SINFUL CRIMES FOR THE ARTISTICALLY INCLINED

THE SINFUL CRIMES DUOLOGY

BOOK ONE

W.H. LOCKWOOD

For a list of potentially sensitive content and for more information about the duology, please visit the website at www.whlockwood.com

Please note, this book is written in Australian English, and abides by Australian grammar and punctuation conventions.

Cover art by lis_photoart

Copyright © 2024 by WH Lockwood

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENT ADVISARY

Thank you so much for picking up Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined.

This book is intended for an adult audience and includes scenes and themes that may be upsetting for some readers. These include but are not limited to violence, murder, explicit on-page intimacy, supernatural horror, and all the things that come along with Percy Ashdown being, well, Percy Ashdown.

For a full list of CWs, please pop over to whlockwood.com

Thank you, and if you choose to go ahead, I hope you love the book!

WH

CHAPTER ONE

THE INCITING INCIDENT

Joe Bruno, virgin priest and occasional demon hunter, had been drinking straight vodka for roughly two hours. He was supposed to be helping his friends with a supernatural problem, par for the course in his field, but as usual, the whole planning party had descended into drunken idiocy, and Joe had consequently taken refuge in the kitchen, away from the rest of the boisterous group.

It wasn’t anything to do with the paranormal issue that had scared him into confinement and inebriation, as one might expect. It was a man—just a man—and nothing more.

‘Nothing more.’

What a joke.

Percy Ashdown was like no other man Joe had ever met. He was stupidly sexy, with wild dark hair, eyes (specifically) like the North Sea, a malicious darkness that terrified Joe, a sweetness that obsessed him, and a body, elegant yet powerful, that he wanted to lick from head to toe.

Percy was funny, cruel, selfless, and heartless in equal measure. He was walking sex, and his very existence had sent Joe into such a tailspin he didn’t have a clue what to do about it other than accept the drink that Anna James, suddenly at his side, handed him now, and down it like he had the rest.

It was Anna’s kitchen he stood in. Her gothic apartment in the picturesque surrounds of an elite university. Her fault he’d met any of the five others present that night, and, therefore, her fault he was obsessed with a man he should never have looked at twice.

Joe studied her as subtly as he could, while the clear liquor burned its way down his throat. On the shorter side of average height, attractive but nothing spectacular, funny (though she mostly laughed at her own odd jokes more than anyone else did), and unnervingly vicious when she needed to be. He wouldn’t have held any of that against her. In fact, he wouldn’t have even noticed most of it, least of all her admittedly spectacular eyes, unless Percy had called his attention to it roughly a thousand times. Because, unfortunately for Joe, Percy, the man of his dreams, had a loud and fierce crush on Anna.

And Anna just happened to be deeply in love with Percy’s brother.

Such was the mess Joe found himself in.

Joe had known Percy on and off for four months, ever since the day Percy had turned up on his doorstep with Anna to ask for help with an exorcism. He and Percy hit it off immediately, drawn together by a shared interest in the paranormal. Percy laid his cards on the table that very night and flirted with him mercilessly. But Joe, like an idiot, or more, like a Catholic priest, had thrown off every advance. He’d already pledged his life to God, and he wasn’t going to throw that away over one mortal man.

Even if that man was Percy Ashdown.

Even if Percy knew magic and killed demons.

Even if he was perfect for Joe.

Even if he was going to walk straight out of Joe’s life any day now if Joe did nothing, because just recently, the flirting had stopped. He appeared to have given up, and his interests had moved elsewhere.

Anna refilled their two glasses and flashed Joe a pretty smile as she handed one over. He couldn’t help but wonder what Percy would have made of that smile. And with that, an all-consuming, hot jealousy bubbled up inside him, and before he could stop them, the words spilled out of his mouth. “What’s going on with you and Percy?”

Her already wide eyes widened a little more, but once her surprise at the question passed, she said, firmly, convincingly, “Nothing. Not a thing with me and Percy.”

The time for being casual had already fled, but he tried his best to keep the desperation out of his voice. “So, there’s nothing weird with Percy going on with anyone?”

Anna put her glass down on the bench and dropped her voice to an intimacy. “No. Not like that. No more than usual. He’s Percy.”

Joe glanced towards the door as though Percy might come in any second, summoned by his name, like the devil. “I just really want to know because… he’s acting strange. And… and I want… I want to…”

“If you’re into Percy, you should tell him.”

Good old Anna. No appreciation for or understanding of the societal norms that usually stop people getting straight to the point like that. It was refreshing. Sometimes. It was, in its way, endearing, and he couldn’t help letting her see the vulnerability she had so easily exposed when he said, “I’m not the one Percy wants.”

Anna neither blushed nor beat about the bush. She knew about Percy’s crush on her, just like all their friends did, but she smoothed it over as though it were nothing. “I don’t think he knows that’s an option. Is that an option? You took that vow of celibacy⁠—”

“Yes. But it’s a big thing and I don’t know if I want to live like that. You know, maybe not forever?”

“You might stop being a priest?” She could barely hide her lascivious excitement, but he appreciated the fact that she tried to.

He clarified, “No, but I might stop being a priest who lives like that.”

“And maybe you and Percy could happen…”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” He felt like a teenager at the prom, too scared to ask the boy he liked to dance. Nothing like the capable, independent, twenty-four-year-old man he was supposed to be, and his stress made him throw all his latest considerations at Anna’s feet. “He’s so… different. And I can’t stop thinking about him, and—and he just looks straight through me. I thought he liked me before⁠—”

“Oh, he definitely did.”

Joe failed entirely to hide his desperation, leaning in close, grasping, “Did? ‘Did’ as in past tense?”

Anna gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. He probably still does. Do you want me to talk to him?”

Yes. Yes, he did desperately want that. “No, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“No, let me. I need to talk to him about some other things, anyway. Set some things straight. Don’t worry, I’ll be subtle. I’ll just feel it out for you. It’s awful not knowing something like that.”

His head was screaming no, but every beat of his heart begged for an answer. “Maybe just an indication. I don’t even know where I stand with this. But it would be good to know if I should even think about it.”

“I think you should think about it.” She too glanced towards the door with that curious little smile of hers. “I would. Percy’s something else.”

“He’s something else entirely…” That was fact, and even though Anna was in love with Percy’s brother, Joe had often wondered how deep her weakness ran where Percy was concerned. “Are you sure you’re not⁠—”

With a decidedly shocked face, “Absolutely not!”

And so the little party continued. The group meandered about the apartment, but not once did Joe get to be alone with Percy. Anna played things as cool as she ever did and gave no one any sign that she held Joe’s fate so snugly in the palm of her hand.

It wasn’t until perhaps an hour later that an argument broke out between Anna’s roommate and her girlfriend. They dashed off to the kitchen to fight. Anna’s boyfriend, Evelyn, followed to calm things down, leaving Joe in the living room with Anna and Percy.

She gave him ‘a look’.

“I’m going in there,” Joe announced, none too subtly, and with his heart hammering, he was back in the small, hot, crowded kitchen, waiting to discover his fate.

Waiting for Anna to ask Percy if he liked him…

How was she going to say it?

‘Joe has a crush on you. You know all those times you flirted with him? Did it mean anything? Or do you just like making him blush because you know he can’t do anything? If he reciprocated, would you run a mile? Would you ever consider…’

Every atom in Joe wanted to call it off. From that time, if he let it go ahead, Percy would know, and things would be changed. There would be no going back.

What if he laughed at him? He couldn’t imagine Percy would be that cruel, but still…

More likely, he would simply take a step back, shut off all his humour and sweetness, and present to Joe with the awkward air of an acquaintance. A man who, with his every look, would say, ‘Did you really believe I’d be interested in someone like you?’

“Are you okay?”

Joe looked up into the violet-grey eyes of Percy’s brother, Anna’s boyfriend, Evelyn Worthing. Concerned. Kind. Sweetness personified. The second most beautiful man on the planet.

Maybe Joe should have asked him to help instead of Anna. He trusted Eve to the end of the earth and back, even if he had warned Joe off Percy months earlier. “I’m okay. Just…”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence. He knew he shouldn’t interrupt Anna, but the tension was killing him. The noisy kitchen, the vodka, the talking, the sweet guy who’d get the truth out of him in about thirty seconds if he pushed.

Joe’s eyes darted to the floor, where he watched his shoes make a line to the door. He was horribly nervous, but ready to see Percy’s face—to read whatever was written there, and to accept his fate now he had put the wheels in motion.

He turned the corner, thrust his head up, and took in the sight that would haunt him for months to come.

Percy, the man of his dreams, stood with his arms around Anna, his lips pressed against hers, in a kiss that Joe would have traded his eternity in heaven for.

Joe had never felt more ridiculous, more hurt, and more betrayed, all at once, than he did at that moment.

And when Percy pulled back and looked across the room at him, something akin to panic in his eyes, Joe’s frail heart cracked in two.

CHAPTER TWO

THE LION’S DEN

It wasn’t as though Percy didn’t feel bad about kissing Anna earlier in the evening. She was his brother’s girlfriend, after all. Not that he thought his brother would mind, and Anna obviously didn’t, which is why he’d done it.

But what he kept coming back to was the look in Joe’s eyes when he walked in on them.

Shock—only natural.

Outrage—perfectly reasonable.

But he had also looked… sad. Broken-hearted, even. Betrayed. As though Percy had let him down somehow.

And now, sitting on his leather couch, head lying back, staring at the ceiling with an untouched glass of scotch in his hand, Percy’s insides churned and twisted, and he saw only Joe.

That look on his face.

How he wished he could take it back.

But why? What right did Joe have to make him feel that way? Or to feel any of whatever feelings he was feeling at the time that made him make Percy feel like he was feeling now?

Joe wasn’t only beautiful—and he was really fucking beautiful, with his hazelnut curls and tan skin and golden eyes—he was also sweet. Really sweet. He knew about demons and ghosts and hell hounds and the lot of it. And he kept being near Percy. He kept bumping into him, kept sliding his goddamn hips right up against Percy’s every time he sat down next to him. He kept fluttering those gorgeous eyelashes like a siren, and Percy couldn’t get Joe out of his head.

But Joe was a priest. Part of the fucking priesthood that had been ruining beautiful Italian men for the world since day fucking dot.

Joe was off limits.

Totally out of reach.

Permanently.

He had his God and his life of celibacy, and he chose that daily over Percy, when Percy had made it perfectly clear he would have liked to get to know him properly.

Biblically.

He’d seen Joe naked, that one time he accidentally came across him taking a shower. Joe had no idea, of course, but since then, the image had chased Percy like a vengeful spirit.

Joe’s back was all muscle, his thighs thick, his ass so pert it begged to be lifted with two grasping hands, squeezing the flesh tight, pulling him wide open, and⁠—

Percy felt his dick getting hard at the thought.

No. Not again. He didn’t want to wank over Joe. Well, not unless he could literally wank over Joe. Not unless Joe was about to be cloaked in ribbons of his cum, his pretty mouth dripping, begging⁠—

Three hard knocks fell upon Percy’s front door, followed by a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder.

Percy’s handsome lip curled with hateful disdain. He placed his scotch down and he took his dagger up.

Percy lived in an old church, at the end of a long lane, by an ancient and disused graveyard. No one came that way by chance at half past two in the early morning of a rainy night.

Everyone he loved and cared about was tucked up safe in bed, so it was, undoubtedly, one of the many people who wanted him dead. Or wanted to steal from him. Or possibly some sort of supernatural something…

The absolute fuckers.

Whoever it was, they were about to get a very nasty surprise.

He thrust open the door, intent on slitting the throat of whoever had the gall to think they could get one over on him, and it remains a testament to Percy’s quick reflexes that Joe Bruno didn’t die on his doorstep that very night.

Lightning blazed about him where he stood in the rain, his priests’ vestments soaked through, the rings of curling hair black and dripping down his lovely cheeks, his pretty lips parted, breathing deeply, chest heaving.

“Joe…”

Strong hands gripped Percy’s shirt, shoved him back against the wall, and Joe’s pale and icy mouth took Percy’s, warm and soft and yielding.

He was soaked all over, all the way through, but when he kissed Percy, Percy tasted the salt of his tears mingled with the deluge. Percy leaned into him, kissed him back, and Joe shoved him off, smashing him hard into the wall. “Why?”

A confounding question from an unexpected guest for a still-tipsy brain at that time of night.

Joe tightened his grip, wrenched Percy close again, and with a desperate plea in his deep brown eyes, whispered, “Why her? Why didn’t you kiss me?”

Percy snuck a glance at his couch, wondering if he’d fallen asleep and slipped into an erotic dream. His eyes flicked back to Joe, who said, “I know you’re in love with her. I know she’s the one you want, but⁠—”

Percy shut him up with a kiss of his own. He slammed the door closed with a spare hand, pushed Joe up against it, and murmured, “If I’d thought for one second I could have had these lips, do you really think I’d waste my time on anyone else’s?”

Big, frightened, shocked eyes searched his, hot and lustful, and Percy said, “Now give me a proper kiss.”

“I…” The lips he coveted quivered in the half light. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Percy gripped Joe at the hip, ran a hand up his chest to his chin. He took a strong hold, pressed his lips to Joe’s, and twisting his tongue, ran it swift and teasing across the surface of Joe’s, before breaking the kiss with, “Wait, what?”

“Uh…” Joe, very suddenly, had become a different man to the one who burst through his door seconds earlier. Had he expected to be ousted? Had he thought Percy might actually reject him?

Surely not…

But Percy had him now. Just as he’d always wanted him. And there was zero chance he was going to let this opportunity slip away.

He leaned his chest against Joe’s, set an elbow on his shoulder, and tilted his head to the side, taking each of Joe’s hot, nervous breaths with his own. “You’ve never had a French kiss?”

Even if Joe was nervous, a little scared, he was brave too, and he held Percy’s close gaze. “Never. Until just then.”

Percy placed the tip of his thumb on the edge of Joe’s bottom lip, dragging it down softly. “Did you like it?”

Joe’s lip slipped from his hold as he swallowed. “Yes.”

Percy’s eyes remained steadfast on his mouth. “I’m going to kiss you again. Lips only.”

He moved in slowly, enjoying Joe’s timidity. Giving him time to pull away, wondering if he’d go through with it now that first burst of jealousy must have abated with the reality of it all.

Joe lifted his lips to Percy’s. He pushed them into a firm, delicious resistance, and Percy watched him through dark lashes as he closed his eyes tight, scrunching his brow, looking for all the world as if he’d wanted this just as much as Percy had, and for just as long, as Percy gently kissed him.

Percy pulled back abruptly, drinking in the flush of surprise and disappointment mingled on Joe’s cheeks, and he wondered how quickly he could turn it into something even more delicious.

“This time,” Percy whispered, placing a soft peck on the bow of Joe’s desperate upper lip, “when I kiss you, you’re going to open your mouth, just a little, and you’re going to press the tip of your tongue against mine.”

He leaned close, Joe shifted his lips in readiness, and Percy pulled back, provokingly. “Is that okay?”

Joe gave a silent nod, Percy’s lips drew back into a grin, and for the first time since he’d walked in the door, so did Joe’s.

Percy kissed him.

Once, twice, harder on the third, and Joe’s lips parted for him exactly on schedule. Joe pressed his tongue against Percy’s, as instructed, but then, to Percy’s delight, he sent the twist of his tongue across Percy’s, swift and teasing.

Fast learner.

Percy broke the kiss with a satisfied smile. “Why did you come here?”

Without missing a beat, “So you’d teach me to French kiss.”

Sexy, smart and funny.

He’d be the perfect catch if he wasn’t a priest.

Percy freed Joe, walking to the side table in his living room to pour a drink for him. Joe followed, hesitantly, and each leaned a hip into the table as Percy passed the glass across. “Let me rephrase.” He took up his own scotch and surveyed Joe over the top of his glass while he enjoyed a long sip. “Why did you come here in the middle of the night, tonight, to me, for a lesson in kissing?”

Joe put the glass down, stared at it for a time, then looked anxiously back to Percy. “Because that wasn’t my first French kiss.”

“Villain,” said Percy.

Joe let go a nervous laugh. “I mean, it wasn’t just my first French kiss. It… It was actually… my first kiss… of any sort. That I wanted to have…” Bold eyes hit Percy’s unflinchingly. “With you.”

Percy very nearly dropped his glass. “You’ve never kissed anyone before? Not ever?”

“No.”

What had been fun, for Percy, shifted into something else at the revelation. He said softly, “I’m honoured you chose me. And I’m sorry I did it.” He ignored the protest in Joe’s eyes and ready-to-object lips, and nodded to the lounge. “You can sleep there if you’d like. It’s coming down pretty heavy outside.” He cast an eye over Joe’s wet clothing. “I’ll get you something to change into.”

Percy turned to go, but then heard Joe utter one of the very few sentences that could have stopped him in his tracks. “Wouldn’t you rather I keep it on?”

What the hell kind of wet dream had Joe Bruno just walked out of?

He, clearly, was planning to make things very, very hard for Percy.

CHAPTER THREE

MILD PANIC

Joe couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He knew he had because Percy—Percy Ashdown, who looked and moved and spoke like a god—was looking at Joe Bruno the way he was. The way Joe had dreamed of him looking at him a thousand times over. But what it was to be under that gaze now—hot and lustful and completely terrifying.

Percy stalked a little closer and Joe prayed to God, whom he may or may not have been betraying horribly, that Percy would kiss him again.

If Percy did kiss him, he would take it as a sure sign from God that he was doing the right thing, and go ahead with his plan.

But if Percy didn’t kiss him… Well, it wasn’t as though God had nothing better to do than watch over Joe’s lack of a sex life and guide him using the miracle of Percy’s lips, so that could hardly mean anything.

Maybe he should just go ahead and kiss him first. Because God helps those who help themselves. Or something…

Before he could think another of his panicked and meandering thoughts, Percy spoke with a voice so sexy and so close to his ear that his breath almost melted Joe into a pool of incoherent tingles. “You’re very beautiful. There are so, so many things I would love to do with you, right here, right now.” The sex in his voice dropped away, and though it remained warm, it became unmistakably cooler. “But you’re making a big mistake.”

Joe shifted his head towards Percy, their lips almost brushing. “I don’t believe that.”

Percy’s fingers slid down Joe’s stomach and curled around his belt. “If we start, I won’t stop unless you tell me to. So if you’re looking for someone to save you from yourself, I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong man.”

How Joe craved his touch. Craved more of him. His fingertips behind his belt, so close to his desperate cock, impossibly cruel in their distance. “That’s not why—that’s—it’s because—um—” Percy’s gaze wandered over his clinging shirt, then met his eyes with a spark that forced Joe to gather himself. “I don’t want to stop. That’s why I came here. That’s why I came to you.”

Percy let go of him with a bitter laugh. “Because I’m the only bastard you know who’s immoral enough to follow through?”

Joe caught his arm before he could turn away, the cruel sneer of Percy’s lips in profile setting his heart apace. “Because you’re so beautiful.” Percy’s blue eyes cut back to Joe’s, and the statement was so true it almost brought him to his knees. The dark hair, wild and thick and tossed to the side after a tumultuous night. The cheekbones that were too chiselled to be real. The fire in him—in Percy and Percy alone—that made him so utterly exquisite. “I want it to be you because I can’t—” He quickly corrected himself with the flash in Percy’s eyes. “I can resist you. But I don’t want to. I was—I thought I was okay with this. This choice I made, this celibacy, and maybe I was. For a while.” He placed two hands on Percy’s chest, tentatively now, the soft, expensive poplin of the charcoal shirt inviting him to press a little firmer as he looked deeply into Percy’s eyes. “But since the day I met you, it’s like there’s this fire in my chest. It’s burning, and it never stops burning, not whenever you’re around. It’s you and it’s you and it’s always been you, and…” He heard the words on his lips, felt the unmoving body beneath his fingers. He let his hands drop in hopelessness. He knew what he wanted to say, but the troubled apology that had appeared across Percy’s brow shut him down.

He moved a few steps away, his stomach folding in on itself when Percy spoke. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend.” He was amazed how easily the lie rolled off his tongue. All he wanted, all he fantasised about, was Percy being his. And he felt so, so stupid.

Percy Ashdown—beautiful, beautiful Percy Ashdown—didn’t want Joe Bruno for a boyfriend.

Of course he didn’t.

What a ridiculous notion that had been.

Percy must have seen that he’d crushed Joe, because he began to make excuses. “I’m not in a good place right now,” he said. “I haven’t been for a long time. It’s not about you.”

“Oh, I know.” Joe gave an unconvincing, brutally embarrassing fake laugh, and wanted to die when Percy rushed to blunt the sharp edge of his rejection.

“If I was in any sort of a position to be with someone⁠—”

“No, I understand⁠—”

“I don’t think you do⁠—”

“I do. It’s not me that you…” Joe raised a hand to his temple, pushing it hard against his head to still it now he realised it was shaking. “I got it wrong.”

“Did that kiss feel like you got it wrong?”

Disarming words. Joe felt exactly like a piece of meat being forced through a grinder. He felt pink, and limp, and flayed. Exposed and squeezed. He hated that Percy had said it. What was he supposed to do with it?

“Answer me.” Percy’s hard gaze stayed glued to his wilting person.

There was no option but to speak or flee. So Joe tried horrible, brutal, vulnerable honesty instead of flippant lies. “It felt right to me. I liked it and I would like you to kiss me again.”

“But not as your boyfriend?”

“No.” The sound was so tiny he wondered if Percy had heard it. Joe’s eyes were averted, watching the floor, and he couldn’t see any effect it might have had, so he spoke a current of nervous, babbled words. “If you don’t want a boyfriend, that’s fine, because I don’t want a boyfriend. I’m a priest and I can’t have one. Obviously. I’m not in the market. Or—or on the market, or whatever people⁠—”

Joe quieted with the press of two elegant hands sliding over his hips. The intoxicating heat of Percy’s body warmed him and set his heart racing. Percy’s hand on his chin brought a tremble to his lips. And Joe was kissed. Not like the frantic kisses in the doorway, not like the playful kisses that followed. He was kissed gently, sweetly, he would almost have said, lovingly. His heart turned to paper, and Percy’s too-loving kiss tore it to shreds. That kiss was what he came for. That kiss was everything he wanted in the world. It was a lifetime of loneliness, both assuaged and multiplied ad infinitum in the bliss of Percy’s embrace.

He didn’t want to open his eyes, not ever again, but when it was over, he had to. And he did. And Percy had the most gorgeous smile. Like nothing Joe had ever seen in him before. And Percy said, “I adore you. I’ve adored you since the day we met. I won’t be your boyfriend, but if you’re okay with that, I’ll be whatever else you need me to be.”

And with those words, Joe’s torn and frayed paper heart burst full and strong back to life.

CHAPTER FOUR

DANGEROUS GROUND

Percy did want a boyfriend. He’d decided then and there that he very much wanted a boyfriend, and that he wanted it to be Joe and only Joe. But it wasn’t going to be Joe, for a multitude of reasons.

Percy was a mess and no doubt about it. He’d done terrible things, the memories of which ripped him from sleep every single night. In his defence, a demon had made him do them, back when he got possessed that one time.

And as though that trauma simmering beneath the surface wasn’t enough, he also happened to be a part-time, high-class criminal of every variety, and that was something he kept to himself. He made a lot of money doing it, and despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, it tended to be very good fun. It wasn’t something he was about to get a boyfriend involved in. Especially not a priest. Especially not Joe.

These matters, having been quickly gone over and reestablished in Percy’s mind, provided a rigid and unbreakable resolution that there was no way in hell he was dragging Joe any deeper into his wreck of a life.

But he wanted him.

And he was incredibly selfish at times, so he did his utmost to have his cake and eat it. “We should lay some ground rules. Before we go ahead.”

Joe assented with a nod, and with so much trust in his gorgeous eyes, that Percy became twice as determined to make sure those steadfast rules would carry them both through the untried waters unscathed.

“Am I correct that you want me to show you what you’re missing? So then, down the track, if you want, you can make an informed choice about the direction you want your life to take?”

He’d put it as elegantly as he could, and he was rewarded with a relieved smile from Joe. “That’s right. I didn’t know how to explain it exactly…”

“Or in other words, you want me to be your fuckboy?” Joe blushed bright red to the tips of his hair and Percy held back on the urge to kiss him. “Is that what you want?”

Joe’s tongue on his dry lips tried Percy’s self restraint. “I don’t know if I’d have put it exactly like that…”

“Hmmm…” Percy’s hand slid up the wall above Joe’s shoulder, and he breathed into Joe’s ear, “Have you thought about fucking me, though?”

“Yes,” Joe just about whimpered.

The answer was so fast Percy almost wilted as badly as Joe had. He virtually begged, “Then you should think of my body as yours for at least the next few weeks.”

Joe looked up in alarm. “Weeks?”

“Well, we have a lot of ground to cover, so let’s not set it in stone. Now, given you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Joe’s legs almost gave way as Percy paused to study him, but they held, somehow, “I’m willing to try anything you want.”

Joe’s Adam’s apple flinched along his throat, and Percy’s fantasy from earlier that night came back on him full and fast. He traced a finger down Joe’s cheek, and he said, near and soft, “Whatever your most foul and depraved fantasies are, I’m your man. Whatever messed-up things you’ve been too ashamed to mention your entire life, do those things to me. Whichever limit you’ve been worried to push, tell me, and I’ll take you there.”

He awaited Joe’s response with bated breath.

Joe said, “The kissing was nice.”

And Percy was that much closer to completely lost with how much he adored him. He stepped away and took up his drink to help retain his authoritative, carefree air. “The kissing was nice. And we can kiss. Definitely. But none of that other boyfriend bullshit.” He sloshed his drink about as his hands played out his thoughts. “No dinners. Not romantic ones, anyway. Maybe some takeaway, but only if we’re really hungry.”

“Okay,” said Joe, a small smile forming on his lips.

Percy wiped it away with a firm, “And no sleepovers. Sex and then we’re out.”

“All right.” Joe dropped his eyes to the floor and listened.

“No romantic strolls, no hand holding, no cuddling on the couch, and no feelings beyond this. What we have. This friendship. Which…” Joe’s downcast eyes did that annoying thing he kept doing to Percy’s insides, tying them up in that guilty, queasy knot. So Percy stupidly, honestly, blustered out, “Because I really like you. A lot. And I could easily catch feelings.” Percy hated himself when Joe looked up at him like a kid at Christmas.

But he was soon revived when Joe said, “No boyfriend bullshit. Got it. Can we get back to the kissing now?”

CHAPTER FIVE

BACK TO THE KISSING

‘Ireally like you.’

‘A lot.’

‘I could easily catch feelings.’

Well, Joe had already caught them, and he was determined to see Percy catch them, too. Terrified of Percy’s comparative sexual experience, which apparently amounted to the Sears Tower sitting next to an empty and crumpled matchbox, it took all Joe’s stubbornness and desire to make himself raise his chin in a suggestive attempt to draw Percy closer.

It worked as well as any magnet might. Joe tried his best to be sexy, to be alluring, and he hadn’t the vaguest idea what he was doing, but of course he didn’t realise that was the very thing that made him, to Percy, utterly irresistible.

He raised his lips for a kiss and he got it. And Percy, hands back on his hips, walked him backwards into the wall. He tilted his head and kissed Joe’s neck, and a powerful shock such as Joe had never once had the pleasure of experiencing took over his entire body, like a thousand tiny, aching bolts of electricity on every patch of skin.

Joe was hard again, and he didn’t think he could take another rejection, another slowing of proceedings.

He didn’t know how the ‘not boyfriend’ thing worked, but he hoped it was okay to touch Percy’s hair. Was that too romantic? It felt romantic. Like something you should only do with someone you’re close to.

His fingers were tentative at the tips, and Percy’s hair was soft, and his fingertips moved slowly, deeper into the masses of thick, almost black hair, that he’d always, always wanted to touch. Percy seemed to react to it. He leaned into Joe’s touch, so Joe sunk his fingers a bit deeper, letting himself twist a little knot. Percy’s kisses became more urgent, his breath came a little deeper, and he pulled back with more desire in his eyes than Joe had ever hoped to see there. “Are you sure?”

“I’m so sure.”

“If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

Maybe the priest thing had been a bad idea, because as much as Joe liked the idea of them both naked, skin to skin, Percy didn’t take off his top. He kissed his neck, and he kissed his way down the fabric on his chest, and he dropped to his knees, and holy fuck but it was all of Joe’s daydreams come to life. Percy loosening his belt. Percy ripping his shirt up. Percy kissing his stomach, and Joe’s hands were lost in the precious strands of that immaculate hair the whole time. But he felt exposed, there against the stone wall of Percy’s enormous and lofty living room, and he sank to his knees in front of Percy, whose lips moved seamlessly from his abs to his mouth.

“Is it too much?” Percy whispered.

Joe’s heart began to ache almost as much as his dick, because Percy put his arms around him and he felt glorious. He felt safe, and he felt adored, and he wasn’t sure that was how Percy meant for him to feel. “Please don’t stop.”

Percy slipped his hand down Joe’s abs and beneath the elastic of his underwear, but then he did stop.

He pulled back, his mouth open in a way that would have been undignified on anyone else.

He caught Joe’s eyes with a humour that scared Joe half to death, then he pulled the waistband back again and peeked into Joe’s underwear. “Where the hell have you been hiding that?”

“Uh—”

“Can I even fit that in my mouth? Let alone anywhere else. Christ, but I’m willing to try.” His lips smashed into Joe’s, once, twice, then, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“N-no.”

“Because just so you know, this is how I want to die. Impaled on your cock.”

Joe burst out laughing and none of it was helping with the ‘not boyfriend’ experience. He leaned his head on Percy’s shoulder, and Percy accepted the sweetly embarrassed gesture with a peck on his cheek. “What are you shy about? You should have a license to carry that thing.”

“Percy…” It was all he could think to murmur.

Percy’s tone came back honey-like. “You’re gorgeous. Every bit of you.”

Joe turned his head to meet Percy’s lips. He closed his eyes and settled on the conclusion that anything that happened after that moment was simply the cream on top. He didn’t tell Percy that in all his wildest fantasies, which weren’t particularly wild, he’d never once imagined a man saying that to him. He was falling for Percy so hard and so fast there wasn’t a thing capable of stopping him.

Percy returned his kisses in full, and Percy had that hand on his underwear again. “May I?”

Joe gave a little nod, his forehead against Percy’s, his eyes locked onto Percy’s, and he took in a shaky breath at the first touch. Percy’s hot hand slid to the base of his cock, smashing a burst of pleasure into every nerve. He ran his fingers over Joe’s balls, and traced them back up, enclosing the crown briefly, then wrapping his hand around for a firm stroke.

Joe’s lips parted at the new sensation. It was nothing like his own hand. It was nothing like he’d ever imagined it could be.

“Am I the first?” Percy’s hot breath drifted over Joe’s lips, mingling with the desperate sigh that broke free.

“Yes.”

He quickened his strokes. “You saved it for me.”

Something about that notion was like fire to both of them. There had always been men. He’d liked some of them. He’d wanted some of them. But no one else had drawn him to their house in the middle of the night to beg them to be his first. And there he was on Percy’s floor, under Percy’s firm command, with the storm raging outside and his head on Percy’s shoulder, which felt just exactly like a boyfriend’s shoulder. It had all the hallmarks of fate or true love or some great romance, and Joe let himself believe, if only for the night, that’s exactly what it was. “I’ve saved it for you.”

Percy let out a groan that was exactly like pure and perfect sex in one warm utterance, and he moved his hand expertly over Joe’s dick, and Joe’s pleasure built and built, too fast and too strong, and on a shuddering gasp of air, Joe came right there in the palm of Percy’s hand.

“Fuck,” he whispered—a choked sound that was shattering pleasure and crushing embarrassment all at once, because, all things considered, it had only been six or so strokes.

“Fuck,” Percy agreed, and Joe didn’t know what to do or say. Percy’s vast experience (he imagined), Percy’s expectations for him (he also imagined), and the whole thing up in smoke right then and there. His great, romantic dream, over.

It was a lot that went through Joe’s mind in the space of roughly three seconds before Percy could finish his thought. “Fuck. You’re incalculably sexy.”

“In…cal…”

“Incalculably.” Percy’s hand didn’t stop. It only moved more smoothly now, slick with Joe’s cum. He climbed onto his knees and leaned over to kiss Joe, and he was panther-like. He was sleek and beautiful and intent like an animal with its eyes on its prey. He pressed Joe back to the floor and his strong hands wrenched Joe’s pants below his hips and Percy sank Joe’s enormous cock deep into his beautiful mouth.

It was a baptism of fire. Or, perhaps more correctly, a baptism of cum.

Percy’s mouth on Joe’s dick felt exactly like a warm hug from God, only a thousand times more rapturous.

The sound of Percy’s wet mouth was shocking. The intensity of the sensation was appalling. The vision, like nothing he had ever seen, the most beautiful man on the planet, he was quite sure, down on his hands and knees driving Joe’s ever-hardening cock into another orgasm, which wasn’t an outcome that had even occurred to Joe. Best of all though, was the way Percy groaned, the little noises he made above the sound of his mouth, the way he took Joe’s cock like it was a treat. Like it was a gift. Like he couldn’t get enough of Joe—Joe’s dick, Joe’s cum, and Joe, who he looked up at like he was the most beautiful man on earth. Whose embarrassment was completely obliterated and replaced with sheer ecstasy.

Percy worked Joe’s dick like it was his god-given mission to show Joe the light. And that’s exactly what he did.

It was as though a thousand fingers of ecstasy were dragging over every inch of skin—as though his insides were nothing but beauty and grace—as though everything in existence had disappeared but him and Percy and this one rapturous moment of sheer ecstatic freedom and guiltless, beautiful pleasure. Joe came deep and hard in Percy’s mouth and Percy drank him down, every last heavenly drop.

Percy pushed himself up on his strong arms and kissed him, dragging his tongue—his tongue that had just given Joe the best orgasm of his life—across Joe’s tongue. He added a peck to his lips, and pulled back, and in Joe’s sex-hazed gaze, he was everything.

And Joe was, from that time, a new man.

CHAPTER SIX

THE BED CHAMBER

Joe seemed to be some kind of silent shell-shocked, which, judging by the expression on his face either meant he loved it, or he was going to go home and dig his cat-o’-nine-tails out of the bottom drawer and have a very long night. So Percy said, “Turns out my mouth’s much bigger than I thought it was.”

Joe’s laugh was alarmingly beautiful. Alarming, because hearing it gave Percy the sort of proud satisfaction that made him want to hear it again. Intimately. Just like they were then. So Percy gave Joe one last kiss and sat back on his haunches. “I think we should get you changed. Bathroom’s through there if you want a hot shower.”

“But shouldn’t I…” Joe’s speech cut off, yet his eyes kept going, wandering over Percy’s body, all longing, desperate lust.

“Shouldn’t you what?”

“Uh…” Joe’s lips, plump and pink from Percy’s thorough use of them, trembled, just a little. “That.”

The absolute darling. He couldn’t even say the words. He’d turned up at Percy’s house at two o’clock in the morning, cum twice in his mouth (for all intents and purposes), and now here he was, unable to even name the delicious things he’d just done.

Percy was almost wholly inclined to help him maintain his inability to speak, a delight which he so sorely seemed to be in need of, but he was the sort of man who usually saw things two or three steps ahead.

Say he did what Joe was asking, which they were both inclined to do, and he let Joe go to work on his dick… That was a lot for a virgin priest who’d never even been kissed before. Say it scared him off? Or, say he loved it all, said thanks, but since you won’t be my boyfriend, I’m off to try my new blowjob skills somewhere they’ll be more appreciated…

“Not tonight,” Percy heard himself say, to some surprise.

Joe’s eyes grew wide, then turned straight down. “Okay.” He shuffled awkwardly back into his trousers, his movements sharp with the sting of rejection. “I guess I should go. It’s late⁠—”

“It’s not that late.”

The most adorable confusion settled over Joe’s face, and Percy wanted to clarify for him exactly what was going on, but he found himself equally confounded.

The sex lesson was over.

Cut short at his own command.

And here he was telling Joe to not leave for reasons other than sex…

What those reasons were, he had no idea, but he needed to say something because Joe was about to make an excuse, Percy was sure of it, and there was no way he’d come back after a ludicrous blunder like that.

Percy shot a quietly panicked look at his soaring stained glass windows. “It’s raining. And you’re all wet. And I’m not tired. And you know, I think it would be rather rude to run out on me without so much as a drink.”

That smile. Christ, what he’d do to get another one.

“If you’re sure?”

“Very. Very sure. I’ll get you something to wear. Have you seen the bedroom? I had it done. And, well, the whole place, obviously, but…” He waffled as he led Joe across the wooden floor, through an ancient stone arch that had once been where the altar sat, there in his converted church.

He stopped at a door, where he flipped open a keypad and typed in a code. The door slid back.

Joe scanned Percy. “You have a passcode for your bedroom?”

Percy’s lower lip popped out in an expression that suggested this wasn’t at all unusual, even if it was. “Can’t be too careful,” was the only explanation he offered.

Stepping through the door, Joe turned back to watch him close it, and took note of a curiously sturdy lock on the inside—curious given it was just Percy living there, and Joe imagined the lock on the front door should have sufficed. But once he got past that small detail and looked around, Joe gave a little gasp.

Percy’s bedroom was green. But the deepest green, the darkest green, like the blackest, sexiest forest Joe had ever seen. The wallpaper held a subtle but luminous gold print of delicate leaves, here and there strung together via the thinnest golden vines. These strands were set to sparkling advantage by gold candle holders, stuck with long orange candles, gold frames around compellingly aged-looking art, a gold gilt bed head, and small golden lamps.

The art that lined the walls was a luscious display of beauty and sex. Caravaggio’s Narcissus, Saint Sebastian by Carlo Saraceni, Satan and His Legions Hurling Defiance Toward the Vault of Heaven by James Barry, a self-portrait of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Waterhouse’s Hylas with a Nymph, and his Circe Invidiosa on another wall, sketches and sketches of bodies, male and female—torsos, arms, wrists, hands, thighs—all of it heated and heavy, in the most intoxicating way.

The lower edges of the towering walls held custom-made bookcases, their shelves crushed tight with books, gorgeous books, hard spines, soft spines, more gold, more green, red, brown, all enticing. And on top of those masterfully crafted book cases, more candles, strange knick knacks, antiques, and a human skull.

And then the bed…

It lay shrouded in deepest green, thickest and loveliest, softest linen, with equally minute golden threads, and a ludicrous array of pillows and cushions, stacked so invitingly, Joe almost collapsed right then and there.

While Joe gawped, Percy was busy pressing a wall, which slid back to reveal his walk-in wardrobe. Joe didn’t follow him in, but the orderly manner of it all shocked him. He knew Percy had money. He’d assumed he had a fair amount. But the detail, the finish, the quality… Joe had a sort of airless realisation that he might not have quite grasped how much before.

Percy selected a crisply folded, too-soft-for-words sweater and track pants, the latter of which Joe couldn’t begin to imagine the endlessly elegant Percy ever wearing. He blurted out, “Does your bedspread always match your wallpaper?”

Percy fell silent, eyeing the decor with a touch of concern. “Is it crass?”

“No!” Joe choked out. “No, it’s beautiful.”

“Are you sure? It’s new. It was teal before, but a darker teal, you know?”

Joe didn’t know at all. “Yeah.”

“But now I’m worried it’s too matchy.”

“No, it’s great. It looks so…” Joe wondered what colour the sheets were beneath the duvet. He wondered if Percy slept naked. He wondered if he would ever feel Percy’s flesh against his own in that bed. His voice broke like he was fourteen years old. “So good. With—with the art… there. On the walls. It’s so good. Do you— What do you do again?”

“I’m an art historian.”

Joe racked his brain in an attempt to figure out how much an art historian might earn, but he hadn’t the vaguest idea. And, while Joe could generally hold his own in any gallery displaying the works of the masters, given his wide biblical knowledge, he wasn’t sure what sort of comment he could make about the utterly non-biblical and somewhat arousing art on Percy’s bedroom walls that would make him sound cultured. Thankfully, he was also Italian, so he went with, “That explains the Caravaggio.”

Percy’s eyes thrilled, and Joe knew he’d said the right thing. “My specialisation.”

Fuck. Joe didn’t think it was possible to be even more taken with Percy. So, so beautiful. So, so sexual. So, so sweet. He ventured, “Where… Where did you study?”

“Padua.” Slipping effortlessly into fluent Italian, Percy continued, “For seven years. But I’ve done residences in Milan, Florence, Turin. Rome, obviously.”

“Obviously,” sighed out a smitten Joe.

“I return frequently. It’s a home away from home. All my favourite works are there. Except this one.” He raised his chin to Caravaggio’s Narcissus. “It’s so lovely, isn’t it?” He sent half a glance over to Joe and added, “It’s only borrowed, of course.”

