal que Garibaldi enfant parlait et qu’il aime à parler
encore, un vieux en train de fumer sa pipe me dit :
— Les ingénieurs démolissent la maison ; mais des gens ont
acheté les pierres, on va la rebâtir ailleurs.
Ailleurs ?… Hélas ! ailleurs, la maison sera comme exilée.
 V
LES JÉSUITES A MONACO.

Non contents de troubler la France, voici que les Messieurs

jésuites sont en train de révolutionner Monaco. On n’entend parler
que d’eux sur ce vieux roc barbaresque, jadis peuplé d’affreux
pirates, jadis hérissé de cactus comme un oursin l’est de piquants, et
devenu, par suite du progrès des mœurs, le pays des croupiers et
des roses.
Jamais depuis le matin où Menton et Roquebrune, fatigués de
manger du pain de siège en pleine paix et de crever de faim par
décret sous le ciel le plus généreux du monde, secouèrent d’un coup
d’épaule le joug séculaire des Florestan ; jamais depuis le soir où ce
bruit soudain se répandit qu’un prétendant, se prétendant de la pure
race des Grimaldi, faisait appel aux armes, levait ses fidèles à Nice
sous les arcades du café de la Victoire, et armait secrètement une
barque à sardines dans le creux d’un roc, jamais pareille émotion ne
s’est vue.
Les palmiers en ont soupiré, bien que la brise de mer ne soufflât
point ; sur les terrasses de marbre les grands eucalyptus ont agité
leurs feuilles pendantes, et l’unique grenouille de la pièce d’eau,
vergiss-mein-nicht à pattes entretenu par l’administration pour
rappeler à ses nombreux hôtes allemands la douce langue de la
patrie ! oublie maintenant de chanter à l’heure réglementaire.
Je m’étais assis sous un oranger, dans un retrait charmant que je
connais, à distance égale du casino et de la mer, berçant ma pensée
au bruit philosophiquement confondu des pièces d’or et de la vague.
Tout à coup un sifflet, un halètement de vapeur, des toilettes claires
aperçues à travers les branches, des odeurs féminines de musc et
d’ambre remplissant les jardins et dominant le parfum des fleurs,
m’annoncèrent que le train de Nice arrivait. Je m’accoudai sur un
balustre pour voir passer le défilé : les étrangères, les Françaises, et
surtout cette indestructible vieille garde, les Caroline et les Cora,
vénérables débris de la cocotterie impériale qui ont fini par trouver ici
une île d’Elbe sans retour.
La compagnie me parut agitée. Il n’y avait pas ce recueillement
préliminaire, bien connu de tous les joueurs, qui fait de la montée
quotidienne à Monte-Carlo quelque chose d’aussi religieusement
solennel qu’une entrée de messe ou de vêpres.
On causait, on s’interrogeait : — « Est-ce bien sûr, au moins ? —
Mais, parfaitement, chère amie ! les achats sont faits, je tiens la
chose du gros baron, les bons pères n’ont plus qu’à arriver. »
Et voilà comment j’appris que les jésuites, chassés de France,
voulaient s’installer à Monaco et planter l’étendard d’Ignace sur le
fortuné coin de terre que domine la girouette dorée du dieu Hasard.
Ce projet, comique au premier abord, n’a, quand on y réfléchit un
peu, rien qui étonne. Les divers ordres religieux montrèrent toujours
un goût particulier et parfaitement entendu pour choisir le lieu de leur
demeure : aux franciscains besaciers et bons vivants les grasses et
populeuses vallées ; aux dominicains noirs et blancs qui, par un
calembour facile, s’intitulaient chiens du Seigneur, les positions
fortes, batailleuses, à mine dominatrice et bourrue ; aux bénédictins,
les pentes ombreuses, égayées de sources, portant à la méditation
et à l’étude. Les jésuites ne pouvaient rêver rien de mieux que
Monaco. La religion inventée par eux à l’usage des gens du monde,
avec ses Immaculées, ses Cœurs sanglants, son mysticisme
sensuel, sa préoccupation de l’Éternel et de la femme, va trouver
son vrai cadre ici, dans cet endroit paradoxal où la nature se fait
ultra-mondaine et qui offre aux aspirations compliquées des heureux
que l’excès du plaisir énerve les baumes de la solitude à côté des
piments du boulevard.
