Chet emerged from the second-floor bathroom of Knife’s house, wrapped in a towel. The Shadow Dancers had left a few minutes ago. Before leaving, they’d gone upstairs to the third floor with Journey, and they’d spent a long time up there. Chet assumed the Shadow Dancers taken care of Knife’s body—maybe they'd taken the body into their Cluster for later disposal.
Chet didn’t want to go to the third floor himself, not yet. He’d do it after he’d slept. He’d sit in Knife’s study and drink, maybe even shed a private tear or two. Chet had been able to say goodbye when Knife had been alive, but it had been an aborted goodbye. There hadn’t been time for every little matter. It still peeved Chet that Knife hadn’t trusted him enough to take him into her confidence back in Wetshul, instead of slamming him against the wall and making threats, but Knife hadn’t had a reason to trust him back then. Chet knew he’d miss Knife no matter what. Would Rory be there with him, or would he be drinking alone? A good question.
He found Rory lolling on the bed in a guest bedroom, wearing a plush bathrobe, her hair still glistening from her own shower. She was lying on her belly, looking into the roaring fire in the fireplace. Chet glanced that way, too—a figure was curled upon the lengthy andiron.
“How does Journey breathe in there?” Chet said.
“I don’t know, but she occasionally reaches out for another split log and places it in a strategic location near her body. I’m not hungry yet, are you?”
“I’m not sure,” Chet admitted. He was all tumbled up inside. Shaky. It had been the strangest week and a half of his life, and it wasn’t over yet.
“Chet... could you tell me what happened when you destroyed the Raptus?” she said, eyeing him with a worried expression. “When you were talking to it, it didn’t sound like you were fighting. It sounded strange.”
Chet settled beside her on the bed. He’d fought at Rory’s side, but they hadn’t really reconnected, not in an emotional way. Though nothing was resolved, he felt fizzy, as if being in close proximity to her was a drug. Chet didn’t want to screw this up.
“It's difficult.”
Would she judge him his actions from when he was Zang? Why not? Chet did. He’d been Zang for umpteen lifetimes, and Chet Baikson for only one—a short one at that. Was he, Chet, a real person, or was he a mask for the long-gone Zang? I’m real, he thought, bristling at the thought. Young but no longer untested, he’d overcome the challenges in his path. Zang was more like a dead ancestor than a ghost living inside him, he decided. A famous, pushy kind of ancestor, sure, but dead all the same.
Now if only the rest of his past would settle down and quit bugging him.
“Tell me.” Rory reached up and brushed a stray hair off his forehead.
His heart beat harder at her touch; he realized he was hers to command. Chet bowed his head and explained. At one point he choked up, and Rory squeezed his hand. It gave him strength to continue.
“Wow,” she said when he’d finished. “That’s not how I thought it was at all.”
“Me, either. But I’m glad they’re free. I’ll always feel guilty about it, but at least they’re not in pain anymore.”
“It wasn’t you who killed them, Chet. You’re your own person with your own experiences and ambitions.”
“Yeah. Except everything’s a little too close to home, too many coincidences. I figured out how I knew Fenimore last time around.” He shook his head. “No wonder Knife’s explanation of how Fen ended up in lucid mud always seemed off to me, why Fenimore’s version was so different.”
“What do you mean?” Rory blinked at him, her expression bemused.
“I remembered just now in the shower. It’s like I’m a colander and information from past lives keeps trickling down through me. I think—no. I know I was the servant who accompanied Fenimore to Wetshul back in 7305. The one who betrayed him.”
“Huh. Clearly, I’ll have to get the full story some other time. Did you figure out you were Zang then, too?”
“No, I was an agent working for Prince Konstantine. His court really was hip-deep in spies. I remember pursuing Fenimore in that carriage we uncovered in the dust—I think I must have stolen it—before cornering him against the lucid mud pit. He went in and I didn’t. I’m the one who lied about it, years later, to Knife.” Chet vented an ironic chuckle. “Think about the course of events from Fen’s perspective. One minute he’s fighting me in the monsoon rain and darkness, then he loses and dives into lucid mud bearing his prize. Next thing he knows, Fenimore wakes up in the ambulance next to me—with a new face and body—three centuries later.”
Rory shook her head, lips pursed. “Crazy.”
“Yeah. I almost slipped in the shower because of it. I wonder if this sort of thing will keep happening.”
“Who knows? Look, all god affiliates deal with weird shit. The trick is to not let that stuff get in the way of living your life.”
“She’s right, you know.” Journey said, rising from the fireplace with a long, feline stretch.