Joe had already sunk into the painting, perfectly lit in soft light, just as tender and beautiful as it had ever been. He imagined himself there, staring into the pool, and Percy staring back at him, and how he, like Narcissus, would be trapped forever, caught in that exquisite vision, never able to leave again, so completely obsessed⁠—

Percy’s words finally sank in, and he choked on them. “B-borrowed?”

That was when he noticed how intently Percy seemed to be watching and listening for his reaction. A few beats of silence fell between them and Narcissus, then Percy broke the tension by laughing out, “Borrowed? Is that what I said?”

But despite Percy’s suddenly flippant air, an odd feeling crept over Joe.

He paid a little more attention to the cracks in the painting, zeroing in on the fine lines, wondering at the bold strokes. Could they have sat there on that canvas for four hundred years? “Yeah, no, I know.” He also laughed, unable to shake that strange feeling. “I mean, there’s no way that could be…” He looked closer at the painting, murmuring, “That couldn’t be the real thing…”

“Shower?” Percy suggested, holding out the clothes he’d chosen for Joe.

Joe took the excessively soft bundle, successfully distracted, especially when Percy touched a switch on the wall, and a section of it slid back just as unobtrusively as the wardrobe door had.

The light came on automatically, and the very first thing Joe saw was an enormous golden bathtub, glinting beneath soft, warm lights. Gold handles, gold faucets, so much gold, and everything of the best, most intimidating quality.

“I’ll be out there. Best leave through the side door. This one will be vacuum sealed.” And Percy was gone, back to his living room, leaving Joe to have one of the most luxurious, most confounding showers he’d ever had.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BOYFRIEND BULLSHIT

Percy wasn’t cooking for Joe, so it was fine. A few crackers on a plate meant nothing. Brie is barely a cheese at all, so that wasn’t a thing. Though it was Brie de Meaux. The strongest and best one he knew of that he got delivered monthly as part of his cheese subscription. But it needed to be used anyway. Just like the Roquefort he was putting out. And the pear. And the semi-dried muscatel grapes still on the vine. And if Percy was sitting down to enjoy a late-night snack, it wasn’t that unusual that he might light a few candles, regardless of Joe’s presence. Not unusual at all. Maybe a scented one too…

Percy’s selection of a twenty-four-year-old Chateau Ducru-Beaucaillou, Saint-Julien, was—strictly—a treat for himself, because it had been a long and miserable week, and he deserved it. But it wasn’t as though he was going to drink the entire bottle of wine at that time of night all by himself, and it wouldn’t be half as good the following day, so Joe may as well join him.

And why not set the whole thing up on the fluffy white rug by the fire? Why not lay himself out long next to it? It was warm just there. Warm enough to roll the sleeves of his charcoal shirt to show off his wrists, what with them being almost as aesthetically pleasing as the platter and the fire and the wine and the rug.

He heard the door to the bathroom click shut, swiftly undid an extra button, then almost passed out from swollen, constricted, hard-beating, near-exploding heart.

Joe looked good.

Joe looked really good.

Joe’s cheeks were pink from both the hot shower and the completely unexpected vision of Percy. Joe’s hair was wet again and curled a little darker and tighter with it. But Percy’s clothes on Joe’s body were the nail that shut Percy’s heart up tight in a Joe-shaped box.

He must have been that little bit larger than Percy, only slightly, but it made Percy’s clothes pull that touch tighter over his chest, his biceps, his thighs, and his big, lovely dick. Then Joe spoke in his sexy Italian accent that Percy had correctly placed from somewhere in the picturesque mountains of Abruzzo, and he said, “Please tell me that’s not boyfriend bullshit.”

Percy let go something approaching a giggle, coughed loudly to cover it, and in a more manly voice that still wavered dangerously, came up with the blushingly pitiful, “I didn’t.”

“Thank Christ for that.” Joe dropped down by Percy’s side, the smell of Percy’s too-expensive grapefruit-scented soap all about him, and accepted the glass of wine that was handed across, saying, “Because if that was boyfriend bullshit, I was just going to leave, back out into the rain⁠—”

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Percy said. “Have I ever told you that?”

The light of the fire caught in Joe’s big eyes, and Percy’s, blue and sparkling, studied him like he was a lost Rossetti. The sense of falling, free and fast and terrifying, took hold of Joe, but Percy halted his descent abruptly by asking, “Would you like to see my spear?”

Surprise reigned before Joe could decide whether to be terrified or excited by the proposition, but this cacophony of emotion was soon replaced by awe when Percy stretched his arm around behind his back, and brought out a long, thin hunk of metal, held carefully in his grip.

He placed the object, warm from its proximity to the fire, before Joe.

Joe knew what it must be, but Percy said, with a touch of smugness, “Told you I had it. The Spear of Destiny.”

Joe’s fingers stretched out, reaching for the spearhead, but they stopped before they ever made contact, with all the reverence due a man of the cloth in the presence of one of the most holy relics in existence.

His sharp eyes scanned the surface, aged and never once cleaned—a rough surface of iron, shaped into a deadly point two-thousand years prior, and rusted unevenly all about its hallowed surface. “Is there blood?”

That same spear, for the uninitiated, is said to have been thrust, by a Roman soldier, into the ribs of Jesus Christ as he hung dead on his cross. The blood that poured forth from the wound anointed the object, imbuing it with magical powers stronger than any other earthly item is rumoured to hold.

Percy picked it up, shifted to allow the firelight to illuminate it in full, and turned it over, moving an expert finger across some of the rusty divots. “The whole thing would have been covered in blood had it gushed out the way it’s been described, so your best bet would be down in here. But that’s no guarantee it’s Jesus’ blood.”

“Then how do you know it’s the real thing?”

“Well, it’s Roman,” said Percy. “No doubt about that. Correct age, correct style, but more than that, and most damning, is the trouble I went through trying to steal it.” Joe knew the tale, as Percy, somewhat of a braggart, had told him the story the very hour they met. His eyes went to the small scar that ripped across Percy’s eyebrow, one he claimed he got when a monk stabbed him as he made away with the spear. “Would you like to hold it? I wouldn’t get it out for anyone else.”

Slow, reverent fingers reached for the lance. Percy didn’t push it forward; he could see the uncertainty in Joe’s movement. He assured him, “They’re all wrong about it. It’s near powerless right now. If only I had⁠—”

“Its sheath,” Joe finished for him. “I know. It needs to be reunited with its sheath to work.” He took the spear in his hands, searching over every inch.

If he could have seen a miracle like that—the lance healing someone who was near death, or raising the dead, or doing any of the things it was said it could do—how his faith would change.

“I’d do anything to get my hands on it,” said Percy. “I’ve been to Libya. Raided the Vatican. I’ve been everywhere it’s even been rumoured to be, and every time I come back empty-handed.”

Joe passed the relic back without meeting Percy’s eyes. He knew exactly where the sheath was. And he knew it was certain death to tell Percy, because Percy would undoubtedly go off alone looking for it.

Percy crossed the room, took a key from behind a small painting, opened a cabinet, and placed the spear safely inside, locking it all up carefully again before he returned to Joe.

It was compelling, that brief moment. Just the fact that Percy owned one of the most powerful, most sought after objects in history, keeping it just there in his living room, was intriguing enough. But the thought of Percy selecting it for Joe, bringing it out because he knew how much he’d love that. The shared taste, the shared passion…

Joe wondered what it would be like being with Percy long term. Who knew what else he had kicking about the place. Or how he’d obtained any of it on his dangerous treasure-hunting expeditions.

The term ‘art historian’ was growing more fascinating by the minute, and Joe found he wanted to know all there was to know about Percy. Everything to do with him. The lot, but released slowly, the way one pauses over a beguiling sentence in a favourite book, knowing there’s so much more to come, but sated in the present company of that beauteous prose.

Percy picked up his wine, took a sip, and just as Joe finally brought his own to his lips, Percy circled back to the beginning of that strange and enchanting picnic on his living room floor. “I think I was just telling you how beautiful you are.”

Falling, falling, falling…

“I don’t understand what to do,” said Joe, averting his gaze into the shining burgundy of his glass. “I’m not—I mean, we’re not—seeing each other. Or something. And…” He stole a glance at Percy—stunning, gorgeous Percy—and said, “I really want to kiss you.”

Percy met the request with a long, sweet, achingly desperate kiss that they both felt in the pits of their chests, because Percy didn’t want the restraints and the rules any more than Joe did. He knew that now. But he had to have them. And as though a reminder was needed, a scrape sounded, and a thump came with such force from beneath the cheeseboard that Percy’s carefully stacked dried grapes fell in a flaccid heap.

Joe broke the kiss with a sharp turn of his head, Percy sat back awaiting the reprimand, and Joe shot him the expected look that was both shock and reproach. “What was that?”

“Skeletons,” Percy mumbled over an avoidant sip of wine.

“Skeletons?”

“Skeletons.”

Joe’s eyes darted frantically between the cheese platter and Percy. “Alive? Still-living skeletons? Right now? In your basement?”

Like a schoolboy explaining why he’d deliberately clogged all the toilets with paper, “I’m not sure they’re ‘living’ as such, what with them being skeletons⁠—”

“How do you have ‘reanimated’ skeletons in your basement right now?” Joe just about shouted.

“I think a spell must have gone slightly awry⁠—”

“It was a rhetorical question!”

“Was it?”

“Kind of, but— What, you’re just going to sleep here every night with that beneath your floorboards?”

Percy shifted the plate off the rumbling trapdoor and re-stacked his grapes. “It’s only been two nights since they reanimated. I’ll get around to it, eventually.”

“You can’t just leave them down there,” Joe insisted. “They’ll dig their way out and kill you!”

“It’s reinforced.”

“I’ve seen your basement. It’s just dirt!”

Percy drew back with an open mouth. “Not just dirt. How dare you? It’s artfully packed.”

“Yes, okay⁠—”

“I had a fireplace put in and everything.”

“It looks very nice⁠—”

“Candelabras, an exorcism chair. It’s beautifully finished. It’s deliberately rustic! And it goes a long way down. Well beneath the graveyard.”

“Not far enough beneath the graveyard, evidently.”

“It may have been a small oversight, I’ll admit. But when you mess around with necromancy, it’s not an uncommon side effect⁠—”

“Percy!” Joe’s lovely hand curled into one long finger, pointing right between Percy’s eyes. “You’re getting rid of those skeletons first thing tomorrow.”

With a twitch of his head, Percy cast an encroaching lock of hair back. “Tomorrow I have work to do.”

“Then do it now.”

“No. Look, I’ve made this nice platter. And we’re having a nice evening, and…” Percy let out a tired sigh, so deep and weary that his breath seemed to drag the tension out of the air with it. He reached for some apricot and walnut bread to pair with the Roquefort. “It’s been a very long week.”

Joe accepted the small parcel of food thoughtfully, softening like good French cheese.

Percy watched and waited, because he could never date a man who didn’t enjoy strong cheese.

Joe held onto it, more concerned about Percy than the offering that might seal his potential-boyfriend fate. Then he said the fatal words. “How are you holding up?”

Joe could virtually see the shutters close, steel, reinforced on the inside. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Good. Are you going to eat that?”

Joe’s face fell, and Percy was furious at the skeletons in his basement. Everything had been perfect, then reality had happened, just like it always did. And now this unpleasantness.

Joe put the cheese down. “Maybe we should call it a night.”

“Please don’t. Listen…” Joe listened patiently, but Percy didn’t know how to explain a thing. And a second later, to his great relief, his phone screamed so starkly that they both jumped.

It was, by that time, approaching four o’clock. The sun would rise soon, but for now, it was black and dark, and Percy didn’t hesitate. He made his way quickly across the room, and turned his back to Joe, speaking in a low tone. “Where? No, I can’t get there right now… I know it’s important… No… It’s none of your business what I’m doing… Leo… Shhh. I’ll come as soon as I can… It’s going to have to do, isn’t it?… I’m hanging up… Hanging up… Quiet… Hanging up now… Goodbye.”

Percy returned to his place as though nothing had happened.

Joe’s brain fizzled out the same thought, over and over. ‘Don’t ask who Leo is. Don’t ask who Leo is. Don’t ask who Leo is.’ “Who’s Leo?”

Stupid brain.

“He’s a colleague,” Percy replied with a touch of forbidding cool in his voice.

But Joe couldn’t help himself. “A colleague who calls you at four a.m.?”

“It’s not four a.m. in Paris.” Joe’s mind flipped to time zones, then was drawn back to skeletons with the scratching under the floorboards, then was ripped away by Percy, who grabbed his hand and said, “This is too much. We can’t talk here. Come.”

He took the cheese, Joe took the wine, Percy tapped out his code, and seconds later, they were back in Percy’s bedroom. Joe let him take the bottle, and he sat down on the edge of the bed.

“No,” said Percy. “Here.” He patted the pillow to his left.

So Joe took his place by Percy’s side, nervous, but he soon found the set-up was every bit as comfortable as it had looked. Except for Percy, tense next to him.

Percy rolled over towards Joe, platter between them, and, fiddling with cheese pairings, said, “I don’t think you can know how often I’ve daydreamed about this.”

“About cheese?”

Percy’s shoulders settled a little with his laugh, and his eyes took on an earnest gleam as he focused on Joe’s. “I’ve liked you for the longest time. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that. I’m really happy you came tonight.”

And so the whirlpool coiled again, dragging Joe deeper.

But Percy continued, “That’s why we need a new rule. Please, nothing personal. Don’t ask how I’m feeling, don’t ask about any of it. This is why I can’t see you. I’m not capable of being anything to anyone right now. I’m turning over a day at a time. And I can’t talk about it. It’s just going to sit there, like a beast in the corner. If that bothers you, we won’t do this. We’ll call it off now. But you should know, you being here… It’s nice. I want that.” He glanced down at the platter. “And maybe you don’t like strong cheese. Not that I’d judge you for it⁠—”

“I love strong cheese,” Joe protested.

“You do?” Noisy heart, thumping against his ribs.

“I do.” But before he considered eating it, he said, “Wait. Wine first.” Percy remained on tenterhooks as Joe took his first sip, then rasped out, “Oh my god. What is this?” Another sip. “That’s gorgeous.”

“You like it?” He obviously did. The expression on his face was worth every cent of the five hundred or so dollars the bottle cost.

Joe pulled the glass away from his lips, staring at the liquid as though it were the Cullinan diamond. “How much did this cost?”

“A trifle,” Percy lied. “Cheese?”

Joe glanced at the Roquefort for maybe the fiftieth time, or at least, it felt that way to Percy. “Are you sure they go together? I don’t want to waste this.”

“Eat.” He shoved the food at Joe yet again, and finally, Percy got to see the whole-body melt of the person that had been Joe when Percy’s very best and strongest Roquefort settled on his tongue.

There was no faking it.

This was a man, Percy could clearly see, who felt sensations of pleasure just as deeply as he did. And quite suddenly, the strongest desire took hold of him to see that look on Joe’s face as close to permanently as possible. To verily drown him in champagne. To take this priest and corrupt him in the most spectacular and delicious ways imaginable. “Joe⁠—”

Joe held up a hand. “I’m still recovering.”

And no wonder, subsisting on whatever pittance the Church saw fit to reward him with after he routinely risked his life trying to drive demons out of his parishioners’ bodies. It wasn’t enough to keep a man in good cheese, of that much, Percy was sure. He rushed to carve off another enormous piece of Roquefort, which he thrust towards Joe as soon as he opened his eyes. “So, how did you end up in the priesthood?”

There was a pause. Joe sipped his wine, and Percy got the feeling he was buying time. “Just one of those things,” was the answer that said nothing at all.

Interesting.

Joe pressed it back on Percy. “And you? What’s the daily life of an art historian like?”

Surprisingly bloody. “Oh, you know. Fairly dull. Inspect this, certify that. The occasional lecture.”

“Aha. But people call you about urgent art matters at four o’clock in the morning?”

Percy shrugged. “Paris,” he reiterated.

With a hint of jealousy simmering low, “They can’t account for time zones in Paris?”

He laughed softly, also buying time. “These things slip through the cracks, I suppose. But where in Italy did you grow up?”

“Rome.”

Now that was an outright lie. Quickly delivered, practiced, automatic. And intriguing. Joe clearly hadn’t yet grasped just how familiar Percy was with his home country. And he could easily have pushed, narrowed it down to the exact area and shoved a pin in that map, but Percy was a born liar. He understood there must have been some deep-seated necessity for that kind of deception. And all it served to do was make him twice as drawn to Joe. He let him have his secret, pretending he hadn’t noticed. “It’s a beautiful city. I’d like to go there with you someday.”

Joe sent across a slightly sharp look that Percy couldn’t quite categorise. He then offered a half smile before looking down. “‘No dates’ is probably on our list of things to avoid. I assume that includes international getaways. So maybe we should strike that.”

It surprised Percy to be checked like that. Thrown off the Roman trail, sure, but off the boyfriend trail too? It was a worrying turn.

Joe carried on, “I’m sorry about the boyfriend stuff, before. Asking about personal things. I think you’re right that it’s a good rule. To stay away from that.”

Very worrying…

But Joe kept talking. “Maybe, instead, I should have said something like…” His cheeks bloomed pink, yet he soldiered on with an enticing waver in his voice, and a fast glance at Percy. “‘Hey, Fuckboy, that was a pretty hot blowjob back there.’”

Percy laughed, and his cock certainly made itself known, yet he tried his best to ignore it, playing it off with a casual jest. “You should have said that. Do you think you could say it again?”

Joe’s head turned with a wide, shy smile. “‘Hey, Fuckboy. I’ve been gay my whole life and never touched a dick. Can you imagine what it’s like for me being here with you right now?’”

That same intimacy seeped back into the air.

Joe shifted towards Percy. “Percy⁠—”

“Fuckboy,” Percy corrected.

“Fuckboy,” Joe laughed, before calming his voice to a more earnest tenor, “we won’t talk about anything you don’t want to talk about. You make the line clear in the sand, and I won’t cross it. But remember, I was your friend first, before any of this. I can’t switch those feelings off, and I won’t. I like you. Every bit of you, no matter how dark you think it all is. Not just because you’re great at sucking dick. Now, please, could you take off your shirt?”

Treacherous ground, shifting beneath the pair of them. The smart thing to do would be to put an end to it right here. “You take it off.”

Joe’s wine was placed on the bedside table with Percy’s, the cheeseboard followed, and Percy watched each of Joe’s movements with a curiosity equal to his anticipation.

Joe, lying as a mirror to Percy, touched a hand to his chest. He ran it over the shirt, feeling across Percy’s collar bone, then down over his pectoral muscles, with an ardent study that made Percy thankful he’d kept up his exercise regime.

Joe’s fingers glided to the top button, and he pushed it through its hole. He concentrated hard on each one, working slowly. Percy let him explore, wondering what he was thinking, but refusing to interfere. How much of it was because it was his first time? How much of it was because it was Percy?

Another button came loose, then another, and Joe pulled back the open portion of his shirt, his eyes devouring the masculinity beneath. He dragged them up to meet Percy’s, then with his hand on Percy’s cheek, kissed him. Kissed him like he’d just been taught, only a thousand times better. With all the passion of one man who adored another, who wanted him badly, unrestrainedly, and whose desire took Percy with him.

He pushed Percy back, straddled him, and ripped what was left of his shirt free. Percy arched to let him ease it over his shoulders, then he sat up and took hold of Joe’s top and wrenched it over his head. Finally, their two naked chests pressed together, burning skin on burning skin, until Joe pushed him back down, staring at his body with the sort of awe one reserves for their first walk on the moon. His fingers gripped Percy at the waist. “You have scars.”

Percy had been stabbed, shot, slashed, all in the past, but most recently, he’d had a warding symbol carved into his chest to prevent another demon possession. And Joe’s chest, opposite, bore the exact same scar, melded into his skin by the same hand. But Joe, like Percy, had more scars still. A slash across his shoulder. Long, red marks that peeked around the side of his ribs from across his back.

Battle scars, just the same as Percy’s.

“Do they hurt?” Joe whispered.

“Sometimes.”

Joe’s lips were on Percy’s neck, kissing, sucking, biting, and Percy ground his dick up against Joe’s, fighting through the thin sweat pants that left nothing to the imagination. Percy reached down to stroke him and couldn’t believe his luck when his hand was caught and thrust above his head in a grip just as strong as his own. Joe’s full and glorious torso lengthened out along his, and his sweet breath declared, “Not this time.”

Percy obediently took a hold of the golden bars of his bedhead, while Joe ripped his belt open. He threw it to the floor, Percy's eyes following it with a regretful glance, but then Joe’s hands enclosed his whole against the metal, squeezing his knuckles until it was almost painful, and his cock thrust against Percy’s when he leaned down to kiss him. Joe shifted back with another graze of their dicks, then gazed up at the spectacular form before him. He ran his fingertips slowly along the pale underside of Percy’s arms, bringing his skin out in goosebumps. “You look…” Down over his pecs, his abs, to the button of his pants. He ripped it open, slid the zip down, and with two firm hands, pulled the lot below Percy’s hips.

Percy’s enormous dick sprang free and Joe let out a moan akin to that of a starving man being seated at the head of a king’s dining table. And no less did he act like it. He shot one look of greedy desire straight into Percy’s amygdala, and set about devouring his feast.

Percy gripped the golden bars for dear life as Joe’s tongue ran from the base of his dick to the top, groaning with pleasure over his first ever taste of precum. He took Percy in his mouth and he went down like an expert. He’d been taught by the best, in theory, but this was… natural. The man loved dick, and he went to work on Percy like he was making up for a lifetime of lost cock.

Percy may have been more experienced, but he was no more prepared for the thrill of the thing than Joe had been. For months, Joe had been his single and all-consuming fantasy, until Percy had finally given up any hope this might ever happen. And now that it had, it exceeded all expectations.

Joe flicked his golden eyes up to watch Percy, and it was the hottest thing Percy had ever seen. He wanted Percy helpless, at his mercy—he wanted Percy to adore him, and that was the easiest thing in the world for Percy to give him.

Percy arched his hips forward, threw his head back, eyes rolling up into his skull to ride out the sensation. His fingers grasped the bars tighter as he tried to hold back, to last longer than Joe had, because this—it was his dream come to life. And Percy couldn’t stop himself saying it. “This is all I’ve wanted since I first saw you. I’ve dreamed about you so many nights. You’re too perfect.”

The smacking of Joe’s lips breaking their suction shocked Percy out of his ecstatic trance. Joe’s mouth was on his again, then he whispered, “I don’t want to stop.”

“Then, by all means, carry on.”

Joe’s hair dipped against his shoulder, and he let out a soft chuckle. “No, I mean… I want to… I want you to…”

Percy’s head snapped up off the pillow. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yep,” Joe squeaked.

“Ah, fuck.” Percy kissed him. “Fuck.” He kissed him again. “I don’t suppose you’ve been wearing anything, to, uh, train your ass for me?”

Joe pulled back. “What? No. No, I really hadn’t planned this.”

“Handsome, if I fuck you right now, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”

“But…” Like a lost puppy, only so sexy Percy was cursing their spontaneity.

“Look,” he kissed Joe’s cheek, “you might not like it, anyway. But if you want to try, it doesn’t have to be tonight. I’m here whenever⁠—”

“Do you like it?” Fiery golden eyes captivated Percy’s.

“What?”

Joe’s voice was molten. “Do you like being fucked, Percy?”

It shouldn't have been possible for Joe to get any sexier. Percy nearly shot his load then and there. “Everything’s in the bedside table. Let me show you⁠—”

Joe’s precious lips pulled back into a lascivious grin. “I think I can figure it out.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE PRIEST WHO FUCKED

It’s funny how people sometimes come to discover a skill or passion later in life. In much the same way, sex, it seemed, suited Joe. The more time he spent alone with Percy, the less nervous he became. In fact, with the endorphins raging through his brain, he’d forgotten just about everything else in his world. All horror and responsibility sat outside Percy’s church, and there, in his bed, everything was pure.

Percy was blissfully responsive. Where Joe’s tongue ran across the arch of his ribs, Percy tensed. Where Joe bit into his hip, Percy hissed through his teeth with a sound that slid across Joe’s back like a viper. He made Joe feel like he was doing everything exactly right, and he made Joe bolder with every encouragement.

Joe pulled open Percy’s bedside table drawer. In amongst papers, spare change, a copy of The Scarlet Letter that Joe tried to ignore, lay a reel of condoms, stark, next to a tube of lubricant.

He ripped a condom off the long chain and threw it and the lubricant down on the bed. He’d messed around with condoms, like any teenage boy. He knew how they worked in theory. How hard could it be?

Percy hadn’t moved, only rested a knee against Joe’s hip when he leaned over to retrieve the goods. He’d loosened his elbows, but his hands remained steadfast, just where Joe had put them.

Joe had seen the look in his eyes when he threw the belt down, and being determined this should be a night that would have him invited back soon, Joe snatched it up off the floor and was straddling Percy again.

What the fuck was he doing?

Who the fuck cared?

That black belt was wrapped around Percy’s wrists within seconds, fastening him to the bedposts the same way Joe would have wrapped a possessed man. If it was too tight or too loose, Percy made no protest. Like with every other movement of the night, he let Joe be.

Joe got straight back to his dick. He had to have it in his mouth, had to hear Percy’s breaths peak and break that way they did. Had to see him watching, restrained, his muscles fighting the belt, that black leather against his skin.

Percy was strong, so strong, and Joe loved that about him. He was all muscle, and Joe couldn’t believe this was it. This was the man he was going to lose his virginity to. Tonight.

There was no guilt in the decision. Not then and there in the heat of the moment. It felt right, and good, and Joe believed with every fibre of his being that he was no better a priest for living in ignorance. If he was making a mistake, then so be it. That’s the very point of forgiveness, isn’t it? But life, to Joe, just then, was too beautiful for him to believe anyone was ever supposed to deny themselves something like that.

Joe’s tongue slid over the slit of Percy’s cock and traced a line up over his abs that were so defined, he felt every rise and dip. The salty taste of Percy’s skin was heaven to him. The smell of Percy—not of his perfume, just of him, that Joe had daydreamed about—nearly overwhelmed him, and his hand reached across for the condom.

“You’re not going to take that away from me already, are you?” Percy’s grin was sly, and he tilted his head back with a movement that begged for Joe’s dick in his mouth.

“I can’t. I won’t last.”

A little humpf escaped his lips. “Fine. But you remember for next time.”

Next time.

They had another date already. More or less.

With a heart almost as full to bursting as his dick felt like it was, Joe ripped the condom packet open. And it was simple. He slid the thing over his dick and right to the base. Done. He was proud he’d made it look easy.

He took the lube up. Fuck. “Um. How much?”

“Never enough, handsome. Just really squeeze it out.”

“Okay.” And so he did. And it seemed like way too much. And he looked at the cold mound of gel on his hand and felt his confidence ooze out in just the same way the lube had.

But Percy, as elegantly as ever, had him. “Kiss me.” Joe leaned his body out long, over Percy’s, and did as instructed. Percy, wrists bound, held him there with just his lips. “Move your hand down.” Joe did, while Percy kissed him again, and he didn’t know what sort of mess he was making as he sank his fingers down, but Percy didn’t let him think about it.

When Joe found the right spot, Percy gave the sort of sigh that couldn’t possibly be misunderstood. Percy kept him, and Percy let him explore. And Joe found, when he edged slightly in, then out, ran his finger around, Percy’s kisses increased their urgency. And so Joe did exactly that. He teased his hole. He ran his finger softly around the rim, then firmly. He sank that finger deeper in and out, and he didn’t need to be told when to add the next one. He fell into the rhythm of Percy, into the rhythm that had been within himself all that time, desperate to break free. And Joe couldn’t remember a time he’d felt that competent, that capable, as wanted, as he did with Percy.

Joe fucked Percy with his fingers, craving more of him, of his groans and gasps, desperate to give Percy the orgasm he had no idea he was fighting off with everything he had. He needed his dick inside that perfect ass like he needed air, and when he paused and searched Percy’s eyes, the nod came as easily as everything else had that night.

He slathered his dick and pressed against Percy. Percy’s muscular legs lifted, shifted over Joe’s hips, and the first blissful inch sank deep.

“Oh fuck,” Joe rasped.

Percy’s laugh was loving, and his gaze was all affection.

Joe took a hold of his waist, dug his fingers into the flesh he’d coveted for so long, and he pressed himself deeper.

Nothing had prepared him for the heat. The tight, hot pressure. It was, easily, the greatest feeling on earth. Percy bucked his hips and Joe’s mouth dropped open as his dick sank that touch deeper. “Percy.”

Percy did it again, and Joe doubled over with a shudder, clasping his restrained biceps.

“Enjoying yourself?” That grin just about tipped him over the edge.

Joe pulled himself together. He wrapped his fingers around Percy’s shoulders, and he pressed himself in. Percy shuffled his hips again, and before he knew it, Joe’s dick was sunk all the way to the hilt. There were no words for it. He slid back and, slowly, gave himself the pleasure of the movement once again. And again. And he was sure this was never going to be enough. This wasn’t a one-time thing. He was a priest who was never going to live with celibacy again.

At least not as long as he had Percy.

Percy’s legs tightened around him, and Joe hoped Percy wouldn’t mind, but the urge took him, and he pulled the belt loose from Percy’s wrists. He was gorgeous—spectacular—all sex, done up like that. But Joe wanted those arms around him, and Percy obliged. His fingertips ran deep into Joe’s hair. He forced Joe’s lips to his. Percy’s body wrapped him in an unbreakable knot, and in that cocoon, Joe made love to him. Whatever that was, whatever it could be called, Percy was Joe’s soul and salvation that night, and he disappeared into Percy, even as Percy seemed to be the missing piece of the half-person he’d always felt he was.

Percy took Joe’s hand from his cheek, down to his dick, and Joe worked it. He fucked Percy’s ass and claimed Percy’s dick as his own. Percy watched him, eyes locked onto his, and something in that strong brow twitched. Percy’s lips parted and the most alluring grunt slipped free, which Joe followed with his own on a chest-full of breath.

“Joe. Fuck.”

Joe quickened his hand, wrapped the other around Percy’s ribcage, and fucked him a little harder. It was too much. Too good. And Joe could feel the next orgasm about to let go. And he was going to be mortified if he didn’t satisfy Percy. But just as he clamped down on Percy’s cock, Percy shot a bold ribbon of hot cum across his chest, shuddering on a cry of ecstasy, as Joe did the same, coming inside Percy, in the most viciously exquisite moment of his entire life.

He collapsed onto Percy, whose fingers dug into his back, as another jolt of ecstasy smashed through him. Joe bent his neck, shifting his head into the comfort of Percy’s neck, his whole body shuddering, and Percy dropped a kiss on his hair.

He lay in the warmth of Percy’s arms and Percy’s bed for a few glorious moments, before realising he was covered in Percy’s cum, and had covered Percy in it when he lay down on him. “Shit.” He looked down. “Sorry.”

“Stay right here.” Percy shifted slightly, Joe pulled out, and was settled firmly into the nook of Percy’s arm, his body humming, post-sex, something that twelve hours earlier, was as remote a possibility as touching the stars.

He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he should leave soon, because ‘no sleepovers’, ‘no cuddling’, but there they were, wrapped up together, and Percy was holding him so close against his own dear skin. And that felt right. More right than anything Joe could remember feeling before.

They remained silent, the beat of Joe’s heart amplified by the press against Percy, until Percy said, “Was that okay?”

Joe laughed. “That was amazing. That was… I can see why people do that.”

Joe felt Percy’s smile against his hair. Another soft kiss. “Good.”

He waited for Percy to say more, but when he didn’t, the quiet turned cool. For Joe. “Was that… Um… For you⁠—”

“That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Joe scoffed a full breath of adoring laughter. Percy was undoubtedly lying, but it was a very welcome lie.

“I think this is your true calling,” Percy reflected, his languid hand stroking Joe’s naked hip. “Fucking me.”

Joe tsked softly, burying his face a little deeper in Percy’s chest.

So Percy added, “You’re like the St Matthew of fucking.”

Joe slapped a hand down on Percy’s chest, recoiling in mild shock. “You can’t say that!”

“Ow!” Percy passed his own hand over the pleasantly slapped area. “What? It’s true. I’m telling you.”

“Called forth by you? Does that make you the Jesus of fucking?”

With a shrug and a captivating smirk, “You tell me.”

Joe tried and failed to choke the laugh that crept up his throat. “I can’t. I can’t have this conversation. That’s a step too far. In fact…” This was it. The perfect time to call it a night. Leave on a good note. As friends. Like Percy would have wanted. Joe’s words were laced with regret, but he said them anyway. “I guess I should let you sleep.”

A stillness fell over Percy, all but his lips drawing tight, then, “The wine!” he ejaculated. “We’ve barely touched it. We can’t waste it.”

“It’s probably morning outside,” Joe argued, searching the windowless room for any indication of the time.

“So what? And your clothes won’t be dry. What if we just clean up, finish what’s now breakfast, and then…” He gave pause, raising a casual shoulder. “Then if you want to go, you can.”

‘If…’

Joe never wanted to leave his side again. So he accepted the flippant-sounding invitation, and he stayed on. They did exactly as Percy had suggested. They ate expensive cheese for ‘breakfast’, drank expensive wine to wash it down, and some hours later, when the rest of the world was drenched in bright daylight, they finally nodded off, side by side, in Percy’s painstakingly curated bedroom.

CHAPTER NINE

POST-FUCK CLARITY

Percy woke well before he opened his eyes. He woke to a full-body, magnificent sense of wellbeing like he hadn’t experienced in years. The temperature was just right. The sheets were soft and luxurious against his skin. But his body… His body sang. It sang a melody of Joe’s kisses along his arms and chest. It played a symphony of legs and fingers and sheets entangled. Every pitch was in perfect harmony, and the only thing lacking was a repeat performance.

Percy rolled over, flung an arm across the mattress, and met… nothing.

He sat up, scanned the bed, the dark room.

All was silent and empty.

He flung his silk robe on and stalked into the living room.

Cold and empty.

The kitchen, the bathroom, the whole small church bereft of the presence that had made his being sing.

And that was a good thing.

Percy ate alone and decided that was as it should be. Percy lay in his golden bathtub for hours, staring at his ceiling, reflecting on all the hateful complications that come with relationships. There were too many to name. It simply wasn’t for him, all that claustrophobic clinginess, asking each other what was for dinner, checking whether it was okay to travel, or even go out for god’s sake. All that repeated sex, over and over, on tap, with the same person…

He let out a sigh that ricocheted across the tiles, and he sank a little deeper into the water, right up to his chin.

Sex with Joe… over and over… on tap…

The problem—or one of the problems, anyway—was that Percy hadn’t lied. He’d been caught up in the moment, he’d wanted Joe to feel good about what they’d done, but in fact… Maybe it was the best sex he’d ever had.

Percy, deliberately, was not in the habit of comparing lovers. He’d had far too many to begin to rate for a start. And sex was sex. Every interaction was unique and, therefore, incomparable in its very essence.

Percy knew how handsome he was. And having been brought up amongst the cruelty associated with being the poorest kid in a private boys’ boarding school, he’d learned how to deploy the art of charm with a cynical coldness of heart that, in combination with his looks, almost invariably got him whatever he wanted.

He’d enjoyed or endured every variety of sex—hate sex, fun sex, revenge sex, guilt sex, paid sex, ex-sex, friend sex, bored sex, curiosity sex, threesomes, orgies, any and all sex, but… Joe sex…

It wasn’t the fact that he had been a virgin until that very morning—that Percy, in all the world, was his chosen one—though that was undoubtedly sexy. It wasn’t that he was a priest, though admittedly the very thought of it sent that all-too-familiar ache back to his cock. And the beauty. Christ, that spectacular beauty. Joe should have been a statue. He was a walking, breathing artistic perfection, in every turn of his head, every flex of his limbs, every smile…

That was it.

It was somewhere in that smile. The ease of it. The trust. The natural simplicity of Joe.

He wanted Percy, so he told him, and there were no games. No expectations. There was just Joe. A purity to his artless approach to Percy and to sex. His desire was so honest, and so open and… trusting.

The complete faith he’d put in Percy every step of the way to his door. When he’d kissed him like that, all passion, and not hiding an ounce of it. The intensity when he fucked him. The way he’d ripped that belt off his wrists and curled his very being into Percy’s arms, like he needed Percy, and like he knew Percy would take a hold in return. The way he’d etched himself into Percy’s skin, into his bones, until nothing else would ever fit quite the same again.

Fucking hell.

Percy sat bolt upright in his tub.

He wanted Joe back. Wanted to hold him. Desperately. Wanted that honesty, that trust. Needed that genuine, open something. That…

The idea smashed Percy across the head like a bottle of thirty-year-old wine, and he was up and out of his bath, cold and dripping, frantic with his need to escape.

He couldn’t have a boyfriend. No relationship, no Joe. This needed to be sex. Just like all the other casual sex, just like they’d both agreed to. Joe needed to be only one of god-knew-how-many sexual liaisons and nothing more. It was for his own good.

The trauma Percy was dealing with, the stupid mess he’d got himself into because of it, the very thing that had set in motion the events that brought Joe to his home the night before may, at this juncture, be best and most briefly retold via the medium of graphic art. And it all starts on the night Percy killed his brother Evelyn, right in front of Anna, when he became…

And that, in a nutshell, is why Percy kissed Anna. It had felt like the obvious thing to do at the time, as attached as he was to the pair of them. Joe hadn’t wanted him, as far as he knew, and, well… it was just sex after all. Like all the other sex.

But this, of course, is a rather fast and flippant retelling of the horror that Percy had been muddling his way through for months. The fact was, the murder of Evelyn chased Percy through every waking hour. When Joe had asked the night before how he was doing, all Percy saw was blood. Blood on Evelyn’s face, blood on his own hands, blood on the walls and ceilings and floors, and all of it because he had been stupid enough to let himself get possessed.

Demons are cruel and wily beings by nature, relentless and smart, and one can never, ever, not for a second, let their guard down around such creatures. That was what he did, and he would never forgive himself for it. One slip and it had ended in catastrophe.

He got his brother back, but only thanks to Anna, who he almost killed that night too. And for that, she had earned prime position in his heart, gilded and unable to be toppled from her throne no matter what. His very best friend, and one of his favourite people in existence.

Who Joe hated.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have kissed her after all. That had been… Well, not a mistake exactly. It had brought Joe to his door, hadn’t it? And had he known that was the likely outcome of the action, he’d have done it months earlier.

But that, of course, wasn’t his intention at the time.

He’d kissed Eve too, the second he found out they might not be related, and that very evening, instead of moping over Joe, he should have been with the pair of them, enjoying a very pleasant threesome, which he’d worked very hard to organise.

He should not have been there, at home, worrying over a beautiful priest.

Percy flopped down on his bed, and as his head hit the pillow, there was Joe. The smell of him, just there. And with it, the memory of his eyes sparkling in the firelight, the memory of his touch, the conversation, the laughter, the memory of Percy’s unaccustomed happiness.

But he couldn't have a boyfriend…

But on the other hand, it was Joe… And an opportunity like that wasn’t likely to come around ever again.

No.

He’d be putting Joe in enormous danger were he to bring him into his life. He’d be setting him up for a miserable let down in the long run. That’s if Joe even managed to survive until the inevitable breakup.

There was no way Percy could start seeing Joe seriously.

It was out of the question.

Never going to happen.

He’d just have to break things off, as gently as possible, before it all got completely out of control.

CHAPTER TEN

RED LIGHT

The next morning, Joe was back at Anna’s apartment. He was still furious with her and never would have gone over there, had it not been Eve who called, begging for his help. And there wasn’t much Joe wouldn’t do for him.

They were supposed to be doing all the planning they were too drunk to do the last time, trying to fix the same supernatural problem. At least it was morning now, coffee and tea only, so he hoped they might finally get somewhere. Well, as much as he could think about it while his mind was plagued with thoughts of Percy.

In all honesty, it hadn’t just been Eve’s request that brought him over. He knew Percy would be there. One call from Anna and he’d come running.

Joe saw, for the thousandth time already, the image of Percy kissing Anna. Only it was worse now that they were… not together. Now that they were… whatever they were. Now that he felt Percy was his somehow. More than hers, at any rate. Wasn’t he?

Joe was embarrassed by how long he’d spent staring at his phone the day before, willing it to ring. Every sound in the courtyard had sent him dashing for the door in the hope Percy had decided to drop by.

But why would he? That’s what boyfriends did, presumably. And Joe was no one’s boyfriend. He was just a man, pouring crisps into a bowl in Anna’s kitchen, hiding from his friends again.

It didn’t help that Anna kept looking at him funny. As well she might, the jezebel. His history with Anna was long and checkered, and he didn’t look half as fondly on her as Percy did. He’d been through the wringer, and it was all because she’d decided to do a séance in her haunted apartment that one time…

With a jealous nausea bubbling up inside, Joe’s hand went to the demon-warding symbol Anna had carved into his chest. A perfect mirror to the one she’d marked Percy with. A strange history, shared but so different. One that made him sick with bitter memories.

