Notes: A little negotiation, a little dinner, a little rampaging...all the good stuff ;)
Title: Lord of Unkindness, Ch. 9
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Chapter Nine
Ciro’s raven stays on his shoulder all the way to the kitchen, not because he asks either. It’s like the bird is just as happy to be back together as he is. Angelo doesn’t say anything, but the sidelong glances he throws at Ciro along the way are enough to let him know that Angelo feels like this is barely sufficient healing. Ciro still can’t feel his fingers below the first knuckle, but that’s enough for him to get almost everything done without fumbling like a fool, and that’s all he needs.
For now. He knows he’s got to reunite his magic eventually or die, and the whole purpose of running in the first place was to avoid dying. Ciro isn’t suicidal, not right now. He hasn’t been for a while, but he doesn’t want to put himself in a place where he’s got to choose again. With his magic spread out, he’s as safe as he’s going to be. He needs to be satisfied with that.
And he needs to leave Angelo. But stepping into the kitchen and taking in the delicious scent of meat and vegetables coalescing in the instant pot on the counter, Ciro’s willing to wait for the meal to be over first. He steps over to the pot and inhales deeply. “Smells good,” he tells Angelo, who in turn starts to laugh. “What?”
“I’m glad you think so,” he snickers from behind his hand. “But that’s actually Chiffon’s food.”
Ciro blinks and takes a step back. “Excuse me?”
“The ingredients are all human grade!” Angelo protests. “I would never feed Chiffon anything I wasn’t willing to eat myself.”
“That’s still…” Gross, he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to offend. Besides, it really does smell good. Better than a lot of the stuff that Ciro has been eating lately. “So what are we eating for…” What even was the time? “Dinner?”
“Aroskaldo,” Angelo says, turning toward the fridge. “Something light and easy for your stomach.”
“My stomach is fine.” But it rumbles at the thought of the savory rice porridge, and Ciro knows Angelo hears it when he pulls chicken and fish sauce out of the fridge.
“It’ll be better with some of my aroskaldo in it. Then we can talk about more, if you’re still hungry.” This time the look he shoots Ciro is edged with heat, and it echoes through his body like the ring of a gong.
For just a second he lets himself remember how good it felt to be with Angelo. He wasn’t Ciro’s first, but he was his first man, and the person who convinced Ciro he was, in fact, very bisexual and liked men. This one, specifically. Those lips against his skin, firm hands touching him, slick and slow as he opened him up, the sounds that came from that sinful mouth as he fucked inside Ciro just a room away from the rest of his family, made him work to keep his scream down when he came and—
It’s impossible. Ciro can’t let himself even entertain the thought, because he needs the walls he’s built over these past six months. They give him the strength to endure, to hurt himself with his own magic by sending it away, to work jobs that send him places that make him sick, to live in places that make him want to curl up in a ball and cover his head with his arms. Being with Angelo makes him feel vulnerable, and he’s not going to give into that weakness.
Besides, for all his sweet words, Angelo’s the one who left without so much as a backward glance after they had their fling. They parted as friends, sure—they were friends before that, too. But assigning any more meaning to something that clearly meant more to Ciro than it did to him is asking for trouble.
Ciro sits down at the little table in the dining alcove and focuses on his bird instead. He watches as it hops down from his shoulder onto the table, searching for crumbs, then startles when it snaps a piece of chicken out of the air.
Chiffon starts to whine, jumping up and putting both paws on Ciro’s knee in an effort to make himself more visible. Or maybe he just wants to be held. Either way, Ciro gives in to temptation and picks the dog up. He’s so tiny, but there’s something about the energy in his little body that feels like it’s spilling out over the edges. Ciro’s magic is intrigued—this is the first time he’s ever met the little dog, but he can tell there’s something more to him. He’s just not sure what. He scratched the dog under the chin, and a second later the pup rolls over in his lap and displays his belly in a shameless grab for more scritches.
“He likes you.”
“He’s a little opportunist,” Ciro says as he gives in and pets the dog. “I bet he’s like this with everyone you invite to dinner.”
“Far from it.”