Journey had changed to male, and he was absolutely gorgeous. Lithe with ropy musculature, a substantial penis and a sensitive, enduring face. Chet’s breath caught and his dick hardened at the sight. He put his hands in his lap to cover his erection, hunkering down. The towel wrapped around his waist felt way too small all of a sudden.
Rory, on the other hand, sat up and whistled. “Nice. You look hot enough to start a forest fire.”
“Thank you, Rory. I try.” Journey settled next to her on the bed, smiling. He didn’t seem shy about either his proximity or beauty. Well, he wouldn’t, would he?
Chet’s teeth clenched, his body tensing up. He was attracted to both of them, yet he felt intensely jealous of Journey. Ridiculous but true. What had Oak said about Journey? That he wasn’t exactly discriminating. This was moving too fast... he’d never imagined Journey might seduce Rory for Pantheon’s sake. It was funny because Rory had been on his mind all along, yet this contingency hadn’t occurred to him.
Rory, however, turned toward Journey like a flower following the sun. “You seem to be feeling better.”
“I will eventually.” He looked away, gazing into the fire. “We were both in trouble for a while there, weren’t we? You bleeding out, and me... under him.”
“I remember. No wonder you’ve turned male. Do you think... I mean, will you ever be female again?”
“Oh, of course. Just not right now.” They made eye contact, and it lasted a while. A long while.
Chet squirmed. Rory’s back was turned, and Journey wasn’t paying the slightest attention to him. Chet felt the childish desire to point out that he’d been in trouble, too. He also wanted to puff out his chest and claim that he was the one who’d saved them, except it wasn’t true. Rory was a fantastic fighter, and Journey had been impressive considering the tortures Fenimore had heaped upon his head. But as the eye contact continued—the moment was lasting forever—Chet felt isolated and left out.
Rory leaned over and kissed Journey on the lips.
Chet wanted to growl like an animal. Rory hadn’t kissed him on the lips yet, not even when they’d been going out. They’d been too shy and reticent, only holding hands and cuddling. Now she was kissing a Flame, and the Flame was kissing back. Journey stroked the back of her head, his hands meandering up and down her body. It looked fantastically sensual. Chet’s penis threatened to pop out of the towel entirely, which now resembled a pup tent. His face was blistering hot.
Rory reached down and stroked Journey’s exposed cock, caressing up to the tip. “Oh, wow. That’s really soft, but it’s got this hard, springy core to it. Is it soft for all guys, or just Flame?”
Journey drew back from her. For a moment, Chet thought he was backing off entirely, and an intense spike of relief surged through him. Then he realized it was an invitation. Journey lay down, arms crooked behind his head. “I have what every guy has. Please, feel free to explore.”
“What if I hurt you?”
“I’ll let you know if something’s uncomfortable.”
“Um. Okay, then!” Rory grinned and started touching up and down Journey’s body. She seemed most fascinated by his cock and balls, playing with them intently.
It was too much. Chet shouldn’t feel this way. He liked Journey and had enjoyed his company this week. Journey had been his first and he’d always remember that, but by the Pantheon, Rory was different! He felt so possessive of her. Protective and jealous, too.
Who did Journey think he was, anyway? Anger rose in Chet, hot as the fire crackling in the grate. He felt dirty and sundered. He’d appeased Fenimore in the prostitute’s van, and no one had ever thanked him for doing so. He’d surrendered himself to the truck driver, saving Journey from having to submit to him. No one had acknowledged that sacrifice except Fenimore, who’d been an asshole about it, as usual. Now Journey was seducing his... well, his ex-girlfriend.
Rory would be the first person to point out that Chet had broken up with her, not the other way around. They were no longer going out. He had no right to feel this way.
“It’s so big," Rory said, her tone detached—an almost clinical observation—yet she was clearly delighted. Like an archeologist with a splendid find in hand.
“It doesn’t need to be, but I like it this way. Makes me feel all manly.” Journey snickered, his manner ironic and effeminate. His body—his whole self—seemed relaxed and comfortable.
Rory laughed outright. “Here’s to manliness.”
Journey looked up at Chet with a smile as if about to say something irreverent. He paused, frowning, though his eyes were still glazed with pleasure. “Chet, sweetie, you look like you’re eating a spoonful of bugs.”
Chet sighed. This was ridiculous. What was he, twelve? His victimhood felt a little extreme, even to himself. Hadn’t Journey just noticed him? Prompted him to talk about it? He wished Rory had said something, but he couldn’t have everything.