Monaco était d’ailleurs prédestiné, marqué d’une marque visible
par le doigt de la Providence. Monaco, dans un petit vallon, possède
un oratoire à Sainte Dévote ; son deuxième patron s’appelle Saint
Romain ! Or, on n’ignore pas que l’occupation préférée des bons
pères consiste à jouer de la dévote au profit de Rome. La dévote
abonde à Monaco, comme en tout quartier général de galanterie. Et
quelles dévotes ! Subtiles, expertes, connaissant par grâce d’état les
obscurs replis de l’âme humaine mieux que le plus raffiné
confesseur. Voilà une troupe tout exercée, un escadron volant
d’admirables sœurs captatrices, qui ne demande qu’à faire
campagne entre Menton et Cannes, terrain béni, aimé du ciel, fertile
en millions souffrants, en riches et aristocratiques agonies. Grâce à
ces jésuitesses de cotillon court, prêtes à le raccourcir encore,
Monaco et Monte-Carlo seront tous les deux avant dix ans entre les
mains des hommes de Dieu.
Il y a là un joli flot d’or, d’un courant large et continu, qui,
savamment canalisé, remplirait à nouveau de murmures joyeux le
fleuve desséché du denier de Saint-Pierre. L’exploitation serait
facile, car tout joueur a foi aux fétiches, ce qui constitue un
commencement de religion. L’être enfantin qui s’en va au tapis vert,
sûr de gagner, plein de confiance, parce qu’en traversant le tunnel
d’Eza il a aperçu, un quart de seconde, dans la course folle du train,
la fente de rocher légendaire : petit trou bleu ouvert sur la mer ! est
prêt à croire tout ce qu’on voudra lui faire croire ; et tels qui paient
très cher pour toucher la bosse d’un bossu paieront le double pour
baiser l’orteil d’un saint de bronze si on sait leur persuader que cet
acte de dévotion doit faire réussir la martingale.
Voyez-vous d’ici le triomphe, quand, du haut de la Tête-de-Chien,
bloc gris roussi par le soleil où parfois s’enroulent des brumes, une
vierge en or colossale étendra les pans de son manteau sur le
casino sanctifié, quand un chemin de croix montera de la gare et
quand, dans le salon oriental, où des croupiers ornés de tonsures
feront le jeu et jetteront la bille d’un geste de bénédiction, les grands
laquais, en place du simple verre d’eau traditionnel, offriront un verre
d’eau de Lourdes aux gosiers étranglés par la perte !
Ce jour-là, le prince régnant pourra remplacer par un jésuite
souriant et glabre le moine barbu armé d’un glaive qui monte la
garde sur son blason !
 VI
PÈLERINAGE.

Mais chut !
Il paraît que sans songer à mal, j’ai pris un train de pèlerins.
Le train brûle Gênes, dédaigne Pise, laisse Florence ; nous
allons droit à Rome faire nos Pâques.
En face de moi, un gros abbé : l’air réjoui du voyageur, l’œil
grave du conducteur d’âmes.
Il prend le coin, s’installe et se carre. Tout le monde se gêne et
me gêne pour lui. Il accepte de bonne grâce.
Moi je n’ai garde de protester, me rappelant cette admirable
prescription de la civilité puérile et honnête : « Si vous vous trouvez
à table à côté d’un ecclésiastique, ayez pour lui les mêmes égards et
les mêmes prévenances que pour une dame. » Ayons donc des
égards et des prévenances ; ce qui est d’obligation à table doit l’être
également en wagon.
M. l’abbé ferme les yeux, médite ou feint de méditer ; puis, tout à
coup, énergiquement, il me tire un sac d’entre les jambes, et le pose
sur ses genoux, un peu sur les miens. Le sac est violet, en peluche
ancienne comme on en voit au dos des fauteuils. M. l’abbé ouvre le
sac, suivi dans ses moindres mouvements par l’œil sympathique des
dévotes, il en sort une chancelière, de même étoffe et violette aussi,
puis une calotte qui est noire, mais garnie de violet à l’intérieur
comme les poches de la soutane.
J’entends les dévotes se dire que M. l’abbé est illustre
prédicateur quelque part entre Tarascon et Narbonne, qu’il va voir le
pape au Vatican et qu’il reviendra de là bas au moins évêque in
partibus.