Ciro fights against the curl of warmth that tingles in his chest at the thought that he might be special. He sits there and pets Chiffon instead, silent and appreciative of the puppy’s weight, and does his best not to startle when his raven flies over to Angelo and settles on his shoulder. Angelo, for his part, takes it in stride—as he should. Familiar magic always reacts to him like this, from what Ciro’s seen. Even Nephele’s hateful familiars don’t snap at Angelo. More than he can say for how they react to him.
The memory of scrabbling paws and sharp little teeth, yellow eyes in the darkness and ropy, hairless tails wrapping around his wrists and ankles make Ciro bite his lip in an effort to dispel it. He hardly even realizes he’s shut his eyes until a soft finger taps his chin. “Don’t hurt yourself, honey.” Ciro opens his eyes and looks down at the table to see a bowl of a thick, congee-like rice porridge in front of him. It’s got green onions on top, half a hard-boiled egg by the rim, and smells strongly of garlic and chicken and comfort.
“Thanks,” he says, has to say—his mother raised him to be polite even from a superior position, and he’s far from superior here, even though he doesn’t want to do anything to imply debt. He starts to eat and almost groans at the flavors. Holy shit, that’s good. Not quite like he used to have with his mother’s family, but close enough to make him feel nostalgic and better than anything else he’s had in a while.
The first few minutes of their meal are conversation-proof, because both of them tuck in like it’s been a long time since they last ate. It’s not until the huge bowl is half empty that Angelo starts to talk. “It’s probably hard for you to believe, but this house is actually very secure.”
Ciro snorts. “This house is literally attached to your place of business. Maria told me you have employees, clients, all sorts of people in and out of it.”
“And none of those people are allowed in the house.”
Ciro raises an eyebrow. “None? None at all?”
“Maria is,” Angelo allows, “but she doesn’t live here; she’s got an apartment over the garage. She only comes in if it’s an emergency, and those are few and far betwee—”
A door slams open somewhere, and a familiar voice calls out “Boss! Boss!”
Ciro can’t help but laugh at the long-suffering look on Angelo’s face. “In the kitchen,” he calls out, but it’s clear he’s annoyed. Maria careens in at a skid, her eyes widening as she takes in the intimate tableau—Chiffon still on Ciro’s lap, Ciro’s raven perched on Angelo’s shoulder like his own personal gargoyle.
“What’s so important you couldn’t text first?” Angelo asks sharply.
Maria puts her hands on her hips, as ruffled as a chicken in a windstorm. “Excuse you? I did! Why didn’t you answer?”
Angelo goes from irritated to dumbfounded in an instant. He pats his hip, probably feeling for his phone, but gets nothing. “It must still be in the bedroom,” he mutters, and oh…Ciro doesn’t want to take that personally, to let the knowledge that Angelo let his concern for Ciro cause him to forget something that he’s clearly used to having all the time, but it does. “Sorry, my bad,” Angelo continues. “What’s going on?”
Maria lets go of her indignation as fast as it came. “Um, it’s Bets…she’s here.”
“And…”
“And she brought her brother.”
Angelo stiffens. “He’s high again?”
“Rampaging,” Maria confirms. “Fort got his familiar to sleep on the way over here, but he’s gonna wake up soon and you remember what happened last time he woke up on PCP.”
“Fuck.” Angelo pushes to his feet, frowning when Ciro’s raven flaps off his shoulder and onto Ciro’s. “I’m sorry, I have to take care of this.”
“It’s fine.” It’s more than fine; it’s the chance Ciro needs to get out of here without having to talk about something he frankly doesn’t know how to address. If he’s lucky, he can—
Angelo gestures at the whiteboard hanging on the wall near the back door. “Write your number down for me.”
“Why?”
“So I have a way to contact you after you sneak out.”
Ciro frowns. “What makes you think I’m going to sneak out?”
“Are you kidding? Look at your raven.” He does, and—ah. The bird is staring fixedly at the door, even though Ciro’s been focused elsewhere. Trust Angelo to be able to read his intentions in his familiar. “Just give me your number, okay? That way I don’t have to waste Maria’s time tracking you down.”
“Just don’t track me down, then.”
Angelo huffs in irritation. “Ciro, can you just—” There’s a sudden crash from somewhere nearby, and a bellow that practically rattles the dishes. “Shit.” Angelo turns and runs out the door without another word, Chiffon trotting behind at his heels.