It was the same demon who possessed both Joe and Percy. The main difference was the destruction wrought. Percy had murdered his brother and almost murdered Anna. But they were both fine now. Unlike the people Joe had killed.

The night he was possessed, Joe had murdered fifteen people at a local bar. And before that, he’d murdered his adoptive father. The man who took him in when he was an orphaned child. The priest he had lived with and worked with. The man whose job he had taken after he killed him.

At only twenty-four, Joe shouldn't have been a priest yet. But an emergency Church meeting was called after the ‘incident’. An investigation took place, and it was decided not only was Joe innocent, but that he was the man best suited to the position his predecessor had left so violently. The parishioners knew him. Adored him. He knew the area. Knew that dark things were relentlessly attracted to it. And he was prepared to fight them.

Joe was ordained early under those special considerations. His victim’s home became his home. His church became Joe’s church. And every day was a reminder of the things his own hands had done.

And he wanted out.

He desperately wanted to be gone from the town and people and everyone who knew him, who still came to his church to ask for his advice. Who still grieved for the people they had no idea their own priest had murdered.

But where was he to go? He was good for nothing beyond exorcisms and a bit of ghost whispering. And the Church wanted him where he was, long term. Or for as long as he could survive the dangerous position.

He had plenty of holiday leave accrued, but what would be the point? It would end and he’d be right back here.

There was no escape.

It was a grim fate.

And yet…

That night with Percy…

If only he could relive that, over and over, things might be a little easier. If Percy’s body and Percy’s smile could transport him, repeatedly. If he could keep saying those sweet things, it might be like he wasn’t there at all. He might have something, for the first time in his life, to look forward to. Something beautiful. Transportive.

Even if it was a mirage.

A half happiness.

He could let himself believe for those few hours, couldn’t he?

Until Percy got bored with him. Which would probably take him all of five minutes. A man like that with all the sexual attention he must get everywhere he went.

Joe’s stomach gave a queasy scrunch as he wondered how Percy would manage things when he finally arrived. He’d probably keep it a secret. No one needed to know Percy was Joe’s fuckboy. Joe was supposed to be a priest, after all. So Percy would probably pretend there was nothing going on. Keep his distance. Carry on with his little jokes and flirtations with Anna, right in front of him and everybody else. It was what he’d agreed to, wasn’t it? So what more could he expect?

With his heart sinking, Joe took the bowl he’d spent a full ten minutes filling, and stepped back into the living room just in time to see the front door burst wide open to reveal Percy’s delicious frame.

His eyes latched onto Joe as though no one else was present. “Joe.”

Joe’s heart damn near smashed itself out of his chest. “Percy.”

Percy’s body obliterated the space between them in two steps, and half a second more saw Joe pushed up against the wall, Percy’s chest against his. Percy slammed one hand down on the wall by his head, snaked the other around his waist and wrenched him even closer, grinding their hips together, and he kissed him, long and hard and glorious, in front of everyone.

“Joe,” Percy said breathlessly when he finally set his lips free, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Joe very nearly squealed, but rather remarkably, he kept a grip on his chips. It was like winning every lottery in the world all at once, only better and a thousand times less believable. But this was new ground, and he was determined to hold it, so he made his voice as sultry as humanly possible and said, “Then I think I’d better come over tonight.”

Those lips. That smile, like the sexiest demon on the planet. Percy kissed Joe, on his mouth, across his cheek, up to his ear, where he whispered, “You’d better.”

Percy Ashdown was a walking stop light, shining violent red over an icy crossroads in the inky night. But he was the only light Joe had seen in such a long time.

So Joe slammed his foot down on that accelerator, and held on for dear life.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE SKELETONS IN PERCY’S BASEMENT

Joe laid the handle of a sledgehammer against the sparkling granite wall of Percy’s church, and his knuckles rapped out his arrival on the thick oak door.

During the long morning’s discussions and arguments with their friends, he’d found a quiet moment to offer to help Percy with his skeleton problem. It would be the first time they’d been alone since they slept together, and Joe wondered what sort of reception he’d get.

Percy felt things deeply, and he didn’t do things by halves, so Joe tried not to put too much stock in his declaration. Yes, they’d known each other for months, but love…

The door cracked open. “Handsome.” Percy pulled him in and turned him swiftly, wrapping both arms around him for a long kiss. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was thinking, what if we don’t do skeletons, and I just take you straight to bed?”

Joe took in his alluring grin, countering with, “Skeletons, then bed?”

“Why complicate matters?”

“Because I don’t want you to die.” Joe shoved him off and made his way into the living room. He beelined to the white rug they’d had their impromptu picnic on, and ripped it back. Percy’s trapdoor rumbled with the excitement of the creatures listening beneath as they anticipated its opening.

Percy remained where he was in the entranceway. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, don’t you think we’re more likely to die if we do open that door?”

Joe clasped his hands together like a man used to putting a fast and dramatic end to supernatural problems. And the quicker he did it, the sooner his thankful new boyfriend would be able to take him back to bed with one less worry on his mind. “We can handle them. What’s your plan? Put a spell on them to freeze them or something?”

Percy’s hands slid into his pockets. “I’m not sure I should be doing spells just now, since I lost the Necronomicon. That might actually be why they reanimated.”

“You can’t do necromancy anymore?”

“Probably shouldn’t… For a bit.” Instead, he indicated the small dining table, laden with store-bought chips and dip, crackers and so on, that Joe hadn’t noticed until then. “I got some snacks—I didn’t make anything in the kitchen because of our agreement⁠—”

“Our agreement? The boyfriend thing?” That was a punch in the gut. ‘I think I’m falling in love with you’, a show of their new relationship in front of their friends, and now… he wouldn't even cook for him in case Joe got the wrong idea?

As the realisation sank in, Joe could feel his features betraying him, from his tight facial expression to the way his arms hung like two lead pipes. Everything felt heavy. How was he supposed to hide a disappointment like that? He gave an unconvincing smile. “Great.”

He moved back to the door. The sledgehammer suddenly seemed like the perfect tool for the job at hand.

Percy had gone unusually quiet, and his silent study of Joe only made him feel more unsettled. So Joe asked, in a clipped voice that masqueraded as casual, “What are you going to use?”

Percy’s eyes moved to the sledgehammer. “I don’t know. I thought we might talk about it.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to get the job done,” Joe said sharply—sharper than he’d meant it to be. But what kind of man tells someone he thinks he’s falling in love with them, then offers them French onion dip a few hours later?

Percy. That kind of man. Joe should have known better. Two nights before, he’d had his lips on someone else.

Joe didn’t feel like lunch. And he didn’t feel like sex. But he still didn’t want Percy to die, and he did feel like killing things, so he said, “Get a weapon. I’m about to open it.”

Percy came to his side, pressing his boot over the latch. “Do you think we could take ten minutes to discuss this?”

Veering into sarcastic teenager zone, “Are you sure you’ve got a spare ten minutes?”

“Joe, why are you being like this?” He reached for Joe’s hand, but that was quickly wrapped around the handle of the sledgehammer.

“I’m not being like anything,” Joe replied, forcing himself to meet Percy’s worried eyes. “You asked me here to do this and I want it over and done with. It’s not like I don’t have other things to get on with.”

“All right.” Percy crossed the room to a large ceramic vase, out of which stuck the hilts of six or seven swords. Joe had thought it was a quirky decoration, but the twang of the blade as it slid against the others, the way Percy’s hand held it, suggested it was very real and well loved. “Would you like one?”

Joe gripped his sledgehammer a little tighter. It wasn’t half as manoeuvrable as what Percy had. “I guess.”

“Hmm.” A tight sound. Percy pulled out another blade, which he held out long to examine. A little thinner than his own, but a little longer, too. It looked lighter. And it was golden. “Be careful. It’s antique.”

“Of course it is,” Joe muttered. He accepted it from Percy and laid it down on the floor by his feet.

Percy rounded the trapdoor to stand opposite him. “Are you sure⁠—”

Joe kicked the latch open, the door flew back with a bang, and an innumerable volley of bones sprung through the hole. Joe dropped his sledgehammer straight into the middle of the pack, and it went down through the aged and brittle skeletons like… Well, like a sledgehammer through old bone. A cacophonous cracking echoed throughout the old church and a puff of bone-dust turned the whole show white.

Percy had already dropped to one knee, and with his sword held flat on its side, he sliced the heads off any skeletons who had been so successful and remiss as to have poked them through. Joe took up his own sword, but went about using his boot to smash the fingers that gripped the floorboards in their attempted escape. He jabbed the sword down at a skeleton climbing up the ladder, and managed to slice across both wrists, which sent it flying back into the others, and made space for him to begin the deadly descent.

“Let me,” Percy offered as Joe slid a foot across to the ladder.

“Why? Are you worried I’m going to cramp your style?” He slashed down at the fingers that reached up for him.

Percy stamped down on a skull that had rolled onto his floor, crushing it flat. “Are you always this passive aggressive?”

“Passive?” Joe shouted. He kicked a foot back, cracking holes in skulls and ribcages until he found enough space to jump down to the earthen floor.

Percy soon landed opposite him. “Maybe if you could tell me what I’ve done wrong, I could try to fix it.”

But that was exactly the problem. ‘No boyfriend bullshit.’ He’d said it loud and clear, and Joe hadn’t listened. And that hurt. Joe grasped his sledgehammer, swung wide, and obliterated the spine of a skeleton against the hard-mud wall. “New rule. Don’t ever tell me you’re falling in love with me again.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

NOT AT ALL MY TYPE

So Percy had got it catastrophically wrong. Joe had said he didn’t want a boyfriend, and Percy… He’d gone too far. He knew he should have shut his mouth, but when he saw Joe that morning, so gorgeous… it had just spilled out.

And he’d thought he was finally in with a chance. But apparently not.

Joe and his God. What chance could Percy ever stand against that?

But then he hadn’t expected Joe to react like this either.

“I’m sorry.” Percy brought his sword down on the shoulder of a headless skeleton, cracking the mass to the floor. “Have I done my dash with the whole sex thing, or is that still on the table?”

Joe, already a little red with exertion, turned positively scarlet. He made no more answer than to wield his sledgehammer with twice the force, which made Percy twice as regretful he’d fucked up.

Percy suggested, “I can do angry sex, if you’d like? Just cold, nasty, angry sex. That’s fine by me.”

Joe dropped his sledgehammer and punched a skull off some being’s spinal column.

Why did he have to be so impossibly hot? Muscles rippling everywhere. “You can just drop by for a lesson in head if that would be agreeable to you? Just fuck my mouth until you work it all out.”

Joe turned sharply towards Percy. “How was I so wrong about you?” He flung an elbow back into an encroaching skeletal arm.

Percy flipped a whole corpse, still with a little flesh on it, over his shoulder and onto the floor. “I’ll be honest, Joe, you’re kind of making me feel like shit right now. I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.” He stamped down on the chest of the thing, got his foot stuck in the cavity, but managed to rip an arm up, taking a hand clean off. He considered making the obvious joke as the thing flapped about in his grip, but decided against it.

Joe took up his sword again. “That’s you all over, isn’t it?” He sliced a corpse across the middle. “Didn’t mean to be so sexy.” He chopped an arm off another. “Didn’t mean to lead me on.” He rammed the hilt into a third. “Didn’t mean to get into this whole mess.”

“Lead you on?” Percy chopped the legs off an assailant just below the knee. “I’d say that’s the pot calling the kettle black. You don’t tie a man’s hands to the bed like that, fuck him dry, and expect him to forget it overnight.”

“You don’t fuck a virgin priest and do—do—do all those things you did, and not expect that to mean anything!” The last skeleton was dispatched by Joe’s blade tripping it up, followed by his boot flattening its skull to powder.

Percy glared around at the broken and silent skeletons, pieces everywhere, twitching quietly on the floor. “So we had a good night. We’re on the same page. Why are you angry at me? I didn’t mean to catch feelings and I apologise. I’ll go straight back to the cold prick I’ve always been if you just stop with this bullshit.”

“What?” Joe verily snapped the word out, and Percy was even more taken aback, becoming a little irate with it.

In one long, fast and sarcastic tirade, he vomited out, “I don’t like you at all. Is that better? I can’t stand strong jaws and muscles as it goes. I don’t like your hair and your eyes. You’re too sweet for my liking. Too kind. Too fucking brave and arguably too responsible, making us come down here to slay these things so I don’t get killed in my sleep. And on top of it all, I hate that you came to my house and seduced me in the middle of a stormy night, because I don’t find grand gestures remotely compelling. In fact, you’re not at all my type⁠—”

Percy’s speech was cut short by Joe’s lips crashing into his. Joe wrapped his hand around the back of his neck, fingers threaded through the base of his hair, sending a shockwave of delicious tingles down his spine. “What did you say?”

Percy dipped his forehead to Joe’s as he caught his breath. “What answer’s going to get me more of that?”

Joe laughed. Such a gorgeous sound that smoothed over every frazzled wire of Percy’s nerves. “You said… feelings?”

“The love thing was too subtle?”

Joe pulled back, gesticulating around Percy’s underground tunnel with his beautiful hands, shouting, “You did that snack thing!”

“I was trying not to pressure you!” Percy shouted back. “You said you didn’t want a boyfriend!”

“You said you didn’t want a boyfriend!”

“I lied!”

“I lied!”

“So?”

“So…”

The longer the quiet stretched, the more ridiculous it felt to both of them, but Joe wasn’t about to say it, so Percy forced himself out onto that plank. “Joe, would you please be my boyfriend?”

He gave a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder. “Okay, yes. Since you asked so nicely.”

“I take it bac—” This kiss was the kind of kiss that very quickly turned from sweet to heated. The kind of kiss that had them both, lips locked, retreating for the ladder to go directly to bed to seal the deal. And so they did. And some time later, still covered in bone dust on Percy’s just-changed sheets, the two rolled into each other’s arms and basked in their post-sex haze, as boyfriends. It was the moment Percy craved when he’d woken up without Joe. And he held on that much tighter, until the endorphins slowly ebbed away, and yet again, miserable reality started to claw its way back through the temporary shield.

Percy couldn’t have a boyfriend.

But he wasn’t about to tell Joe that.

He had to say something, nevertheless, and though saying it was akin to forcing himself to stick his hand in boiling water, he came out with, “I have to go away.”

Joe stilled, then shifted his head up to look at Percy, his hair falling across Percy’s shoulder in a singular caress.

That look again. That lost, deer-like look. “For how long?”

That crushing guilt. “Maybe a while. You see, most of my work is overseas, in Europe. But I do want to do this. The boyfriend thing. Believe me. I usually come and go fairly frequently, but in this case…” He might not come back. Not ever. And not just because he hadn’t planned to.

The silence was stretching, and with every second, he could see the light in Joe’s eyes fade.

“The job I do is…” Highly illegal? Dangerous? “Slightly unpredictable. And if I could take you with me, I would love to invite you, but I know you have priest things that keep you here⁠—”

“Do you mean that? Or are you just saying it?” Joe had been frowning hard, thinking it through, but with these words, he levelled a disconcertingly serious look at Percy.

Percy’s pulse spasmed in alarm. “Hmm?”

Joe spoke slowly, nervously, and his caution went straight to Percy’s overexcited, boyfriend-inclined heart. “Because I haven’t taken holiday leave in, well, ever. Um. And I have a lot of leave accrued. But if you’re just saying that, that you’d like me to come…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “No, I’m not just saying it. Of course I’d love for you to come. It’s just⁠—”

“Really? Would you?” That kid at Christmas thing again.

No! screamed the logical part of Percy’s brain. But the romantic half could already see Joe’s sleepy head on the pillow next to his. Could already see the smile on his face when he spoiled him with nice hotels and expensive dinners. Could feel the warmth of coming back to Joe, after a long day of fist fights and murder, instead of coming back to a cold and empty hotel room. And that vision was enough to bring forth the fatal words. “Yes. Yes, I’d love you to come.”

That laugh again. That sweet, alarming laugh. “Okay. This was unexpected. But, why not?”

“Why not?” Only the theft and violence… But Percy could keep a secret as well as anyone else. Better. There was no need for Joe to ever find out what he got up to at work. He’d simply lie. Every day of their vacation. So what harm could possibly come of a little jaunt through Europe?

Closing in on the idea, Percy said, “I need to be there one week from today. Is that enough time for you?”

“Sure. Yeah. Where are we going, by the way?”

“Kraków.”

“Poland? I’ve never been.” Joe’s mind reeled at the thought of it. The price of the flight. Where they’d stay. How to approach any of it with Percy, who was clearly some kind of wealthy. “Is it expensive there?”

No way would Percy let Joe spend a cent on this ridiculous idea, especially because he might fuck up at any point and make him regret the lot. “It’s business, so it’s all going on the expense account. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

“Just the flights?” Joe probed.

“Not a thing,” Percy insisted.

“Percy—”

“Don’t worry. There’s always a loophole for these things.”

“Okay.” Joe mulled the idea over in silence, then, “And who do you actually work for? A museum or a university or something?”

“Yes. Anyway, there’s one more thing I should probably mention before we set out.” Percy’s tone had the quality of ripping a bandaid off, so Joe rolled onto his arm to listen.

Percy’s eyes flitted across to Joe’s, then back to the ceiling. “Uh… I will be meeting with some people… who… You see…” Percy also rolled over, elbow to elbow with Joe, letting his fingers land on Joe’s ribs, where they drew meandering swirls on his skin, and he watched the movement intently. “In this business, sometimes we need to re-acquire stolen works.”

“Re-acquire?”

“Some might say ‘traffic’.” Percy raced over the word to get to the main point. “And sometimes that means doing business with slightly… immoral people.”

Eyes almost popping out onto the pillow, Joe captured his gaze. “Criminals?”

“Thieves, certainly. Lowlives. Nothing to worry about. I just thought I should let you know, it’s um… best if you stay at the hotel. While I’m at work. Is all.”

A barely audible whisper of, “Right…” scraped out of Joe’s throat.

“Or you can go sightseeing or something. After I leave the hotel. Maybe a few hours after I leave, to be safe. Just that, those days I have to work… I’ll be, um, busy, and… It would be best if I can’t be traced back to you. You know?”

An ice finger of warning slid down Joe’s spine. But that was right around the time Percy reached out and shifted a lock of hair back from his eye. A simple movement, but an intimate one. One like a boyfriend might use. A boyfriend Joe so desperately wanted. One that Joe wasn’t going to throw away so easily. So Joe put on his best show of bravado and joked, “Who knew art history could be so exciting?”

“Handsome,” Percy chuckled, lying back and stretching his delicious arms behind his beautiful head, “you have no idea…”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DEPARTURE

For Joe, there was little to do before the trip. His higher ups were well aware of his recent possession and murderous rampage. They had paid for his therapy, for a time, and they knew he all but lived off valium. It wasn’t an unfamiliar story for an exorcist. So when he asked for a holiday, leaning heavily on his trauma as the reason, he was granted all his available leave readily, under the proviso he still attend an upcoming Church meeting that he’d already agreed to go to.

That meeting would take place three weeks hence in Libya, which also happened to be where the sheath Percy so desperately wanted was kept. Not that he was about to tell Percy that. Percy had been there in the past, failed to discover it, and concluded it was a lost cause, so he would simply let that lie. And their holiday would be all over and done with by then, anyway.

Another priest was brought in to replace him for the duration of his leave. That man would live in Joe’s house by the church until his return, so all there was left to do was make him familiar with the day-to-day routine, then pack.

Percy, on the other hand, had stronger ties to the town. His mother lived there with his other brother, Michael. He needed to say goodbye to them, but it wasn’t a task he relished. He put it off and put it off until just hours before he was due to fly out, when he finally made himself swing by his mother’s house en route to the airport.

He knocked on her door. The same rundown cottage she’d always lived in, and insisted on remaining in, no matter how many times Percy had tried to buy her somewhere nicer. He’d made changes to the place to make it more comfortable than it was when he was growing up there, but they were small. She’d let him install split system air conditioning, complaining all the while about her wall being damaged for the purpose. She let him replace the threadbare carpet when the breeze through the floorboards became too much, but this she accompanied with a lot of talk about how the replacement carpet wasn’t exactly the same, even if it was the closest Percy could find. A few months earlier, when his brother Michael moved in with her, she had let Percy buy all the comforting things he deemed necessary for the boy, but she watched the lot with a wary eye.

She resented Percy’s money. She saw it all as the influence of his rich father, who’d left her for another woman when he was small. She failed to see that the man never gave Percy a penny—just flung money at his education and called it a day. This was the schism of Percy’s upbringing. Half of it here in this tiny, broken-down house, half of it in the gilded halls of the elite, and either one despised and looked down upon by the opposing parent. Both places he hated with a passion, but while he hadn’t spoken a word to his father in over a decade, and knew not whether he was even dead or alive, he still adored his mother.

“Percy!” On first sight, she hugged him warmly. But then her eyes searched about with that blurred, vague look they’d had for as long as he could remember. She ran them over his hair and his clothes with that familiar distance which suggested his navy trench coat need not be cut quite so sharply, nor was it necessary for the shirt underneath to be tailored so exactly.

His clothes weren’t loud, and at Sotheby’s, where he felt so much more at home, his outfit would have blended into the background. But any eye could see the ensemble was costly, and hers hid little of her disdain for it.

Nevertheless, she pulled his arm and brought him inside, making the kind of pointless small talk a parent makes when they have little idea of what to say to their grown child.

Michael was on the couch in a darkened living room playing Yoshi’s Island on the Super Nintendo Entertainment System that Percy had bought him. “Hey, Percy.” His eyes remained glued to the screen.

“Hey, Michael.” Percy leaned over and kissed the top of his head, making light conversation about the game while waiting for his mother to return from the kitchen with tea.

Michael was difficult in his own way, as one might expect for a man of thirty-three trapped in a child’s body. He’d spent most of his life with his picture on the side of a milk-carton, until Percy, with Joe’s help, had finally found him chained up in a dark basement, alive only due to the demon who had shared his body for more than two decades by then.

Yes, the town was essentially fucked.

Naturally, that past had left Michael in a strange way. He was still, in essence, the boy who went missing all those years ago, childlike, stuck in time. But he was also a grown man who knew things demons knew.

He wasn’t dangerous. But he was odd.

Their mother set the tea down on the table, spilling a little over the edge of Percy’s cup.

The liquid pooled briefly on the wooden table, then sucked itself into a ball, and splashed back into the cup.

The boy was telekinetic, too.

“Thank you,” Percy said. Michael made no reply, and their mother worked hard to keep the sadness out of her eyes. Even if he came back different, he came back, and that was the main thing.

Percy led the conversation, as he usually did, trying to stay on cheerful topics, asking about work, and the great strides Michael had been making in reading. He kept this up for a good hour or so, learning all about the neighbour’s tree growing over the back fence. He offered to do something about it, was rebutted as usual, then finally he came to the reason for his visit. “I’m going away for a while. For work. And I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. Maybe a long time. So I just wanted to check you have everything you need.”

“We’ll be fine,” his mother replied, all too quickly.

Percy pulled a note from his pocket, placing it down on the coffee table. “I know. But if you need me, call Leo. His number’s here. And in case you can’t get in touch with him, I’ve put Eve’s number down too⁠—”

“I don’t need anything from your step brother,” she snapped.

“Half brother,” Percy corrected gently. “Michael’s half brother too. He’d like to help.”

“We’ll be fine,” she repeated, calm, but in that unnervingly calm way so many mothers say things when they’re pissed off.

And that was Percy’s cue to leave. Yet he stalled, because he hated to end it on that note. So he said, hopefully, “I’m taking someone with me.”

“Someone?” His mother hit the word with teasing incredulity. “Who is it this time?”

Percy doubled his effort to keep that smile on his face. “‘This time,’” he repeated. He tried to laugh the words out. “No, he’s very nice. I think he’s⁠—”

“What happened to Giordano?” She cut him off without so much as a glance, watching Yoshi’s Island all the while. “I liked Giordano.”

Percy grit his teeth, but he kept the smile. “We broke up years ago. About four years, in fact.”

“Did you? I can’t keep track of your life.”

The truly hurtful thing was that he told her very little about his life these days, so there wasn’t much to keep track of. He tried one last time. “This man that I’ve started seeing, he’s⁠—”

“Did you know Michael’s back at school?”

Finally, the smile fell, but only for as long as it took Percy to look down at the floor, remind himself that she wasn’t well, and muster up the energy to say, “Yes, I did know that.” After all, he’d paid for the uniforms, the books, the extracurriculars his mother had deemed superfluous. He quizzed Michael on it in a friendly manner for a few more minutes, then stood to leave.

His mother kissed his cheek, hugged him, told him to stay safe, then disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving him to let himself out. He said one last goodbye to Michael and made his way to the door with the usual sinking heart.

But Michael stopped him abruptly with the question, “Is it Joe?”

“I’m sorry?” Percy had heard him loud and clear, but the surprise of it threw him.

“Is it Joe that you’re going away with?” Michael had paused the game, and was looking at him. Or rather, into him. Straight into his mind, it felt like.

“Yes, it’s Joe.”

“I can smell him on you.” Percy, bewildered, gave a slow and slight sniff of his shoulder. He’d parted from Joe three hours prior and showered since. He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or terrified. Then Michael said, as flatly as he’d said all the rest, “Please come back.”

Despite the double-tap of his heart, Percy still liked to imagine he was mollycoddling a child. “Of course I’ll be back. I’ll see you soon.”

The eyes pierced him. “No. Really. I’ll be sad if you die.”

“I won’t die,” Percy said mechanically.

“You should tell Joe what you’re thinking of doing. He’s nice. He’d take care of you.”

It was rare that anything scared Percy, but this did. And that fear was only slightly alleviated when Michael sprinted across the room and flung himself into Percy’s arms for a final farewell. Percy hugged him, kissed his cheek, then, just as quickly as humanly possible, he closed the door on his family.

Given that his hands were shaking, it took a little longer than usual to get the cigarette to his mouth. He walked triple fast down the lawn with the smoke gliding down his throat, and by the time he’d made it to his car, he’d convinced himself the strange interaction had been his mind playing tricks. The child-like intelligence of a damaged man babbling out barely coherent nonsense.

Like hell did Michael have any idea of what he was planning to do.

And like hell would he ever tell Joe.

Two hours later, Percy arrived at the airport bar where they’d agreed to meet. Joe was the very first thing he saw, before Joe saw him. He was waiting at a bench with two tall beers. He looked fresh and excited, in a soft-looking grey sweater. Gorgeous. Utterly beautiful. Unutterably sweet.

Percy could have left.

Just walked away and left Joe to his life.

Maybe that would have been the kinder thing to do.

But before he could bring himself to turn away, Joe’s gaze shot across the room, their eyes met, and his face lit. And Percy couldn’t remember the last time someone had been so happy to see him.

Joe was already halfway across the room, and every step Percy took to meet him in the middle swept his doubts into nothing more than abstraction. He had his arms around Joe, his lips on his, his hand in his, and as Joe led him back, talking excitedly about their trip, Percy pushed down the simmering guilt.

Joe never needed to find out.

Everything would be perfectly fine.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

KRAKÓW COUNTDOWN

Joe and Percy lay sprawled, naked on the four-poster bed of their Kraków apartment, gasping for air.

“I can’t believe I lived my whole life without that,” Joe panted.

“I hope I made it worth your sacrifice,” came Percy’s breathless answer.

Joe shifted over so his head was resting on Percy’s belly, Percy reaching down to play with the deep brown curls of Joe’s hair. They lay that way, perfectly happy, for about two minutes, until Joe said, “So, are you going to tell me what you do?”

“I told you,” was the soft and tolerant reply. “I traffic fine arts and artefacts.”

Joe turned his face to look up at Percy, whose eyes remained on the ornate curves of the bed frame overhead. “But what specifically will you be doing today?”

“The less you know⁠—”

“‘The better.’ So you’ve said.”

Percy moved the conversation right along. “You’ll have this place all to yourself, Kraków all to yourself, and I’ll meet you this evening after work and we’ll go somewhere nice. Where do you want to go?”

Joe rolled over and leaned on one arm, taking his new partner in. Percy, of all people. He was spectacular. Joe had known it from the first, but he couldn’t understand how it had taken him so long to fall… in love? Or was it just lust?

That morning, through the gentle lens of pre-breakfast holiday sex, Percy’s eyes were so, so blue, his lashes were so, so long, and his lips were so very pink, all standing out against that crushingly enigmatic curl of dark hair about his cheekbones. He was incredibly strong too, a fact which Joe had discovered first hand on mornings such as theirs had been. Evenings and afternoons too, almost any time they were alone together in the week since they had decided to become a couple.

Joe shifted a little further up the bed, resting his chin on Percy’s shoulder, drinking him in, yet desperate to sate his curiosity. “At least tell me who you’re meeting.”

“Thieves and villains.” Percy kissed Joe’s forehead. It was a kiss in between long and short—a kiss that said, ‘I don’t want to leave your side, but I need to end this conversation right now’. He did exactly that, sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Where do you want to go tonight?”

Joe relented as he watched Percy pull away. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to Kraków before. Do you know anywhere good?”

“I do. Shall I surprise you?”

How magnificent he was, sitting up, his thighs and his abs, so firm and tight and muscular, his shoulders so wide, and that chest…

Joe couldn’t resist. He leaned across and kissed Percy’s back, his hip. “Surprise me.”

Percy cast his lovely, suggestive eyes down, and Joe wondered if he would always melt when Percy smiled at him like that. He leant over, dropped one last kiss on Joe’s lips, then left to shower and dress.

Joe stretched in the expensive linen sheets, called room service, put on a robe, looked through an enormous window at the old red-brick and stone city under the crisp, blue day, then settled onto the lounge to wait, reflecting on his opulent surroundings.

Percy had said he was staying in this hotel whether Joe came along or didn’t, so Joe hadn’t paid a cent for what he assumed was an extremely expensive suite.

It was the best room (Percy said) in what had been a sixteenth-century palace. High ceilings, ornate mouldings, paint on the walls in dusky pinks and browns, artfully chipped to look elegantly aged. The wooden bed frame was carved lavishly and the soft mattress was clothed in some of the most luxurious fabrics Joe had ever touched. The breakfast, when it arrived, came ample and delicious-looking, on delicate and beautiful china. The thickest, softest-possible rug lay under Joe’s feet as he sank deeper into the maroon velvet couch.

It was all very strange and very good, everything that had happened so far in their fledgling relationship, until his eyes lit upon the hand grenade, poorly hidden by the clothes in Percy’s open suitcase.

Joe was somewhat perturbed.

He had known Percy to be a dangerous man, mostly through his own admission, but military-grade weaponry was not something Joe had been prepared for on this trip.

After a time, Percy came airily back into the room wearing a suit, the first time Joe had ever seen him dressed for whatever he labelled ‘work’. He wore no tie, nor did he do his hair particularly, which was so typical of Percy, who even after a shower always seemed to have rolled straight out of a delicious tryst and into the day.

He took a seat beside Joe, stretched his legs out across Joe’s thighs and leant back, harmonious with his surroundings, like he too was an expensive and luxurious addition to the room, which, in a way, he was. His long, handsome fingers made his too-small coffee cup slightly ridiculous, as though the very audacity of the thing to be held by such a perfect hand created only second-hand embarrassment in all those unfortunate enough to witness such an imposition. As Percy took the cup to his beautiful lips, Joe said, “Percy, why do you have a grenade in your bag?”

Percy took a sip of his coffee, slightly raised that one eyebrow with the scar and said, “Why were you going through my things?”

Joe’s face remained calm. “I wasn’t. I can see it from here.”

Percy’s eyes shot over to the suitcase. “How do you know that’s a grenade?”

“It says right there on the box.” They held one another’s gaze a few seconds longer until Joe said, “You didn’t think to take it out of the box? I thought for a moment I might be in the presence of a criminal mastermind, but…”

Another sip of coffee, a head tilt and a lightly challenging tone. “How do you know that’s really what’s in the box?”

Joe pursued, “Is it a grenade?”

Percy’s mouth twitched slightly to the side as he watched Joe, calculating, perhaps, how likely Joe was either to leave or to tell the police. Or both. Eventually, “There’s a grenade in the box.”

Joe nodded. “I’m not okay sleeping in the same room as a grenade.”

“The pin is still safely in there.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Duly noted.”

“And are you planning to blow something up with this grenade?”

“Only if I have to.”

“And are you planning to blow you up with this grenade?”

Percy’s face hardened. He placed his cup on the table and he let his feet fall to the floor. “Not if I can help it. I don’t want to talk about my work or what I’m doing today, and I thought I had been clear about that.”

The cold tone might have bothered anyone who hadn’t already seen Percy in a mood. It didn’t bother Joe at all. “That’s ridiculous. You can’t expect me to not have an interest in this. I’m staying in an apartment with a bomb, and I really don’t want you to kill yourself today.”

“You know,” came the vaguely puzzled and accusatory reply, “when we’re hunting demons, you never ask unnecessary questions. When we’re exorcising people or killing undead skeletons, you make no trouble at all. Why should this be any different?”

Joe stared back at Percy in confusion, disbelief, wondering all the while what he had got himself into. “Percy, we’re together now. Aren’t we? I thought I could expect some level of… confidence. Have I misread something?”

“You haven’t. Not at all. Joe…” Percy’s whole frame softened as he let go a sigh and leaned his head on the back of the lounge, studying Joe’s reaction to his words as he spoke carefully. “You know I adore you, and I’m sorry I can’t tell you everything… yet. I promise, when the time comes, I will fill in all the blanks, but for now, just for today, I need you to trust me. I have something very big on, and if I’m honest, it’s making me quite nervous. But I don’t want it to spoil our holiday. Or this. What we have. So far. So, please, can you put your trust in me? For today?”

Joe had already trusted Percy with his life. More than once. And he almost certainly would again. So why not trust Percy to take care of himself? And a grenade… “Fine. I will. Today. But no more grenades in the bedroom, all right?”

“All right.” Then an untoward smile. “Not that sort, anyway.”

Stupid lovely Percy with his shockingly handsome face and his suggestive eyes that he knew would have just about anyone forgive him for just about anything. What must it be like to have that sort of confidence?

Percy suggested some restaurants for dinner, they made small talk over pastries, and neither mentioned the elephant in the room until Percy had gathered his belongings, including the grenade, and was leaving. He stopped at the door, turned to Joe and kissed him, then, with a rare blush to his cheeks, he said, “In case I don’t come back, you should know that I intended to.”

Joe stared at Percy for about five seconds, then “I should know that you intended to come back?”

“Let me finish.”

“I thought you were finished… because of the silence there…”

“No, I wasn’t finished.”

“All right.”

Joe pushed his lips together and waited as Percy fiddled with his room key, concentrating very hard on turning it over and over. “I just wanted to say, I’ve really enjoyed the last few days, and if all goes well, I will see you in a few hours. And… Thank you for putting your trust in me. Not only today, but, well, since… that night.” Percy brought his eyes up to meet Joe’s. “I would love to… see you again.”

Joe almost laughed at the unusually bashful delivery, but he knew better than to do that. “Um… I mean, we’re staying in the same room, so…”

“We are. And that’s nice. And you should know, everything is paid for, for another week, so should you want to stay on⁠—”

“If you don’t come back?”

“Just in case.”

Gut surging upwards, “If you die today?”

With a slightly apologetic tilt of his head, “You should know it’s all taken care of. So you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Joe nodded slowly. “Being an international criminal does seem to pay well.”

It was exactly the light-hearted response Percy needed, and the slight embarrassment at the odd goodbye was replaced by a glorious, Joe-flooring smile. “I’m only a criminal if they find out it was me.”

The wink as he left was frustrating, irritating, and enticing enough to make Joe dress quickly, and quietly slip out of the apartment to follow Percy at what he hoped was an undetectable distance.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DEGENERATE ART

Fuck!

What the fuck was he doing? Why the hell had he brought Joe along on this trip?

Percy stepped out of the hotel, into the bracing wind of a narrow road on a sunny day, and wound his way expertly through the ancient streets. He’d been to Kraków four times in the last three months. He’d studied maps, distances, times, alleyways, and sewers. Over and over, he’d cut through courtyards and byways, and rented more than one empty apartment between here and his final destination, all in readiness for today. This was his only chance, and while he had prepared for every eventuality he could conceive of, there were always more ways things could go wrong.

Things that could go wrong…

He knew exactly why he’d brought Joe.

Joe was lovely. Joe was sweet and funny and acerbic in equal measure. He was brave, and smart, and kind. He was beautiful. Painfully beautiful with those hazelnut curls that Percy loved to sink his fist into.

But Joe was still a priest. And Percy slept with him anyway, without a second thought, the moment Joe’s jealousy finally got the better of him. Without the slightest hesitation, he had broken Joe’s vow of chastity and had become his first lover, and now he felt responsible for Joe’s happiness.

But that was stupid. Joe was a grown man. He could do what he wanted with his life. It wasn’t Percy’s fault Joe came to his house that night. It wasn’t his fault that Joe came into his home in his goddamn priests’ collar and threw his arms around him before he ever said a word. It wasn’t his fault Joe had kissed his lips, all along his jawline, down his neck and his chest, let him pull off his belt and… everything else.

The flash of a leather belt wrapped around his wrists flashed into Percy’s mind, and he shivered slightly. Percy had a good mind to turn around and go spend another hour with Joe, but no. He had work to do.

Today was a once-only opportunity that Percy had devoted countless hours to. He’d paid all the right people, made allegiances with all the wrong people, and now, finally, he was going to be one of the first decent humans to lay eyes on the painting since the Nazis hid it away back in 1945. All he had to do was convince a group of criminals to give him the painting for free. Convince a gang of neo-Nazi thugs to part with a priceless artwork for nothing.

It would have been so much easier to just pay them off, but he knew whatever money he gave them would only trickle down through their organisation to help them grow, to spread their parasitic filth to every other sick, depraved, idiotic individual the money allowed them to access. So no, he would not pay. He would use every bit of his hard-earned skill, eloquence and deportment to extract the thing he wanted, cleanly and easily, free of charge.

Failing that, he would use his fists. And his knives. And maybe his grenade. But he must save the painting at all costs, and that would be tricky with a bomb going off.

Percy pushed his key into the door of a ground-floor apartment. He walked into what would have been the living room, had there been any furniture, and taking his dagger from his coat pocket, he pried a floorboard up. He pulled more floorboards loose, then more, and retrieved the heavy bags he’d stored there months earlier.

Money. So much money to make them think this was their pay day. If only he’d thought to hide the grenade here, but it was a decision he’d meandered over until the last moment, whether to possibly blow the place up, so the grenade came in the suitcase.

Percy was due to meet them in a church, and he’d already thought of hiding spots to put the painting to protect it from a blast. Behind the marble altar was one possibility. There was also a thick stone sarcophagus with something rotting inside, and he’d been able to shift the lid enough to slide a painting through the gap the last time he tried. It would be hard to get a hold of the painting long enough to do that though, as they would probably have one of their men guarding it, but that was nothing Percy couldn’t handle by throwing his knife into that man’s neck before pulling the pin, if only he could have him standing behind the altar when he did it.

He replaced the floorboards, took the incredibly heavy bags full of money, locked the door behind him, and continued on his way up the street.

Ah, it would all be so much easier if he could just kill himself and feel good about it. To die to save the painting. How poetic for an art history scholar.

The ability to die and leave no one behind to grieve was what had always made Percy so good at what he did. And that had been a perfectly acceptable risk, up until that time. But now he had Joe. Joe, who would likely be quite upset if Percy turned up dead.

He turned into another small lane and saw the church at the end of the street. A small, ugly, modern, brown-brick church, surrounded by a large, empty parking lot. It was early Tuesday morning, and he knew the building would be closed and empty. The perfect place to lull a criminal gang into a detrimental sense of confidence.

Percy checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to go. He stepped back into a doorway to smoke what was perhaps his final cigarette.

For a split second, Percy wished he’d never taken up with his brother’s circle, which included Joe, but then the remembrance of how good it had been to hold his brother safe in his arms flooded back to him.

Then a remembrance of beating him almost to death.

Then a second later, Joe’s lips, Joe’s arms. Joe…

It wasn’t just his brother’s death, and Percy’s resultant nightmares, that had pushed Percy to the state he found himself in that morning, though they were a factor. And it wasn’t any sort of crushing need to wipe himself from the face of the earth to escape his unhappiness. The idea had simply occurred to Percy, quite innocuously at first, how much easier things would be if he just didn’t exist.

Had he done it sooner, Eve wouldn’t have died. Anna wouldn’t have gone through everything she went through, and Joe… He would, as far as Percy understood, be safe at home, happy with his church and his flock, and not feeling the guilt and regret Percy was sure he must start to feel any day now, as soon as the novelty of his first romance wore off.

All his favourite people would have been happier if he hadn’t been there. So why not step out before anything else went wrong?

When the painting had turned up, when he realised the likelihood that he would die obtaining it, something had clicked into place. Something peaceful. It wasn’t as though he was going to notice any difference once he’d blown himself to a million pieces, and no one, if they could even identify what was left, would have known it was deliberate. As a bonus, he could take these Nazi pricks out with him, and in doing so, do one last good deed.

