Need to catch up?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The crystalline dome of the Ethereal Peace Conservatory and Monument glittered like a cabochon in the twinkling setting of the city. The facets of the energy-charged quartz that enclosed the space winked like giant camera lights far above the gauntlet of actual camera flashes at the building\u2019s entrance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI hate these types of gatherings,\u201d Marcaeus muttered to no one in particular since he was nearly sure his companion felt the same way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMay I please get down now?\u201d She tugged at his shoulder as if he were simply the reins to the rest of his body. \u201cI can\u2019t believe you made me\u2026 ride you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It became funnier every time she was forced to say it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy wouldn\u2019t I carry my wife and spare her shoes?\u201d he asked, kneeling his forelegs so she could slide to the pavement. Not a soul around them noticed or cared except for Fiona\u2014Flicka<\/em>, he quickly reminded himself. With a glamour back in place, the woman he\u2019d spent nearly every waking moment with for the past four days was totally unrecognizable to him. And while the glamour was stunningly beautiful, so was Fiona\u2019s actual appearance. It disturbed him to see her so smoothly perfect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n It disturbed him more that she was ashamed to be seen with him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She walked by his side as they joined the crowd entering the wide, terraced path up to the conservatory\u2019s entrance. The ramped walkway split in half, taking two curving paths around a handsomely landscaped garden and reflecting pool. Tonight, one of those paths was garishly illuminated and bedecked with a gaudy red carpet. Members of the press crowded around as people and astrals of note stopped for holo images and short interviews.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Fiona drifted away from him toward the other path.<\/p>\n\n\n\n In different circumstances, he might have avoided the press. But they needed to be convincing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He reached down and put a hand on her shoulder to steer her in the right direction. \u201cWe have to do the red carpet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cBut the cameras!\u201d She dug her heels in, but since she wore heels, the gesture wasn\u2019t practical. She almost toppled over. \u201cWhat if they have glamour blockers?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDo you doubt the powers of the gods?\u201d Mortals and their superiority complex. So tiresome. \u201cWe have used the strongest magics\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said, brisk but genuine. \u201cI should trust you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus didn\u2019t know how to respond. His first instinct was to point out how rare it was for a human to admit a fault. That seemed petty in light of the fact that she\u2019d actually done so. \u201cThank you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n They stood, locked in silence, for an interminable moment. It wasn\u2019t a battle of wills but uncertainty as to how to proceed. Finally, he offered her his hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know you loathe the prospect, but if you sit on my back, they\u2019ll be able to get us both in the photos,\u201d he explained. \u201cAnd it will look a bit less ridiculous.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAnd my neck will be less sore from looking up at you. What are you, eight feet tall?\u201d She asked, relenting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSomething like that.\u201d He pulled her onto his back and waited until she got her balance before heading toward the red carpet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou remembered to face me toward the paparazzi,\u201d she said in a playful sing-song.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Though humans were rude and destructive, this one could certainly be funny. He chuckled. \u201cI hope your dress looks all right when you\u2019re sitting down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The dress would look incredible no matter what position she put her body in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Careful<\/em>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But how could he not have noticed? The emerald green velvet clung to her, so snugly he was surprised she hadn\u2019t expired from lack of oxygen. Her breasts seemed balanced inside, more than contained by the top of the the dress. The tight waist enhanced the lush curves of her hips, while a long slit in the skirt revealed a hint of her thigh.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The gossip columnists would love her. More accurately, they would love Flicka Starr, the woman who didn\u2019t exist. Which did give the evening an element of fun he hadn\u2019t expected. Tricking mortals came as an amusing thrill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A uniformed man met them at the beginning of the press line, one hand activating the biochip communicator behind his ear. \u201cThis way, Mr. Johnson,\u201d the man said, ushering them directly into a field of rapidly firing camera flashes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDon\u2019t move your face,\u201d Fiona warned him. From the tightness of her words, it seemed she followed her own advice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI always just frown,\u201d he replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ve noticed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n With a deep sigh, he forced a smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n A reporter called out, \u201cMr. Johnson! Who\u2019s your date tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy wife,\u201d he answered in the vague direction of the question. The flashing lights picked up speed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWife? But weren\u2019t you just named one of the city\u2019s top thirty most eligible bachelors?\u201d A reporter called out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI was number one on that list, but I no longer qualify.