Maria isn’t so quick to leave. “You gonna do it?” she asks, shrugging a shoulder at the board.
“You gonna copy it down for yourself if I do?” Ciro challenges her.
“Of course!” She grins at him. “You’re interesting, you know? I want to talk more.”
Angelo shakes his head as he gets to his feet. “Don’t bother, I’m actually very boring.”
“Bossman doesn’t think so.”
“He’s a sentimental idiot.”
Her smile drops. “I know. Which is why you’re going to leave him your number, so I don’t have to hunt you down again. Right?”
“Are you threatening me?” Ciro asks.
“Not a threat. A promise. He wants to know you’re okay. I want him to be happy.”
“Your boss doesn’t need you to manage his life,” Ciro tells her.
“You’d be surprised what he can use help with,” Maria says as another bellow echoes through the kitchen. “Case in point! Gotta go!” She turns and runs, leaving Ciro and his magic alone at last. He feels like he ought to be relieved to be out from under the pressure of their scrutiny, but…he’s not. He stares at the whiteboard for a long moment and contemplates leaving it be, walking out of here and getting on the first bus out of town, and starting over from scratch. Surely Maria’s power has a radius—she won’t be able to track him forever. He can leave them both in the dust, for good.
His raven pecks the side of his head, viciously hard. “Ow. Fine.” He scrawls his current number down before he can talk himself out of it, reasoning that he can always change phones once Maria’s dropped him from her radar. Then he heads out the same way they left, walks down a slender hallway and out a door into the sultry summer night air, and orients himself. He’s in a small, tidy backyard that’s completely fenced in, but there are two gates. One leads toward the road, and the other leads toward the warehouse, where he can hear the sounds of a huge creature rampaging.
It must be bad if Angelo doesn’t have it handled yet. Ciro needs to leave, but…his feet follow the wrong path, the one that leads to the warehouse. He doesn’t go in, not quite, just peeks in through a crack in the door and sees—
A silverback gorilla, huge, at least five hundred pounds and with fists like sledgehammers, is running around the big room, stalking around the man lying on the table in the middle of it. The man appears to be unconscious—is this his familiar? How is it awake while he isn’t? Maria is standing in front of an older woman wringing her hands in the corner, while Chiffon stands and growls close to the door. And Angelo…
He’s got his arms spread wide, a line of gold glimmering in between them. The gold washes like a wave out from his grasp, spreading away from him and gradually hemming the gorilla in. It seems to sense it, too, its circles and spins tightening as it bares its long fangs in agitation. It tries to run at Angelo but can’t make it through the gold, so instead it turns and jumps up onto the table.
“No!” the woman screams out. “Stop him, he could kill him!”
Familiars don’t kill their masters…except maybe, in some situations, they do. This one looks ready to take out the man lying beneath it, banging its feet and hands in a terrifying show of strength on a table meant to hold the weight of a horse and still making it shake.
Angelo drops his arms. The gold vanishes, and he hurries forward just as the gorilla lowers its massive mouth toward the man’s head. Ciro gasps, unable to stop himself, and gathers his little bit of power, ready to strike as the gorilla pounds its chest and jumps at Angelo.
A rush of wind catches it midair, spins it around, and slams it to the ground. Angelo is a vision in gold, his outline blurred by the intensity of his power. He holds the gorilla down without even touching it, his voice murmuring something soft and soothing. The gorilla slowly begins to calm down, its fists unclenching.
Ciro feels like his heart is going to explode. He has to leave, now, before he runs in and throws himself at Angelo. He’s always been impressed by the man, but seeing him in action like this, not raw power but refined, exquisite, beautiful…it’s too much. He turns and walks blindly toward the path that will take him to the street.
A tiny golden shadow darts past him. Chiffon stops just ahead on the path, and Ciro wonders if the pup is there to stop him. Instead it barks once, ducks it head to savage a bug, then turns, wagging its tail at Ciro like it expects a treat.
“Um…good boy.” Ciro gives Chiffon a few pets, which the shih tzu accepts graciously, then it runs back to the warehouse. Ciro’s raven squawks once, then launches into the air and flies south.
Got it. Time to go.