The thought of that sparked an energising urge for extreme violence, and a large part of him hoped these people would be difficult to persuade, because even if he decided not to kill himself that morning, like any other decent human being, the feeling of crushing Nazi bones beneath his boot was something Percy would relish.

He extinguished the butt of his cigarette against the stone wall, then made his way up the street. He walked faster now. Briskly. He had ten minutes before they would arrive, but assuming they weren’t as stupid as he assumed they were, they would probably be early.

He walked around to the back of the church and pulled out the key he’d copied from one he’d secretly stolen and returned months prior. He entered quickly and quietly and made his way to the front of the building. He unlocked the doors, but he left them closed. He dumped the bags of money behind the altar, then turned and pushed the lid of the sarcophagus, using all his strength. Slowly, noisily, with shaking arms and a grunt that echoed throughout the church, it slid across far enough. He hoped. He knew what size the painting had once been. Would it be in a larger frame than when it was last seen?

The art historian in him began to trouble over the possibility of damp and mould, whether the painting might have been cut from the original frame and lost a portion of the portrait, whether some philistine might have tried to ‘restore’ it, or whether it would even be the real thing…

No, he couldn’t think about any of that right now.

Percy leaned back against the altar and waited, a shaft of sunlight illuminating every beautiful speck of dust between him and the high ceiling. It wasn’t a nice church, but the associated imagery of thousands of paintings did make him wish, just for one moment, that he could have believed in God. Any god. He had seen too much for that to ever be a possibility, but he thought it would be a nice thing to be able to believe in, as close to death as he may be.

He checked his watch. One minute to go. Perhaps they would even be late. Why not?

Because they wanted money.

Percy told himself for the thousandth time they would come because it was a lot of money that he wasn’t going to give them. And that would definitely piss them off.

His heart beat hard and his foot began to tap. One more final cigarette. A little smoke to add to the general atmosphere of the place. Plus, it would help him look relaxed. It was important he should look relaxed.

As he dropped the lighter back into his pocket, he winced at the bright daylight that streamed through the open door. In they came, each uglier and more stupid-looking than the last. The large, angry-looking one at the front he had met before. It would be important to kill him first. He looked like he enjoyed the violence. It was probably the main reason they kept him around.

Two more followed, who Percy slightly worried at the thought of killing, because they were probably too lacking in intelligence to realise the full import of their evil actions. Had life been different for them, perhaps they would have been better people. But then, Percy had no time for the weak-minded and told himself, needs-must.

Next came the leader, who he would be careful not to underestimate, and finally, the leader’s right-hand man, who he would be even more careful not to underestimate. The five of them fanned out, two of them carrying bags which may have been big enough to house the canvas, had they been impudent enough to roll the thing.

As Percy looked them over he assigned each a number, the order in which they would die, and he hardened himself, because just as he knew that what they would do to him was far worse than what he would do to them, he must show no mercy at the end if he wanted to get away cleanly.

Percy took a long drag on his cigarette and puffed the smoke out into the golden church light. He tapped the ash to the floor with elegant fingers and said calmly, “Which one of you degenerates has my Caravaggio?”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

FOR THE LOVE OF ART

“What did you just say?” said the especially ugly one.

There are always two choices, Percy thought to himself. Accordingly, he stood tall, straightened his suit and said, “Which one of you has my picture?”

“Money first,” said the leader, his face as cold as his heart undoubtedly was.

Percy smiled lightly to himself, and stepped one well-heeled foot after the other down the stone stairs, slowly and languidly down the long aisle, and right up to the man. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Percy Ashdown.” He held out his hand, which was taken slowly, almost mockingly, by the leader.

“Jorge,” the man replied. Spanish perhaps. How had this man become such a prick?

“And you are?” Percy turned to the right-hand man.

“Marcus.” Definitely some intelligence in that eye. Percy shook his hand.

“Very well. We’re all friends now,” said Percy, making eye contact with the main three while talking, seeing who was the first to look away from his gaze—trying to decide who was the weakest. “I’m sure you understand, we won’t be exchanging money until I know the picture is with you and in salvageable condition.”

Marcus assessed him with steely eyes. “Where’s the money?”

“Picture first.”

Marcus leered a little closer. “Money.”

“I can leave right now,” Percy bluffed. “I have no reason to believe the picture even exists anymore.” He and Marcus stared one another down, Marcus probably wondering how best to not lose the upper hand he imagined he had, Percy looking as prim and proper and non-threatening as possible, wondering all the while which of them had killed more people. He believed he had, by some margin, and his eyes were dark and cold and unflinching as he considered the myriad ways he might see this man die too.

“Bag,” said Jorge. One of the unnamed stepped forward and dropped a bag down on the pew. Percy flinched. They had rolled the canvas, after all.

Letting out an impatient breath, Percy stepped forward. He ripped the zip open, saw the curled, furled mess of canvas, and slammed the zip closed again. He threw a fresh cigarette in his mouth, lit it, snapped the lighter closed, and said, “What the fuck is this mess?”

“It’s the painting,” replied Jorge. “Exactly as you asked.”

“That’s not the fucking painting. It’s a fucking travesty is what it is.” He turned and paced the aisle. “Fucking degenerates,” he spat. “Which one of you folded it?”

There were five of them, but Percy’s clear distaste for them all put each in mind of whichever schoolmaster had the least tolerance for them in their youth. They may have despised him, resented him, but they each recognised a certain something that said he was not of their world, and was not to be trifled with.

Percy threw his new cigarette on the floor after two puffs and twisted the tip of his shoe over it.

“It’s—” one of them started.

“Get out of my fucking way.” Percy ripped the bag open again and gently pulled the painting free. He examined the exterior of the canvas, and there, in that instant, he felt the beauty of the thing.

The canvas was old. Undoubtedly. It was heavy and true and there was a small chance this was the very object.

His stomach lurched as he turned and carried it slowly, reverently, to the altar. He lay it down there. He didn’t unroll it—only looked over the back.

It was the gentle brown of old linen. It was thick and hard and crisp with age. Still, it could be any sixteenth-century canvas, the original, less-remarkable painting destroyed then painted over to make the forgery of a masterpiece appear more believable.

He examined the unbidden curls, shuddering at the very edge of a Nazi insignia disappearing into the folds. Without unrolling and possibly damaging the picture further, there was but a sliver of the painting to be seen along the very bottom of the work. There was no signature on that section, though that alone would have been easy enough to forge.

He ran his eyes over the group to make sure they all remained exactly where they were, then reached into the top pocket of his suit. The angry one made a move, and Percy stilled him with a disdainful eye. “I’m an art historian. Just what do you think I have hidden in my pocket?”

Appropriately shamed, the man said, “No sudden movements,” at which Percy laughed, then pulled free his magnifying loupe.

Caravaggio’s brush strokes were strong and full and bold, and right there, at the edge of the painting, Percy believed he saw that which he knew by heart, but it still wasn’t enough. He ran his finger over the preparation, exposed exactly as Caravaggio might have left it, and felt the coarse texture one might feel if sand were added.

It was everything Percy could have hoped for. Appropriate brush strokes, the expected colour, oil-based paint, seemingly of the correct period…

And now the question.

Gamble that this was the true painting, cut all ties with these people in the most final way possible, and make off with it? Or give them an art lesson, appeal to whatever sliver of humanity may have been lurking deep inside, and talk them out of taking the money somehow? Or keep them around in case this wasn’t the real thing and the painting was still out there somewhere? Percy’s stomach rose at the thought of any more communication with any of them, feeling the strong need for a very hot bath as it was.

He should do the latter. The more mature and well-adjusted individual would do the latter. Accordingly, he began to prepare a noble speech in his mind, but then, as he picked up the canvas, a chip of very old, very dry, very damaged paint slipped out the side and onto the altar.

Percy stared hard at it. He saw in his mind’s eye Caravaggio’s own hands mixing that colour and applying it, with unmatched skill and passion, never once imagining the horrors that lay ahead, that his painting would bear witness to.

He imagined the intent of the artist, all the very good thoughts and feelings that went into this creation, and this broken fleck of paint was the first definite sign of a beautiful thing utterly destroyed. A beautiful thing ruined by people who make it their life’s work to ruin beautiful things. And he thought of his beautiful little brother whom he had murdered. And he turned mechanically and slid the painting into the sarcophagus as he uttered the words, “Some of your money is here, gentlemen. Only one man may come and collect if you want the rest.” He turned back, pointed a finger at the large, angry one, and said, “You first.”

Percy leaned back against the sarcophagus, his arms folded across his very nice suit, flashing his very nice watch, his ankles crossed one over the other, thoroughly genteel.

Jorge nodded and the angry man made his way unceremoniously up the aisle, up the stairs, around the altar, and to Percy’s bags of money. He leaned over and unzipped one, shoving his hands deep inside to make sure it was all money, all the way down to the bottom.

Percy didn’t have to do it. He could have just let them leave with the money.

What would Joe say when he didn’t return that day or any other? Beautiful Joe, who’d put up with so much of his bullshit for months.

Although it was the last thing he really wanted, if only he could have stopped himself, in that instant a muscle-memory shot through his arm, and he felt inside exactly what it was to put his own hand into his beloved brother’s hair, push his head forward, and smash his face into a table.

His first instinct was simply to vomit. He felt the heat and the bile and the acid rise inside him. But that was all too internal. What he needed was to get the feeling out of him. To have those sensations where they belonged. All that hatred, all that anger, exactly where it deserved to go.

He watched the man stand, almost in slow motion, because he knew exactly what he was going to do once the man reached his full height, and he knew exactly what the consequences would be, but he hated himself so passionately in that moment that the only sensation he wanted now was to be punched in the face, over and over, until he was dead or choking on his own blood, at which point he hoped someone would kick him in the stomach too, just as he had done to Anna.

Percy saw his own hand reaching out. The man was twice his size, but it all happened too fast for him to understand.

Percy felt the hair in his hand. It wasn’t soft like Eve’s. It wasn’t dark and golden and it didn’t curl ever so slightly at the tips, but yet, every muscle from Percy’s feet, to his thighs, to his abdomen, down his shoulder, his biceps, every finger, worked together in one enormous burst of power and he smashed the face down hard against that altar. The blood burst out of the broken skin and ran pleasingly down the white marble, but before anyone had time to realise what had happened, Percy had tightened another fist full of hair, lifted the head and smashed it down again, harder this time. One of the teeth flew up and hit his cheek. Where the others went, he neither knew nor cared. The man fell to the floor, and Percy’s foot went straight into the side of his head. He heard and felt the neck break, and a welcome shudder went through him as he cricked his own neck to the side in satisfying sympathy.

Now they moved. Now they ran. But Jorge was already sputtering blood onto the floor from the dagger Percy threw across the room and into his chest.

Percy stepped down into the aisle and he let them come. He let all three surround him and prepared to take a hit.

The first was right in the ribs, and he doubled over, the air knocked out of him. That was met with a knee to the chin, which smashed his teeth together painfully. He couldn’t worry whether they were chipped as the taste of blood flooded his mouth, because someone’s fist rammed into his cheek and he dropped to the hard stone floor. Despite the pain in his knees and in his hip as he went down, he didn’t let his head hit, as there was still work to do, but he didn’t protect his stomach either and within seconds he felt a steel-tipped boot deliver one, two hard kicks, then he heard the click of a gun.

Bastards. He should have known.

Percy swung a leg out and dropped Marcus to the floor. Despite the next painful kick in his back, Percy rolled onto his knees and delivered an elbow backwards into Marcus’s face, enjoying the crunch of the cartilage as his nose crumbled beneath the blow.

A spray of blood decorated the floor, only to be disturbed by the legs of the pew that Percy dragged forward, lifted the corner of, then very nearly smashed down on Marcus’s head. He was prevented by the full weight of some Nazi scum tackling him.

Thugs. Of course they fought like thugs.

Percy threw him over and made to stand, receiving an uppercut to his stomach for his effort. He spat blood and perhaps a bit of his breakfast too, then the thug was up again, punching Percy in the face. Marcus stood tall now, the other prick was behind Percy, and Percy decided enough was enough. He kicked his heel back into the shin of the one behind him, lifted a fist into the face of the other, then before Marcus could take aim, Percy took the finger-hold of the grenade’s pin between his bloody teeth, his malevolent smile still painfully handsome, which the vermin present might have noticed had they had any appreciation for beautiful things.

Percy let out a chuckle, then a full laugh at the looks on their stupid faces. Surprise, fear… the realisation that this was it. This was the moment they would meet their end and every shitty life choice had been leading up to nothing more than this: being blown to pieces in an old church over a broken piece of art.

Percy enjoyed the moment, as he always did, then he gripped the grenade a little firmer, tightened his teeth, began to slip the pin loose, and was stilled by the voice from the doorway that said, “Percy, seriously? In a church?”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A CHURCH IS AS GOOD A PLACE AS ANY TO DIE

“Achurch is as good a place as any to die,” Percy replied, his fingers already on the pin before Marcus could make a move with his gun.

“Father!” the thug at Percy’s right uttered, falling to the floor in supplication, as well he might.

Joe was wearing his clerical collar, for reasons Percy couldn’t possibly fathom, other than the fact that both had recently discovered it was of particular interest to Percy to see Joe in his collar. In the golden sunshine, not the least bit broken and bleeding like the rest of them, Joe cut quite the sacred-looking figure, and Percy would have been on his knees in a heartbeat had the situation been just a little different.

As it was, Joe frowned slightly at the Catholic neo-Nazi on the floor, then turned his attention back to Percy. “This was your grand plan? Blow yourself up in a Polish church to kill these people?”

“For a good cause.”

“I heard.” Joe rolled his eyes as he spoke, eliciting a stern scowl from Percy.

“How long have you been⁠—”

Percy dropped the grenade, the palm of his hand smacking into Marcus’s arm and redirecting the shot straight into a crucified Jesus hung on the wall, breaking him and the cross in two. Percy punched Marcus in the face then took him by the back of his collar and dragged him forward, throwing him into the other, non-Catholic guy, both smashing painfully into the inverted corner of a brick wall before Percy delivered three hard and swift punches to the other guy’s face, pulled Marcus back to his feet, and submerged his face in the holy-water font.

The Catholic neo-Nazi looked from a drowning Marcus to Percy to the broken Jesus on the floor, then back to Joe. Joe nodded at the broken Jesus disapprovingly and said to the man, “This is the sort of company you keep?”

“Forgive me, Father. I’ve had a hard life⁠—”

“Don’t drown him in the font,” Joe cut him off. “Seems sacrilegious.”

“The fuck do I care for your sacrilege?” said Percy, dropping a gasping Marcus to the floor, but only because the other guy was up again. Percy reached across behind the altar and grasped a golden thurible, swinging its long gold chain until it collided with the man’s face, regretting only that it was not burning incense at the time and the effect wasn’t remotely as dramatic as it could have been. He threw the thurible down regretfully.

Joe eased himself onto a pew and put his feet up on the one in front. “What’s the plan now?”

“Kill them all the hard way and don’t die, I suppose,” said Percy, smashing a bible down on the other guy’s head from his full height.

“Percy…”

Percy placed his shoe firmly on Marcus’s back to prevent him from moving. “What is it, Joe?” he yelled irritably.

“Are any of them dead?”

“I haven’t checked.”

“Could we maybe not kill them?”

Percy’s stupidly handsome face dropped to the side in incredulous scorn. “No, we can’t not kill them. What do you think this is? Sunday service?”

“I just⁠—”

“They’re Nazis, Joe. They’re stupid fucking Nazis.”

“This one’s Catholic.”

“Well, thank goodness for that. Who ever heard of an evil Catholic?” At that moment the door burst open and two more neo-Nazis came in, having, Percy supposed, heard Marcus’s shot. Promptly, Percy leaned down, twisted Marcus’s head to the right and snapped his neck.

Joe gesticulated wildly into the air. “Did you just kill him?”

Percy stepped into the aisle and straightened his suit. “What are you even doing in my office, Joe?”

“It’s my office, last I checked,” said Joe, sticking a leg out into the aisle, and tripping up one of the new assailants.

“Thanks, handsome.” Percy winked before punching the next one in the face.

“You’re welcome,” Joe called over the pained moan, “but don’t kill him.”

Percy shook his aching hand out. “All right, let’s get a few things straight. That is, or was, a beautiful painting by arguably the greatest artist the world has ever seen.”

Joe burst out laughing. “I should have known.”

Percy twisted a man’s hand backwards and broke his wrist. After the loud scream, he asked disgustedly, “Should have known what?”

“That you would love Caravaggio this much. He was insane. And a killer.”

“That doesn’t make him a bad person,” said Percy, laying his hands on a heavy golden candlestick which he first applied to the head of the man nursing his broken wrist, then smashed across the face of the other attacker, showering his suit in blood and spit. “Ugh.”

Joe watched Percy step over the twitching body and walk to the holy-water font, surprised and surprisingly turned on by the way he winced as he dipped his bleeding knuckles into the water, scooping up a handful to cleanse his suit of the latest assault.

Percy refreshed his face, cast his wet hair to the side, stood tall, and walked back to the centre of the church to lean against the altar. He lit a fresh cigarette and drew deep as he assessed his day’s work. The ugliest one, likely dead. Marcus, dead by snapped neck. Jorge bled out some time ago. The fourth assailant, very likely dead by bible, but unconscious either way. The fifth, a Catholic, and now the sixth and seventh lay on the floor at his feet. One was conscious, moaning but doing little else, probably not for long, and the other would likely soon die by candlestick.

Percy walked to Jorge and kicked his body over. He withdrew his beautiful antique dagger from his chest and said, “The thing is, some things are worth dying for, which, being Catholic, you should agree with. By that logic, some things are worth killing for. Would you like a cigarette?”

“I would,” Joe said. “But won’t the smoke damage your painting even more?”

Percy couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his cut lip. He only held his golden cigarette case open for Joe, lit his cigarette, and ignored the comment.

“Would you like one?” Joe asked the Catholic neo-Nazi.

“He can’t have my cigarettes,” said Percy, snapping the case shut.

“Do you have your own?” Joe asked, to a bewildered nod. “Give me the lighter.” Joe furrowed his brow as Percy narrowed his eyes at them both, yet Percy passed him the lighter as requested.

Percy walked away, lecturing, as Joe lit the man’s cigarette. “Do you know who Caravaggio killed?”

“Some guy. Over a tennis match, wasn’t it?”

“Incorrect. The man he killed was the pimp of the woman depicted in the portrait that I have today, hopefully, saved from scum like that there you’re smoking with. The woman in the portrait, Fillide Melandroni, fought as hard a life as anyone, rising up from the streets as a child prostitute to become one of the most sought after courtesans in sixteenth-century Rome. No mean feat, I assure you, clawing your way out of grinding poverty like that. And the worst part,” Percy turned, aiming two fingers with the lit cigarette between them in Joe’s general direction, “was fucking Catholics like you two messing with their story, their whole narrative. Making up filthy lies about the man when the fact is, this was a friendship, plain and simple. You’ve seen her face over and over in his portraits. He brought her to life for us, so we remember her, remember her struggle, remember others like her who were less fortunate. And now people look at his work, at his passion and cast it aside as the work of a common murderer.”

“I see what you’re⁠—”

“And then people like this take this artwork, completely misunderstanding Caravaggio’s meaning in painting this courtesan as a goddess, and they let it get destroyed. They carelessly take these beautiful things they don’t remotely understand, these things that represent passion and love and life and beauty, and they think they have a right to even look at it.”

“Percy, that’s been happening for hundreds of years,” Joe said softly. “You don’t get to kill someone over it today just because it offends you.”

“And why not? As an aside, that’s not why I’m going to kill them all, but philosophically speaking, why shouldn’t I?”

Joe shook his head slightly at the Catholic neo-Nazi as an indication that he would probably be better off staying as inconspicuous as possible, then said, “Because what makes you the person who gets to judge?”

Percy delivered an even more withering look than he had the last time Joe asked such a ridiculous question, but said only, “They know who I am. They will track me down, they will track you down, and we’ll both end up dead. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m happy to die for this painting. If that’s the way you want to play it, then let them live, however many of them are left, and you and I will disappear together and live on our love and our wits with one very expensive picture in tow. On the other hand, if you want your life and your church and your nice cottage back, then I need only walk over there, gut him like the pig he is, deliver a bullet or two for good measure, and we’re home free.”

Joe waved the Catholic neo-Nazi down again, keeping his eyes on Percy all the while. “First you forget to take a grenade out of its box, then you forget to use an alias?”

“I didn’t forget⁠—”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t know if I want to date a man who’s this disorganised.”

Percy paid no attention to the appalled look from the Nazi as he slowly put two and two together, and Joe ignored him entirely while Percy sighed out, “It would take probably a full sentence of breath for me to explain to you how they ended up with my name. It’s neither relevant nor interesting⁠—”

“I’d say it’s very relevant.”

“The point is, there’s a very nice cocktail bar I wanted to take you to. This evening. It’s very nice, they do good food, and it has this terrace⁠—”

“Mmhmm.”

“It’s got to be one of the largest terraces in Kraków⁠—”

“Aha.”

“And it overlooks the old town. And have you ever had a Journalist?”

“I’ve never slept with anyone but you.”

Percy’s face cracked into a lovely smile. “You’re very funny, actually.”

“I know.” Joe grinned. “That’s what you like about me.”

Percy ran his eyes freely over Joe’s arms stretched out along the back of the pew, his long legs stretched out in front, his smouldering eyes locked onto Percy. “That’s not all I like about you.”

All the while, the Nazi sat on the floor, his mouth gaping, until Joe abruptly turned to him. “My friend here wants to kill you. Now, you need to be clever about this or he will. Do you understand?”

The man nodded.

“Tell me his name,” Joe said.

He sat in stupefied silence for another moment until he said slowly, “I don’t know his name.”

Joe looked up triumphantly. “He’s smarter than you’d think.”

“My bar is set pretty low,” Percy muttered.

“What’s your name?” Joe asked.

“James O’Brien.”

“James is a good name,” Joe said. “Do you ever think about what your parents wanted for you when they picked that name?”

“No, not rea⁠—”

“When they called you by that name, when you were just a little kid. Before you learned anger and hatred…”

James stared off into the mid-distance, past the shattered corpses of his colleagues, not quite to the spot on the wall where the Jesus fell. “I don’t think I’ve ever known a time that wasn’t punctuated with hate, Father. Ever since I was little. My dad beat my mum, he beat me and my sisters. I only ever knew pain and suffering. And starvation. My empty stomach was, at times, my only companion. I left school when I was just a lad. I left home and got a job just to get away from it all.”

“That sounds hard.” Joe sat forward, nodding, in full priest mode.

“Oh, aye, they were some difficult times.” James shook his head.

“And that’s why you’ve ended up with these people?”

“That it is. Friends of my dads’ kids.” James had said it with an air of pride, and Joe froze while an odd smile played across Percy’s face. James went on, “When I turned up at home again for the first time in years with some of these boys, that’s the proudest my dad’s ever been. You should have seen his face. The look in his eye. And that, Father, is the first time I felt truly proud of myself.”

Joe shifted uncomfortably. “Father-son relationships are so often difficult. But what of your mother, James? What does she think of all this?”

“My mother?” A tear developed in the man’s left eye. “My mother says these Eastern Europeans are responsible for all our troubles. She says I’m doing the good Lord’s work every time I⁠—”

Percy choked down a laugh at Joe’s pale face as he cut James off. “God doesn’t want you to do those things.”

“God doesn’t?”

“No. God wants you to be nice to people. I’m a priest and that’s how I know that.”

“That’s not what Father Donnelly says.”

The crisp line of Joe’s jaw hardened. “Father Donnelly has recently been banned from Church meetings.”

James clasped his hand to his chest. “Banned?”

“Yes. I know exactly who you mean and what his views are,” Joe lied, “and the Church doesn’t look kindly on such things.”

“But Father Donnelly⁠—”

“Is going straight to Hell,” Joe replied, with impressive conviction. “Now, I’m going to give you a piece of advice that will save your life.”

Percy raised an incredulous eyebrow. “I’d like to hear that.”

Joe frowned at him, then turned back to James and took a deep breath. “You’re going to cut ties with these types of people, and with your family. You’re going to do that from this time and forever. I’ll give you a number.” Joe scrawled some digits on a piece of paper with a pen from his pocket and gave it to the man. “Call them, explain your situation, and they will help you get started on a better life. But here’s the thing: if you do not call that number within three days, I will know, James O’Brien. I will know and I will have you excommunicated.”

His gasp echoed about the high ceiling. “From the Church?”

“From the Church. And that means from Heaven, too. Straight to Hell. God has no time for people like these, but you, James, you still have a chance. And who knows? You do this, you become a good man, and there’s every chance you can save some of your family too.”

“It won’t—” Percy began.

“Shhht!” Joe hissed. Then he painted the smile back on his face and continued calmly, “We’re leaving now. With the picture⁠—”

“And the money,” said Percy.

“And the money,” said Joe. “See that clock on the wall?”

James nodded.

“You remain here for one hour. One full hour while we leave⁠—”

“Cocktails,” said Percy.

“Okay… You remain here for… four?”

“Five.”

“You remain here for five hours.”

“Six would be better.”

“Five. And,” Joe looked to Percy, “is there a bathroom here or something?”

“I haven’t a clue.” Percy shrugged. “There’s the baptismal font?”

“Percy!”

“Or a chalice?”

Joe passed an exasperated hand over his brow, then looked back at James. “You can use the parking lot if you need to. But don’t let anyone see you. You lock the church up, you hide out for five hours, and you think about what you’ve done.” James looked around fearfully at the six dead bodies. “And then I’ll absolve you,” Joe added hastily, watching him.

“Could I maybe hide somewhere else for five hours?” James asked.

Percy sighed and made his way towards the money. “Don’t argue with the man, James. Do it, or I’ll find you and kill you.”

Joe shrugged apologetically. “There’s only so much I can do.”

Percy kicked the once-ugly man off his money bags, congratulating himself on a job well done because, arguably, the man looked better without a face. He zipped that bag closed, picked up the other, and brought them both down the aisle, dumping them by Joe’s feet. “I’m going to need you to carry one.”

“How far?” Joe winced, wondering at the muscles beneath Percy’s suit that had no doubt been flexing beautifully as he carried both of the heavy bags.

“Not far. My associates are outside,” Percy lied. “I’ll give it to them to deliver, and we’ll have a man watch the place for James in case he tries to leave. Five hours.”

James paled but agreed, finally moving from the floor to the pew to sit.

“You should probably kneel,” Percy said.

James looked up at Joe, who nodded, so he dropped back to the floor and Percy picked up a bag of money and motioned for Joe to do the same and follow him. He pulled the heavy door open for Joe and they walked away from the bloody scene.

“Fuck… Your face,” Joe said as the full sunlight hit Percy.

Percy lifted his bag a little higher over his shoulder, flinching at the pain in just about every part of his body that he didn’t want to reveal to Joe. “Am I still handsome?”

He was. His lip was split in just the right spot, as was his eyebrow, not the one with the scar. He had another cut and a growing bruise darkening his sharp right cheekbone. His dark hair was still damp from his makeshift baptism, and there was something about the way he had to twist his mouth slightly to avoid some pain when he smiled, which he did a lot whenever he was with Joe. Percy’s loose-hanging shirt showed a good portion of his chest from Joe’s perspective, walking by his side.

“What?” Percy smiled.

Joe laughed. “You know what.”

“Shit.” Percy dropped his bag to the ground. “I forgot the picture.”

“You forgot it?”

He had already started back down the street. “I’ll run. Mind the cash.”

“What? For how long?”

“I’ll be so fast,” he called back.

“You’re the most disorganised man I’ve ever met!” Joe yelled after him.

Percy soon rounded the church for the second time that day. He took his key out again and entered. He walked swiftly into the main atrium where James sat, exactly where he had been before, but now with terrified eyes on Percy.

Percy sent him a smile and walked to the sarcophagus. It was much harder to push the lid now, with his bruised and aching arms, the adrenaline leaving his system and leaving him increasingly exhausted in the process.

“James, come open this.”

Warily, James made his way up the aisle.

“It’s stone,” Percy said. “I need you to help me push.”

With a few nervous glances, James placed his weathered and knotted fingers on the cold stone and pushed as directed. It came away more easily this time.

Percy turned to face him, still smiling pleasantly, and asked softly, “Do you really believe you can change the habit of a lifetime?”

James lifted his head earnestly. “I believe I can try.”

“That’s not much of a guarantee, is it? Would you try if your life wasn’t on the line?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“You wouldn’t,” Percy dropped acidly.

James stared a few long and tense seconds into Percy’s steely eyes, not smiling, like his lips still were, then started, “That priest⁠—”

“That priest is my boyfriend,” Percy said. “That’s why I know he has a good heart. Much too good for the likes of you.”

James sensed the heat in Percy’s body, the ice in his lips and jaw, the complete absence of humanity one experiences when one person sees the other as nothing more than meat and bones. “That priest said you can’t kill me.”

Percy held his gaze. “What’s my name?”

“I don’t know your name.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I don’t. I promise.”

“Then you can tell your God…” The tip of Percy’s dagger moved deftly through the man’s chin, up and up, impaling his tongue, passing through the soft palate, pausing just before his brain. “Tell them Percy Ashdown sent you.” He gave the blade one final shove, breaking through the cartilage and into the brain, where he twisted the dagger, before removing the knife and letting the warm, shuddering corpse fall to the floor.

He washed the blood from his dagger and his hands once again in the baptismal font, then left and locked the door and the death behind him. Then, of course, he gave a short laugh at his own stupidity. He entered the church again, took the painting from the sarcophagus, then locked the door and jogged around the corner to a bored and lightly irritated Joe.

“He’s quite a character, your Nazi,” Percy dropped casually.

Joe grimaced. “He’s not my Nazi.”

“He still swears he doesn’t know my name, but just between you and me, I’m pretty sure he does. But look.” Percy held the rolled portrait to his eye, looking clean through at Joe on the other end. “You see all the cracks in there? And look.” He pulled from his pocket the small chip of paint that had set the day’s events in motion. “Look what they did to her.” While Joe nodded his sympathetic understanding, Percy was surprised at how anxious he suddenly felt, now that he was back in Joe’s calm and trusting presence after what he had done to Joe’s Nazi. “Come on.” He picked up a bag. “It’s just up here.”

They made small talk in the way people do when there isn’t time yet to have the necessary big talk, Percy checking all the while to see whether they were being followed or watched, and satisfied they were alone, moments later they found themselves back inside Percy’s safe house. The money went straight under the floorboards, this time with the painting, too.

Percy clapped his hands together. “Cocktails?”

“Right now?” Joe replied, looking about the empty apartment. “We’re just going to dump the money and run?”

“Yes, I believe that’s generally how heists work.”

“That was a heist?”

“I’d call it a heist. Of sorts.” Percy made for the door.

Joe reached for his hand. “We can take a few minutes. You seem really anxious.”

That was an understatement and a half. This being around Joe thing was messing with his head. He started to say, “Joe, I just killed…” But then, Shut the fuck up, he thought to himself, correcting aloud with, “a lot of people. That makes me anxious.”

“No doubt.”

Percy waited, his hand in Joe’s, but he cast his gaze to the floor rather than meeting Joe’s worried examination of him. “Can we just sit and have a drink? And then we’ll talk about whatever you like. I just need a few minutes to walk and sit before we go over… all that.”

“All right,” Joe replied doubtfully.

Percy made to leave, but just as his fingers were pulling free of Joe’s, he gripped twice as tight, and instead pulled Joe in close, wrapping his arms around his waist. “I wish you hadn’t come today.”

Joe’s concerned expression offered up a nervous half smile. “I’m sorry.”

“But I’m glad you did.” Percy kissed him, wincing a little at the pain, yet feeling the vast majority of his tension slip away as he closed his eyes and felt the soft lips kiss him back.

Remarkable, the way almost all the worry went so easily in Joe’s embrace.

But there remained a short, tight, hard knot in his chest. Strange and unaccustomed.

He imagined it would be loosened easily enough with a good deal of gin.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

COCKTAILS ON THE TERRACE

They told the staff on the door that Percy had been mugged. Percy summarily ordered both their cocktails and an ice bucket to be brought to the table. They found a spot for two on the edge of the terrace, overlooking the old town square and the city beyond, flowering vines lining the low walls beside their table. All was softly lit by long strings of yellow lights and the gentle sunshine fading over the horizon, and all was very welcoming and very civilised.

Percy didn’t seem to notice how lovely it all was at first, not that it was his first time there. He only seemed anxious for Joe to find it pleasant and relaxing, and once he was satisfied that was the case, he went about filling a napkin with chunks of ice which he flinchingly applied to his cheek, then his eyebrow. Joe wondered how much of his distraction was the pain in his face and body, so he made no more than small talk for a time, reflections on the beauty of the old town below, the decor and the weather, the sublime fusion of flavours in the icy, dusky brown-pink cocktail. “You would think it was a whiskey drink, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Percy replied. “You think it’s one thing, then it turns out to be something else entirely.” Then, without pausing for breath, “I’m sorry about today.”

“About all the Nazis you killed over an old painting?”

“No. Maybe a little. Not really that. I’m sorry that…” His half smile slowly faded as his words drifted away, so Joe caught him.

“Oh, you mean you’re sorry for trying to blow yourself up in front of me?”

“Admittedly, I didn’t know you were there.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“It makes it a bit better.”

“Only a bit.”

Percy took a sip of his drink, a large one, then motioned to the waiter for two more. Joe took a sip of his own. It was very good after all. His conversation-changing reflection on the skill involved in creating such a cocktail was cut short when he took in the grimace on Percy’s face. Joe put his drink down, leant back, and waited.

Percy let out a long sigh. “Joe, I’m not doing well.”

Joe kept his voice calm and sympathetic. “You know, I think I may be an empath because I had sensed that about you.”

Percy choked a little on the last of his drink. “Could you not make light of my suffering?”

“I’m not,” Joe laughed.

“You are. And Christ, you’re so pretty the whole time you’re doing it. I don’t want to throw a thing at you.”

“That’s a lovely compliment. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I probably won’t.”

The two fell silent as the next drinks were placed on their table. The sun by now had only just set, and the lights of the city below turned on one after the other, yellow, orange, blue. Percy lit a cigarette, tilting his head just so to breathe a plume of smoke out into the still night air. Joe loved to watch Percy smoke. He loved to watch Percy do anything. “Percy?”

“Yes?”

“Tell me honestly. Do I need to worry about you?”

He sent back a sad smile. “No. I won’t ever do anything like that again. I’m not… I’m not a suicide risk, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Then, as he turned his head back to the sunset, Joe said gently, “Was it your brother?”

It was something they’d never talked about, so he was a little surprised when Percy answered candidly, “Yes. Yes, it was Eve.”

Joe took a sip of the new drink while he decided his next move, and it might have been a dangerous one, but he said, “I know it’s not the same, but I also feel terrible about trying to kill Eve and Anna.”

Two patient taps of the cigarette. “It probably feels a little different when you actually succeed.” Joe nodded and decided to shut up, but Percy continued, “And when it’s your brother, who you would die for in a heartbeat. And…” The muscles in his jaw tensed as he caught himself.

“And when it’s Anna,” Joe finished for him.

Percy saw the light in Joe’s eyes dim a little as he said her name. Joe had some idea of what Anna was to Percy. Some. No one really knew. No one except Anna and Percy.

Percy decided to let the conversation die, but it was Joe who pushed this time. “Eve’s alive. We brought him back.”

“No, everyone else brought him back. Especially Anna. And I almost killed her before she could do it.” His cheek twitched as he reeled internally at the memory, and he looked over at Joe, then away again. “Do you know, I can still feel my hand around her neck? It would have taken the slightest movement, the slightest flick of my wrist and she would be dead and gone, and Eve would be dead and gone, and…” He dropped the cigarette butt in the ashtray and lit another. “Do you remember when the demon was inside you?”

Joe’s stomach reeled, so he applied some more alcohol. “All the time. I still dream about it.”

“Me too.” Percy downed what was left of his second drink and motioned for two more. “Could you hear its thoughts?”

“Yes.” Though he shuddered at the memory of his own possession, Joe forced himself to answer truthfully. “I remember his thoughts. And I wish I’d never had to see those images, or had to think about what it would have done to them. I wish I never knew what kind of things demons think.”

“Had Anna made one wrong move that night—had she not been so smart and so brutal, he would have killed her in an instant, and I can see…” Percy’s lips trembled and he drew hard on his cigarette with a shaking hand to get himself under control. “I can see in my mind’s eye, over and over, everything he would have done to her. Everything he was going to make me do.”

Joe reached for his hand. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done, out there in front of everyone, but he didn’t care. “Then I do know. Because I remember it. And I do know it’s not the same, but I love them too. Even if it’s a little different.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to belittle what you’ve been through. We’ve both been possessed by the same demon and, you know, how many couples can say that?”

Joe chuckled. “Not many, I think.” He let go of Percy’s hand as the drinks were set down with a disapproving look.

“It would have been a handsome tip, too,” Percy called after the waiter. Then to Joe, “How good are the drinks, though?”

“Very good.” And they tipped their glasses together and drank. Then Joe said, “Do you want to go back and see them?”

The reply was immediate. “I’m going to stay as far away from Eve and Anna and Endymion College as I can. For as long as I can.”

“Percy, they adore you. You can’t do that.”

“I almost got them both killed. And I think… You know, I hate pity parties, but I honestly believe they’ll be better off without me in their lives. I tend to fuck everything up for everyone, a bit like today, and I don’t think…” His lovely eyes reflected the dimming light that he never looked away from as he said, “Joe, I don’t think you should be here either.”

It had been so wonderful. Joe had thought it had been so wonderful, yet one week and three cocktails in, Percy was going to end it.

Joe wasn’t sure if it hit him especially hard because it was about to be his first ever break up, or whether it was simply that it was the precise moment he realised his feelings for Percy went well beyond lust and well beyond fondness.

He hid his already shaking hands under the table. His lips parted, then he forced them closed, then they parted again with a deep breath. “Are you asking me to leave?”

Percy’s eyes shot across to him in an instant, confusion, then a charming smile. “No. You’re good looking and you’re funny and I want you with me always.” Even in the dark, Percy could feel the tipsy blush on Joe’s cheeks, and he liked it, but he still said, “I’m not noble enough to do the right thing and throw you over. I’m exactly the sort of man to drag those I’m attached to down with me, so consider yourself warned.”

“I appreciate that.” Joe smiled.

“I like to think I’m an honest sort of person.”

Joe watched Percy across the table, now leaning over his cocktail glass, his dark hair spilling over his troubled face. It must have started hurting more because he’d picked up the sodden, bloody napkin from the table and pressed it to his cheek again, cut and swollen, dripping with water from the melted ice.

All those cuts and bruises. Broken on the outside, just like he was on the inside. Just like Joe was. Broken and wrecked, yet still trying to do something beautiful that afternoon, in whatever misguided way. Percy trying so violently to save and preserve what little beauty there was to be found amongst the ruins and the myriad horrors of the world.

That notion struck Joe right in the heart. Something so romantic, so pure, and so passionate. A glimpse straight into the soul of Percy.

Joe wanted to wipe away the blood. He wanted to sink the stitches into Percy’s skin himself. He wanted to change his dressings and watch him heal, and he didn’t want Percy to stare into his drink a second longer.

“You’re beautiful, Percy.” The slightly indignant look on the much-less-pretty-than-usual face should have been comical, but before Joe could notice or stop himself, he said, “You’re beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve ever met another person quite like you. I think you’re beautiful inside and out and I don’t ever want to be with anyone who isn’t you.” Percy held Joe’s reverent gaze. “Percy, you’re beautiful and I’ve just realised I’m completely in love with you.”

Percy stared into Joe’s eyes a second longer, then broke his gaze and looked down again. “You just don’t know any better yet, Joe.”

“Then I don’t want to know any better.”

Percy made no reply, and even if Joe’s heart beat a little harder and his stomach sank slightly, he knew he couldn’t expect more from Percy. Not tonight. Not with things how they were. He had to get the words out, for better or for worse, and now Percy knew, and that was all that mattered.

It did hurt, though. After all, what was Joe to Percy? He couldn’t begin to imagine how many lovers Percy must have had, how many people must have made the same declaration to him over the years, for all he knew, right here on this terrace. He would never ask either, because there were few times in his life he had experienced the sort of possessiveness, jealousy, that Percy seemed to inspire in him. It wasn’t something he wanted to provoke.

Joe watched Percy’s silent expression as he dabbed gin on his wounds and screwed his face up at the searing pain. It was as good a time as any to say what he’d been holding back. “I’m going away next week.”

That made him look up. “Where?”

“Libya.”

“You’re just mentioning this now?”

“It was supposed to be a secret.”