 Voilà qui explique cette orgie de violet chez un simple prêtre :
dans son impatience d’avoir la pourpre, le saint homme en double
ses soutanes et ses calottes, peut-être en double-t-il ses bas ! Cela
ne fait de mal à personne, et donne en attendant un petit air
d’évêque quand par suite d’un hasard heureux d’un coup de vent ou
d’un geste habile, un peu de violet montre son nez.
Les dévotes, il y en a de charmantes dans le nombre, l’admirent
d’abord en silence, mais bientôt elles s’enhardissent. On cause de
Rome naturellement, de Rome et de la semaine sainte ! M. l’abbé
explique Saint-Pierre, immense et qui paraît petit. Les dévotes d’un
commun accord, déclarent cela admirable.
— Et l’orteil de bronze qu’on baise ! et près de Sainte-Marie-
Majeure, la Scala santa que l’on ne monte qu’à genoux ?
Elles voudraient toutes déjà baiser l’orteil et user de leurs genoux
les degrés de la Scala santa.
— Est-il vrai, qu’on parle dans les églises, que les curés vont au
café et qu’ils donnent l’absolution du bout d’une gaule ?
Sur ces jolies lèvres, dans ce gazouillis, la religion prend un air
aimable. Hélas ! que ne suis-je croyant !…
Puis, c’est la mantille.
— Quelle mantille ?
— Comment, ma chère, vous ignorez ! Mais on ne peut pas se
présenter devant Sa Sainteté sans mantille… J’en ai une toute prête
dans ma malle, très coquette, en filet de soie… D’ailleurs, il est facile
de s’en procurer à Rome… n’est-ce pas, monsieur l’abbé ?
Et voilà toutes les têtes en l’air. Cette nouvelle qu’il faut une
mantille se répand de compartiment en compartiment, de wagon en
wagon, jusqu’au bout du train. Nous allons traverser des villes,
côtoyer des fragments de golfe paraissant puis disparaissant par les
intervalles bleus de quatre-vingt-sept tunnels, suivre l’Apennin, dont
les découpures font de si fins arrière-plans aux rudes plaines
d’Étrurie ; mais nous ne voyons rien de tout cela : désormais et
jusqu’à Rome, dans les buffets des gares italiennes, épluchant des
oranges et buvant le chianti ou l’orvieto dans d’élégants petits
flacons revêtus de paille et de jonc tressé, il ne s’agira que de
mantilles.
Le soir même de notre arrivée, à une table d’un café du Corso,
où pendant la semaine sainte les gens pieux et altérés peuvent tout
à la fois écouter le Stabat de Rossini et prendre des glaces, je revis
l’abbé aux doublures violettes en compagnie de ses dévotes.
Elles, songeant à leurs mantilles et méditant de jolis plis,
essayaient des poses à l’espagnole ; lui, regardant sa main grasse
et blanche, croyait y voir luire l’améthyste ; et je compris alors, on ne
s’instruit bien qu’en voyageant, pourquoi tant d’abbés en bon point et
tant de jolies femmes vont à Rome.
 VII
FLANERIE DANS ROME.

— « Et Saint-Pierre ? Vous ne pouvez pas cependant partir ainsi

sans voir Saint-Pierre !
— Sapristi, j’allais l’oublier… »
Ainsi se termina une conversation échangée le matin de Pâques,
sur le Mont Aventin, lieu historique, près d’un champ de fèves en
fleurs.
Nous n’imaginons pas, en effet, combien dans la Rome du
Quirinal et du Corso les gens s’occupent peu de ce qui se passe au-
delà du Tibre. Le pape boude, on le laisse faire ; et l’habitude se
prend doucement, tranquillement, de vivre sans pape. En vain, les
Jules, les Sixte et les Léon marquèrent la Ville à leurs armes ; en
vain, dans chaque rue, dans chaque carrefour, un monument de
pierre ou de bronze : obélisque relevé et sanctifié, colonne antique
portant à son faîte un bienheureux en place d’un empereur délogé,
églises et palais, fontaines crachant des torrents d’eau, statue
triomphante et ronflante de l’illustre cavalier Bernin, crient par mille
symboles et mille inscriptions en latin leur orgueil terrestre et leur
puissance. Tout cela est mort, appartient au passé ; on commence à
dire : « Du temps des papes », et l’on n’a pas l’air de soupçonner
qu’il y a quelque part le successeur et l’héritier de ces fastueux
bâtisseurs.