\u201d That was enough, he decided. They didn\u2019t need to know anything else, and he wanted to get away from the obnoxious lights. There simply had to be a better way to capture an image than to blind the subject of that image repeatedly. What was wrong with painting frescoes or making mosaic?<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cWait,\u201d Fiona said as he began to move away. \u201cThey have more questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cSo,\u201d she repeated, her barely moving lips making her sound even more perturbed with him, \u201cIf you don\u2019t tell them what they want to know, they\u2019ll keep digging for those answers. And there aren\u2019t any.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Curse it all.<\/em> But she was correct; mortals were nosy, always asking questions and inserting themselves into situations they needn\u2019t be involved in. They were as bad as the Gods of Olympus on that score.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned back just as someone shouted, \u201cWhat\u2019s your wife\u2019s name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cFlicka,\u201d he replied, and continued walking. \u201cFlicka Starr.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n A smattering of laughs followed them, and Fiona said, finally using her entire face to speak, \u201cThey think you\u2019re lying.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI am lying,\u201d he reminded her. \u201cThat\u2019s not your name.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The Grand Atrium of the conservatory was usually swarmed with tourists, audio buds plugged into their ears as they watched self-guided tours on rented holopads. Marcaeus didn\u2019t need a guide to know what the basrelief murals depicted; he\u2019d been there. In fact, one of the centaurs on the huge bronze slab depicting Chiron\u2019s signing of the carbon emissions armistice looked a bit like Marcaeus. Or, so he\u2019d always thought.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou can let me down, now,\u201d Fiona prompted him as he neared the sculptural fountain in the center of the atrium.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Tonight, the building held no tourists. Just the very top of mortal and astral society, all gathered to raise \u201cawareness\u201d and currency for a cause that no longer needed \u201cawareness.\u201d Everyone on the planet was \u201caware\u201d of the disaster they\u2019d almost faced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mortals always needed more currency, however.<\/p>\n\n\n\n No matter how much help Astrals offered\u2014free of charge\u2014there always seemed to be a way for a mortal to commodify it. That\u2019s why Marcaeus had long believed that Astrals should have simply subjugated the mortals ruining the planet and forced them to bend to the will of their wiser overlords.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But that, Chiron had patiently informed him, would have been immoral.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Besides, they would have rejected it. It would have been too much change to ask them to return to a gentler, pastoral life without the ease and quickness provided by their electricity and fossil fuels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus knelt his forelegs and reached back to help Fiona down. She was surer in her ridiculous shoes than he expected, landing with a little hop. They followed the crowd into the main chamber of the conservatory.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Steel bands held the shimmering quartz of the roof in place; the points rested around a circular skylight of glass in the center. During the day, sunlight streamed over the monument directly below. The statue, designed by a mortal, depicted a human hand of bronze reaching up to touch a suspended hand carved of the purest, clearest amethyst.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Of course, a mortal would have envisioned the pact between themselves and the Astral world as some kind of brave rescue. Of course, a mortal would see their formerly bleak position as one of desperation from which they could not have saved themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n And, of course, they would commemorate it with minerals ripped from the earth with machines belching pollution into the atmosphere.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The way the mortals looked at him as he passed through the crowd only infuriated him more. They bobbed their heads, some even thanked him as though he\u2019d supported the merging of their forces out of anything other than necessity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n If it had been possible to let their planet die without forever altering the Astral, Marcaeus would have been fine with that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But here he was, in the middle of yet another ridiculous event praising his kind for helping the very people who would never learn their lesson. At least he had good company with him. Fiona had been born into the mortal world. She understood how to make \u201csmall talk\u201d and when to smile. She knew how to be \u201cpolite\u201d and \u201chave manners\u201d and \u201cnot offend people.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n It wasn\u2019t a skill that came easily to many Astrals, who had spent millennia being direct in conversation and not hiding their emotions from each other. And yes, sometimes that could result in a mortal getting turned into a spider for making a goddess jealous, but it wasted far less time than chatting about the weather or asking about one\u2019s children, who frankly never seemed that interesting, to begin with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMortal life is so short,\u201d he observed to Fiona as they drifted through the crowd. \u201cWhy do you insist on spending so much of it talking about things that mean nothing?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf you\u2019re so smart, I\u2019m sure you can figure it out,\u201d she replied, her sweet smile a false cover for her words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He noticed she did that often.<\/p>\n\n\n\n But she couldn\u2019t disguise her dismay when she spotted a figure in the crowd.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIs that my brother?\u201d she whispered, her voice choked with fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I should stomp him to death right now.