“Oh.” Percy raised a curious eyebrow. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Joe laughed out. Then he leaned forward and revealed quietly, “I’m going to Libya next week, and Percy…”

Percy leaned forward, too. “Yes?”

“I’ll be right by the Reliquary of Saint Martin. And as you claim to already own the Spear of Destiny⁠—”

“Claim to!”

“You’ll be wanting to steal its enchanted sheath, I’m sure.”

“I’ve been. It’s not there.”

“You were looking in the wrong place.”

A sly smile crept over Percy’s face as he nodded his understanding.

“We would probably need to kill several evil monks to get to it,” Joe added.

Percy grinned. “That’s something I have a little experience with.”

“So I hear.”

“Is that your way of inviting me?”

“Is that your way of accepting?”

Percy smiled his still ridiculously handsome smile and nodded. “Then yes. Let’s go to Libya, kill several monks, and steal some religious artefacts.”

“It’s a date. Next week. But tonight, let’s get drunk and send some postcards home.”

“Drunk?” Percy mused.

“Drunker,” Joe corrected. “Let’s get drunker and send postcards home.”

“All right. But not here.”

Joe nodded, and they stood to pull on their coats. Percy threw some money down, then walked around the table to Joe.

Joe hadn’t been expecting him quite so close, quite so suddenly, and he certainly didn’t expect to feel the warmth of Percy’s breath on his ear as he leaned in and whispered, “Do you mind if I kiss you right here?”

“No,” Joe managed, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. “I don’t mind at all.”

“That’s good, because…” Percy grabbed the collar of Joe’s coat and pulled him in. His soft, warm lips pressed against Joe’s, and Joe closed his eyes and forgot everything in the world but Percy, as he breathed him in, tasted him, as he felt Percy’s hand slip into his hair and tighten. And that was all just as well, because he wanted desperately for nothing to exist but Percy for a very long time.

“Because,” Percy said when he pulled away, his hand tilting Joe’s chin up to face him, looking straight into his eyes, nothing even a little shy or unsure about him, “I love you. Thank you for coming today.” Then Percy kissed him again and said, “Actually, I don’t want to go postcard shopping. I want to go back to the hotel room. With you. Right now.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Joe replied. “We’ll do postcards tomorrow?”

“I thought we might stay in tomorrow, too.”

Percy tugged at Joe’s hand, and Joe, love-drunk, followed him without the slightest hesitation.

The day had certainly thrown a few surprises in Joe’s path, but not a thing he couldn’t reconcile himself to with the press of Percy’s dear, cut hand against his, with the knowledge that he would be the one to watch it heal.

During the subsequent week in Kraków, Percy ran through an eye-watering amount of money. He never let Joe see the way the bags under the floorboards sagged as he returned each day to take a little more. The best restaurants, the best food, day trips, anything he thought Joe might like. Joe was treated like a prince, and champagne and sex flowed freely until the pair almost drowned in hedonism. It was both the perfect distraction from Percy’s little murder spree, and pleasure in the bank to last them through the next stop on their holiday.

Because in Tripoli, they both knew there would be no sex, no champagne, and a very high chance of suffering an excruciating death.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SWELTERING SET UP

Percy leaned forward over Joe, his chest brushing Joe’s shoulder as he brought a finger down slowly. “If we want to do it properly, it will be a tight squeeze just here, then we go down, down, down, then in and out, in and out, over and over⁠—”

“Stop talking like that,” Joe bristled.

Percy turned his head, a look of almost-convincing perplexity on his handsome face. “Stop talking like what?”

“Like the way you’re talking. We’re in Libya and it’s not going to happen, so just stop it.”

“I don’t know what you’re alluding to. I’m just a man looking at a map. You’re just a man looking at my map.”

Joe scowled up at him. “Get back to work.”

“All right, so,” Percy slid his painfully perfect hand across the map and leaned even closer as he did so. “You should know, when we go down,” pulling back and brushing Joe’s ear with his lips now, “it’s going to get very hot.”

“Enough!” Joe stood and walked across the room, running a hand of frustration through his soft curls.

Percy watched him with an amused eye. “I’m just saying it’s very warm down there. Have you ever been in a Libyan sewer?”

“I don’t make a habit of it, no. And could you please do your shirt up?”

Percy glanced down at his perfect chest, then said innocently, “I always wear my shirts like this.”

Trying to tear his eyes away, “Could you please not do it today?”

He watched Joe pace for a few more seconds, then added, “I’m hot.”

“So I’ve heard,” Joe snapped. “Put on your five-star hotel air conditioning so we can get back to work.”

Percy shrugged and walked across to the control unit on the far wall.

Typical Percy. He had the second best suite in the hotel, only because the best was already taken. Floor to ceiling windows looked out over the ocean, a ridiculously large bed was hidden away in the loft above, an unnecessarily deep clawfoot bathtub peeked out through the open bathroom doorway, and all was topped off by a comfortable living room with all the necessary amenities, everything tastefully decorated down to the last detail. Of course, Percy was Percy, so he complained every step of the way that he didn’t get the suite he wanted.

“It’s cooler in the penthouse,” he grumbled, pushing buttons. “We’d both be much more comfortable.”

Joe wrenched his eyes away from Percy as he turned back and pulled open the collar of his shirt far more than was necessary to cool himself. “It’s fine. I’m going back to my room in a moment, anyway.”

“Don’t be like that. Look, I’ll fix it.” Accordingly, Percy unrolled his sleeves, covering his beautiful forearms and his nice wrists. Then he closed two buttons on his shirt. It didn’t help in the least with Joe’s unprecedented longing to be with him, watching the shirt stick to and pull at his glorious body, but at least it showed he was, perhaps, going to take things a little more seriously.

Joe sat back down at the table and brought out a new map. “This is the Reliquary of Saint Martin.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Quiet,” Joe said. “Pay attention.”

Percy huffed a little, but barely brushed Joe’s arm this time as he threw himself down into a chair.

Joe’s index finger landed on a section of map directly behind his sketch of the reliquary. “The sheath is kept here.”

Percy sat forward. “Where? There’s nothing there.”

Joe grinned, happy with the opportunity to impress Percy with his superior knowledge. “It’s a secret room, underground. You can’t access it through the reliquary.”

Completely intent on the map, Percy asked, “Then how the hell do we get in there?”

“That’s another Church secret.” Joe pulled the street map over the top of his sketch. “You know the Saint’s body they have in the cathedral across the street?”

“Yes.” Percy nodded. “Saint Martin, presumably.”

Joe tried to quell the excitement in his tone as he revealed, “It is Saint Martin, but it’s a fake. There’s a latch that allows you to slide the coffin back, and there’s a tunnel underneath the corpse.”

Percy burst out laughing. “Ha! Not so incorruptible after all.”

“Not remotely.” Joe chuckled. “This tunnel takes us under the street and across the road to this spot behind the reliquary, where the hidden room is.”

“Clever.” Percy stood, running a hand over yesterday’s five o’clock shadow, considering, as he paced a little way from the table. “I knew it was somewhere in the reliquary all along. This explains why I could never find it.”

“And it’s about to get more complicated,” Joe dropped.

Percy was back at his side in an instant. “Excellent.”

Joe hid the next smile and went on, “The sheath is protected, as you know. There are three doors to go through in the tunnel, and guards will be waiting for us here, in the final chamber.”

“The Catholic Church’s ‘fiercest monks’.” Percy’s lips pulled into a cocky grin. “We can take the bastards.”

With a note of worry inspired by that grin, Joe said, “It’s not a joke.”

“Who’s joking?”

Joe wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and glanced at the air-conditioning unit. It would kick in soon. He was sure of it. “Listen, these monks have orders to kill anyone who goes down there. Anyone. Even me, and they know I’m here on Church business. You kill them first, or you die.”

Percy raised an enthralled eyebrow. “You’re giving me carte blanche?”

“Just the way you like it,” Joe replied. Then he glanced again at Percy, expecting a mildly irritating sexy quip, but received only an infuriatingly knowing look, as though Joe were the one causing trouble. Joe straightened himself and pulled at his collar. He glared again at the air-conditioning unit as a fresh trickle of sweat ran down his temple. “You fixed that, didn’t you?”

“I fixed it,” Percy replied. “You do look hot, though.”

“Stop it,” Joe griped, his irritation and attraction to Percy seeming to rise in equal measure with every degree of heat in the room.

“I’m being serious,” Percy said, and to his credit, he did sound more serious than he had for the entirety of the discussion thus far. “It’s impossible to concentrate in here. Do you want a glass of water or something?”

“No, I only want to get this job organised.”

“You know you can unbutton your shirt just a bit.”

“Percy—”

“I’m not flirting at all,” he insisted. “It’s just until the damned air conditioning starts working again. You know, if we got the penthouse, this wouldn’t be a problem. It’s airy up there.”

Joe ignored the complaining and began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can I do my shirt too?” Percy asked, watching him.

Joe felt his eyes, but refused to look up from the map. “Do whatever you want. Just try to pay attention.”

“I am paying attention.”

“To the plan!”

Percy let go a deep, frustrating laugh, and Joe couldn’t help but peek over as Percy swept his damp hair to the side, then unbuttoned his shirt even more than before, flapping it around extravagantly, exposing his chest and collarbones over and over. He rolled his sleeves to exactly the thickest part of his muscular forearms, and Joe wondered at the way the expensive poplin pulled firmly at his skin. Did he have the shirt tailored especially to show his arms off? Probably. Typical sexy Percy. Joe tried to push sexy-Percy thoughts aside. “So the plan is, we wander around the cathedral until we’re alone, we flick the switch on the coffin, go into the tunnel, and we kill the monks as quickly as possible. So far, so good. But there’s more.”

Without any hesitation, Percy suggested, “It’s rigged.”

“How do you know it’s rigged?”

“Standard Catholic practice. Booby-traps and pitfalls everywhere.”

Joe frowned very hard at him, yet conceded, “Apparently it is booby-trapped. But I can’t get access to any information about what exactly is down there. Only the monks know what the traps are and how to disarm them. The monks and a few people far higher up than me.”

Percy gave pause over these words. “Just how high up in the Church are you?”

“I have no idea. None of us have any idea what’s really going on. No one has until they reach the top. Or so I’ve heard. I’ve reached a level where…” He looked out at the blue sky through the floor-to ceiling windows, thinking it over, then said, “I keep a lot of secrets, and I have access to a lot of useful information. That may be because I’m lowly and expendable, or because I’m higher up and I’ve earned their trust. I really have no idea.”

Percy leaned in, his interest piqued. “Useful information like whatever your secret meeting this morning was about?”

“Yes,” Joe replied, holding his gaze steadily.

He lifted a sexy eyebrow. “What was it about?”

“That’s a secret.”

“And you won’t tell me?”

“No.”

“Very good,” Percy sighed out. He moved on from the disappointment quickly enough by returning to their heist. “We’ll have to kill all but one monk in the tunnel, then torture the last survivor until he tells us where the traps are.”

Joe had expected such a suggestion. “That’s a good plan, but it’s also possibly the biggest difficulty. I don’t know if we can make them tell us, even with torture.”

“Why? Did the Church take their tongues?”

Joe scowled for perhaps the twentieth time that morning, and explained patiently, “They may not be entirely human. At least that’s what I’ve heard. And if they’re not, well, I don’t know what they are.”

“Huh…” Percy wandered over to the window, surveying the sea and brown sand through the hazy atmosphere as he turned the idea over. “They won’t be demonic… Or will they? Are demons allowed to become monks?”

“It’s possible, but unlikely. The Church tries not to make deals with demons too often.”

“Hmmm.” He threw himself down on the lounge, musing, “Might they be undead?”

Percy’s strong jawline, now freshly angled for a different splendid perspective, pulled Joe’s eyes across like they were on a leash. “I doubt it. The undead don’t follow orders. Mostly.”

“True.” Percy stretched his arms over his head, apparently still thinking. He let his shirt pull up slightly, the line of hair along his belly almost completely melting Joe’s resolve. He could virtually feel the texture on his tongue. How Joe wanted to sink to his knees on the floor just there. Wanted to hear Percy’s gasps of pleasure. Needed Percy’s dick⁠—

Percy rolled onto his side, his beautiful face propped up on an arm. “I don’t think it matters what they are. If they bleed, we can torture them.”

Joe eyed him calmly, as though his own mind hadn’t strayed far from the topic. “What if they don’t bleed?”

“Everything bleeds,” Percy replied. “In one sense or another.”

“I hope you’re right, because if we can’t torture them, then we’re fucked.”

Percy forced himself back up and walked to the kitchenette to set the kettle to boil. Joe’s reaction was pure disgust. “How can you drink anything hot? It’s stifling in here.”

“Isn’t it?” Percy said. And just like that, he pulled his shirt off over his head and threw it down on the bench. Joe stared, utterly stupefied. After all, it’s very easy to be caught off guard by a half-naked adonis in the kitchen. Percy reached his arms up high, searching the cupboards above for a cup, his taut stomach muscles pulling a little tighter as he did so. Joe wasn’t close enough, but he knew had he been in the kitchen, he would have been utterly overcome with the delicious scent of him.

Percy turned, and Joe’s eyes were drawn irresistibly to his hips, to the curve of his stomach disappearing below the needlessly low line of his belt. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled the door wide, fanning himself languidly in the cool air as the faint light lit his pectorals admirably. “It’s an odd thing,” Percy said, as though he didn’t realise that he was perfection personified, “clearly it’s a powerful relic, but it really is a lot of security. How long has it been down there?”

Joe forced his eyes shut and fanned himself with his notebook. “About three years. I helped move it there.”

Percy laughed. “It was three years ago that I stole the holy lance.”

God damn, Joe wanted to kiss him. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Then that explains everything. The sheath became that much more precious the second you took the lance. Of course, they never told any of us the lance was really gone. They still say it’s in Austria.”

“A fake.”

“And you’re sure yours is the real one?”

“I will be when we reunite it with the sheath.”

Joe stole another glance at him, stirring his tea now, leaning on one muscular arm. “What will you do with them when you finally have them back together?”

Percy sauntered across the room and sunk into the chair opposite Joe. “Not a thing. I just don’t want them to have it.”

Joe had to wonder. The first conversation he’d ever had with Percy was about the very object they were soon to steal. Percy had been after it for almost a decade, and he had, if he was to be believed, almost died several times trying to get it. His desire for the sheath was verging on obsession, though he was a routinely passionate man who had brutally killed several people only a week ago over a cracked Caravaggio, so why should this be of any more of a concern than that? Still, Joe tried a leading, “You know it’s incredibly powerful…”

“I do. And there’s every chance we’ll need it one day. But until then, if it’s all right by you…” He fixed his piercing blue eyes on Joe’s, and he didn’t even intend to melt Joe that time, but it was quite out of his control. “We’ll hide it away in my demon sex dungeon. And you can come visit anytime you like.”

Joe laughed with a soft blush. “That should be adequate, Percy.”

“Very good, Joe,” Percy threw back.

Joe cleared his throat to set a serious tone. “Obviously, we need to get back out of the reliquary if—or after—we get the sheath. Getting back into the cathedral should be easy enough, but… Well, we just have to hope we’re alone when we come out from under the coffin. I’ll go first and take the risk of getting caught, so you won’t. If they catch me, I can try to talk my way out of it, or buy us some time, but if they catch you, they will kill you on the spot.”

Percy only raised his curious brow. “Won’t they kill you?”

“Not without a lot of torture first to find out what I know, so…” He locked eyes with Percy, his voice wavering a little, shy about the request. “You’ll come, won’t you?”

The reply was firm and fast. “You know I will.”

Joe’s heart fluttered appallingly at the intensity of Percy’s gaze, the ardour in his voice, and he concluded softly, “Then that’s everything. We may… Hopefully we won’t have to deal with any innocent bystanders in the cathedral if they happen to see us escaping. We’ll go through the sewers like you said and make a fast getaway, back here. Then we’ll fly out as soon as flights resume tomorrow morning.”

“Remind me again why we have to go in the afternoon and not at night?”

“It’s guarded at night. Inside and outside. And the guards don’t have a key. That’s kept around the bishop’s neck at all times. And that guy… He’s a dick. It just isn’t possible to get in there after he locks it up, so we go in the daytime with the tourists. The Catholic community here is incredibly small. If we time it right, we shouldn’t run into too much trouble.” Joe took a bolstering breath at the end of the plan and looked up from the map. “What do you think?”

Percy leaned forward, going over the map as though he were carefully considering, then he suddenly fused molten eyes with Joe’s, declaring with his deep, soft voice, “I think you’re so beautiful I could die”.

“Damn it!” Joe leapt out of his chair and began folding the maps.

Percy ran around the table to him. “Why are your eyelashes so long? Do you have any idea how spectacular you are?”

Joe’s eyes flared through those long eyelashes as he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. “Would you please take this a bit more seriously? Gaddafi will have your hands if you touch me.”

Percy grinned. “It would be worth it.”

“I’m going back to my room.”

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Kiss me once.”

“No!” Joe shoved his belongings into his bag and threw it over his shoulder, then turned back to face his lover, following close behind. “Why aren’t you even worried about this?”

“Because I know you’ll crack,” he replied simply.

Joe stepped close, softly fuming. “It’s one night. You’re insane if you think I can’t resist you for one night in a country where they’ll kill me if they find out.”

Deftly, Percy reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a key. “This one is yours.”

“What?” Joe asked, looking him over, then regretting it, as the sweat had broken out on Percy’s chest and Joe wanted so much to lick his neck and taste that sweat.

As though the key were nothing more than a takeaway coffee, Percy said, “I got an extra. In case you wanted to come back tonight.”

Joe snatched the key. “What were you thinking?”

“I said it’s for my wife.”

“Percy…” Joe shoved the key back into Percy’s pocket. “I will meet you at four o’clock at the cathedral. Don’t let anyone know you know me, study your maps until then, and be ready.”

Percy’s smile deepened. “One kiss.”

“No. Goodbye.”

Joe turned to leave, then stopped as his eyes were drawn to the thermostat by the door. He turned back to Percy, inflamed. “You turned it up? That whole time you turned the temperature up just to get your shirt off?”

“Did I?” Percy moved closer, knowing confusion on his handsome face as his body brushed against Joe’s. “You know me and electronics. I’m hopelessly lost without you.”

“And what?” Joe said. “You think because you take your shirt off, and you’re all hot and sweaty, and here, in my way, I won’t be able to resist you?”

Percy stepped closer still, his chest against Joe’s, the heat from his skin bringing Joe out in goosebumps. “Kiss me.”

Joe shoved Percy back against the wall and pushed his lips hard against Percy’s. Their tongues met forcefully as Percy wrapped his arms around Joe’s waist, crushing their bodies together. Joe felt the sweat on Percy’s top lip as he kissed him, breathed in his delicious scent, kissed his cheek, bit his earlobe, kissed his neck. Percy let go a deep breath by Joe’s ear, sending a sharp tingle down his spine. He pulled at Joe’s belt and Joe slapped his hand away. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“I’m leaving.”

“I love you.”

Joe failed to suppress his smile as he took in Percy’s mischievous grin, his blue eyes sparkling, perfectly smug in his expectation he could hold Joe with nothing more than that. Joe kissed him lightly again, then shoved him out of the way. “You’re going to get me killed. I know it.” And with that, he wrenched the door open and left, only to discover about five minutes later that Percy’s key had somehow found its way back into his pocket.

CHAPTER TWENTY

OLD ACQUAINTANCES

Fuck!

Why the fuck had Joe brought Percy along on this trip? Stupid sexy Percy with his stupid sexy… everything! The man was wholly irresistible. Too gorgeous to be true. Too everything to be true.

So this was infatuation. Or love. What’s the difference, anyway? Doesn’t one have to be infatuated to be in love? Really in love? Love that conquers everything. Love that you sacrifice everything for. Love that you would die for in a heartbeat.

And he was insane. Percy was insane. He must be. Maybe.

Sweet, loving, wonderful, charming, stupidly beautiful Percy. Why did it have to be Percy, of all people?

Joe made his way in just such an emotional frenzy towards the cathedral. He had taken a very cool shower, changed and transformed back into a priest, and he tried to ignore the oppressive heat of the harsh sun beating down on his black clothing.

He worried over the sheath. Everyone knew the powers of the Holy Lance—the Spear of Destiny. Anything from healing to human mind control, from invincibility to the ability to raise and captivate the dead. All were rumoured and more. But what most people didn’t know was that the holy lance was useless without its restorative sheath. After piercing Jesus’ skin, freshly dead from his crucifixion, the lance was returned to the sheath and there went half the sacred energy. The lance may still have held some power alone, certainly, but not the full power. Not the kind of power Percy wanted, for whatever reason.

As he walked the hot streets, Joe lost himself remembering the crisp winter evening he first laid eyes on Percy. That was the very night they discovered their mutual fascination for powerful ancient artefacts. Dashingly handsome, he was too. Dashingly handsome and appallingly dangerous, as Eve had told him in no uncertain terms the second he saw Percy’s interest in Joe. Eve was protective of Joe from the first, and Joe trusted every word he said, which was the main reason it had taken him months to let himself fall for Percy.

Of course, Joe would not, could not, admit his feelings for Eve. He couldn’t even understand his feelings for Eve. Percy’s younger brother. What a stupid mess.

But it didn’t matter in the least. Since the day they met, Eve had been hopelessly in love with Anna, and that would never change, which was fine… So long as Anna remained devoted to Eve…

As ungenerous as it was, Joe didn’t trust Anna to not mess everything up with Eve. Through no fault of her own, the woman was a wreck, and Joe winced at the thought that she would almost certainly drag Eve down with her when she inevitably sank. And that’s exactly when she would reach out for a lifeline. And how would Percy react when Anna turned up on his doorstep in tears again?

Joe bought a bottle of water from a small shop and leaned against the wall of an alleyway in the shade. It didn’t help. The hazy, wavering heat bounced off the pavement in front of him and assaulted his eyes and his face, regardless. He tipped a little water into his palm and let it trickle down his neck.

It was only a few months earlier that Percy had murdered Eve, then watched on as Anna resurrected him right then and there. What that does to a man, Joe couldn’t say, but barely three weeks ago, Anna was all Percy could think about. He waxed lyrical about how clever and fierce she was, about her very fine eyes and her wild hair and her exceptionally beautiful fingers.

But since that night—the night Joe admitted his feelings for Percy—there was never one more word spoken about Anna between them than was necessary for simple communication. No more reflections on her lips or her hips or her wit or all the rest of it. If Percy still loved her, Joe would have had no idea. He hid it completely, and if Joe hadn’t said her name aloud on occasion, neither would Percy.

Was that better or worse? Had he moved on? Or was it all bottled up inside, waiting to come out as soon as they returned to home? Which they would have to do, one of these days.

Was Joe, he wondered, second prize? Was he simply available, whereas she was not? Was that kiss and that spark of jealousy any sort of grounds for a relationship?

Joe squeezed the plastic bottle flat between his strong fingers and threw it from there into a nearby bin with perfect aim. Unwillingly, he pushed off the wall and started again up the street in the blistering sun.

It wasn’t fair to think any of these thoughts. The past was a mess, but they were all moving on. Joe would believe in Percy, despite their strange history. Joe would believe that Percy had the best heart of all men deep down. That Percy was worth everything. That Percy was the best thing that had ever happened to him and that he was unfathomably lucky to have found him. He was going to hold on tight with both hands… should he not die of lust this week.

Stupid, sexy Percy with his sexy everything.

Joe walked through the tall cathedral doors. The cool air settled down around him and the sweet, pungent scent of church incense hit him. His shoes echoed gently from the stone floors, off the cold, pale walls, and he looked around.

This church was not like his own. The interior was white and yellow, bright murals on every wall. His church was dark and gothic. This one had small, golden chandeliers lining two aisles on either side of the central pews, unlike his, which was hung over by one gigantic bronze beauty, hundreds of years old, antique, and exquisite. The differences were stark, but the candles and the altar, the crosses and the imagery, the smell and the atmosphere were close enough to almost make him homesick.

Joe slid into a pew at the back. It was quiet inside, as he expected it would be.

There was the bishop at the front, who smiled disdainfully through his golden teeth when he noticed Joe, before he returned to his conversation with a woman in a tight, stylish, white skirt suit. Joe had hoped to avoid seeing him at all, and he could tell the feeling was mutual. Something about the man set him on edge. There was an odd malignancy about him. For whatever reason, he seemed to hate Joe from the start, but Joe had a job to do, so he hoped it wasn’t too out of place for a priest to visit the only Catholic church in the city on his own time.

The woman at the front stood right by the fake corpse of Saint Martin, waving a pair of expensive sunglasses around dramatically as she spoke in a loud, indecipherable whisper to the bishop. There was also a younger woman, maybe even a teenager, silently looking at the artworks that lined the walls. And then two men, wearing black, watching the scene more intently than Joe was.

Really quite intently.

Joe’s stomach kicked into action. They were security. Why shouldn’t the Church have hired professional security by now? It made far more sense than depending on necromancy. But then, it was the Catholic Church…

Their guns were barely concealed, and Joe wondered what other weapons they might have. The men weren’t any bigger than he and Percy, and given what he had witnessed a few days earlier, he was pretty confident Percy could take them out by himself… But, for one, he didn’t want to slaughter innocent living humans that day, and furthermore, these men were clearly professionals. They had ear pieces and were presumably in communication with others of their ilk not too far off.

The whole thing was sunk. Joe realised it with full and crushing certainty. Percy was going to be bitterly disappointed. He’d been searching for the sheath for so long, and who knew when they would get another chance?

That was when he heard the steady, measured step on the stone behind him. His heart thumped, in part with trepidation, but mostly with excitement, because he felt the presence of Percy well before he saw him. The entire atmosphere seemed to shift and Joe’s heart and mind were drawn inexorably to the man who, to his credit, walked straight past Joe as though he didn’t exist at all. He rounded a bend, then stood at the entrance of a little golden side-chapel, staring up at whatever painting may have been there, silently waiting for the others to leave.

A voice sang out loud and clear across the cathedral. “Doctor Ashdown?”

Percy turned slowly, almost as if he were expecting it, then a handsome smile spread across his beautiful face. A handsome smile, full of flirtatious mischief. He stood still, and he waited for her to come to him, which, naturally, she did.

“I knew it was you!” yelled the woman with the sunglasses, leopard skin heels clicking swiftly across the floor. She threw her arms around him, and Joe watched as Percy lifted her right off her feet and planted a kiss on her cheek. She held on entirely too long and too tight for any sort of decency after he put her back down.

“Hello, Princess,” he said smoothly. Joe thought he might vomit, but he forced a tight smile across his face as the teenage girl slid into the pew next to him with a sigh.

The sunglasses woman whacked Percy’s arm playfully. “You were supposed to call me.”

“You were supposed to call me,” he threw back. She laughed like an idiot, an effect Percy had on a lot of people.

The teenager next to Joe let out another sigh, more pointedly, and he looked over at her. She took that as her cue to say, “This might take a while.”

Joe glanced over at Percy’s situation, then back to the girl. “You’re with her?”

She held up what looked to be an expensive handbag. “Royal purse carrier.”

Joe laughed lightly, then stopped immediately when he heard the woman insist, “You must come and see me tonight!”

To which Percy replied archly, “You got the penthouse, didn’t you?”

Outrageous laughter. Joe and the girl on the seat rolled their eyes and groaned, then she said, “Do you know that guy?”

Joe shook his head firmly. “I’ve never seen him before.”

The girl leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “She saw him in the hotel lobby, and she’s been waiting for him ever since. I had to wait there for six hours today, with directions to call as soon as he came down. Then she took the car over and beat him here.”

Paling, Joe asked, “How did she know he’d come here?”

The girl only raised her chin as a sign for him to tune back into the conversation.

“Doctor Ashdown⁠—”

“Call me Percy.”

“I will not!” How hilarious she evidently thought it all was. Joe’s toes curled as she dropped her sunglasses onto a pew in order to wrap both hands firmly around Percy’s biceps, squeezing tight, and turning him back around. “You know I love art, Doctor Ashdown, and when I heard about the grand restoration, well, I just had to come and see it. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Percy, as usual, didn’t miss a beat. “That’s exactly right. I made the trip especially. You know I’d hate to miss a restoration.”

“Oh, Doctor Ashdown! You are so funny!” He laughed along with her and Joe began to long for the days of murdering people in churches.

“And so we wait,” the girl on the seat narrated, “while she seduces him.”

“—three bottles of champagne in my suite,” sunglasses woman said.

“She sent out for them especially as soon as she saw him,” the girl whispered.

“Where did she get them?” Joe asked, pink with jealousy and irritation.

“—and you know, what’s mine is yours, Doctor Ashdown,” the sunglasses woman purred.

Joe and the girl both visibly flinched at her words, then she said, “She gets what she wants, no matter what.”

Percy sidestepped the invitation, redirecting his conversation to the restoration, and he sounded quite convincing to Joe’s ears. Joe watched on, quietly fuming, as the woman pressed her hip into Percy, pulling his arm against the side of her breast, laughing inappropriately throughout his explanations. So intent was Joe on hating the interloper, he was a little surprised when the girl next to him spoke again, just as quietly, but somehow more tentative now. “Are you always here on Tuesdays?”

He turned his head to assess her. He suddenly clocked that she looked a little scared, and she turned her eyes away as soon as she became aware of Joe’s frank appraisal. Joe also turned his eyes away. “I’m just visiting.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“What’s your name?”

She stole a glance at the sunglasses woman, furtive somehow, and whispered, “Althea.”

“I’m Joe.”

She gave a soft smile in response, then her face fell again as the woman slapped Percy’s arm over some little joke he’d made, and he, cloyingly, made almost the same joke again, eliciting a dramatic show of mock outrage from her.

“I’m guessing she’s your employer?” Joe asked.

The girl twisted her lips. “She is.”

He surveyed the scene a little longer as Percy led the woman back to the altar, then Joe made a snap judgement. “If I was working here tomorrow, or in a few days, would that be helpful?”

Althea cast her eyes over with a sharp flash. “Is that something you could do?”

“Yeah. If anyone needed me to.”

“Althea!” The woman’s voice shattered the relative quiet, and Althea was up and walking to her like a dog playing fetch. “Purse.” Althea gave her the handbag from which she withdrew a large, thick, white envelope. Then she said, “Box.” Althea turned and walked all the way back, almost to where she had been sitting by Joe, then she picked up a large white box.

Joe caught her eye and mouthed silently, “Tomorrow?”

He received a slight nod, then the woman’s voice called, “All of you, outside.” Althea smiled briefly at Joe, and she and the two security guards were gone.

The woman squeezed Percy’s arm again, asked for a moment, and walked over to the bishop, who had been quietly busying himself throughout the entire ordeal. She handed him the envelope, for which he thanked her politely, then he walked through a heavy wooden door into a back room. She made her way over to Percy, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “I will expect you at eight.”

He shook his head apologetically, well aware of Joe’s gaze. “I have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Then I’ll help you stay awake for it,” she declared, her voice oozing sex.

Percy remained calm and charming. “I really can’t. Another time.”

“Well… It’s either tonight or…” She threw her hands up as though there were no other possible option. “Or right now.” Her tone fell back to sultry as her eyes consumed him. “I’m not letting you get away this time, Doctor Ashdown.”

Joe thought he might implode if she said his name like that one more time, then he became more furious still when Percy said, “Then tonight it is,” adding smoothly, “you know I like to be asked twice.”

“Oh, Doctor Ashdown…” (Joe clenched his fists.) “You are so funny!”

And she turned and left the cathedral.

Finally alone together, Percy smiled widely over at Joe, and Joe looked daggers straight back at him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CIGARETTE BREAK

Joe walked swiftly past Percy to the corpse of Saint Martin. Percy followed and watched as he noiselessly lifted the glass at the front of the case and pulled the Saint’s middle finger up. There was a loud click, and Joe wrenched the entire case back, revealing a dark staircase that led down into perfect black.

Percy burst out laughing. “It’s too ridiculous to be true.”

“After you, Doctor Ashdown,” Joe said dryly, to still more laughter from Percy, who pulled a small torch from his pocket and skipped quickly down the stairs. Joe pulled the coffin back overhead, and they were successfully sealed in. “What the hell was that?” was the immediate question.

“What?” Percy said, a few feet ahead already.

“What do you mean ‘what’? You flirting with that woman upstairs right in front of me.”

“Well, I would have introduced you, but you were very firm that I should pretend to not know you.”

Joe breathed out sharply in exasperation, trying to keep up with Percy’s fast descent. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Percy glanced up at him, nothing but fondness written in his expression. “You don’t need to worry about Cleo. She’s great.”

“She was all over you.”

Percy pulled up, leaning back on the railing of the stairs. “She didn’t know my boyfriend was watching, or perhaps she would have behaved differently.”

Annoyingly reasonable response. “Did you have to agree to go to her apartment tonight?”

“Didn’t you want me to get rid of her?”

Very annoyingly reasonable. “Yes, but⁠—”

“So I’ll stand her up. It wouldn’t be the first time.” He waited for Joe to reach his level, and when he did, Percy was perfectly relaxed, watching for Joe’s reaction. Joe said nothing, only paused there next to him, so Percy said, “How about that kiss?”

Joe smiled. “I already kissed⁠—”

Percy stepped forward and quieted Joe gently with his lips. A long, sweet, soft kiss, finished with the words, “I miss you.”

All was forgiven in a heartbeat.

“I miss you too,” Joe whispered, touching his forehead to Percy’s.

“Let’s kill them in five minutes. Sit down.” Percy and Joe sunk down onto the stairs. Percy lit two cigarettes and passed one to Joe. “Do we have much further to the tunnel?”

Joe blew out a long puff of smoke. “Not too far. There’s a series of bolted doors coming up.” He aimed his torch into the distance, weakly illuminating a wall. “Around that corner there.”

Percy tilted his head to breathe out the smoke in just that way Joe liked, which was just about any way, but that particular way, and Joe said, “Why did you tell her you’re a doctor?”

Percy smiled back at Joe, bemused. “I am a doctor.”

Joe laughed at what he assumed was an odd joke, then frowned in perplexity at Percy’s unchanged seriousness. “You’re not… Are you?”

“Of course I am. Didn’t that ever come up?”

“Not once.”

“Oh… well…” Percy shrugged. “There it is.”

“There it is,” Joe repeated abstractedly, watching the smoke swirl in the torchlight. “And how does Cleo know that?”

“I don’t know,” Percy said. “I’ve known her for a long time. Lots of appraisals, sales, galleries, openings, deals, all that sort of thing. We’re always running into one another.”

Joe’s foot began to tap as he tried and failed to push down this new jealousy. “And have you always called her ‘Princess’?”

“I know it’s a little familiar, but she is a princess, after all.”

Another short laugh from Joe, then another double take. “What… She is a princess? From where?”

“I don’t know. Some oil country. I can’t keep track of them all.”

Despite himself, the thought amused Joe. “You can’t keep track of all your Middle Eastern princesses?”

Percy’s head tilted to the side with a sly smile, as though he were about to say one thing, then he quickly changed tack, buying time with a drag on his cigarette, and settling on, “I’ll introduce you next time. When we’re in a safer country. Which we will be, this time tomorrow. I’ll skip out on her tonight. I know you don’t want to come over either, but⁠—”

“I do want to come over,” Joe replied.

Percy looked across at him. “I know. And I know you can’t.”

Why he still blushed in Percy’s presence was beyond Joe’s understanding. He suggested shyly, “I could come for a cup of tea?”

Percy’s face lit up. “Would you?”

“Yes. I would love to.”

“Then we’ll have tea. I’ll do the air conditioning properly this time. Sorry about all that.” Of course, he couldn’t help adding, with a lascivious grin, “It was worth it, though.”

Joe laughed, and Percy took his hand and kissed it. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Their lips met again, and with all Joe’s misgivings apparently quelled, Percy said, “Now let’s go kill some possibly demonic monks.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

TUNNEL OF DEATH

The latch gave an ear-piercing screech as Joe heaved back a thick, heavy iron bolt. “They’ll have heard that.”

Percy pulled out his beautiful dagger in response.

Sick, stale, hot air met them as the door creaked wide open. Everything was black in the chamber, except where their torches shone. Dark, wet, mossy stone made the floor, ceiling, and walls, and another door, identical to the one they’d just opened, waited on the far side.

“Will this part be trapped?” Percy whispered.

“We came straight through here last time, so no, I think we’re okay.”

Joe took a step forward, but was arrested by Percy’s strong hand on his arm. “What’s that smell?”

Joe looked around the chamber again, seeing nothing unusual. “The undead usually smell pretty bad. That could be what they’re using as guards.”

“True,” Percy replied, “but that smells like freshly dead.” He started forward cautiously, then turned back to add, “More fresh than undead, you know what I mean? But still dead? But not too dead?”

“Yes,” Joe replied, completely unsure at all about the different scents a human or otherwise may give off at various stages of decomposition.

“Wait.” Percy’s head turned sharply upward, and his hand slipped protectively to Joe’s belly. “On your knees.”

Joe slapped his hand away. “Could you please be serious just this⁠—”

“I’m deadly serious. Get down.” Percy sank to his knees and pulled Joe after him. His voice was as hard and cool as his eyes were, and he examined the chamber minutely. Joe felt the hairs on his neck stand at the sudden change. Percy aimed his torch towards the ceiling. Joe followed his keen blue gaze as it traced across the ceiling, down the wall, and back onto Joe, where he gave a small smile. “False alarm. Stay behind me.”

Percy stepped ahead, keeping a hand on Joe, partially to know he was there, partially for balance, and he began pushing his boot down heavily on the stone slabs lining the floor.

“We just walked straight through last time,” Joe offered.

“But the smell,” Percy insisted.

Joe shrugged and followed as bid until Percy stopped again. He tried his boot a second time on one particular slab, then looked back at Joe with a grin. He rammed his boot down hard and the stone slab fell away completely, down and down into a pitch black hole. Percy shone his light down, and there were the mangled, rotting remains of some unfortunate, pierced straight through with long, thin, rusty metal spikes. “An oubliette.”

“So I see.” Joe shuddered at the gory sight. “Will there be more?”

“Almost definitely.”

Percy went about his exploration, and Joe held the arm that felt for him a little tighter. They found three more oubliettes, two with corpses, one disturbingly recent, before they finally reached the door opposite. Percy put his hand to the bolt. “The monks aren’t in here?”

“They shouldn’t be.” Though Joe was no longer sure he knew any more than Percy about these matters. He took out his own long knife.

“Ready?” Percy whispered.

Joe nodded. Percy thrust the heavy doors back and moved into what was a perfectly magnificent pose of readiness, one hand a tight fist protecting his face, the other holding his ridiculous-on-anyone-else antique blade at the ready, his left leg back for balance, eyes fiery and intent, and just as quickly as Joe’s jaw dropped and his stomach flipped, Percy dropped the pose and pulled him in close by the front of his shirt. “On your knees.”

Joe did as instructed in a heartbeat, as Percy’s gaze fell down on him and he stepped closer still. Joe stared up, completely enthralled by Percy, who, in that moment, was equally captivated. Joe forgot entirely where he was, as Percy placed a hand on his cheek. He ran his finger slowly along the curve of Joe’s cheekbone and down along his lips. Joe turned his head and bit softly into Percy’s thumb. Had Percy, at that time, reached for a handful of Joe’s hair, Joe would have been utterly powerless. Instead, Percy said, “I thought you wanted me to be serious?”

“I am…” Joe faltered. “I mean—I did. Do. I do!”

“You’re making it very hard.”

“That’s good to hear,” Joe replied on an enamoured breath.

Percy grinned, sank down beside Joe, and turned to shine his torch upward again. He stayed that way for a time, studying carefully, then said, “There.” He leaned over, his breath hot on Joe’s cheek. “Do you see it?”

Joe looked carefully. He didn’t see a thing out of the ordinary, other than Percy, and shook his head to indicate as much.

“Where’s your holy water?”

Joe scrunched up his face. “You assume just because I’m a priest, I carry holy water everywhere I go?”

Percy raised a shoulder. “Don’t you?”

With a grimace, Joe pulled a small flask of holy water from his pocket. Percy said nothing, only accepted the bottle, half covered the opening with his index finger, and flicked a small spritz of water into the chamber. He raised his torch and looked over at Joe expectantly. Joe stood, searching, and indeed, there hung, as if in the very air, sparkling drops of holy water. Joe stepped closer, then felt Percy’s warning hand slide around his biceps. “Don’t forget the oubliettes.”

Joe blanched at his negligence before turning his attention back to the water. “How?”

“Blades,” Percy said. “Razor thin and razor sharp. It would take your head off easily if you were in a hurry.”

Shock and wonder fought for supremacy in Joe’s harshly whispered, “You’ve seen this before?”

“It’s standard kit.”

“Standard?”

“Standard.” Without another word, Percy dropped back down, stretching himself out long on the floor, on his belly. He began the arduous task of sliding under razor wires while searching for hidden oubliettes.

Joe sank down onto his stomach the same way. “How do you know these things? This whole world? Why… Why are you like this?” He felt bad at the way he worded the question as soon as it was out.

