Chaos and Conjurations

Chapter 1-2

“Yes,” Theo said now. “Which is also an argument in favor of returning to London, you realize. You’re the one who made that point, and I agree.”

“I know.” Henry raked his free hand through his hair again. “I know. Any of my old contacts…if I still have old contacts…if they believe me, or if they’ll at least listen if I call in a favor…but I don’t want to do anything that’ll hurt you.”

“You’ll be the one asking questions,” Theo observed. “I’d prefer you not to do anything that’ll endanger you. Should we go down for supper? I’m surprised your siblings haven’t come up to scold us for causing a delay.”

“Just wait thirty seconds for the thundering hoof beats on the stairs.” Henry squeezed his hand. “I’m here, Theo. Whatever dangers come up. I’m here for you. And for making your tea.”

Theo made a face at him. “It’s not dreadful—it’s actually quite nice—but there’s such a thing as too many cups in a day. Come along, then.”

He set the tea, half-drunk, down. He hopped off the bed and tugged at Henry’s hand. Henry followed, acquiescent, easy; but tugged back. Theo stopped, took in Henry’s expression, discovered himself wanting to smile: Henry was, soft and hopeful. “Oh. Very well, come here, and kiss me. Thoroughly.”

Henry did, bending down, laughing a little: warm and devout and eager, open and honest in the caress of lips and tongue, licking the taste of the tea from Theo’s mouth. “Mint. And willow bark.”

“You insisted on making me drink it. It’s your own fault.” He leaned against Henry, liking the way their bodies aligned: himself shorter and softer, with a hand at the nape of Henry’s neck; Henry taller and thinner but so wholeheartedly his. “Precisely what you deserve. As we’ve established, and what I’ll give you.”

Always, he meant. Everything you deserve. Let me give it to you, let me take your cares and your hurt and the war wounds you carried for so long, and let me be what you need, everything you need, all you know. Let me care for you, for as long as you desire.

But he did not say it.

He only pulled Henry down for one more kiss, fleeting as the scrape of dry branches across the window. “Off to supper, then. Where the only danger is your family’s usual overabundance of food, and the only peril lies in the threat to the seams of my clothing.”

They went down, hand in hand, while the leaves rustled through windows at their backs. The rain would come back by the end of the evening, he knew. It always did.

* * * *

Rain pounded against the window, lashing out at the world while it soaked the earth in a drowning of unstoppable tears. Captain Henry Tourmaline, sitting at the very edge of the footstool he’d dragged close to the bed where his sweet, wonderful, brilliant Theo slept, welcomed the lashes, challenged them to come faster at him, begged them to hurt him as in exchange for helping Theo.

But there were no deals to be made with the rain or its relentless mocking lashes, and Henry wondered then if this storm was an omen, such harsh weather on the eve of their trip back to London. A childish notion, of course. This was England. Rain came with the country.

The sky rumbled in agreement, and somewhere outside—by the tree behind the house if Henry was not mistaken—flooded. Not much. Enough to be noticed; maybe a little more.

In his sleep, Theo winced and whimpered, and Henry wanted to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness. He hadn’t meant to use his magic just now. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure if he had at all. This place, home, simply resonated with him, sank into his soul, as natural as the wind brushing against his skin. Henry just…felt it without even noticing.

And that was all thanks to Theo.

After so many physicians could do nothing, Theo had been the one to solve the puzzle and break the curse that’d been draining Henry’s magic, his life. Theo had saved Henry in so many ways.

And this was how Henry repaid him.

With pain and a truth that almost no one else wanted to believe and a certain kind of melancholy that Theo tried to hide but Henry noticed anyway. Theo had very little appetite and ate mostly when Henry requested—or when Henry’s mother decided to pamper the man Henry loved and serve him biscuits and warm bread and homemade crumpets. Theo no longer slept with Henry. They occupied the same bed, yes, but by the time they were settled, Theo tended to turn onto his side, the one facing away from Henry.

Henry doubted this was entirely intentional; perhaps Theo was not even aware that he’d been doing it. Still. After falling asleep in the warmth and comfort and safety of Theo’s arms, listening to his breathing, his heartbeat, Henry couldn’t help the ache in his heart now that he slept with Theo turned away from him. Like an unthinking recoil to Henry’s presence.

Henry hoped that it was just his imagination. After all, a lot had happened in such a short time. Theo did say he loved him. Both before and after knowing the aftereffects of reversing the curse for Henry, of the sacrifice paid. That sacrifice would have killed Theo had Henry not intervened.

Theo was alive. Changed, but alive. He was still breathing. His heart was still beating. He was still soft and wonderful and beautiful.

Henry raked fingers through his hair. Chewed the nail on his thumb. The rain lashed harder at the window, throwing accusations he knew to be true. This was his fault. All this guilt, this helplessness, knowing he’d altered, possibly forever, the man he loved with every breath, every beat of his heart…could only be blamed on him.