<\/em> The thought caught Marcaeus by surprise. He hadn\u2019t been in a battle for centuries, but just the sight of Blayde Trasket winding his way through the party incited bloodlust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus reached down to take Fiona\u2019s hand out of a protective instinct he hadn\u2019t anticipated. He certainly hadn\u2019t anticipated her accepting the gesture, especially with their awkward height difference, but she lifted her arm, winding her clammy fingers with his.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She was terrified. Of her own brother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCome,\u201d Marcaeus told her. \u201cYou can play your part to convince him, and we can leave.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThank you,\u201d she said, her voice shaky.<\/p>\n\n\n\n What made humans feel better? Was it ice cream? He\u2019d heard that expression before. When they left, he would buy her enormous quantities of ice cream to undo the damage of this encounter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Blayde played his part well; he didn\u2019t show the faintest recognition of his sister as they approached, and his lip twisted in a barely-concealed sneer as he said, \u201cJohnson,\u201d by way of greeting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cTrasket.\u201d Marcaeus nodded, his gaze flicking over the other two members of the disgusting man\u2019s party. The woman on his arm was his wife; Marcaeus recognized her from her relentless media campaign and political ambitions. But the man following just a step behind him was a total unknown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThis is my wife, Julia,\u201d Trasket introduced the ruby-haired woman at his side before turning and gesturing to the man behind them. \u201cAnd my business associate, Damon Scratch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus\u2019s hand itched to close into a fist. The name was too clever by half as if the demon was begging to be called out. A slight smile tilted Scratch\u2019s mouth, goading Marcaeus. Say something. I dare you. Expose me for what I am right here.<\/em>\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n What would happen? Panic, Marcaeus assumed. The mortals had eagerly accepted the existence of fairies and mermaids. They happily ignored the implication of that existence; if fairies and mermaids were real, then so, too, were demons and monsters they never wished to meet. To find a demon walking among them undetected would give them a newsworthy fright. The tide of public opinion could turn the people against their saviors, eventually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus wouldn\u2019t fall into their trap. \u201cScratch? I don\u2019t believe I\u2019ve heard that name in my circles.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe\u2019s more of my circle.\u201d Trasket\u2019s eyes narrowed as he looked his sister over. \u201cAnd who is this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The man was a good actor; nothing in his manner denoted recognition. He didn\u2019t give her a sleazy once-over, either. That would have been too obvious. Instead, he viewed her with the cold calculation of a rival.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Marcaeus released Fiona\u2019s hand to rest his on her shoulder. \u201cMy wife, Flicka.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Amusement caught the corners of Trasket\u2019s eyes. \u201cYou have an interesting name, Flicka. There was a book written in the twentieth century, I believe\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cMy family bred racehorses,\u201d Fiona cut him off smoothly. \u201cBefore it was rightfully outlawed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cAh. That explains it, then.\u201d Trasket smoothly snagged a single flute of champagne from a passing server and bobbed it in an unspoken toast. \u201cJulia, you should introduce Flicka to Daphne Merril.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cDaphne throws all the most important parties in town,\u201d Julia added, moving away from her husband. \u201cCome with me and let the boys talk. It will only take a moment.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Though protective instinct roared in protest against letting her out of his sight, Marcaeus nodded his assent. They believed Fiona was working for them. She had to maintain that ruse, no matter how disgusted he was by the idea of leaving her alone with them after what they\u2019d done to her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cCongratulations on your marriage,\u201d Scratch said with an awkward laugh. \u201cAs much as congratulations from a stranger are valued.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cNo kindness is without value,\u201d Marcaeus answered flatly. \u201cIf you\u2019ll excuse me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He walked away without a further word, moving through the crowd in a cautious circle. At his height, he could follow the movement of the two women\u2019s heads through the crowd, but he wanted to be close to the exit nearest them in case Julia or someone else tried to take Fiona outside. At a distance, he wouldn\u2019t be as likely to attack \u201cDamon Scratch.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just being in the presence of an Infernal disgusted Marcaeus. Being in the presence of the demon that had put the mark on Fiona, though, had uncovered an even deeper level of abhorrence, one that made the astral rope binding Marcaeus to Fiona burn on his forearm. He rubbed his sleeve absently. The bond wouldn\u2019t even be there if not for Scratch. If not for Trasket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The lights dimmed slightly; some mortal celebrity Marcaeus didn\u2019t recognize took to a dais near the tacky hand sculpture. The crowd\u2019s attention diverted; for the flicker of an eyelash, his attention diverted, as well.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He looked back to Fiona. He couldn\u2019t find her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned in the direction he\u2019d started from.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Damon Scratch was nowhere to be seen, either.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Need to catch up? What is\u00a0The Business Centaur\u2019s Virgin Temp?\u00a0 The Business Centaur\u2019s Virgin Temp: Prologue The Business Centaur\u2019s Virgin Temp: Chapter One The Business<\/p>\n