He didn’t know all the sordid details of Percy’s upbringing, but he knew it was horrific. That in his grieving mother’s household, Percy was raised somewhere between poverty and neglect. That back with his abusive father, he was met with excruciating wealth and regular beatings. Add to that the very peculiar torture of a missing brother, a haunted house, demonic possessions, murder, and extreme loneliness, and Joe wondered that Percy had made it out the other side at all.

He was about to apologise for the question, but Percy went on as though it were nothing. “There was a girl. When I was ten years old. Her name was Zia.”

“Zia?”

“Yes,” he said firmly, still beating his fist down on the stones in front of him, a trickle of sweat running down his cheek from the unacknowledged exertion and foul heat. “She was… There was something compelling about her from the moment we met. She was twelve, and I was oddly drawn to her. As though there was something unknown but vitally important between us.”

A large space opened up in front of Joe as a swathe of stone caved in. He felt Percy’s hand on him immediately, holding him steady as his heart felt like it was about to beat its way out of his throat. Joe pushed himself back and shone the torchlight down. “Empty.”

“I doubt a great many thieves could make it this far with all the razor wire.”

“That’s sound thinking.” Joe looked around for any signs of past bodies sliced to ribbons by razors, and he did wonder if there was a slightly reddish-brownish, blood-like hue between the stones here and there.

“Are you all right?” Percy was watching him intently, and despite the desperation he knew Percy had to get his hands on the sheath, Joe got the comforting feeling he might call the whole thing off had Joe said no.

“Fine,” Joe replied, still breathing hard. “Tell me about Zia.”

“Come this way.” Percy hauled his impressive everything to the side, making space for Joe. “Zia, it transpired, had been kidnapped when she was only five years old.”

Joe gasped. “No!”

“She had no real parents, and I was searching for my own estranged father, so naturally we formed a tight bond.”

“I don’t wonder at it,” Joe replied, completely entranced by the story.

“And that’s not the strangest part.”

“It isn’t?”

“Not remotely.”

Joe worked hard at trying the stones in front of him, determined to haul himself forward to be right by Percy’s side as he revealed, “From the time I was a small child, I had always a strange necklace. It was a crescent moon, worn on its side…”

An image of such a necklace flashed vaguely into Joe’s mind.

“And Zia, she had one just like it, only it was a smaller, perfectly round sun.”

Joe’s lips quivered with an indulgent smile. “Percy…”

“Imagine our surprise when we discovered one day, the two fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a puzzle⁠—”

Joe slapped his arm. “Goddamnit, Percy, that’s The Mysterious Cities of Gold!”

Percy laughed and jumped to his feet, having reached the end of the room. “I knew you would have watched it too.”

Joe allowed himself to be pulled up by Percy’s side. “Are you kidding me? I totally believed you! Every word!”

“More fool you, handsome.” That stupid, perfect, wonderful wink. Then his hands were on the bolt of the final door. He offered a raised eyebrow, which Joe could only nod exhaustedly to, and Percy wrenched the thing back, took up his heroic stance, then dropped his arms and yelled, “Fuck!”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

POSSIBLY DEMONIC MONKS

“They’re all dead. Look at them! They’re all fucking dead!”

There looked to be about six of them, but they were mostly in several pieces, so it was difficult to tell. There was a blackish substance that seemed to serve for blood all over the floor and in lashings along the walls, and a deep, desolate silence over the lot.

“We can hardly torture them now,” Percy continued furiously. “What the hell are we going to do?”

Joe, a little taken aback by his reaction, suggested, “Can’t we just keep on as we have been?”

“Well, yes, maybe,” Percy blustered, relenting a little. “But you’d think they would save the best for last, wouldn’t you?”

“It might have been just demonic monks in here. No traps.”

“Mmm. I suppose that’s a kind of showstopper. If they weren’t dead already.” Percy was down on the floor again, searching for razor wire. His handsome mouth twitched. “It’s fine. The sheath is the thing. If the sheath is even here, which it may not be, because clearly someone else has been here recently.”

Joe tried to ignore the small tingling that ticked down his spine. He knew Percy was right. There should have been more somehow. He shone his own torchlight all about the room, and just like in every other chamber, he didn’t see a thing that might have been out of the ordinary, except for the piles of dead on the floor, and still Percy. He set about testing the stones with his boot. “The sheath should be there.” He nodded towards a stone slab on a large stone podium as he worked. “It’s hollow. That’s where we put it last time.”

Percy grunted an acknowledgement, his own mind working overtime trying to solve the puzzle, or trying to remain relatively calm with the probable loss of the sheath, or whatever it was he was trying to do.

Slowly, painstakingly, they made their way across the room without finding even one oubliette. There was no razor wire. There were no hidden holes (at least none that either of them could see) that might allow a poison dart to escape and pierce their necks should they accidentally stand on a trigger camouflaged as a stone. There didn’t even appear to be any levers one might lean against unwittingly and thereby cause the room to fill with water, or worse still, lava.

They had all but decided that was it, when a low, deeply unsettling moan reverberated throughout the chamber.

Percy and Joe froze in place.

Their eyes searched one another first, then, frantically, the mess on the floor. There was no way the sound could have come from a dying monk. There were too many pieces and not one full body. They were all definitely dead.

Another low moan.

Percy walked directly to the stone slab. Joe watched between him and the corpses in pensive silence until it was clear from his tightened lips and averted eyes that the sheath was not there. He didn’t say a word, only turned to make his way back out of the chamber.

That’s when Joe felt the nails dig into his skin.

He looked down in horror at the dismembered arm, the foul black fingers working their way up his leg. A head—one of the heads—shifted, its black mouth gaping wide up at the ceiling, and then they both heard it, in a desperate, airless, wheeze, “Anima… tua…”

Joe kicked the hand off his leg and pulled his knife free. “Soul eaters. You know what to do.”

“Anima… tua…” groaned another. Then, in one sickening agreement, every leg and arm and joint and dash of sinew began to shake. The black blood on the walls congealed and began to creep and ooze down and down and towards the bodies.

Percy started, “No, Joe, I don’t know⁠—”

Then in quick, panicked succession, “You don’t know what a soul eat⁠—”

“No, I don’t fucking⁠—”

“Close your eyes!”

“How the fuck⁠—”

“If they look into your soul, they will take it.”

“It’s not⁠—”

“Close your eyes!” Joe shouted. “Do it or die!”

Neither Percy nor Joe waited another second to watch the cadavers reanimate, but reanimate they did with dizzying speed, odd hands and groping jaws and still-robed headless bodies overwhelming both men in a matter of seconds, even as the limbs threaded themselves back together. All was black, the crush of heavy bodies, the moans and cries of the recently undeceased, the stench of rotting flesh and the appalling heat of an eight-body brawl in an airless chamber deep beneath the ground.

Joe and Percy lashed out blindly with knives, fists, feet. Percy yelled as sharp teeth sank into his shoulder.

“Percy!” cried Joe. “Don’t let them open your eyes!”

Joe could hear the bodies, hear things being ripped and slashed, but what they were or whose blade caused the injuries he never could have deciphered. “Percy!”

He heard Percy take a deep breath, as though something had stopped him breathing for a time, then his rasping voice. “How do we kill them?”

He gasped his own sharp intake of breath with the knowledge Percy was still with him. “Their hearts. Take their hearts.”

“I can’t see!”

“Do it or we die!”

“Fuck!”

Killing a soul eater without sight is not simply a matter of slicing limbs until one gets a free shot at the chest. Every finger removed will work its way across the floor and back to the hand; heads will roll of their own volition until the neck falls down to allow access. Soul eaters do not stop, do not relent, until they are stopped by destruction of the heart or by magic, the latter being something neither Percy nor Joe had the first clue about as applied to soul eaters.

In the frantic, stinking frenzy of bodies, Joe could barely breathe, let alone find the curve of a neck that he may grab hold of in order to aim a knife for the chest. And he was losing the battle. For every creature he kicked off his leg, another would pull his arm away. For every cut he made in their decaying skin, he felt their sharp nails in his own flesh. He fought on, but with every failure a little more exhaustion assailed his limbs and he knew it wouldn’t be long until one of the things got a grip on his head, forced him down, and pulled his eyes open, and then it would all be over, forever.

Then Joe realised, amongst all the claustrophobic desperation, he could no longer hear Percy. No more swearing, no more threats, no more cries of pain.

“Are you still there?”

Nothing.

“Percy!”

A cold surge of desperation ran through him. His knife was wrenched from his hand. He dug his fingers deep into every piece of flesh he could grasp. He tried to roll, but was held tight. There were more of them. Not only the three from before. He could feel one on each leg. Another across his body, pinning his arms down. Now the next took hold of his head. He fought with every ounce of strength he had left in him and still his head hit the stone floor hard. The foul fingers were on his face, pulling and grasping and tearing as though it knew not where to find his eyes. It tightened its grip painfully. Joe prepared himself to look into the face of a soul eater. To have his eternal essence be consumed and deleted from existence.

“Dormio.”

All was the squelching and slapping of the violent and abrupt self-destruction of limbs, dispersing as quickly as they had knitted themselves together. Joe felt them fall on him, fall all about him. The black blood hit his face where they burst apart.

He lay there, breathing hard. He knew they must have somehow fallen down, but he dare not look at the carnage, and he dare not acknowledge what he believed to be true: that Percy was part of that carnage.

A voice said, “Joe Bruno. I had a bad feeling about you.”

At that, Joe did open his eyes. The bishop stood in the full light of a well-lit passage, lanterns on fire, all doors flung wide, all razor-wire presumably retracted somehow, and six bodies on the floor. Six. Joe cast his eyes around cautiously. He didn’t want to look, yet he forced himself to.

Going by the heads, there were six bodies of six dead soul eaters. And no sign of Percy.

His heart leapt, yet he could give that hope little fire. Percy would never abandon him. He was sure of that. If he had become victim to an oubliette, Joe would have heard; no one dies quietly in an oubliette. There was no body sliced and diced in the passage. There simply was no Percy.

“Stand.”

Joe eyed the bishop, and climbed slowly to his feet, disentangling himself from the bodies. “Thank you,” he murmured.

The bishop let out a low, rumbling laugh. “One hour from now, you will not be thanking me.”

It was a gun. Plain and simple. No magic, no supernatural anything, just a regular gun that would see Joe dead on the floor in one second should the bishop squeeze his finger.

Joe stood tall and readied himself. It had been about eight months since he was last tortured, and though his friends still felt terrible about having done it, it wasn’t the worst bout by far. And Percy would come. If he wasn’t dead. He might be dead. Or dying. And then…

“You stay by the wall, and you walk.”

Joe would need to get closer if he were going to take the gun. “That was very impressive. ‘Dormio.’ I’ll have to remember it for next time.”

“I very much doubt there will be a next time.” The bishop didn’t move from his position, only waited for Joe, out of arm’s reach, to trace across the wall.

“Then torture is next?” Joe asked, walking as slowly as he could without, he hoped, getting himself shot.

He could hear the sickening pleasure in the bishop’s voice. “I believe they have been experimenting with… spiders.”

Joe stopped as his stomach revolted. Fuck, he hated spiders. He turned back to the bishop. “I could save you a lot of trouble and just tell you what I’m doing down here.”

“Walk.” Joe assessed the distance between them. Still too far. He recommenced his slow exit, as directed by a flick of the gun, and the bishop continued, “There are only two reasons you would come down here. You have either betrayed the Church for money, or for power. I’m curious. Which is it?”

“Maybe I’m working for the Church,” Joe tried.

“We will know as soon as I report you.”

Of course they would have a system for checking that sort of thing. There would be a system for everything. After all, they’d had two-thousand years to organise themselves into the nearly unstoppable Goliath they had become.

The bishop kept a sensible distance from Joe, even as he slowed his pace, so Joe decided to push him a little. “I know you took the sheath.”

There was no pause at all. “I didn’t take the sheath.”

Joe smiled at what was as good as an admission of guilt. “Yet you don’t seem surprised it’s not there.”

“The sheath has been missing for some time,” the bishop corrected. “I only know⁠—”

“No, it hasn’t,” Joe bluffed.

He heard the bishop’s footsteps fall silent, so he turned again, slowly. The bishop studied him, clearly thinking his options over, and Joe, hoping to beat him to a plan, began, “I’m not paid very well, as I’m sure you know.”

The bishop smiled as Joe’s none-too-subtle suggestion sunk in, and Joe followed with the even-less-subtle, “I’ll take money, art or artefacts. Whatever you can pay. We’ll go upstairs and think up a story together right now. But this is a one time only offer. Put the gun down, or I’ll tell them I know it was you.”

The bishop grinned through his gold and black teeth. “Or I can just kill you right now, and you’ll make no report.”

“And who do you think they will assume killed me?”

The bishop’s evil smile widened as he nodded towards the bodies of the soul eaters.

“I only have to say ‘Dormio’,” Joe said.

“They are not in thrall to you. They will not sleep for you. They will only sleep for me.”

The slippery bastard.

“Now stop stalling. If you were really working for the Church, you wouldn’t be worried about me taking you back upstairs.”

A very good point. Joe, taking a few more steps towards the exit, decided a complete change of course was in order. “Your church is ugly.”

He heard the man’s shoes pull up hard against the stone. “My church is not ugly.”

“It’s ugly,” Joe doubled down. “What stone is it made from?”

“I don’t⁠—”

“You don’t even know, do you? Someone painted over it. Your church is so ugly they had to paint the stone and it’s still ugly.”

“Ah, I understand why you’re saying this.” The bishop smiled angrily. “You want me to shoot you? You want me to make it a quick death because you’re a coward?”

“My church,” Joe went on, “is spectacular. Blue stone. Not painted at all. Slightly warm to the touch, even on a winter’s day. My floorboards are hundreds of years old. My pews⁠—”

The man’s body remained infuriatingly distant, though his words were hot and fierce. “We all know how you got your church, Bruno.”

The response caught him off guard, but he worked to keep up his game. “I got it by being better than you. That’s why I can help you get out of this godforsaken eyesore if you do as I say.”

“You got it by murdering your priest.”

Joe’s stomach turned in on itself as the hideous words slithered over the bishop’s malicious lips. The acid rose into his chest and he swallowed it down hard. Joe felt the weight of the priest’s decapitated head in his hands even then. He had loved the man. Like a father. Better than a father, because Joe hated his own true father bitterly, and that made killing the priest that much more horrifying. How well he remembered the eyes. How well he remembered the fear, the sickening torture just for the fun of it, the slow, painful death he had to watch his own hands inflict when the demon took possession of his body.

“I didn’t do that,” Joe whispered.

“We all know what you did,” the bishop spat. “And that’s why I don’t like you. That’s why I will not do a deal with you. You got your nice church through murder, and the only reason you remain where you are is because your congregation is assailed by demons and no one cares if you die.”

Joe stood perfectly still, the sweat of terror, not heat, now breaking out on his skin. He barely heard the bishop’s words. He never, never let himself think about the murder, and he never admitted the reality of it to himself, except at night when he awoke to the replay of the man’s screams and his last pleas for his life. Those mornings, Joe would crawl out of bed and throw up, then make himself try to forget again with denial and Valium. He’d lived that way for months until Percy. Percy who pulled his strong arms tight around Joe at four a.m. and stroked his hair until he fell asleep again, and even if it didn’t fix anything, it made him feel the closest he had to some sort of recovery since that dark day.

And where was Percy? He looked around again. Nothing. No Percy, and increasingly, no hope. There was only torture waiting for him, and if he survived that, only demons and death back at home. The end.

He had done good. A lot of good, he thought, in his life, but in that moment, it suddenly didn’t feel worth the effort to do any more, and so he simply stood where he was, trying to decide if he should just die now.

“Out!” the bishop shouted.

He reached his resolve. “No. I’m not going up there to be tortured. So you’d better aim well, because if I get to you before you shoot me, you’re dead.”

The second the words left Joe’s lips, the bishop let out a deafening scream, dropped the gun, and fell to the floor, his Achilles tendon severed. An immediate and all-consuming glow of happiness fell upon Joe as he discovered Percy’s exquisite forearms, his strong shoulders, one hand still gripping his bloody knife, all muscles flexing magnificently as he pushed himself up out of an oubliette.

“Percy!” Joe stomped a boot down on the bishop’s fingers as he reached for the gun. “What took you so long?”

Percy dusted and straightened himself with his usual easy grace. “I was waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me to do what exactly?” Joe cried.

“I don’t know, go upstairs or something. And then I would come and rescue you.”

“Rescue me? You can do that here.”

“Yes, but,” the man attempted to struggle to his feet so Percy kicked him hard in the stomach, flattening him in one blow, “I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to kill this guy, or just get you out of there before he started torturing you.”

“Consurgo!” the bishop yelled.

At once the bodies of the soul eaters began to writhe on the floor, dragging themselves back together. Joe turned alarmed eyes on Percy, who strode quickly and efficiently to the doorway between them and bolted it shut, saying as he did so, “You were really funny about me wanting to kill that Nazi the other day, and I thought to myself, ‘if Nazis are off limits, bishops almost certainly are’.”

Joe, touched, looked on Percy with adoring eyes as Percy brought his boot down on the bishop’s straining back, flooring him again. “I just assumed you would kill him outright without considering that.”

Percy smiled his handsome smile. “I’ll only kill him if you want me to. Do you want me to?”

It’s always a strange moment when a person realises that watching their lover kill a bishop is one of the sexiest things they ever could have imagined, so Joe didn’t admit to himself in the least that he had realised this. Instead, he considered, logically, there would be repercussions for both of them should the bishop live, so he said, “I want you to kill him.”

“Then it’s done.” Percy reached down and grabbed the bishop’s hair tight, yanking his head back and exposing his neck, while Joe kept his boot exactly where it was, arresting the movement of the man’s hand.

“Please!” the bishop began, but Percy slipped the knife deep into his jugular on the left side, then pulled it all the way across to the right in one clean, bloody, gurgling slice.

“We probably should have just shot him,” Joe said sympathetically, as the bishop choked and wheezed on his own blood.

“It’s better than an oubliette,” Percy suggested.

“It’s better than an oubliette,” Joe agreed, admiring the way the veins in Percy’s toned forearms flexed as he cleaned the blood from his dagger onto the cuff of his shirt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

RELIGIOUS INTERLUDE

Joe took the cathedral key from the bishop’s neck and he and Percy dropped the body down into an empty oubliette. They sealed each door, left the razor-wire retracted, and made their way up the stairs. As planned, Joe looked into the cathedral first, and finding the church empty, the two, nearly exhausted, climbed out of the deadly chamber and hauled the fake saint back into place.

They stood for a few minutes, leaning on the glass case, catching their breath and letting their eyes adjust to the soft daylight of the church. Then Joe finally had a chance to inspect Percy.

He looked close to worn out from the near-death downstairs. His cheek was cut, his chin nicked, his shirt ruffled and dusty, all of him wet with sweat and blood. Yet it was only a short time before Percy noticed Joe’s eyes on him, and the spark was accordingly back in his gaze.

Joe sensed the strength in him. His own temperature rose in unison with Percy’s recovery, despite the cool cathedral atmosphere. He said, “We should wash before we go back, so we don’t look so suspicious. I’ll lock the door.”

Percy said nothing, but Joe felt his eyes on him as he walked away, then as he returned, Percy asked, “Are you all right?”

Joe coloured, though he couldn’t explain why. Maybe it was Percy’s gaze. He always seemed to see straight into Joe, in a way Joe couldn’t ever quite see into Percy. There were so many things he would have liked to say, or to not have said, but once he reached Percy’s side, he came straight out with, “I thought you were dead.”

Percy wound his arms around Joe’s waist, linking hands at the back, holding him close and looking into his eyes with an earnest sweetness that melted Joe. “Never. Not when I’ve got you to come back to.” Hands running up Joe’s back, Percy pulled him in for a kiss. And what a gentle kiss it was. At first. One kiss, then two, then again, but harder this time, the tip of his tongue finding Joe’s in a dizzying replay of that first night. His hips and chest pushed firmly against Joe, the sensation intensifying all the while, as Joe’s body switched on, as his hands moved down over Percy’s hips, running back up Percy’s thighs, until it was Percy who broke off abruptly. He licked his gorgeous lips, the look in his eyes somewhere between lust and guilt. “I’m sorry. I’ll go over there.”

He freed himself from Joe’s arms and walked to the cistern, where he leaned down and washed his face. The water that dripped from him turned pink with blood, drops falling from his hair, down his cheeks, down his chest, where his shirt hung open to reveal far more than Joe could easily stand. His breath caught in his throat as he watched. He saw himself bending Percy over that cistern, Percy’s fingers gripping the edge tight, making him scream his name until it echoed all about the cathedral.

Joe rooted his feet to the spot with a wave of shock at himself. Was he really going to do this? Here?

Percy threw a casual glance across at Joe’s quiet reluctance to approach. “I didn’t mean to worry you.” He dragged a handful of water behind his neck. Joe imagined it spilling down his muscular back. How glorious he would look in this light without that shirt on. “I didn’t want to disappoint you, after last week, so I just waited until I felt sure about what I should do.”

Joe approached the cistern as Percy stood tall. “What do you mean last week?”

“Nazi things. All that Polish stuff.”

Percy seemed oddly bashful about it, but Joe figured there are a thousand ways one might react when talking about their own attempted suicide, so he said, in perfect honesty, “You’ve never disappointed me. Not once in all the time I’ve known you.”

Percy leaned back against a stone column, tastelessly painted to look like marble. He was silent for a moment, then he said, with a quiet fury that set Joe’s heart on fire, “I’m sorry I let him say those things to you. I should have killed him before he got the chance.”

What the bishop had said wasn’t something Joe wanted to remember or discuss. Instead, he attempted only to lighten Percy’s reverie. “You were just bracing yourself down there the whole time?”

It worked like a charm, and Percy’s own tension seemed to disappear with his compelling grin. “It wouldn’t be my first time down an oubliette.”

Joe laughed softly. “I can never tell when you’re joking, but somehow I don’t doubt that.”

“I’m not joking,” Percy protested. “There are some Irish castles⁠—”

“Are there?” Joe said, stepping a little closer.

“Death in every corner,” Percy added, letting his hands be grasped.

“Sounds dangerous.”

“You have no idea—” Joe stole his words with a kiss. He felt Percy’s body tense in response, and he ran a hand around behind Percy’s neck to hold him close. Joe’s other hand slipped the first button loose.

“Stop,” Percy mumbled between kisses. “You’re killing me.”

“I can’t think of a better place in Tripoli to be alone,” Joe whispered.

He felt Percy’s smile against his lips. “Don’t tease. I can’t take much more.”

“Fuck me,” Joe breathed.

Percy’s muscles tightened, his breathing deepened, his voice lowered, and his beautiful lips demanded, “Say it again.”

“Percy…” Joe kissed the lips that kept perfectly still and waited for him to do as he was bid. “Don’t mess with me.”

How perfectly, cruelly, his lip curled. “Say it.”

Joe took a tight hold of Percy’s belt and yanked their bodies flush. “Fuck me.”

Percy took Joe by the ribs, flung him around, and shoved him back against the column. He wrenched the shirt over Joe’s head and threw it on the floor. In a second, Joe’s belt was open, and he could have murdered Percy for pausing just there, taking the time to run his hand down the length of his erection through his pants. It was already killing him, and still Percy kissed his neck, bit into his shoulder, ran his hand all the way down, so slowly, so firmly, until he found his balls, then applied the perfect pressure. If Joe hadn’t been so desperate to see his dick in Percy’s mouth or his ass—either would have been fine—then it would have been over already.

Joe slid his hand down behind Percy’s waistband and grabbed hold of his beautiful cock, already wet with anticipation, which only eased the movement of his hand along the length of his immaculate shaft. All he could think about now was that cock in his mouth. “I can’t wait. I need you right now.” He dropped to his knees and set Percy’s throbbing glory free.

“I’m so sorry!” came the horrified voice. “I’m so sorry, but could someone let me out please?”

Joe and Percy looked over, aghast, to see Althea, shielding her eyes, even as she forced them tightly shut against the sight.

“What the fuck?” Joe yelled, wrenching himself away from Percy’s cock.

“What the fuck?” Percy yelled, turning away entirely to imprison his excessively ample appendage.

“I’m sorry!” Althea yelled, clutching tight an expensive pair of sunglasses. “I thought you’d leave soon, and I didn’t want to interrupt, because that seemed really serious, but then all of this happened and⁠—”

“Why are you even here?” Percy spat.

“I won’t tell anyone,” she winced. “Please, it’s just, if I don’t go now, I’m going to get in so much trouble. I’m really sorry. Let me out and then you can just carry on like I was never here.”

Joe, too mortified to say anything, pulled his shirt back on, walked directly with averted eyes to the front door and unlocked it. The girl stole a final glance at Percy, his forehead now pushed up against a faux-marble pillar with his eyes closed and his lips tight, and ran after Joe.

“Thank you,” she said breathlessly, squeezing past him and out the cathedral door. “Sorry. I don’t care about that sort of thing. I really don’t. But I have to go. Um…” She sent him a conciliatory smile. “Have fun, okay?”

Then she was gone, and Joe, who slightly wished he had died earlier, closed the door again. He made his way slowly, pale and shaken, back to Percy, who said, “I guess that’s that then.”

“Yeah. I think so,” Joe muttered.

They both stood there for a moment, neither of them having the first clue how to process what had just happened, until Percy hit on, “I think it’s time we get out of this country.”

“Let’s,” Joe agreed. “As soon as possible. We probably don’t have to take the sewers back to the hotel, since we haven’t stolen anything.”

“You’re right,” Percy said. “You go first, and…” He let out a long, defeated sigh. What a stupid, wasted trip it was. No sheath, no holiday, no hot sex in the cathedral, only a bunch of miserable memories in the miserable dry heat of a miserable city, yet all he said, with a touch of sad resignation, was, “You won’t be coming over for tea, will you?”

And in that instant, Joe’s mind was made up. “We’ll have tea tomorrow night. And anything else you want. Let’s go to the airport first thing.”

Something in the fast and firm delivery made Percy give pause, if only for a second. His eyes sparkled with a lovely warmth, and some tension about his shoulders eased a little. “You’re quite sure?”

Joe beamed back at him. “Very sure.”

“Very well.” Percy grinned.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” And still, Joe couldn’t figure out why Percy always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

HOT DATE

Percy was right. Joe couldn’t resist him at all. Not even for a night. It was pathetic. Was it? Did it matter? Not right now. Not as Joe turned Percy’s spare key in his lock and stepped into his dark apartment.

He switched on a lamp and looked around the silent suite. No Percy. Perfect.

He’d had plenty of time to shower and change, and he’d thought Percy would be home by now, but it was even better this way.

Joe turned the light out again and made his way upstairs to the loft. He took off his shoes, socks, shirt, and then he heard the door. The light switched on downstairs.

Percy.

Joe leaned forward excitedly to peek through the railings at him.

Percy threw his keys down on the bench, looked blankly around the apartment, and sighed heavily. It had been a long day, after all. He opened the fridge, sighed again, closed the fridge, and walked to the bathroom.

Joe could hear the water running below, Percy getting ready to sleep he supposed. He lay back on the bed, stretched his legs out long, and stared up at the ceiling, daydreaming about what sort of reaction Percy might have upon his discovery. Daydreaming about what he might do.

The water stopped running. He would be up any second now. He would⁠—

Joe paused.

That smell.

Percy’s perfume.

His perfume, freshly applied, as if he were expecting⁠—

A knock at the door. He heard Percy’s swift step and then a warm, “Hello, Princess.”

Joe’s stomach lurched. He sat bolt upright and fumbled for his shirt, fighting back the bile rising in his chest.

“I brought two bottles,” she virtually sang, “to save you the trouble.”

He heard the kiss. Was it his lips or his cheek? And was Joe going to hide under the bed while this happened? Definitely not, but what exactly was he going to do? Go down there and tell Percy he knew? Or quietly step out of the hotel room and disappear and never look back?

She was in the kitchenette now and Joe, hidden in the dark loft, could see her clearly. She had changed and her dress was, admittedly, very nice. It hugged tight at her breasts, flared at her waist, and the thin straps showed off her collar bones and décolletage to great advantage, as did the soft, dark curls of her hair falling just so at her slender shoulders. Joe had already concluded earlier in the day that she was irritatingly attractive, but now that she had dressed for a tryst, she didn’t look likely to fail.

Percy stalked back over to the kitchen and leaned against the bench. “You won’t find any champagne glasses in there.”

She raised a coy eyebrow. “We don’t need any, do we?”

Percy eyed her with a curious head tilt, then decided, “Let’s have a drink, anyway.”

He leaned past her to reach two tumblers down, and Joe reeled at her hand running up Percy’s back, over his shoulder, back down and around his waist. Percy didn’t seem bothered in the least. He only placed the glasses down, opened the bottle with a friendly half smile, poured the drinks, and handed her one. “To us.”

“To us.”

They clinked, and they drank, then he broke free of her grasp and walked to the armchair. An odd choice for a romantic rendezvous. Why not the couch?

“Cigarette?” he asked.

“If we must,” she responded, the sing-song intonation gone from her voice somehow. She took her place on the couch, took the cigarette proffered, and leaned forward for him to light it.

He lit hers and his, then leaned back and said, “This is a nice surprise, Cleo. Tell me what you’ve been up to.”

She blew a sharp wisp of smoke out the side of her red lips. “Why are you being like this?”

He laughed, a little uneasily. “Like what?”

“Usually you would have had me up on the bench by now. What’s changed?”

Percy frowned. “I would not.”

She waved her hand around the room as if to illustrate her point. “The coffee table, the bed, the lounge, whatever it is. Why are we not fucking already?”

His fingers fiddled with the seam of the armchair. “Can’t two old friends just have a drink together?”

She was somewhere between bored and incredulous as she said, “No.”

“Fine then.” Percy laughed softly. “I was trying to be good, but I can’t resist anymore.” He leaned forward with a handsome smile. She leaned forward with her own satisfied one. He looked into her eyes and waited for a little moment of intimacy to spark between them, while Joe averted his own eyes and stood to leave. Then he heard, “Cleo, I have to tell you… I’m seeing someone.”

Her face dropped as quickly as Joe dropped back to the floor. “You’re seeing someone?”

“Yes.” Percy kept his lovely smile. “I am, and the thing is… it’s serious.”

Cleo looked around the room dramatically. “Well, where the hell is she? Is she here?”

He took a lovelorn sip of champagne, crossing one long leg over the other. “Unfortunately, no⁠—”

“Then what’s the problem?” She shrugged.

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s not here, so what’s the problem? I’m not going to tell her if you won’t.”

“The problem…” Percy looked perfectly confused now, as though he’d forgotten something, or failed to do the correct thing somehow. “No, maybe I wasn’t clear. I’ve fallen in love with someone, and so… I’m not going to sleep with someone who isn’t them.”

“But…” She seemed equally perplexed. “That’s what we do.”

“Well… Maybe we don’t have to do that tonight?”

“But that’s our thing,” she insisted, tossing her hand around demonstratively. “We meet and we fuck. It’s our thing.”

“That’s not our only thing.” Percy scoffed, unconvincingly.

“That’s our main thing.”

“But we do dinners, and drinks, and we go out… Can’t we just do those things?”

She shook her head like he was an idiot. “It’s all about the sex, Percy.”

Percy, drawing a hand across his stubble, reflected, as though going over their presumably long history. “Really? Every time it was just about the sex for you?”

“Really!” she insisted. “What? Did you think there was more?”

“Well, not romantically, I suppose, but I thought we were friends. Of a sort. I like you. I like… I like being your friend. I like all the bits that aren’t sex too, the talking and the going out places and all those things.”

Cleo let out a long, tired sigh. “Percy, I’m going to be frank.”

“Do,” he said warily.

“Up in my hotel room, there’s a little gift waiting for you. I thought, as things were, you and I might end up there later. But now…”

He placed his drink on the table—a sign the conversation and the night were coming to an end. “That’s quite all right. I understand. Thank you, for the, uh, thought, but⁠—”

“It’s the sheath.” She said the words bluntly, a little callously.

Percy’s face fell to a disbelieving sort of angry. “What did you say?”

“Cut the crap.” She leaned close, her expression just as dark as his. “Do you really think I’m that stupid? Art restoration, my ass. You went for the sheath. I knew you went for the sheath, and I took it before you could get it.”

“How could you know?”

“You’re not so subtle as you think you are, Percy. All night you pumped me for information last time we were here.” She fanned herself, still scowling at him through long lashes. “A woman notices such things.”

“Those two matters are not related,” he replied.

“I didn’t care if they were related. We had a nice night, didn’t we?”

“Yes, but that was then. Things have changed.”

“So I see. Things have changed, so now you don’t get the sheath.”

Percy let out a furious breath and walked to the window, taking in the lights of Tripoli below, the complete black that was the ocean at night, and the few bright stars standing out in the darkness of a new moon.

Joe watched, wondering what his next move might be, half wishing he had some champagne to enjoy the show, half not wanting to admit he wondered how far Percy might go for the sheath.

Percy turned his head to look at her side-long. “Name your price.”

She didn’t need a second to think about it. “Sex.”

He stared at her, his beautiful lips parted with an incredulous smile. “You can’t be serious.”

She stood and strode across the room to him. “Why ever not?” She thrust her breasts against him. “I have your sheath, and you, Doctor Ashdown,” she placed her lips against his cheek, a hand on his belt, “you have my spear.”

Aghast, “Who told you I have the spear?”

“I know it from personal experience,” she murmured.

“Oh.” He chuckled out a relieved laugh. “You mean…”

Her entire body glued itself to his. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He looked down sharply. “I didn’t say you could touch that.”

“Ugh!” She threw her hands up in exasperation, striding back to the couch. “My price is clear. My sheath in exchange for you. The good sex. Not just regular sex.”

He followed her back to the lounge and lit a fresh cigarette, throwing the burning match down indignantly. “I’m not for sale, Cleo.”

A short, sharp, derisive laugh. “Everyone has a price.”

“Then what’s yours? For the sheath. How much do you want?”

She raised an eyebrow and bit her lip, looking him over from head to toe.

“Money!” he yelled. “How much money?”

She studied him a few seconds longer, then, “Fifty thousand.”

“Dinars?” he asked hopefully.

“American dollars.”

He stared straight back, and for a moment, Joe was quite sure Percy would reach for his dagger. Instead, he said, “Sold.”

Percy made a move for his chequebook, but her voice stopped him. “The price just went up.”

He turned back, incandescent. “You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want. I’m the one with the sheath.”

Percy nodded and scoffed bitterly. “What is it now?”

“Fifty thousand and sex.”

Joe wondered, would he bother to intervene if Percy took out his dagger?

“Cleo, I don’t understand you at all. We’ve always been friends. We always got along. Why are you doing this?”

“I have all the friends I need,” she replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. She made her way to the door, turned back and said, “The deal is for tonight only. Fifty thousand American dollars and good sex. You know where to find me.”

“Don’t be like that, Cleo.”

“Goodnight, Doctor Ashdown.”

“Cleo!”

Joe heard the door slam shut, then Percy’s furious, “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

Joe squeezed his eyes shut tight and bolstered himself. Percy was already beyond furious. He probably didn’t need to find out at that particular moment that his partner had been spying on him. Even so… He took a deep breath, and made his way reluctantly down the stairs. Percy looked over at him sharply at the first sound of his steps, then, recognising him, said disgustedly, “I don’t believe this.”

“Percy, I⁠—”

“I’ve been fuck-zoned!” Percy spat. “This whole time I thought we were friends, and she was using me for sex! Do you believe this?”

“No, I— Well, I guess, I do. A bit.”

“Unbelievable!” He walked to the kitchen and poured a new drink which he shoved at Joe, before wandering irritably around the apartment. “And she just bought it off the bishop. Why didn’t we think to just buy it?”

“I think there may be more to the story,” Joe muttered.

Then Percy paused. He stared across the room at Joe as the revelation sank in. “I’ve just realised…”

“What?” Joe asked nervously.

“You came down the stairs. You were up there that whole time, which means…”

“I’m sorry, Percy, I⁠—”

“You cracked!” He practically shouted it, with an infuriatingly victorious smile as accompaniment.

Joe blushed bright pink, but broke his own wide smile. “Yes. I did. I cracked.”

“I knew it. When you left the church, I knew it and I was so disappointed when you weren’t here. But you were…”

Percy closed the distance between them, and put his arms around Joe, who spoke between kisses, “But now I think that was a very bad idea. Also, I’m going to guess you want to go steal that sheath.”

“You’re half right,” Percy replied. He kissed Joe’s cheek, then set him free, launching into his burgeoning plan. “She’s got some incredible security up there. It won’t be easy. We’ll have to pick each security guard off before they can radio for help. We’ll have to do it quickly and silently. And we’ll have to find a place for the bodies. We’ll have to take out the security cameras, too. That means we’ll need to go downstairs first and take out the hotel security, and possibly several members of staff. We’d better move fast.” He wrenched the untasted champagne out of Joe’s hands and dragged him to the door. “Go and pack your things. We’ll need to make a fast getaway when we’re done. I know you don’t like murdering innocent people, but if that sheath falls into the wrong hands, all hell could break loose, and I’m not above breaking a few eggs to make an omelette, if you know what I mean.”

He pulled the door open, thrust Joe forward, then much to his bewilderment, Joe was thrust straight back again as a large white box was dumped in his arms. Percy stood aside, a bemused look on his face, as Althea followed, slamming the door behind her.

“Cathedral girl,” he mused.

“Consider that your payment,” she said. “Help me escape right now, or I’m telling everyone everything I know about you two.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

INTERNATIONAL CRIME

“Don’t threaten people who are taller than you,” Percy replied, “which, by the looks of it, is just about everyone.”

Joe placed the box down on the table and began untying the ribbon that held it closed.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, sneaking a nervous look up at him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Quite right,” Percy agreed. “It’s incredibly rude.”

“Percy,” Joe gasped out. “It’s the sheath!”

Percy glanced over his shoulder, then turned to Althea with a smile. “That’s a very good start. I’m far less likely to sell your organs now.”

Joe let go a heavy sigh. “Percy, don’t say that to her.”

“She knows I’m joking, don’t you— What’s your name?”

“Althea.”

“Althea knows I’m joking, don’t you, Althea?”

She gave an uncertain half nod as Joe tsked at Percy, then said to her, “Why do you need us to help you escape?”

She glanced back at the closed door, as though Cleo might be standing over her shoulder. In a rushed whisper, she revealed, “She makes me work for her against my will, but I can’t leave because she’s stolen my passport. When she finds out what I’ve done tonight⁠—”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Joe said. “Your passport. Is it in her room? Upstairs?”

“Yes. She keeps it with her own, in her bedroom. But her security won’t ever let me in there unless she tells me to go and clean up after her.”

“That’s not a problem,” Percy said. “I’ll go ask her for it.” He was arrested instantly by Althea’s hands on his chest.

“No, you don’t understand. I’m her property. I’m not allowed to leave without her approval. She cannot find out I’m gone until I’m on a plane. Even if you get it from her, which I doubt you could, she’ll have the police bring me back. She’s done it before, but…” She turned to Joe. “I… Have I done the wrong thing by telling you? I don’t know, I saw you in the church and⁠—”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Which time?”

Joe grimaced with a blush, saying stiffly, “We’ll help.”

“Just, please, if you can hide me at the cathedral, with nuns or something, or get me out of Libya. Please get me away from her and I’ll figure something out. I know I can’t do much without my passport, but it can’t be worse than living like this.”

“Not the cathedral,” Joe said softly. He looked across at Percy, whose eyes were searching the carpet as he formulated a new plan. And Joe was miserably certain he knew what Percy was thinking.

Percy could get the passport very easily, all by himself. And he needn’t steal the sheath that night either. They needn’t kill half the staff and security guards. In fact, it would be an incredibly simple matter for Percy to gain entrance to the princess’s bedroom, then, later, take the passport while she slept, stepping out briefly to give it to Joe, before he put Althea on a plane. Then Percy could even stay for breakfast to distract Cleo, leaving Althea plenty of time to arrive safely in another country, while he walked away with the very thing he wanted and no consequences at all.

Percy raised his eyes to Joe’s, a hint of worry clouding them and darkening his brow. “Joe…”

“Yeah.” Joe nodded, his heart sinking. It was the obvious thing to do.

Percy continued, “I know you can be a bit sensitive about this sort of thing, so I want to make sure you’re going to be okay with this plan if I go ahead with what I’m thinking. If it’s all right with you, I’m going to steal a car, traffic this girl to Tunisia, have her smuggled aboard a boat to Sicily, then find a criminal gang there to obtain a fake emergency travel document for her.”

And in that moment, Joe was sure there wasn’t another man on earth even half as wonderful as Percy. “I love you so much.”

“Then international crime was the right decision.” Percy smiled, happily accepting Joe’s kiss on his cheek.

“Could we maybe not steal the car, though?” Joe suggested.

