Chapter Eight

Ethan slept until four p.m. When his phone rang, he picked it up without thinking. His voice was thick, sleep-filled. Francesca saw through his act right away.

“Oh, you liar. You weren’t sick at all last night! And to think, I actually went out and bought healthy groceries so I could make you soup.”

“Frannie. Sorry. Didn’t mean to ditch you.”

“I don’t actually care that much,” she said, laughter in her voice. “It meant I got out of the house. And it means that you had fun. Right?”

Ethan laughed. His ribs hurt almost as much as when they were broken. He’d have bruising from fooling around with Jacob with his binder still on, but he didn’t care. The pain was good. A reminder of what happened, especially when so much of his waking world was starting to seem like an elaborate set-up. 

“So, details,” Francesca said. “You can’t ditch me and not expect me to hound you about Markus. How was he? Gentlemanly?”

“Oh, I wasn’t out with Markus. He was a nice guy, I mean. But…”

“Too squeaky clean? I figured. But I also thought you wanted someone more stable and secure. He had his wild days back in art school, so it’s not like he was a complete fuddy-duddy, but still good, you know?”

“Oh, yes, yes. I’m sure Markus would be a wonderful boyfriend. Maybe in another five years, I’ll want someone like him. Someone to start a family with, you know, and have a white picket fence. Who knows, I’ll even pass for straight one day.” Ethan waited until Francesca laughed. When she did, they both descended into sarcastic guffaws.

“Well, good. I’m glad you’re preparing the cover story. So, who were you with instead?”

“A random guy. From the party though. Tall. He speaks like seven languages. He’s from…everywhere, it seems. But he’s good. Nice.”

“That’s good.” Francesca paused. “Cis?”

“Yeah. All intact and accounted for.”

“Oh, so you’ve seen it. Has he seen you? And is he okay with you?”

Ethan flashed back to their tryst in the car, so different than the first time together. They’d barely taken clothing off in the back seat, but Jacob’s hands had been incessant over the binder as it crushed Ethan. He’d wanted him, all of him, no matter what was going on. “For the most part,” Ethan said. “You know how I am.”

She made a noise of understanding. Francesca’s situation was different, even if they both had the same worries. She liked men because she never stopped feeling womanly around them, even with her cock. Ethan felt the same way when he was around women. He was stronger, hairier, and could make them moan using his fingers or dildo whenever he needed an ego boost. But he never liked being the big spoon or the dominant one in the relationship. When he was with men, he was almost always the bottom, the submissive—and as much as he craved it, it also made him feel too vulnerable. His masculinity was as fragile as glass. His body was different and it was always going to be different, even with the surgery. Scars would run in place where his breasts would be, giving him away. He still wanted to be with men and learned to bite his tongue during the act or run away after. In the meantime, he liked the way Jacob’s hands molded him, even if he wasn’t sure if he could ever trust Jacob with the secret part of his body, before or after surgery.

“So what did you two do? You know, other than fool around like kids?” 

“Well, it was in the back seat of a car, so it was much like being kids.” Ethan was about to add some details of the dragon shifter Gilda, or the underground city, but he kept quiet. Francesca was already sceptical enough about a cisgender man being into him and being a decent guy. Adding fairies to the story, along with dragon eggs—well, that was going too far. Jacob said he was free to tell people, but Ethan was also starting to see his point about belief. Ethan was inside the magic circle now. He liked the walls it created around him, even if it meant keeping Francesca in the dark.

“It was fine. He took me around the city to see some of his friends,” Ethan said. “Driving tour, you know.”

“His friends? Serious already?”

“Not really… It’s slightly more complicated than that.” After rolling around his options in his mind, he decided the best lie was the closest thing to the truth. “He’s a dealer, Frannie. Nothing too serious, but we were making drug runs last night.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Be careful.”

“Always am.”

“And that’s why I’m not lecturing you,” she said. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“No one ever is.”

“Uh-huh. So you coming to work today?” Francesca asked.

After some more stilted conversation, Ethan eventually confessed he wasn’t feeling up to it. A few jokes about soreness were made, but Francesca soon backed off and moved onto other topics. Ethan was responsible, on time, and kind of boring in the grand scheme of things. The fact that he was taking risks now, however small, seemed like an improvement over his thinly disguised drinking habit. 

And in reality, what he was doing wasn’t too uncommon. In their small group of friends, a lot of them did questionable things for cash—like Francesca’s former roommate taking up escorting—the moment their rejection papers came in. Trans women were a novelty to straight men and fetched good prices. It was risky and dangerous, and the connotations were shitty, but there were ways to survive. And no one ever judged survival, even if it sometimes felt like courting death to do so.

Trans men, though, were not exactly good in the escort business. For trans guys, alternative careers—or no surgery at all—was the most likely lifestyle choice. If it could be called a choice at all. Francesca ignoring his drug smuggling, while not chastising him, was a common occurrence. It was equivalent to a parent turning their back on a kid’s misbehaviour at school so they didn’t have to witness it. They knew it was going on, but lecturing did nothing; it was going to happen anyway.

There was a niggle of jealousy in the back of Ethan’s mind. If he told Francesca the truth about Jacob, about the new supernatural world he’d been ushered into, wouldn’t she also want a piece of it? Ethan didn’t know how much there was to give out. He didn’t think Francesca had ever died before and been revived, so she could never be a vessel, but Ethan had avoided looking at her wrist in case he saw what also marked his own. He wanted all of the work for himself. He was tired of waiting for surgery. The running back and forth made him feel powerful. Jacob was an added benefit, one that made him feel power in his submission, his willingness to be molded.

When they’d finished in the back seat, with Jacob still blissfully orgasmic, he had whispered about a couple more runs coming up. The work would come in quickly now that Ethan had established trust. “You’re a natural,” Jacob had whispered against his ears.

“As if being natural has done anything for me,” Ethan whispered back.

Jacob had laughed against his throat and assured him again about the jobs. Of many different kinds.

Ethan itched to check his phone for the messages from Jacob. He fake yawned on the other end, hoping Francesca would get the picture.

“All right, all right,” she said after a moment. “Don’t get in too much trouble. And come into the store before the weekend so I can see your pretty face.”

“Deal.” 

When Ethan hung up, he called into work before he could lose his nerve. They accepted his sickness without question. A message from Jacob popped up on his screen.

Good afternoon, good morning. Whatever. I’ve been talking to Gilda. She wants more eggs to come in soon, and she likes how you handled yourself. See? You’re a natural.

Good. I liked Gilda, Ethan responded. Maybe I can even learn Ladino to talk to her.

Oh, sweet talk to me first, Jacob texted. A few seconds passed before another message came in. You up for another run tonight? Not eggs, but something more interesting. Juju from an old military base, and maybe some bats if we have time for it.

Ethan had no idea what any of it meant. But he wanted to learn.

Sure. I’ll be there whenever you need me.

All I want to hear.