Chet cleared his throat. “I guess I’m not sure what—”
“Oh, Pantheon!” Journey gasped and arched his back, making little mewling sounds. “Rory, don’t stop!”
“What, this?” She grinned from ear to ear.
Chet leaned over to look: one of her hands was firmly holding Journey’s dick and ball sack while her other hand was circling the tip. Any second now it would occur to her that she could use her mouth on him, too. Chet felt tears rise to his eyes, then blinked them away angrily. They didn’t want him, didn’t need him. He was undoubtedly contaminated anyway; Fenimore or the truck driver had, in all probability, given him a VD. Just what he’d always wanted.
Rory shot Chet a grin over her shoulder. “Looks like I’m pretty good for a beginner,” she chirped.
“He’s a guy,” Chet... yelled. His tone was so loud they stared at him with mutually shocked expressions. Chet lowered his voice self-consciously. “It doesn’t take any skill to do that.”
“I beg to differ,” Journey said from his reclined position, frowning.
“What’s eating you, Chet? You don’t need to bite me, you know.”
“Nothing.” He crossed his arms and looked away.
Journey said, “You want to come here, cuddle and tell us all about it, or do you want to go away and sulk? Because I’d prefer if you didn’t make a scene just now. We’ve all been through too much today for passive-aggressive nonsense like that.”
“It’s stupid.”
Journey sat up and Rory, in turn, backed away. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, still naked and looking good enough to eat. He gazed from Chet to Rory and back again. A corner of his mouth turned up. “Ah. I get it. I think I’d better let you talk this over yourselves. Want me to step out?”
“No!” Rory cried out, arms crossed. “I was having fun, and I don’t want to have to talk things over.”
Journey raised his eyebrows. “I believe Chet has something he wants to say to you and is having a hard time spitting it out. I’m in the way here.”
“You stay put. What is it, Chet?”
Chet’s face was hotter than ever. He felt like he was on stage in front of an audience. How could he reveal his tentative, heart-felt emotions like this? But denying how he felt would just make matters worse. “Um, Rory? I really like you. I, uh, was hoping we could start dating again.”
She stared at him, and he wilted. She rolled her eyes. “Abyss, Chet. You have the worst timing ever.”
Chet opened his mouth and shut it. He just sat there like a doedicu. A small sound caught his attention; Journey was covering his mouth, his eyes crescents. Chet realized he was trying hard—very hard—not to laugh out loud.
“What am I, the best show in town?”
Journey took several visible deep breaths before he was able to say, “No, sweetie, I’m sorry. It’s not funny to you, I know. We’ve all just had a day from the Abyss. But may I make a suggestion?”
“What?”
“Let’s fuck one another silly, order take out and sleep before making any kind of big decision.”
Chet snorted, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Just like a Flame. You’re such a hedonist.”
“Pantheon, yes. I’m the biggest slut you’ve ever seen. I enjoy myself mightily, so why be ashamed of it?” Journey shrugged, grinning unrepentantly. He turned to Rory and said, “I suggest you squash him flat in the morning instead of now.”
She straightened indignantly. “I never said I was going to turn him down!”
Chet, who’d froze at Journey’s words, straightened and threw back his shoulders back at her tone. She wasn’t going to turn him down!
“Oh.” Journey looked amused and a trifle smug at this exclamation.
Chet realized he’d worded it that way on purpose. Reverse psychology? Journey was on his side without doubt. Chet relaxed. As he did, he realized how astounding Journey was in this form. He gazed up and down Journey’s muscled body, eyes lingering on his dick. What would Rory think if Chet did what he really wanted to do: grab hold of Journey and fuck him hard?
It was an invigorating notion. Fenimore had been brutal while raping Journey. Chet knew it, but the sounds and sight of it had detoured his brain and leapt directly to his cock. He was hard at the thought.
Journey seemed to sense his mood. He met Chet’s gaze. Then he stood, turned his back and leaned against the bed, hands on the mattress, his ass decidedly pro-offered.
Chet stood and ran a hand up and down Journey’s back. His back was fucking hot, lithe and muscled, everything Chet had ever dreamed. Well, when he’d admitted to himself that he dreamed of men. Definitely better than Fenimore.
“Are you sure?” he whispered in Journey’s ear.
Journey wriggled in place, his shapely ass sticking out farther, his penis so erect it touched his flat belly. “Oh, yes.”
“Uh, guys? What’s going on, here?” Rory was staring at them, her expression everything Chet didn’t want to see—alarmed, concerned, almost revolted. The woman he liked was witnessing his desires, and she was unhappy with what she saw.
Not good, Chet thought, crestfallen.