Percy’s eyes lit. “Why didn’t I think of that? We could simply hire the car. We haven’t done anything wrong.” Then he raised a mischievous eyebrow and added devilishly, “Yet.” Joe laughed and Percy laughed and Althea looked back and forth between the two of them and wondered what she had got herself into this time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JOE’S BOYFRIEND

Percy assessed the small space, then turned, his voice and eyes full of concern. “Joe,” he murmured on a serious air, “why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Doing what?”

“Is it a Catholic guilt thing?”

Joe cast his eyes around in confusion, before they flashed back to Percy as the understanding hit him all at once. “It’s just a normal hotel room!”

In the two minutes since Althea had turned up at Percy’s far grander apartment, Percy had moved them all to Joe’s room, being that the princess may turn up at his own door at any moment, attempting to coerce him into the unsavoury deal. Yet here they were, in the middle of an emergency, and there he remained in the open doorway with a judgemental glower.

“Get in here and sit down!” Joe angry-whispered.

“Yes,” Percy sighed. “Let’s all come in and sit down on… Joe’s bed.”

“It’s a normal hotel room!”

Percy stretched himself out long on the single bed, regardless of his misgivings, crossed one ankle over the other, and lit a cigarette. Althea took an uncertain seat at the foot of the bed, and Joe remained standing, intending to make Althea feel more comfortable, but having the opposite effect entirely, his wide shoulders and generally very impressive stature towering over her as she shrank a little from them both.

“Why are we in this room?” she asked softly.

“See?” Percy drawled. “Althea knows how bad the room is.”

Joe’s lips pulled tartly to the side. “Percy, it was your idea to come here.”

“I didn’t know it would be so bad.”

“Percy!”

Percy sat up on the bed, forcing back a smirk at the irritation he’d provoked. “You’re right. I just wanted to have a cigarette and make a phone call before we get started.”

Accordingly, he dropped his feet to the floor, tapped a few numbers into the phone on the bedside table, and Percy’s half of the conversation, a cigarette wobbling at the edge of his lips all the while, went like this:

“It’s me… No, Libya… No… No… Stop talking… No, I need you to… Stop talking or you’re fired… Good. You need to be in Tunis in…” He checked his watch. “Seven hours… Tunis in Tunisia. Do you know another Tunis?… I don’t care, just do it… No. Stop talking… Three of us will need passage on the ferry to Sicily, but there’s an extra with no identification… That’s not my job, it’s yours…” Percy ran an assessing eye over Althea. “About five foot four… No, she looks light… No. And forward my mail to des Palmes… Presidential… I don’t know… No… Shut up, Leo… Shut… That’s it, you’re fired. I’ll make my own fucking way.” He dropped the receiver down and leaned back on the bed.

They sat in perfect silence for a few tense moments, until Joe started, “Are you going to expl⁠—”

Percy held up a quieting finger for three more silent seconds.

The phone began to ring. And ring. Percy smoked his cigarette and smiled at Joe and let it ring some more. It rang out.

More silence.

“So—” Joe started.

The phone cut him off and Percy picked it up after six more rings, then said nothing and listened for some time, absentmindedly tapping his ash into a glass ashtray on the bedside table. Eventually he said, “Apology accepted.” Then he laughed softly. “Il meglio… No, no, I get it. It’s very funny.” And he placed the receiver down again. Still smiling, he stuck the cigarette back in the corner of his mouth, reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of colourful notes. “Althea, here’s two thousand dinars.”

Her already wide eyes doubled in size. “For… For me? No, I don’t want⁠—”

He threw the money down on her lap. “We’ll be making one short stop on our way out of the city. That money should buy you whatever you need to get to Sicily. We’ll pay for food and transport, but anything else you need, that will be our only stop.”

“We’ll never make Tunis in seven hours,” said Joe, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand instead of on Percy’s actions. “Wouldn’t we be better off going to Misrata?”

“That’s the first place she’ll look, but don’t worry. I’ll get a fast car.”

Already Joe’s hand was at his temple, stress building. “Percy…”

Percy very deliberately resumed his discussion with Althea, speaking calmly yet firmly. “You don’t know me yet, and I promise you’re in safe hands, but you must understand: what we’re doing is very dangerous. That object you stole for us… A lot of people want it. A lot of people will do just about anything you can think of to get it. Add to that, you are now, or are about to be, a wanted person. So this next bit is important.” He took the cigarette between his middle and index fingers, pointing them as he leaned forward, locking eyes with Althea. “I need you to put your complete faith in me and Joe and do every single thing we say. Depending who we meet along the way, and how we have to deal with them, you may see some upsetting and disturbing things, but I give you my word, you stick with us, you never leave our direct line of sight, and we will get you home safe. Understood?”

“Yes,” she whispered, enamoured with, frightened by, and in awe of Percy.

“Show me you understand by putting that money away.”

“But—”

“Or I can leave you here.”

Tentatively, she slid the money into her pocket as directed, and Percy glanced at Joe to make sure he caught any approving looks that may have been sent his way. Quickly satisfied, he went on, “This time tomorrow, we’ll be in Sicily. We’ll get you some fake travel documents, then we’ll escort you home. Where is ‘home’, by the way?”

“Indonesia,” she replied.

He corrected, “Joe and I will take you to an airport. We’ll see you get onto the plane safely.”

It was the first smile Percy had seen from her, which made it a particularly satisfying one. “Sicily is far enough. I can take care of myself from there.”

He studied her a moment longer, as if making up his mind how true that statement was, then said, “We’ll see.” He snuffed out the cigarette and stood. “I’ll get the car, and I’ll be back. Neither of you leave this… hovel⁠—”

“It’s a normal hotel room!” Joe blustered.

“—until I get back. Use the bathroom. We don’t want any more stops than are absolutely necessary. Hopefully we can make it there on one tank. Joe, I’m taking your key. Althea, I imagine there’s a fascinating story behind all this, but don’t tell Joe until I get back. I hate to miss gossip.”

Percy slammed the door behind him, then just as Joe and Althea attempted to begin thinking about their preparations, the door reopened a sliver. “Love you, handsome.”

“Love you, too,” Joe called, somewhere between love struck and floundering, two emotions which, for Joe, had already become almost indistinguishable.

Happy with the answer, Percy disappeared again. They both waited, in yet another moment of silence, then Althea attempted, “Your boyfriend is…”

“Yeah,” said Joe, warm and blushing. “He is.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

ROYAL TROUBLE

The receptionist had looked at Percy a little too hard, then disappeared into an office shortly after his arrival at the front desk, therefore Percy wasn’t particularly surprised when he returned from hiring and moving the rental car to see Cleo making her way across the atrium towards him, full entourage in tow.

Her nightgown was a marvellous black silk, and it would be dishonest to suggest Percy wasn’t slightly regretful at the night’s turn of events as he watched it slip and curl around her hips and thighs with every determined step forward.

He would have left it on. For a while.

An easy smile spread across his face and he stood a little taller as she seethed, “Where is it?”

He pushed his keys casually back into his pocket. “I already told you no.”

“Give it to me now!”

Her eyes flared wildly, and Percy wondered at the thrill that ran through his body and his unseemly weakness for angry men and women. Probably something to do with the way his mother ignored his existence for months at a time during her almost unending bouts of depression throughout his childhood.

As the thought occurred to him, he saw his entire sexual existence at the edge of ruin, so he resolved to never think about that again and instead pushed Cleo a little further. “All this begging is becoming embarrassing for us both.”

“Percy,” she stepped up to him, lowering her voice, “cross me, and I will make you pay. You, and as soon as I find out who they are, that spectacular new lover of yours.”

Percy’s smile and desire evaporated in an instant. A rush of blood hit his temples, and his fingers twitched at his side. “You should know,” he said, his voice as warm and comforting as the blade of the dagger pressed temptingly against his ankle, “if you weren’t a princess, you’d be dead already.”

Her lips dropped open, her muscles stiffened, and it became clear to him that Cleo had just had her first ever insight into who Percy really was.

By habit, he watched for the effect of his words in the eyes. The light went out, and the fear came in, as it always did, so he added, “That royal courtesy extends only as far as my patience. You would be wise to watch your mouth.”

The slight tremble in her lower lip revealed she wasn’t half as brave as she pretended to be when she spoke. “And only an hour ago you said we were friends.”

And so they had been. Hers were the same eyes he had watched so recently for a spark of his own conjuring over dinner. The same proud eyes he’d loved to see glazed with desire at night and begging him for more. The same eyes he sought across the room at countless boring parties, always a guarantee of at least one evening of complete and unrestrained indulgence. He despised the fact that he cared anymore, given how little the friendship evidently meant to her, and he hated himself as he softened the blow. “Let it go. You were going to give it to me, anyway.”

Sensing his weakness, her confidence redoubled, making him hate himself all the more. “No. No, I was never really going to give it to you.”

“Well,” he laughed, “you really are a bitch.”

She also laughed, in hearty agreement. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I have some idea.” But he hadn’t. Not really. Cleo had been one of his favourite people, and the change in her, though clear to see, threw him. She’d had a hard life, and power corrupts, undoubtedly, but this was extreme. Percy, looking regretfully over her defiant features, tried a final attempt at appealing to the person he thought he knew. “What would you even do with it? The thing’s falling apart after the way you handled it. It’s probably worth next to nothing already. Just step away, and we’ll pretend none of this ever happened.”

She shook her head, her black hair shining magnificently under the gaudy hotel chandeliers. “I know it’s not just another piece for your collection.” She spoke so that only the two of them could hear. “I know the power it holds. I know it, and I want it.”

He let out a derisive laugh, worried, but also relieved she apparently had no idea about the supernatural attributes of the majority of artefacts she’d seen him acquire over the years. “Surely you can’t believe that crap. It’s a myth, nothing more. The magical blood of a dead man? You’re not even a Christian. What did the blood of Christ ever do for you?”

“Not a thing. But that changes today. Give it back to me now, or it’s war.”

It took all of two seconds for him to make up his mind. He dropped a final warning. “I don’t enjoy murdering my friends, Cleo.”

“And I already told you, Percy. I’m not your friend.”

“Have it your way.”

“I always do.” She clapped her hands, the sharp sound that echoed throughout the atrium calling her security detail to order, not that they had ever stopped watching the interaction intently. “Escort Doctor Ashdown back to his room. Search it for the sheath, then call me. Do not let him leave.”

Percy glanced back at the receptionist as he was surrounded by four burly men, but she seemed to have found something very important on her computer screen and would not be distracted. He nodded, sighed, and set a slow but steady pace towards the elevator. Once there, he pressed the button, looked back at Cleo’s smug face, and called out, “See you at Sotheby’s.”

“Fuck you,” she called across the room with a smile.

“There’s very little chance of that now,” he called back.

“Fuck you, Doctor Ashdown.”

He chuckled as he filed in behind two men and took his place in the middle, waiting for the other two to enter. The doors closed with tedious slowness, then he asked, “How much?”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

WALEED AND TAREQ

No one said a word, the four men staring straight ahead as the elevator rose and rose towards the second best hotel suite in Tripoli.

As a rule, Percy did not start international incidents in countries where the people were poor and the police were corrupt. At least not when his opponent held more wealth and power than he did. So, keeping his eyes steadfastly forward, he assessed the four men in the mirrored walls of the elevator.

The two men in front wore different uniforms than those in back. Those at the front appeared to be part of a local security business, while the others, Percy surmised, were most likely part of Cleo’s regular security detail. And those two men smelled. It was a smell he couldn’t place, but it offended and unsettled him. There was a certain wrongness to it, and that wrongness quickly catalysed a flush of soothing adrenaline.

The faces of the poorly smelling men were normal enough, just as bored as one might expect, yet the faces in front had, somehow, a touch more animation to them.

The man on the right-front side studied Percy with a wary curiosity whenever he looked away, then took his eyes back to the elevator floor without the least subtlety as soon as Percy looked up, a game Percy began to amuse himself with on the long ride, in between figuring them all out.

The security guard to his front-left was quite good looking. It would be a shame to have to hurt him, and it went against Percy’s personal philosophy of preserving beautiful things whenever he could, so he attempted, “Whatever she’s paying you, I’ll double it.”

The handsome man snorted as the doors opened. “Out.”

“That much, eh?” Percy followed the first two down the hall and to his door. He pulled out his room key, which the handsome man took and used to open the door, entering first and looking around before motioning for the others to follow. The man with the wary curiosity entered before Percy, who warned lightly, “It’s just a job. Hardly worth the fallout. Name your price.”

One of the men who had stood behind Percy in the elevator laid a hand on Percy’s shoulder to push him into the room, and before the door closed, Percy’s palm met his chin, smashing his teeth together with a stomach-churning squelch that severed his tongue in one blow. Percy barely noticed the blood that gushed to the white carpet as his right foot linked around behind the man’s left leg, dropping him quickly while Percy wrenched the man’s gun free from its holster.

He turned swiftly, took fast aim, and with a deafening bang, another man’s brains drenched the walls before the one at his feet was relieved of his life in the same way. The gun was then aimed straight at the face of the handsome security guard, while the fourth, wisely, stayed exactly where he was.

Percy shifted the gun to cover the other man, locking eyes with the handsome one all the while. “I have a very important appointment to keep, and we have even less time now. Do you want to live or don’t you?”

“I do,” said the man.

“And you?” asked Percy, his icy blue eyes shifting across to read the other one’s expression.

“Y-yeah,” he stammered. “Me too.”

“Very good,” Percy said.

The phone rang at his elbow. Two of the three jumped at the sound. Percy calmly reached out and picked it up. “Yes?” A moment of silence. “I didn’t hear a thing. It must have been on another floor.” He placed the receiver back down and said to the normal-looking one, “You. Gun and identification on the floor. Slowly.”

The man did as he was told. Percy then flicked the gun to direct him to move well back, and he had the handsome one do the same. Percy stooped to collect the items, glancing over the names and addresses written on the cards as he did so.

“I’ll still pay you,” Percy said. “And I’ll pay you well. A deal is a deal, and it’s in all our best interests that we get along. But I want to be clear…” Both men felt their stomachs turn to stone as the beautiful lips explained, “I know where you live now. And better than that, I know who you are. A change of address won’t stop me. If you betray me, I will track you down. One by one, I will pick off everyone you love, and second to last, I will kill your children in front of you. Then I’ll kill you too. Slowly. Do you understand?”

A step too far? Their nauseated agreement suggested otherwise, but Percy generally believed lies should stick as close to the truth as possible if one were hoping to get away with them. In reality, he did not and would not kill children, he hated to take away anyone’s father (if he stopped long enough to think about who he was killing), and the holiday, overall, had been such a bitterly disappointing experience that nothing would drag him back to Libya short of a near-apocalyptic event. That last thought reminded him sharply he needed to get the sheath out of Cleo’s reach and fast.

“Tareq,” he addressed the handsome one. “You’re to go up to the loft, put everything you can find in the suitcase and bring it down. Lay the suits out flat. Don’t wrinkle them. You have five minutes.”

Tareq nodded his lovely, pensive face and made for the stairs. Percy immediately regretted his choice as he was now left with the far plainer, really perfectly acceptable and normal looking, but not-at-all astonishing Waleed.

“What’s she paying you?” Percy asked.

He was happy to find the man quite capable of doing business when he replied, “Fifteen hundred dinars. Daily.” Well above the going rate. High enough to be a complete lie.

“Tareq,” Percy called up the stairs. “What’s she paying you?”

“One thousand per day,” Tareq called back.

Waleed paled slightly, but Percy only said, “I wonder why she pays you so much more.” He made his way across the room to a safe, working the mechanism swiftly until the door cracked open. “I’ll pay you each twice that, per day, for four days. I’m quite sure she’ll want to depart tomorrow, but I’m afraid you’ll have a few bruises and scrapes when you leave here, so consider it compensation.”

From the safe he removed a black bag containing the kind of ample supply of cash a dishonest man needs in a country that tolerates neither travellers cheques nor functioning automated teller machines.

The gun close at hand all the while, Percy counted out a portion of money for each man, then zipped the bag up tight. Tareq returned with Percy’s belongings neatly arranged as directed, and Percy beamed a friendly smile up at him. “Let’s make it look good. Waleed, you’re going to need to punch him. I’m saving my hands for a long drive.”

“What?” said a shocked Tareq, frantic gaze running between Waleed and Percy. “No, man. No way. We’ll just wait here until you’re gone.”

“And tell her what?” said Percy, crossing an ankle over his knee and lighting a cigarette. He raised his chin towards the corpses in the doorway. “They have a good excuse for letting me go, but what’s yours? If you walk out of here without a scratch, she’ll know you took a bribe, and then it’s game over.”

A muscle at the side of Tareq’s pretty lips twitched.

“But not the face,” Percy said, watching him. “Just in the stomach or something.”

Waleed’s eyes also went from one to the other, noting Percy’s study of Tareq’s features, and Tareq’s happy acceptance of Percy’s aesthetic direction. “Have I got to get punched in the face?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Percy coughed. “Get to work.”

Tareq sighed and shifted on his feet as Waleed turned towards him, shrugging apologetically.

“This is bullshit,” Tareq mumbled, lifting up his shirt to reveal some of the hardest, most well-defined abs Percy had ever seen. And he had seen a lot.

“Sorry, Waleed,” Percy said, internally wincing at the likelihood of Waleed breaking at least one finger punching what looked to be as firm and solid as chiselled marble. “Careful of your hand.”

Waleed stretched his fingers open and closed in readiness.

“You could use a blunt object,” Percy offered.

“Don’t tell him that!” Tareq cried, before doubling over with an ‘ooof!’ from the impact of Waleed’s fist.

“It might have been gentlemanly to let him brace,” Percy suggested.

Waleed made no more reply than the tsunami of blood that erupted from his lips and spattered across the table as Tareq returned the punch.

Percy threw his cigarette in the ashtray and clicked a new bullet down into the chamber of his gun. “Very convincing,” he said, climbing to his feet. “And now for the final touch. Morning Star?”

“What?” Tareq’s eyes went straight to the weapon. “What are you going to do?”

“Go stand over there by the window.”

“No! Why?”

“We’re just going to shoot you—” Percy began.

“Shoot me!” Tareq cried.

“Just the slightest bit.”

“A bit? You can’t shoot someone a bit!”

“Yes, you definitely can. I’ve done it before.”

“No, you shoot someone or you don’t shoot someone. You don’t shoot them ‘a bit’.”

“I can and I will, but if you don’t keep still⁠—”

“I’m not keeping still!”

Percy raised his gun and pointed it directly at Tareq’s chest. “It’s a very long way to the hospital with a bullet in your heart.”

Waleed nodded his concerned agreement, relieved he wasn’t the one getting shot, but also in firm accordance with Percy that to keep still would be the wiser option.

As the reality of the thing set in, Tareq’s hands began to shake. He took a few deep breaths in and out to try to steady himself. “Can I please do it?”

Percy’s eyebrows pushed together. “No. Of course you can’t shoot yourself. You want gunpowder burn? I need to be at least ten feet back.”

“Ten feet!”

“The burns are more painful than what I’m about to do. Now pull the shirt tight against your skin and get ready.”

It was happening whether he liked it or not. Tareq tugged at his sleeve with an unsteady hand, his eyes shut tight, mumbling a silent prayer.

“I promise, I’m a very good shot,” said Percy, narrowing his eyes to a perfect focus on the very edge of Tareq’s upper arm.

The door burst open, Percy squeezed the trigger, and the gigantic glass panel behind Tareq shattered into a million pieces and crashed down to the street far below. Tareq stood, sickly, shaking, but uninjured, Waleed held his breath in anxious horror, and Percy turned and levelled his gun straight at Joe’s head.

“What the fuck?” Joe shouted.

Percy redirected his aim as the first moment of real stress since the drama began hit him, making him snap at Joe, “We’ve talked about this kind of thing!”

“What kind of thing?” yelled an exasperated Joe, climbing to his feet after having fallen over the grotesque remains in the doorway.

“About you interrupting my work.”

“Work? What work? You went to get a car and now there are bodies⁠—”

“It happens sometimes.”

“I heard shots, and I was convinced you were dead⁠—”

“Why would you think that?”

“And now it’s ‘work’ and what? Are you going to execute this guy?”

“Of course I’m not going to execute him. Are you blind?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Percy—”

“Joe—”

“Percy…” A slightly worrying silence ensued.

Percy, like most people, did not like to get caught committing murder, and especially not by Joe, who he was trying very hard to impress. The killing of Nazis, it seemed, was forgivable. Not that Joe knew about the Catholic one, nor would he ever if Percy had his way. And evil bishops who were actively trying to murder him were definitely all right—he’d discovered that much afterwards in the Cathedral. But how would Joe react to the slaughter of arguably innocent security guards?

Joe, meanwhile, was taking a moment to assess the confused, quiet, still-living men, the money being blown onto the carpet by the breeze from the missing window, the blood on the coffee table, the walls and the floor, and finally, Percy’s quizzical, increasingly bemused face. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

Percy’s heart smashed out a reality-shifting ba-boom as he realised his wellbeing was Joe’s only concern, and that he wasn’t in trouble at all. An adoring warmth settled over him, which kindled just as brightly in Joe’s fine features. “Always.”

“Okay.” Joe smiled bashfully. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“Thanks for coming,” Percy called as he turned.

“That’s all right.” Joe blushed, half glancing back.

“It was sweet,” Percy added.

Joe stepped towards the door. “It’s nothing. I’ll just go.”

“It was, though,” Percy insisted.

“Bye.”

Then, just as the door was closing, “Do you think you could take my suitcase with you?”

Joe rolled his eyes as he reentered the room, yet he took the suitcase, even if he did it with a huff.

Percy looked on happily. “Watch the… all that blood there.”

“Oh, I should watch the blood?” Joe replied. “I shouldn’t drag the suitcase through the blood?”

“I’m just mentioning it⁠—”

“I shouldn’t drag it up the hall to my hotel room?” Joe muttered, lifting the heavy case over the bodies. “Shouldn’t leave a trail of blood to my door?”

“You’ve made your point,” Percy drawled.

“Hurry up! We’ve got maybe six hours now. You’re giving me a lot of stress.” Joe slammed the door behind him and was gone.

Percy turned back to the others. “You heard the man. Morning Star, freeze.” Tareq’s bulging eyes cut across to him, Percy pulled the trigger, and Tareq let out a cry of shock and pain as the bullet grazed the very edge of his arm.

Percy moved the gun across. “Waleed, don’t move.”

“No—” Waleed began, crossing his arms and gripping his biceps tight in protest, before falling to the floor from the shot that grazed his thigh.

“It’s been fun.” Percy took the bag of money from the table and placed his gun inside, leaving aside a smaller pile of cash for Tareq and Waleed. “It was very nice to meet you both.” He walked to the door, stashed away the other three guns, zipped the bag up, threw it over his shoulder, and turned back with a smile. “Good luck with everything, and remember, if you do come after me, I will kill you on sight.”

They nodded, nursing their really quite inconsequential wounds, and Percy stepped elegantly over their fallen colleagues and made his way back to Joe and Althea.

CHAPTER THIRTY

CAR NOW

“Car. Now.”

Althea and Joe were up and following Percy down the fire escape on command. The three ran at full speed, one after the other, their feet hitting the stairs with a slapping echo against the walls, everything a blur of grey concrete, fluorescent lights and stale air until they reached the bottom and Percy flung wide the door to a back alley with a bang. A wave of nauseating heat hit their faces. Percy clicked a button, stepped forward and wrenched the door of a car open, cool breeze, new car smell and salvation within reach.

But Joe paused right there to throw furious eyes on Percy. “What did you do?”

Percy’s was a perfectly undignified, full-body protest of sagging shoulders and hunched spine, arms flying up. “You’re going to have to let me treat you to nice things sometimes!”

Althea slipped into the car as Joe motioned about the place angrily. “It’s supposed to be a getaway car, not an expensive-shopping-trip, fancy car! How much did this thing cost?”

“Fancy cars are fast cars,” Percy replied, loading the bags and the sheath into the trunk. “I should have known you wouldn’t be a car person.”

“Oh, you’re a car person now?”

“No, I’m not a car person, but I know a fast one when I see one because they cost more. And they’re red. Get in.” He slammed the trunk closed, slammed the back door, and pulled open the front passenger door for Joe.

Joe reopened the back passenger door, positioning it between him and Percy. He quieted his voice, but still bore a disgruntled frown. “I don’t want Althea to feel lonely.”

Percy was halted, a surprise smile taking him over. Too sweet for words was Joe Bruno. The girl would be literally inches away from the pair of them even if he sat in the front, and the idea that having a hulking man like Joe leaning over her for six hours would calm Althea’s nerves in any way while they kidnapped her was near laughable. But then, Joe never seemed to realise or cultivate how dangerous he could so easily be, which offered a compelling perplexity to Percy.

Percy, since he was a small child, had to learn to kill or be killed. It was basic survival. He didn’t know much about Joe’s formative years, because it was a topic Joe was particularly cagey about, but he did know that a brave, intelligent, shockingly beautiful and scarily competent man had, at some crucial point in his youth, decided to hide himself away from most of life’s experiences, dedicating himself to the care of others. This basic incongruity kept Percy fascinated, kept his interest, well beyond his sexual attraction, which in itself was no small consideration.

In fact, by that time in their short relationship, Percy had wholeheartedly come to believe that Joe had the heart of a saint. But what he couldn’t decide, at times like this, was whether he wanted more to preserve that, or to slowly, deliciously, corrupt it.

Joe’s lips kept their slightly annoyed arch, but he had averted his eyes in what seemed to Percy a sort of resigned compliance. And Percy hated to see it. It was all Joe’s fire and intensity that Percy craved, so he reached a hand under Joe’s chin, half expecting him to pull away, but instead Joe glanced up with exactly the heat and warmth that set Percy’s heart ablaze.

“I’m desperate to have you all to myself again,” Percy whispered.

Then the pink cheeks. That smile that said Joe knew exactly how adored he was, but he still found it so new and unsettling. Percy thought he might kill anyone else who made Joe smile like that.

Realising at once how awful that thought was, he set about convincing himself he hadn’t thought it, and instead guided Joe’s lips to his for a gentle kiss. “Sorry about the car.”

Joe was blushing even harder now, and Percy wanted to throw him down right there in the alley way. “It’s a stupid car,” the delicious mouth announced.

“It is a stupid car,” Percy agreed, and as a hard-on is never a good look when kidnapping a teenage girl, Percy took a deep breath, forced himself to look away from Joe as he sank onto the plush leather of the backseat, and closed the door behind him.

Percy climbed in, listening patiently to Joe’s requests to please drive carefully and not scratch the expensive car. Percy guaranteed that he absolutely would not scratch the expensive car while he started the machine, which purred gorgeously beneath his foot as he set it in motion. He was just about to recommence the argument about the car’s merits, when a barrage of shots rang out and the back window shattered into a sparkling sea of sharp shards all over them.

Percy slammed a foot down on the brake and aimed his gun. Joe, anticipating Percy’s reaction, dived for Althea, covering her ears and forcing her down into the glass. Percy let off six quick shots, which floored all four men who had found their way to the alley just as they were departing.

“Joe!” Percy shouted.

Joe chanced a glance at him, his ears ringing from the shots. Percy took one look at him, his eyes going straight to a fresh cut on his cheek, then there was a twitch beneath his left eye that Joe already recognised. His stomach tightened, and he firmed his hold on Althea, who yelled, “Did you just kill those guys?”

Percy’s grip tightened to white on the gear stick. “Not yet.”

“No, Percy,” Joe tried, but the car moved back at speed. Both passengers braced for a crash, and crash they did, but not into the wall. The crunch, squelch and screams of the men were short-lived but hideously visceral. Neither Althea nor Joe, their eyes squeezed shut at the horror, saw the hand that flew off one of the assailant’s wrists as their body slammed down on the trunk with explosive force. They didn’t notice at all as it sailed straight through the window and slapped down by Joe’s shoe, from where it somehow made its way beneath the front passenger seat.

Percy had already set the car in forward motion, but then he sent a fast shudder down Joe’s spine when he wrenched the gear stick back again for a return trip. The wheels slid now, on the blood and innards, but with a few more shifts forward and back, the job was completed in full with Percy’s usual messy precision. He pulled the car up hard, got out, opened the back door of the hotel, summarily fired five more shots, then slammed himself back in.

When he next spoke, Percy controlled his voice remarkably well, all things considered. “Are you all right, Joe?”

“I’m fine.”

“Show me.” Percy reached back, twisting Joe’s chin carefully under the sulphur lights as he examined the cut on his cheek.

“I’ve had worse.” The angry edge to Joe’s voice implied Percy may have overreacted a little. It was an edge Percy did not appreciate.

“Althea?” Percy asked.

“Also fine,” she forced out.

Percy hauled the smashed and bloody car out onto the main road, silently congratulating himself for choosing red after all, what with the blood spatter, but wisely giving Joe a few moments to adjust to the latest development before mentioning the car again, as it was arguably a little more conspicuous with the window smashed in. And being so expensive. And so red. Instead, he threw out jovially, “They’re going to have some difficulty driving after us now.”

“Yeah.” Joe swallowed. “They would need legs for that.”

“Precisely.” Percy laughed. “Now, can someone get the book thing and read it for me?”

“The book thing?” asked Joe.

“Yeah. The book with the—the—the information in it.”

“The Necronomicon?” Joe asked.

“No, with lines and the things.”

“The Bible?”

“Not, the… You know, to get out of town.”

“A map?” said Althea.

“Yes!”

“You don’t know where we’re going?” Joe shouted.

“I’ve been very busy!” Percy yelled.

“Where’s a map?” Althea blustered.

“I don’t know!” Percy shouted back. “In the car, probably.”

Joe rolled his eyes dramatically, while Althea leaned into the front and pulled open the glove box, searched every pocket, and eventually found it hidden under the front seat. She had to pull it quite hard, snagged on something as it seemed to be, but she got it eventually.

“Seatbelt,” Percy chided.

“Tunis?” she asked, ignoring his tone.

“Find a way to Al-Zawiya first. Seatbelt.”

She pulled the map into the back, clicked herself into the messy, glassy seat, and set about finding their whereabouts.

Percy already liked Althea, not only because very few people stole dangerous magical objects and delivered them to his door, but also because she was not currently a simpering mess, which would have been a perfectly rational reaction to the evening’s events. She had shown herself to be clever by extricating herself from a presumably difficult, probably dangerous situation with Cleo, and now she found their position on the map easily enough without asking questions, and from there gave him three streets’ notice whenever he needed to make a turn. She chose back streets, often one way, and she didn’t steer them wrong once, no mean feat, as the streets of Tripoli are anything but a grid.

As they finally turned onto the third best road to Al-Zawiya, much calmer now and apparently free and unencumbered, Percy asked her, “What’s that accent?”

She eyed him carefully, with a flash of suspicion.

“South London?”

“Pelham.”

With that, Althea began to crystallise for Percy. He saw the teenage girl she might be at home, with none of the short and trimmed nails she wore now. He imagined they would be long and harshly painted. Perhaps even diamante tipped. He thought her unlikely to keep her hair scraped back into the harsh ponytail it was in today, the yellowish ends telling of bright colour, long since washed away. There was no world in which she would choose the dowdy collared shirt she seemed uncomfortable in even now, and he immediately resolved to get her something more appropriate at the earliest opportunity. “So how does an Indonesian teenager from South London end up prisoner to an evil princess in Libya?”

“She’s evil now, is she?” Joe sniped.

All boyfriends should be jealous, Percy considered. His boyfriends, at least. He hadn’t expected quite so much of it in Joe, but it was a very sexy trait, and he looked forward to teasing even more out of him. “She was always very nice to me.”

Joe’s eyes flashed, but thankfully, Althea cut in. “She is evil. And she’s insane, too.”

“Start at the beginning,” Joe said as gently as his mood would allow, wrenching his gaze away from Percy’s irritating grin.

Althea shifted in her seat towards Joe, and took a deep breath. “It was very simple and very sudden. I needed some money over the summer holidays, so I decided to take a job as a nanny.”

Percy shook his head sadly. “It’s always the nannies.”

Althea scrunched up her face at the comment, but pushed forward. “The employment agency set up an interview with her. We met, she offered me the job, and it sounded perfect. She paid for me to fly to her house, so I did. One of her houses.”

“Which house?” asked Percy.

“In Scotland.”

“Near Lerwick?”

“How do you know?”

“Yeah, how do you know?” asked Joe.

“It’s… No reason. Carry on, Althea.”

Joe huffed mightily, but Althea did as told, becoming more animated as she warmed to her story. “So I get there, the middle of nowhere, no other houses for miles, and it’s this huge, dark, scary mansion. And of course, when I arrived, my passport was taken and there were no kids. She kept saying the kids were real, they would be home for the holidays soon, but they never came. And so I worked as a housekeeper while I waited for the kids to turn up. But then my pay never came either. So I asked to leave, but she said it wasn’t safe to go outside in winter, which it probably wasn’t, because even from the tower I couldn’t see another building. And the whole thing is surrounded by that huge scary wall, you know?”

Percy nodded his understanding, Joe tightened his lips, and Althea continued, “And there was security preventing me from leaving, anyway. So I realised the obvious pretty quickly. This is labor trafficking.”

“Horrible,” said Joe.

“It gets worse.” Joe gave a silent nod, Percy shifted his lips to the side involuntarily, and Althea said, “I’m not an idiot, I know these things happen, so I had to plan what to do. I had no access to a phone. There was always someone around, watching me, so I decided to play the game. To wait for my opportunity to escape, because I know what happens when you don’t play the game. But then… things got weird.”

“That’s already pretty weird,” Joe said.

“No. Weirder.”

“Weirder how?” asked Percy.

“She’s…” Althea assessed them both to make sure she had their full attention. “So it turns out she didn’t just want me for the housework. She kept me there for a while, always fed me really well and gave me time to exercise in the garden, as cold as it was. If I’d had my freedom, it would have been a pretty good deal. For a while. But then she started locking me in my room. I was only allowed out when someone came and opened the door. And then there were other girls. Girls like me, my age, though we weren’t allowed out at the same time, so I could never talk to them. But I saw them through my window. This one girl, she saw me once and smiled at me, and I was so lonely, I took a kind of liking to her, I suppose. I got used to her routine, and I looked forward to it, just a smile or a wave here and there, thinking maybe one day I could slip her a note or use a sign or something to communicate. But then I began to see her less and less, and then she… She got paler. Sickly. Thinner. And then one day… she was just gone.”

“Disappeared?” asked Joe.

Althea gave a small nod. “And not just her. I watched more carefully after that. And it happened to other girls too.”

“No.” Both sets of eyes were drawn on Percy’s pronouncement, one surprised, one lightly irritated, so he added, “She’s a villain, granted, but what you’re suggesting… No. She wouldn’t do that.”

Althea narrowed her eyes at Percy. “You don’t believe me?”

Percy gave a non-committal half shrug. “I’m not saying that. It’s just not like Cleo.”

“I believe you,” said Joe.

“Well, Joe has issues with Cleo,” Percy suggested.

“I don’t have issues,” Joe snapped.

“You do, though,” Percy grinned.

“And so he should,” Althea cut in. “It’s the blood she’s after.”

Joe paled. “What now?”

“What?” asked Percy.

“One night, after I’d been there for months, she had me taken downstairs, to a basement of some sort. And she had this room I’d never seen before. It was hidden behind a fake wall. She had me lie in the middle of this sort of…” She studied the men, Joe with his lips slightly parted in riveted attention, Percy’s eyes troubled and serious in the rearview mirror. “Okay, I don’t think you’re going to believe me.”

“Try us.” Joe’s face was so open, so ready to trust. All at once, it warmed Percy’s heart and made him want to shake him.

Even so, Percy’s curiosity was piqued, and as Althea still seemed a little reluctant, he tried his own brand of encouragement. “He’s Catholic. He’ll believe just about anything you say.”

“Right now, Percy?” Joe rounded. “You want to do this right now?”

“A pregnant virgin? Really?”

“It’s a long and complicated histo⁠—”

“And she had magical breastmilk?”

“Ew,” said Althea.

“Isn’t it?” agreed Percy.

“It’s just medieval mythology,” Joe tried. “No one really⁠—”

“People carrying their own heads about the place?” Percy prodded.

“You’re the one with a magical sheath in the trunk!”

“I wish.”

“Percy!”

“Joe?”

“You know,” Joe turned to Althea, perfectly, beautifully flustered, “he likes to act as though he’s the rational one, but he’s completely insane, actually.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Percy replied. “I’m sure that’s gone some way to helping our guest feel at ease in the car I’m driving.”

But indeed, it had, because even as they sniped at one another, neither could quite hide the smiles they each tried to force down, particularly Percy, and there was a palpable warmth between them that, measure by measure, had already made Althea comfortable enough to trust them.

“Okay, okay,” she ventured after Joe informed Percy that he couldn’t just pick and choose which bits of the religion suited him, to which Percy retorted that it was all horse shit anyway and he would choose what he liked. “So we went downstairs, like I said, and she had this weird satanic set up.”

“Satanic how?” Joe asked, with a searching intensity that surprised her more than the question itself.

“I don’t know… Um. So, candles⁠—”

“Nothing satanic about candles,” Percy said.

“Sshhht,” hissed Joe.

“And a pentagram,” Althea announced with a touch a triumph.

“Sounds perfectly satanic,” Joe confirmed, adding a smug twist of the lips.

“Five points or six?” Percy probed, to a scowl from Joe.

“Five,” replied Althea.

“Right side up or upside down?”

“I guess that depends how you lay down on it.”

“Lay down on it?” Joe cried.

She nodded dramatically. “Yes. She had straps and everything. She had me tied down, and the pentagram, it was carved into the floor.”

“Sounds somewhat satanic,” Percy conceded gruffly.

“Shut up!” yelled Joe.

“And then she cut me. And the blood, it ran into the pentagram, and the pattern channelled it. I don’t know where, but it would run along this line and under a wall. I have no idea where it went. But look.” Althea pushed up her sleeves and exposed the underside of her arms to Joe. There, over and over, side by side, were hundreds of the newly healed remains of a hideous ordeal.

He took her arm gently, turning it over, studying the innumerable scars. “Your legs too?”

Althea nodded. “And my neck.” She pulled aside the collar of her shirt for Joe to see.

Joe was a mixture of sick and angry as his dark eyes sought Percy’s, whose own jaw set hard in the shadowy light.

Althea’s fingers slipped around Joe’s in the first sign of vulnerability either of them had seen. “I was so glad I found you in the church. It was the first time I got to speak to anyone with no one watching over me. If you hadn’t distracted her,” she said to Percy, then looked back at Joe, “if you hadn’t understood so quickly, I don’t think I would have ever gotten out of there.”

Joe squeezed her hand. “You were always watched like that?”

“Always. There was this one security guard since we arrived in Libya. I was thinking of taking a chance on him. But he’s employed by her, you know? I didn’t like the odds. He seemed… approachable, though.”

Percy laughed. “Do you mean good looking?”

In mock shock, “I didn’t say that.”

With a grin, “Tareq?”

She bit her lip. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess,” said Percy. “He does seem ‘approachable’.”

Joe watched the two exchange an amused acknowledgement of their private joke. “Who’s Tareq?”

“Are there still people there in her mansion?” Percy redirected.

“No,” Althea hurriedly went on, taking the cue. “She packed everything up. Before we left, she boarded every window, threw sheets over the furniture, the lot. I’m sure there was no one left besides me. I guess…” She pulled her hands away from Joe, clutching them tight together in her lap. She looked out the window, hiding her face, and said, “I guess that means she already killed them all.”

“That settles it, then,” Percy resolved. “No more evenings with Cleo.”

“For god’s sake, Percy!” Joe yelled.

“Not that kind of— Joe, calm down, darling.”

He did not calm down. “How do you sleep with a woman like this?”

“I didn’t know she was into bloodletting! Not that sort, anyway.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Has she got your blood, too?”

“What? No! Well, not that I know of.”

“Not that you know of?” Joe shouted. “Percy, do you understand how bad this could be?”

“How bad?” Althea asked, looking exactly like someone who had thought their ordeal was close to the end, only to discover that perhaps it was not.

Joe caught the panic in her eyes and attempted to control himself. “I don’t know how bad. Percy, why did she have the sheath?”

“I didn’t know she even knew what it was until today.”

“And you don’t think it’s suspicious how hard she pushed you to go to her room?”

“Well,” Percy chuckled with a bashful smile, “not really.”

Joe was apparently unable to control himself. “She tried to buy you!”

“I know, but be reasonable⁠—”

“She tried to buy you?” repeated Althea. “Like… Like how she trafficked me?”

“Um, not quite.” How to explain the untoward incident without sordid detail? “I don’t think I’m… sacrifice material.”

“What?” Althea cried. “And I am?”

“I don’t know,” said Percy. “Maybe you are?”

“Maybe!” she shouted.

“I don’t know who makes a good sacrifice!” Percy shouted back, feeling attacked on all sides suddenly. “I’ve only done it once or tw⁠—”

“Percy!” Joe yelled.