Aux approches de l’enclos papal, l’impression est triste. De
petites boutiques d’objets de sainteté où reluisent derrière la vitre les
chapelets en clinquant, les images criardes, les cœurs en papier
découpé, les christs langoureux, les fades madones, toute cette
dévote bimbeloterie de la rue Saint-Sulpice, sans art et sans goût,
écœurante comme une sucrerie, mais qui réjouit les curés et les
vieilles dames. La religion se rapetisse et semble se faire enfantine.
Michel-Ange n’y tiendrait pas, s’il revenait, et tomberait là-dessus à
coups de poing.
Heureusement, voici Saint-Pierre !
La nef immense semble vide, bien que les pèlerins s’y pressent
et que nombre de curieux soient venus entendre les chanteurs de la
chapelle Sixtine. On les aperçoit près du baldaquin, debout sur une
haute estrade drapée d’écarlate et d’or, tous en surplis et
terriblement moustachus, comme pour protester contre la légende.
Malgré la solennité du lieu et la beauté des airs, les plus dévots ne
peuvent s’empêcher de sourire aux soli, quand, tout à coup, d’une
de ces barbes, sort la voix d’un enfant qui n’a pas mué. Des
Américaines en waterproof, marchant de leur pas décidé de
touristes, s’arrêtent un instant et lorgnent. De temps en temps, un
bruit lointain de clochettes annonce que la messe commence à
quelque autel perdu dans l’ombre.
Décidément, Saint-Pierre est trop vaste. Toute proportion se perd
sous ces voûtes, au milieu de cet entassement de métaux précieux
et de marbres, où l’homme a tenté l’impossible pour réaliser le divin.
Un pape, j’imagine, doit sembler petit là-dedans, même éblouissant
de pierreries, porté en pompe et grandi par la tiare.
J’entends rire : ce sont des Romaines. Elles ont retiré leur
mouchoir de cou et se le sont posé, flottant, sur la tête ; (A Saint-
Pierre, paraît-il, les femmes n’entrent pas en cheveux.) Mais le
mouchoir tombe toujours, on se pousse pour le ramasser, et c’est un
grand sujet de joie.
D’ailleurs, les étrangers, les étrangères surtout, dominent. Le
peuple est déshabitué de Saint-Pierre depuis que le pape n’y vient
plus. A la sortie, je me croise avec un pèlerin vraiment pittoresque :
le costume du brigand classique, ceinture rouge et chapeau pointu ;
la tête qui convient au costume. Il s’assied sous la gigantesque porte
de bronze que les dames n’osent regarder, à cause des quelques
arabesques étrangement païennes, retire ses bottines ou s’est
amassée toute la poussière de la campagne romaine, les dépose
avec son bâton sur une base de colonne, et, pieusement, entre les
pieds nus. Je salue ce dernier croyant.
La place est déserte, ou peut s’en faut. Entre les deux bras de la
colonnade, sur les pavés où l’herbe pousse, l’obélisque allonge son
ombre. De chaque côté, les deux jets d’eau dansent et luisent au
soleil. Mon guide me raconte que, depuis l’entrée des Piémontais, la
place appartient à la nation, mais que les jets d’eau sont au pape,
ainsi que l’obélisque. — « Il ne tiendrait qu’à lui, pour punir les
révolutionnaires, de mettre sous clef son obélisque et de tarir ses
jets d’eau ; Pie IX y songeait, mais Léon XIII est heureusement plus
libéral. » Le tout assaisonné d’un fin sourire à l’italienne. « Et puis, il
paraîtrait que le saint-père s’ennuie au Vatican. L’autre jour, en
passant près d’une grille, il voulait à toute force sortir ; ses cardinaux
l’ont arrêté, il s’est fâché ; grands dieux, quelle scène !… » Tels sont
les menus cancans auxquels s’amusent les bons Romains.
Cependant les cloches sonnaient à toute volée, et deux petits
bersagliers bruns, portant cranement sur le côté leur coquet
chapeau de cuir aux plumes de coq frissonnantes, se montraient en
gouaillant le costume de mascarade, rayé jaune et bleu, avec la
coiffe aplatie en tourte, d’un garde-suisse qui faisait sa faction à la
porte du Vatican. L’Italie vivante en face de la Rome morte !
Laissons s’égosiller les cloches ! et montons au Pincio voir le
défilé des équipages ; c’est l’heure où le roi s’y promène dans sa
calèche à livrée rouge. Nous admirerons les belles Romaines et
nous nous rafraîchirons d’un gelato en écoutant les airs de Verdi.

FIN.