A sob rolled up Henry’s chest, which no longer rattled, no longer made breathing difficult. Hand clapped over his mouth, he made sure not to let it out and quickly brushed away the few tears that gathered in his eyes.

Henry would be strong for Theo.

He would not show him his tears.

He would not be weak.

Never again.

Henry folded his arms over the mattress and rested his head over them, watching over Theo as he slept. He was fussing too much. Hovering. Theo didn’t want it; he didn’t like it. He’d be irritated. Even more so if he learned how often Henry sat awake long into the night watching him like this.

Henry was just…afraid. Terrified, really, that something else would hurt Theo while they slept. He would never sleep again if that meant keeping Theo safe.

Fingers inching closer to Theo’s wrist, stopping just shy of skimming delicate skin, Henry sighed. He was selfish enough for a little more and slid his fingers over Theo’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Theo,” he whispered, hoping his love was enough to deliver the message. “I’m so sorry. I love you. So much.”

Outside, the night stormed on. Thunder rumbled. Wind whipped the world. Rain fell.

Inside the Tourmaline family manor, Henry Tourmaline kept his constant vigil over Theo until he found himself someplace else entirely.

He did not remember falling asleep. Last he recalled, he’d been holding Theo’s hand, keeping watch, and listening to the rain drum across the roof. He knew he was sleeping now. He knew because he was dreaming and doing his best not to panic because he knew this was only a dream—another nightmare—and he knew it couldn’t hurt him.

The knowing didn’t stop the naked fear that made him hug his knees to his chest, tugging his body into a tight ball to make himself as small as possible. He knew this nightmare almost as well as he knew himself. It’d become a part of him, latching onto his heart, refusing to leave.

But something changed this time.

Gone were the wooden floors of an empty French brothel. They’d been traded for a meadow. His meadow. His and Theo’s. Burned and dead under a blood-red, sunless sky, the smell of smoke and ash and death so potent Henry could taste it with every breath. Melted iron curdling on his tongue. A scent and taste he recognized all too well; they’d haunt his heart forever.

His magic glowed around him in a thick circle of glittering temptation, a swirl of summer greens and autumn golds and spring pinks and winter silvers. All Henry needed to do was reach out and take hold of it. Gather it between his hands and gobble it down and allow it to flow through his veins, warm him to his core, spread through his body until every bit of him became nothing but magic.

Henry could break free then. Rid himself of these heavy shackles that trapped him here night after night after night. Henry could do it. One reach into the current circling him would be enough. His magic was here; right in front of him because Theo gave it back to him. Precisely the reason why Henry could not use it. Precisely why Henry could not allow himself to panic.

Theo, who stood mere inches beyond the reach of Henry’s magic, flickering in and out of view, would be hurt if Henry used it to wake himself, and no matter how much fear gnawed at Henry’s bones, he refused to hurt Theo ever again. Henry could not let panic consume him either or his emotions might leak into the waking world. He couldn’t risk Theo trying to come to him tonight and help him out of here. He needed to face this on his own. Even with the darkness looming behind him. Lurking. Hovering. Biding its time before it did whatever it wanted to do with Henry this time.

No. Not it.

Them.

There were two horrible things with him this time.

Well, he thought with a self-deprecating snicker. That’s new.

“Who are you?”

Wind swirled around him, something vile and wrong and violating laced within it. A breath caught in Henry’s throat. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on edge. Theo’s image rippled. Voices, distorted and overlapped and carried through the air, whispered, You know who we are, Henry.

The sound of those voices saying his name made him ill. Henry trembled, his eyes burning. Still, he kept his wits about him and exhaled sharply.

Yes, he did know what these things were.

One was his. The dark, massive shadow that’d attached itself to him so long ago Henry barely remembered a time without it. All his failures, lives lost because of them. His guilt. The war. Those missions. The man…the warlock who’d laid a trap that he’d blindly walked into. The new, dreadful knowledge that there were more like him. Theo hurt. Theo scared. Theo trapped in this hell with him. Theo gone.

So many things that made his shadow grow bigger and heavier.

The other was murky, bubbling tar that oozed between the browned blades of grass and sank into the dirt. This one did not belong to Henry. Not really. He felt its presence at his back, vaguely aware that Theo’s emotions simmered within it—fear, guilt, doubt—and it was here because Henry’d dragged Theo into his mess of a life.

“Please,” Henry said. “Please, leave us alone.”

We will not, the voices answered, ruffling his hair and sending a chill up his spine. We are yours forever now.

Henry’s throat tightened as he peered up at the image of Theo. He so badly wished to reach out and pull Theo close to him. To protect him from the things Henry couldn’t protect himself from.