“Joking.” Percy grinned at Althea in the rearview mirror. “Obviously I’ve never sacrifi⁠—”

“Percy…” Joe took a deep breath, massaging his temples, his mind reeling. “Percy, I think she wants you for something.”

He scoffed again. “I think we both know what she wants me for…”

“What?” asked Althea, still perfectly perplexed.

“Not just that,” Joe sighed out. “Just that doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes perfect sense!” Percy protested.

“Percy, does she know about the spear?”

“Of course not. How could she know?”

“Did you tell her?”

“Of course not!” Then a pregnant silence. “I don’t think so.” Then some more silence, then a sulky, “It’s not like I go around bragging that I own the Spear of Destiny.”

“You told me the first day we met!” Joe shouted.

“I thought you were pretty!” Percy shouted back.

“Why?” Joe yelled, throwing his arms up into nowhere. “Why did I have to fall in love with the insane person?”

Percy shifted in his seat, muttering, “Some people might think that’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“Okay,” Althea attempted, “what is a Spear of Destiny, what does she want with him, and what have I got to do with any of this?”

“You have nothing to do with any of this, I think,” Joe said. “The Spear of Destiny, along with its scabbard, which you stole for us tonight, are religious artefacts that hold enormous power. If she can get both pieces together, then… then things could get very bad. It’s obvious to me she’s just using Percy to get to them⁠—”

“How is that obvious?” Percy shouted.

“And she’s feeding something,” Joe continued, unheeding. “Something dark, with your blood. You’re just collateral, like the other girls. Whatever she’s planning…” A silence fell over the car, as much as it can when driving fast on a bumpy road with a smashed back window. Percy and Althea watched and waited for Joe’s final thought, which was, “Well, this just went from fine to fucked in thirty seconds flat.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ROAD STOP

They eventually surfaced from a web of skinny, dusty roads with no one tailing them, and found a bright white shopping mall just ahead. Percy was so pleased with Althea’s directions, he strongly considered offering her the first of a series of increasingly complex, illegal, and well-paying jobs that would benefit them both while allowing him to keep a close eye on her for the foreseeable future. Then he considered the likelihood that Joe would reach forward and strangle him if he did so. With that image in mind, he opened his mouth to make the offer, but was thwarted by Joe’s sudden and ridiculous notion they should be sealing the back window somehow, washing the car, maybe even renting a new one.

Percy pulled up and climbed out without a word, and led them, Joe still reasoning, into the supermarket. He told Althea, “Joe’s going to watch the back entrance while you get whatever you want. I’ll watch the front entrance. Find him after you’ve paid and we’ll all leave this way together. If there’s any trouble, go straight to Joe. Got it?”

Althea nodded, then, as Joe walked to his station, asked confidentially, “Want me to get something for the broken window?”

Percy was quite satisfied she had asked him and not Joe. “Thank you, no. But get me some interesting chips.”

“Crisps?”

“You know what I mean. Nothing boring. And I want you to do something extra. I can’t be dealing with changing that money over and it’s all the dinars we have left. I want you to spend as much of that money as you can in five minutes.”

Althea’s eyes lit. “Seriously?”

“Five minutes.” He flashed his watch for emphasis. “Run.” And she was gone.

Percy fired up a much-needed cigarette and took a seat on the stairs outside the shop. He stretched his long legs out, leaned back, and with a deep breath, let the smoke wind its way blissfully to the deepest recesses of his lungs. He shut his eyes to enjoy the sensation in full, breathed out slowly, then cast a glance backwards to confirm Althea and Joe were where they needed to be.

His eyes lingered on Joe, looking perfectly awkward, perfectly out of place, pretending to be looking at some batteries. He shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to at least do something with them, then with a flash of shock at himself, wrenched them back out again, worried, Percy conjectured, about being suspected of shoplifting, given how long and strangely he stood in the same place. He folded and unfolded his arms, then picked up a packet and pretended to read the back very carefully. He must have felt Percy’s eyes on him, because his gaze shifted across shyly. He smiled, perfectly rosy, perfectly bashful.

Beautiful Joe. Percy locked away the memory, sent him a wink, and turned back to the almost-empty parking lot.

He probably should have ended it already. If he had, Joe would most likely be at home right now, asleep in his beautiful, warm stone cottage. Safe.

But also alone. And heartbroken. And Percy would be heartbroken, too.

But then at least Joe, maybe, wouldn’t end up dead in the next few days.

Percy blew out a bitter puff of smoke. Who was he kidding? Joe’s little village was no safer than life on the road with Percy. It was a strange sort of paranormal hotspot, and Percy wondered, not for the first time, if that was exactly why Joe had chosen to settle there. It was in his soul to do some kind of good, and sticking dry wafers in people’s mouths every weekend was unlikely to cut it.

No, he and Joe, the both of them, he decided, were on a collision course with death no matter what they did. Why shouldn’t they face it together? All he had to do was keep Joe safe for as long as possible, until he himself died at least, not be a prick if he could help it, and perhaps he could offer Joe a better life, for a time, than he might otherwise have had.

Yet the hopeful reflection did nothing to ease his guilt.

He could be more awful still… Really let Joe see who he was deep down. Then Joe would break up with him, and he wouldn’t have this hideous self-reproach hanging over him—only the crushing disappointment. After all, it was only a matter of time until the cracks would start to show in the charming facade Percy was so determined to display.

But no. That wouldn’t do either. Not for Joe.

Evidently, he was going to feel guilty no matter what he did.

Percy’s sharp eyes were drawn with lightning speed to the car. The back seat. He was standing now, his hand on his gun, his unflinching gaze locked on. There had been something—some kind of movement. He listened carefully. Near-complete silence except for his own crunching footsteps as he approached, his suddenly unsteady breath, a few distant cars. He smelled the air. Nothing. No perfume or gasoline or cigarettes other than his own, an expensive blend he’d had made especially and would recognise anywhere.

Yet he had seen something. He was sure of it. The slightest pale flash atop the back seat.

Percy rounded the car, distantly. He made one full circle to the front, then dropped to his knees. Nothing underneath. He checked his surroundings again, then approached the back passenger door, peering into the car.

It was empty. Not a thing out of the ordinary to be seen, other than smashed glass. He examined the front again, then with an irritated sigh, using a clean handkerchief, he pushed any remaining glass from the seat to the floor, and soon heard Joe and Althea approaching. “That had better not be plain salt.”

“Pasta sauce and cheese flavour.”

She launched a bag of chips at him, which he caught, then turned over in his hands with extreme satisfaction, before raising an eyebrow at Joe. “She’s staying.”

Joe stood tall in appalled revulsion. “You are joking. It’s a travesty!”

Percy’s lips broke into a full smile. “So, you don’t want to share?”

“No, I don’t want to share! That’s disgusting. Whose idea was that?”

“He can’t help it,” Percy said to Althea, making his way back to the driver’s seat. “He was born like this. No taste. By the way, would you like to be my personal assistant?”

Joe might have spat his own chips, had Althea not replied in time, “No,” with a loud scoff.

“Probably a wise decision,” Percy said. “Come sit up front with me anyway. We’ll share.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

THE HELPING HAND (OF DEATH)

They were about five minutes into the next leg of the journey when Percy wondered aloud, “Althea, how did you end up in Tripoli? Working for Cleo?”

She crunched a few more chips, regarding him quizzically. “No. You first. What are you guys, anyway? Some sort of MI5? CIA? Special ops type thing?”

Percy gave a small chuckle. “I’m an art historian.”

Althea glared back at him. “It’s going to be like that, is it?”

“No, truly,” said Percy. “It’s a more exciting career than you might think.”

Her grimace showed her clear disrespect for the answer, and she decided to try Joe instead. “And you? You’re going to keep this priest thing up?”

“I am a priest,” Joe replied, pulling at his pant-leg that seemed to be caught on something, though he couldn’t see what. “It’s not as exciting as his ‘career’. Plus, I’m supposed to be on holiday.”

“You can’t expect me to believe you’re a priest,” she said, throwing a weighty nod Percy’s way. “A Catholic priest? That’s not allowed. I know that’s not allowed.”

“No,” said Joe, colouring deeply. “But I am still a priest.”

Percy let out a soft scoff in the front. “You’re not really a priest, though, are you?”

“Of course I’m really a priest. What exactly do you mean by that?”

A tense air ensued as Percy thought over his next response. “I just mean… you’re not like the others. With all the whole God rhetoric.”

“‘God rhetoric’?” came the louder than necessary voice. “Percy, I’m a priest. I talk to people in church every Sunday. I take confession, I give last rites, I do all the priest things.”

“Yes, but…” He knew he should stop. But he was Percy. “You don’t really believe all that nonsense…”

“All that nonsense?” Joe verily gasped. “All what nonsense? Have we met? Did you not realise until just now that I am actually a priest?”

“Yeah, but…” He definitely should have held his tongue, but the tension had been growing in his hot atheist body for a while now. “I’m just saying. You had a choice, to carry on doing all the God things, or come with me… And you chose me…”

“What? I didn’t choose you over God! Is that what you think? That you’re so hot I threw over my whole belief system for you?”

Boyfriends should always be jealous. Yet it sits a little differently to be the jealous party. It had happened to Percy perhaps three times in his entire life, and as he felt it creeping up again, he only became more unsettled. “You chose me because you believe in me now, isn’t that right?”

“No, that’s not right at all. Not like you’re making it sound. I did choose to be with you, and I do believe in you, but that’s not⁠—”

“So in a way…” Shut up, Percy, he thought to himself.

“What?” The word dropped like a brick.

“That makes me…” Percy, shut up now.

“Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.”

Please shut up, Percy. “That makes me… your Go⁠—”

Joe all but exploded. There was some talk of Percy being the worst boyfriend he had ever had, which Percy didn’t doubt at all. There was a lot of gesticulating and loud ranting about Percy not understanding how Catholicism works, which Percy believed was posturing nonsense, given that he specialised in Renaissance art and, therefore, Catholicism was his bread and butter. There was still more about Joe’s worth as a priest outside the rules of the Church, which Percy was, in theory, in full support of, but it all went on far too long and eventually gave Percy the uncomfortable feeling he had touched a very raw and painfully exposed nerve.

Definitely shouldn’t have said it.

Percy looked for an amicable way to withdraw from the conversation without giving too much ground. “I’m only saying, you’re different… You’re… not like other priests.”

Joe pushed his lips together so hard they turned white, before trying his equal best to finish amicably with, “I get the feeling you haven’t spent a whole lot of time around priests.”

“Certainly not the way I spend time with you,” Percy quipped, far too lasciviously, which made Joe turn red and Althea groan deeply. Percy, having quite forgotten she was there until that moment, moved the conversation on as quickly as possible. “Now do you believe he’s a priest?”

“Yes,” she moaned under her embarrassed breath.

“Now will you tell me how you gained Cleo’s trust?”

Althea licked her lips, suddenly dry, and not only from pasta sauce and cheese powder. Percy tracked the movement. A muscle in her cheek tensed. She blinked a few times, and her jaw clenched that little bit harder.

He knew guilt when he saw it. He knew the look of a person struggling to come to terms with themselves, because every physical quirk about her right now were those he had trained himself to hide.

“I’ve killed at least seven people just today,” Percy said, to a mighty kick in the back of his seat from Joe, which he chose to ignore. “And not even for you, though I do like you. I did it for that rusted old relic in the back. And I did it because I know something worse will happen if I let anything get in my way.”

She barely breathed now, and a tear stole down her cheek, so he kept his eyes to the road, wondering slightly why Joe hadn’t slipped into priest-mode, taken her hand and started advising. Perhaps he hadn’t realised.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Percy said. “I can guess what you did, because I know what I would have done in that situation.”

She watched the nothingness out the window very carefully. “What would you have done?”

How he hated to say these things in front of Joe, but more important than that, was making sure she knew she wasn’t at fault. “I would have offered to get her more bodies. It would be easier for a teenage girl to do that.”

“‘Bodies’,” Althea repeated, her voice thick with disgust.

“You can’t help anyone if you’re dead.” Joe kicked his seat again, and Percy couldn’t think what on earth he was doing wrong. He was only condoning manslaughter under duress, so again he ignored it and tried all the harder to concentrate on making his point clear. “You know, my brother says you should never feel bad about doing what you had to do to survive. And he’s right. If you hadn’t found your way to us, no one else would stop her. From what little I know of you, I’m already convinced you did the right thing.”

She looked down into the chip packet, but she was a little less upset now, and she finally sent him a sad half smile. Percy replied with one of his warmest.

“Are you really going to stop her?” she asked.

“Of course. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

There was still no sound from the back. Odd for someone so mouthy. Percy turned his head, and his eyes bulged in horror as he took in Joe’s face, steadily turning blue.

At first glance, it was as though he were strangling himself, fingers pushing deep into his skin, already turning a vicious red at the destructive force where they clamped down on his neck. Yet there were three hands, Joe’s own two pulling hard at the strange thing, grasping where he could, and the bloody stump of the third deteriorating shortly after the wrist into swinging tendrils of vein and sinew.

Percy ripped his knife from his ankle holster. “Wheel!”

“I can’t drive!” Althea yelled.

“Now!” Percy pushed the car into neutral, grabbed her hand, stuck it on the wheel, and lunged at the atrocity in the back. The already-too-fast car veered wildly as Althea attempted to take control, and Percy’s body was thrown to the side as he brought his knife down, Joe arching as the blade hit his chest, any attempt to cry out at the sharp pain cut off at the throat.

Percy reached for the bloody end of the phantom hand to steady himself, finding nothing but a mess of gore which slipped and squelched away from him, until Joe’s strong hand found his and pulled him up. He aimed again, and sank his dagger into the hand, which let go at once, allowing a deep, desperate, gasp of air from Joe, who fell down beside Percy as Percy swore wildly at the writhing hand stuck upside down on his knife, all while Althea continued to yell at Percy about which pedal was the brake, though he hadn’t noticed that last thing until just now.

“The middle one.” Percy pulled a heaving Joe into his arms and kissed his forehead, running a shaking hand through his sweaty hair as they both caught their breath. “But just touch it gent⁠—”

Althea slammed her foot down hard and she, Percy, Joe, and the hand were all thrown forward, the latter flying off the knife and splatting, smearing a bloody trail down the windscreen and landing with a flop, fingers up and twitching. Althea, naturally, screamed, “What the fuck is that?”

To which Percy replied, “It’s fine. It doesn’t belong to any of us.”

“Well, who the fuck does it belong to?” Althea yelled.

Joe coughed heavily and attempted to sit up, but was prevented by both dizziness and Percy’s unrelenting arms, so he only fell back to Percy’s lap.

Percy shoved the hilt of his dagger towards Althea. “Stab it for me, would you?”

She recoiled in some consternation. “No, I will not stab it for you!”

“Damn it, I’ll do it myself!” He glanced down at Joe, about to shift him off, but it was a double-take like never before and he found himself instantly, thoroughly frozen. What mattered a zombie hand when you suddenly realise that perhaps the greater part of all the beauty in the world is right there at your knee. A cold sweat overtook Percy as he swept Joe’s hair back from his eyes, closed, his long eyelashes wet from his near-death struggle, and placed his hand on his flushed cheek. “Are you all right, beautiful?”

Joe must have attempted to speak, as there was a small, annoyingly sensual rumble in the back of his throat, but the full pink lips murmured nothing at all, and his hand tightened on Percy’s thigh. “Christ, I love you so much,” Percy whispered. He felt Joe strengthen his grip and move that much closer into him. And that was about the time he was hit with the realisation of how very close Joe had just come to death, unseen and unheard, on his watch. And that was when Percy’s soul turned all but black.

He pulled out his gun and aimed for the hand.

Joe rasped out a protest as Percy let off three deafening shots into the dash where the hand had been but a second earlier. With increasing fury, he shouted, “Out!” repeatedly, and ultimately physically manoeuvred Joe and Althea from the car as roughly and quickly as his emotional overwhelm demanded. Both dropped to the dirt where Percy shoved them as he slammed the door. He stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it in record speed, then threw a bag at their feet. Colourful notes of money were swept into the desert night as he wrenched two guns free, taking a new one in each hand and waving them wildly at his bewildered passengers, the lit end of his smoke emphasising every word he spoke. “It’s time for this bastard to die.”

Joe took a gun, uncertainly but immediately. Althea only stared at the other gun, not moving a muscle. “Gun!” Percy shouted, shocking her into slow action, but Joe pulled the gun out of Percy’s hand before she could reach it.

“Stop it,” Joe rasped, but instead, Percy puffed a disgusted spurt of smoke out the side of his mouth, turned, and shot a barrage of bullets through the car door. Joe reached an arm around Althea, covering one ear and pulling her other against his shoulder as Percy approached the car, circled the car, shot low, as though the thing might be on the floor, but all he really wanted was to destroy something. The hand, most certainly, but whatever else he could destroy along the way would do almost as well. He shot the doors with a satisfying jagged row of holes. The back passenger window was blown in. He shot through the roof, through his own window, and moved back around to the front. The gun clicked empty, so he hurled it hard against the windshield, cracking it, then pulled the fourth gun free.

“Percy, Stop,” Joe tried, but Percy couldn’t hear, and he would have ignored him, anyway. He wrenched open the front passenger door and shot down through the seat twice. Down through his own seat twice. He opened the back door, aimed at nothing in particular, then quieted.

He stood perfectly still, seeing nothing, thinking nothing, being utterly absent for a few seconds, then he remembered his cigarette. He reached a trembling hand up and took the deepest breath he had taken all day, then he crouched down and carefully surveyed the once-luxurious interior.

It still retained the new car smell, which surprised him. New car and gunpowder. He leaned in, took out his blade, and jabbed it beneath the front seat. It met nothing. He moved further in, trying under his own seat. Still nothing. He examined the front half of the car and failed to find a thing, so he sank into the back seat with a full-body sigh.

Not his finest moment, arguably. But not his worst by far. And certainly forgivable, no doubt, because there was a thing of death lurking nearby, and things of death need to be shot. Or stabbed.

Even so, he decided it might be a good time to appraise Joe and Althea of the situation, perhaps even apologise for the outburst, so he opened his mouth, inhaled deeply to speak, and retched violently.

The fingers clawed their way through his lips, deeper and deeper. An index finger, a middle finger, a ring finger, all pushing down on his tongue. The taste of cheap cigarettes, a tang of copper, and god knew what else incited his gag reflex more savagely than the pressure itself. He reached mechanically for an arm, a wrist, something, and met only the slimy stump, over and over. In foul desperation, he threw himself out the open car door, getting a mouthful of coarse sand for his trouble. Coarse sand and zombie fingers, because the thing still would not relent, and it pushed and pushed and inched its way down his throat.

Percy thought to aim his gun and blow the hand from his face, but even in the heat of crisis he realised what a beautiful face it was and how badly marred it would be by gunpowder burn, so he made several attempts, one after the other, to shove it off with his hand, or to reach for his dagger, always to no avail.

Joe was there now, pulling at the thing. There was a distinct snap as he broke one of its fingers, but it only seemed to use that as an opportunity to slide further in. Percy tried to alert Joe to the fact that breaking the fingers may not be the best course of action, but his words were garbled by the dead fingernails scratching at his throat, his cheeks, all over and under his tongue. He heard another snap. Percy doubled over again with the desperate and unfulfilled urge to vomit, rolling in the sand with the thing, wondering exactly what the game plan was for the zombie hand. Was he to choke on it? Was he to have his entrails grasped and pulled out through his mouth? Was the plan to break through his innards with the sharp nails and squeeze his heart until it stopped?

Percy finally got a hold of the dagger. He rolled onto his back, working it up and up from his chin, the thing wriggling all the while, and with the kind of care one reserves for those they wish to die especially horribly, he thrust it directly and precisely through the palm.

An unspeakable quantity of warm, tangy, salty, metallic blood flooded Percy’s mouth, and though the appendage fell to the ground, Percy went with it, rolling, throwing up chips, sand and blood, all while attempting to yell further instructions at Joe.

Joe was on his knees next to Percy, rubbing his back and doing his best to calm him, yet he was sorely inexperienced at calming people whose throats have been assaulted by severed mitts, and that showed.

Thankfully, Althea, who had recovered from her earlier shock, took Percy’s knife, and did as he had bid her do some time before, stabbing the thing through the middle, pinning it to the ground. She watched in disgust as it wriggled, and no one would have called it a scream as such, but a strange wheezing, squeezing sound escaped from the wrist, and it took everything she had to keep the knife pressed down and not recoil from the absurd abomination.

Percy soon recovered the privilege of speech, and with blood still streaming down his chin, yelled, “Good girl, Althea! Let me at the fucker!” She obliged quickly, and it was with a scarlet grin that he took control of the knife and the hand. “Now you pay.”

Joe watched the maniacal look of evil pleasure sweep over Percy’s face. “Do you think maybe we should just keep going? Because there’s a very good chance Cleo’s on her way.”

Althea cast a worried eye over the car. “Do you think this thing’s gonna move?”

Joe shook his head ever so slightly, but said, “Yeah. Of course it will. How much damage do you think a few bullets could do?”

“A lot,” was the sharp answer.

Percy paid no heed to either of them. With one hand, he shoved a fresh cigarette in his mouth and lit it. With the other, he moved the blade back and forth, back and forth, concentrating on the cruel incision. “That’s a lot of blood, don’t you think?”

Joe came to his side. “Yeah. It’s a lot.” He meant only to appease and calm Percy, but then it did strike him as odd. The blood gushed out wherever Percy cut, and Joe, in a short time, was struck with a grotesque notion. “What happens if we take off a finger?”

Percy pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and offered the bloody butt to Joe.

“No,” said Joe, with an unrestrainable scrunch of his nose.

“Oh,” Percy remembered. He offered the cigarette case to Joe, and Joe took and lit a clean cigarette. “Althea?” Percy called, throwing the case in her general direction.

“You can’t offer her cigarettes!” Joe near-shouted through a cloud of much-needed smoke. “She’s a kid.”

“I’m not a kid!” She picked up the case, about to prove a point, then chucking it back to Percy, declared, “I quit. About the time I was kidnapped.”

“Good girl,” Percy said again. “Now which finger? Althea, do you want to choose?”

Joe tsked at him, but Althea approached nonetheless, placing a tentative hand on Percy’s back as she peeped over his shoulder. “Index.”

“I like it,” said Percy. “Straight to the point.”

Joe stifled a laugh, and Althea grinned, adding, “Plus, the little one’s broken.” Then, as if shaken awake, “Wait, why are we doing this again?”

“It’s probably regenerative,” Joe explained. “If it can keep making blood like that, it might be able to heal itself too.”

Percy formed his lips into a kiss, which he smacked in Joe’s direction. “Watch.”

Althea crouched down beside Percy as he pulled a switchblade from his shirt pocket. He brought the blade down just above the first knuckle on the index finger.

“No, no.” Joe placed his hand over Percy’s and repositioned the knife. “Take more. Give it a better chance.”

“A better chance at what?”

“He’s right,” Althea chimed in. “It needs the joint for extra movement. So it can wiggle back to the hand.”

Percy sent her an approving smile, then sliced through the finger below the second knuckle as directed. It trembled in his hold, the way a complete human might if they were experiencing the agonising pain of an impromptu amputation, and again, that strange wheeze escaped from the wrist. Blood spilled out abundantly, soaking into the sand, but the finger just sat there, twitching in its ever-increasing pool of blood. The hand flexed a few times, and that was all.

“Not what I was expecting,” murmured Joe.

“Nor me.” They studied the appendage a little longer, then, “Maybe it needs a helping hand.” Percy, his cigarette held delicately between his thumb and middle finger, brought the lit end closer and closer to the tip of the severed finger.

Joe passed a swift tongue across his lips. “Is that necessary?”

“It almost killed you.”

“Yeah, but… burning with cigarettes seems like a step too far.”

“Do you think it wouldn’t burn you?”

A whistle and a singe came off the blackened flesh, and in a second, the thing had wormed its way back to the hand, reattaching itself.

Percy took a long drag before exhaling the smoke contemplatively into the night air. “Well, we’re in trouble now. Let’s get going.” He flipped the dagger up with the hand still writhing and offered his other hand to pull Althea up to standing.

She accepted the help, asking, “What trouble exactly? What is that thing?”

Percy turned to Joe for the answer. “It’s not a soul eater, is it?”

Joe shook his head. “And it’s not regular undead. It’s too smart for that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I have no idea.” A flash of remembrance panicked Joe’s face. “Percy, is this why you had to kill those guys in the hotel room? Were they whatever this thing is?”

“Yes. Yes, I think so,” he lied smoothly, having completely forgotten his earlier doings until just then. “They smelled like death and they had to go.”

A whole new shade of worry clouded Joe’s features. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I had no idea you were in that kind of trouble.”

That twisting, twisting guilt. He tried to alleviate both Joe’s concern and his own in the same breath. “I told you, you don’t need to worry about me. Not ever.” And to lighten the mood further, he hurriedly added, “But I spared the humans. Did you see?”

“I did.” Joe beamed. Percy soaked up every bit of Joe’s ill-gotten approval as though he hadn't really committed thoughtless, cold-blooded murder that evening, which perhaps he hadn’t, considering the dead-alive thing in front of them.

Joe turned his concentration back to the hand and murmured earnestly, “Dormio.” It continued to writhe on the dagger.

A judgemental if adoring smirk lit Percy’s face. “You can’t just speak Latin to anything supernatural and expect it to obey.”

Joe scowled back at him. “You might be surprised how often that works.”

“What is it?” Althea repeated, with a hard emphasis on every word.

Percy stated the only thing he knew about it that was likely to be true. “The body this hand belongs to will have regenerated by now. And there’s every chance it will be after its hand. We’ve got to ditch it.”

“Burn it?” suggested Joe.

“Yes. Burn it. But… Is there a way we can stake it in case burning doesn’t work?”

“Your dagger?”

“It’s four hundred years old!” Percy shouted in disgust. “And it belonged to⁠—”

“Yes, Velazquez, I know.” Joe turned away to hide the latest eye roll.

Percy spun him back around by shoving the bedaggered hand at him. He rounded the car, looking it over for something to use as a stake.

Joe, guessing his aim, called across, “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

“Then what difference will a little more make?” He shoved his cigarette in his mouth and went about bending the windscreen wiper back and forth, back and forth, until it snapped. He tapped it across his open palm a few times, testing the strength. “This should do nicely.”

“Burning first?” suggested Joe.

“Yes. Burn it, then stab it. That’s always the best course of action.”

Althea, who’d been studying the pair in quiet puzzlement, said, “Have you done this before?”

“More or less,” said Percy.

“Lots of times,” added Joe.

“Ah,” said Althea. “That explains a lot. I might just wait in the car, then. For you to burn and stab dead things.”

“Undead,” Joe corrected.

“There are still some chips,” Percy offered.

“No thanks,” she called back, climbing into the bloody, glassy, bullet-ridden back seat.

Percy shrugged her away into the background of his mind. “What shall we use?”

After a brief search of the barren area, Joe’s gaze lit upon the trunk where their suitcases were. “Mouthwash?”

“Perfect.”

Percy took the opportunity to brush every millimetre of his mouth just as thoroughly as a human can, then swished, gargled, flossed, brushed again, and spat three bouts of mouthwash, swearing at the hand in between. Finally, patiently, Joe set the thing down, crushed the fingers to the earth with his boot, and withdrew Percy’s dagger.

Almost as though it knew what was coming, the hand wriggled violently, to no avail. Percy upended the entire contents of the mouthwash bottle over the thing, then lit a fresh cigarette. “Tastes like fucking menthol,” he grumbled, to another near eye roll from Joe, but then he dropped the burning smoke onto the hand just as Joe moved his foot away, and the hand caught beautifully. They watched it crawl some way, weakening with each desperate grasp of sand. Both felt slightly sorry for the blackening, blistering thing by the end, but putting to death the undead never was a pleasant business.

Eventually it came to a charred and gnarled stop, and there in the moonlight, Percy stabbed the thing straight through the palm with the windscreen wiper, thrusting it as deep into the earth as possible. The two stood over the hand, waiting for neither knew what, then Joe suggested, “Should we scatter the fingers?”

“Can’t hurt.”

One by one, each finger was removed, one knuckle at a time, to prevent further wriggling, and each piece was thrown as far as each strong arm could catapult them, in every direction but towards the car.

Finally, Percy ran an arm around Joe’s shoulder and kissed his hair, leaning exhaustedly in to him.

Joe looked at the car with a tired sigh. “Do you think it’s going to work?”

“I do,” said Percy, commencing a slow stroll towards the broken heap of metal.

Joe kept by his side with only a touch of reluctance. “I don’t want to start anything, because we’re in a good place now…”

Percy nodded across at him, perfectly sweetly, all encouragement.

“But… And I only ask because I know you quite well, but… You did get insurance for the car, didn’t you?”

Percy laughed. “Insurance for rental cars is a scam.”

“Percy!” Joe shouted, then turned away to run a frustrated hand over his thoroughly furrowed brow. “Percy, do you even realise who you are?”

“Yes.” Percy smiled. Then a touch of confusion crowded his lovely face. “No… I mean, yes, I do, technically, but I don’t really catch your drift.”

“You’re Percy Ashdown. Everything you touch—” Then he caught himself, charmingly, to Percy’s mind. “—Not everything you touch, like relationships, or people, or paintings, but some things, Percy, some things—a lot of things you come into contact with have a tendency to get destroyed.”

“Oh.” Percy laughed. “Well, that’s very true. I could never quite understand why, but I do tend to have that effect. Only on certain things, of course.”

“Yeah, only on certain things,” Joe agreed softly, looking over the bullet-ridden car.

Percy watched him, his worried face worrying Percy’s face. “Would it make you happy if I got the insurance next time?”

Joe’s words seemed to evaporate into the crisp night. His lips parted, and he stared hard at Percy, somewhere between a smile and wanting to slap him.

Percy, maintaining eye contact all the while, reached out gingerly, caught Joe’s little finger in his hand, and gently brought it towards his lips, kissing his open palm.

Joe thawed uncontrollably. “Please get the insurance next time.” Then he let go a laugh. “I just said ‘next time,’ as though there’s going to be a next time.”

That same hand of Joe’s was wound around Percy’s waist, and Percy wrapped both arms around Joe. “I certainly hope there is. You look so gorgeous right now. I don’t think I’ll be satisfied until I bring you back out here, strip you naked, and have my way with you in the moonlight.”

“Oh. My. God!” Althea wailed. “I can still hear you!”

“Percy…” Joe trailed off in hopeless embarrassment.

Percy lowered his voice, but didn’t relent in the least. “The second I get you to Sicily, I’m going to wreck you. Completely and utterly destroy you. That’s a promise.” Whatever Joe’s adoring, only slightly but pleasantly nervous lips were about to say, Percy silenced him with a long kiss. Then he pulled back and added another shorter, softer kiss to Joe’s smitten cheek, just for good measure.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

A FUNNY STORY

It had taken all that remained of Percy’s money to convince the border guards to wave the car through to Tunisia, with Althea secretly stashed in the unopened trunk. That job done and Althea back in her seat next to Joe, the three rode in silence for roughly half an hour, until a long and obtrusive yawn from Althea brought the other two back to the present.

“Are we boring you?” Percy asked over the top of his own yawn.

“Yep,” she replied. Percy laughed softly, and Joe sat up tall and tried to turn his thoughts away from car insurance and zombies to listen to Althea. “Say I believe you’re a priest,” she leaned forward towards Percy, “and I still don’t buy that you’re an art historian, but anyway, what’s with you two?”

Joe glanced at the barren landscape out the window. “I’m just trying to take a holiday.”

“And you’re about to have the best holiday of your life.” Percy smiled across at him, sounding, as he always did, quite convincing. “One short boat trip, just maybe one or two meetings with some criminals, and I’ll make sure of it.”

Joe, looking none too sure about the criminals, wondered aloud, “Maybe we should have gone to Malta.”

“Not Malta,” came the swift response.

“Not Malta?”

“Not… I can’t go there. The Knights.”

A loud pause followed as Joe looked over at Percy, and Percy concentrated hard on the road. “Did you piss off the Knights of Malta?”

“They started it,” he muttered sulkily.

As tolerantly as any boyfriend ever could, Joe asked, “Was it Caravaggio again?”

“I just…” A small shrug. “It wouldn’t have been honest to not say anything.”

Joe burst out laughing, which got a slightly bashful grin from Percy, which Althea watched with interest. “How long have you two known each other?”

“I don’t know.” Joe looked to Percy. “Five months maybe?”

“About that.”

“And how do people like you find each other?” she asked.

Joe winced. “People like us?”

“Mmm. Weird supernatural-obsessed guys. Did you meet at a séance or something?”

“Not far off,” Joe chuckled.

“That’s a funny story actually,” Percy said, then hesitantly added, “but… it’s also a long one.”

Althea looked around pointedly at the lack of anything to see. “It doesn’t look like we’re there yet, so⁠—”

“Well, all right,” Percy cut her off. “I’ve been dying to tell someone, actually.”

“It is a pretty funny story,” Joe concurred with a smile.

Althea leaned forward excitedly. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, so,” Percy began, “my brother went missing when I was a child, and I was told he was abducted.” He glanced over with a half-apologetic look and added, “That’s not the funny bit yet.”

Joe nodded his happy agreement.

“Store that bit away for later. Anyway, I had this book, the Necronomicon⁠—”

“The necra-what-now?” Althea asked.

“The Necronomicon,” Joe said. “The Book of the Dead. It’s supernatural. It holds all known knowledge of darkness and evil dead things.”

Althea nodded uncertainly, and Percy continued, “But naturally those evil dead things want the book too, so whoever has the book is in constant mortal peril. So obviously I needed to offload the book.”

Joe let out a laugh at the memory, and Percy smiled lovingly over at him, but noting Althea’s increasing discomfort, he added, “That’s not the funny bit yet, either. So, I had to get rid of the book, and I had this—or I have—I have a brother, a different one to the one I mentioned before, whom I was estranged from at that time. We’re great friends now⁠—”

“Great friends,” Joe reiterated.

“But at the time, well, ‘hate’ would be putting it mildly.” Percy laughed. “In fact, he was especially salty when he saw me again, because this was the third time I’d tried to⁠—”

“This should be good.” Joe’s lovely face cracked a wide and highly entertained grin.

Percy’s easy geniality lessened ever so slightly, though the smile remained. “Well, you know all about that already, Joe⁠—”

“No,” Joe said, turning to Althea to explain, “I never knew what it was all about, but those two—I have never met two men who hated each other so much. Honestly, I’ve been really curious about what could have caused it.”

“Ha!” Percy laugh-shouted, his still-bloody hands gripping the wheel tight. “Ha!” he repeated, possibly even louder. “You mean… Ha!… You mean Eve never told you about our… About our history?”

“No,” Joe replied. “I mean, Candide said you tried to kill him, but obviously that’s⁠—”

Another burst of excessive laughter, then, “Of course, that’s… No, I wouldn’t… Not Eve…” Percy fell silent at the wheel with the smile frozen in place. He had tried to kill his brother. Several times. He wasn’t even possessed for most of them. At all costs, Joe must never find out. “Good old Eve,” Percy said by way of filling the silence. “I really would like to talk to him soon.” Then, for Althea’s benefit, “He and I are very close now, and that’s all water under the bridge.”

Percy didn’t at all like the thoughtful look that had come over Joe’s face in the rearview mirror, so he continued the story as a means of distraction. “I secretly left the Necronomicon with my brother’s adoptive sister⁠—”

“Is that what she is?” asked Joe, successfully redirected.

“Close enough,” Percy said, moving along. “I left it with her and her roommate⁠—”

“Anna,” Joe verily seethed. Althea’s eyes were drawn across to him wonderingly with his dark delivery of the word.

“Anna,” Percy agreed, almost choking the same word out, clearing his throat a little, then deliberately shifting back into a casual tone. “Anyway, Anna fell in love with my brother, Eve, hilarity ensued, demons, ghosts, that sort of thing, and they met Joe, because of my book, and then, months later, when I needed an exorcism done on that brother who’d been missing for twenty years, they… they introduced us.”

Althea nodded her enthusiastic encouragement. “And now for the funny bit?”

Joe’s eyes met Percy’s in the rearview mirror, a barrage of hideous memories assailing them both. All the air suddenly seemed sucked out of the car as a rigid silence descended.

“Actually, maybe it isn’t that funny after all.” Joe shifted his gaze, staring out at the blue-pink dawn of the morning across the desert for all of thirty seconds, before his miserable reverie was interrupted.

“Joe was the most beautiful man I had ever seen in my life,” Percy said, watching his expression in snippets between watching the road. “The second I laid eyes on him, I was his slave. Then he opened his mouth and spoke, and I never wanted him to stop. The sound of his voice, every word he said, completely enthralled me.”

Their eyes met in the mirror, Percy’s full of worried ardour, Joe’s still sad but sweetly surprised as Percy continued, “Of course, he had no idea how deeply I adored him. And he would never have had me anyway, back then. But the more time I spent with him, the more beautiful he became, in every way possible.”

“That’s very romantic,” Althea said quietly.

“It was very romantic,” Percy replied, encouraged by Joe colouring a little in the warmth of his comments. “I don’t know if Joe even knows how romantic it was. I had never in my life met anyone who is so genuinely good, all the way through, the way Joe is. And it changes the way you see the world when you’re around someone like that. He didn’t need to help me, or any of us. It was dangerous, and I asked him, a complete stranger, to put his life on the line for me. He was endlessly kind, endlessly caring, and he almost died right by my side, trying to save someone he didn’t even know. And I adored him for that. I adored him from afar for the longest time, and I never thought I had a chance in hell, but then one night— Althea, this is the funny bit…” And indeed Percy laughed to himself before continuing, “Joe caught me kissing Anna⁠—”

“Anna?” Althea asked, her eyes wide with scandalous interest.

Joe rolled his eyes. “Anna.”

“Your brother’s girlfriend?” she asked again, eyes even wider.

“Well, it was complicated,” Percy attempted.

“Not that complicated,” Joe muttered under his breath.

“And this is your brother who you love so much?” Althea asked.

“Yes,” Percy confirmed.

“And you kissed his girlfriend?” she continued.

“Yes,” said Percy, irritation creeping into his voice.

“And did he know you kissed his girlfriend?”

“He did,” Percy said. “Eventually. And he was fine with it. Like I said, it was complica⁠—”

“Oh my god,” Althea gasped out.

“What?” asked Percy, his stomach tightening.

“Oh my god!” Althea went on, drawing out ‘god’ for entirely too long and drawing entirely too much of Joe’s attention in the process.

“What?” Joe asked.

Percy, realising she had come far too close to the truth already, attempted to intervene, “It was really not⁠—”

“Were you having a threesome with your brother and his girlfriend?” she yelled, as loud and excited as someone might if they’d just cracked nuclear fusion.

Fuck! Percy’s brain screamed. “No!” he shouted.

“No.” Joe cackled at the ridiculous idea, but a second later, memories of that first night kicked him full in the face. He’d been sure Percy would never hurt his brother deliberately, and he’d consequently blamed Anna for the incident. But now this made a strange, harrowing kind of sense. “Wait… You weren’t sleeping with Eve and Anna… Were you?”

“No—”

“I feel sick…”

Percy had already noted the deathly pallor that dulled Joe’s complexion. “Joe, no. It wasn’t like that⁠—”

“That’s why he forgave you so easily when you kissed her,” Joe rambled out in a panic. “That’s why you did what you did for her… All that weirdness with you and Anna. That’s why… So many things make sense now…”

“What makes sense now?” Percy shouted. “Nothing makes sense now!”

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me something like that!” Joe shouted back.

“There wasn’t a thing you needed to know about any of that!”

“How can you say that? Of course I needed to know something like that!”

“Joe!” Percy shouted even louder again. “Do you truly believe I fucked my own brother?”

“Well,” Althea added logically, “you wouldn’t actually have to fuck him to pull off a threesome with a girl in the middle⁠—”

“Althea, you shut your mouth right now or I’m leaving you in the desert!”

“Percy!” Joe snapped.

“Sorry, Althea,” Percy started reluctantly. “I would never actually leave you in⁠—”

“Percy!” Joe repeated. “Tell me the truth right now. Were you in a relationship with them?”

Percy wrenched the wheel to the right, the tyres screeching onto the side of the lonely road as he hit the brakes. He turned back to Joe, who he adored with all his heart, no matter how angry he was, and he said, “Joe, I have never slept with Anna or Eve. Only a very sick and depraved mind could even invent such a scenario as that. They are like family to us, except, you know, that one is family, to me, but the point is, that would never happen. Any of it. It’s a completely ridiculous notion. You must understand that.”

He could see in Joe’s eyes that he’d already relented somewhat, but the doubt lingered. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“I would tell you,” he replied, his voice as firm and convincing as it ever was. “I kissed Anna, and you saw it happen and that was all. And it was the last time—the only time—it ever happened. And it won’t ever happen again. I was a mess and Eve knows that and that’s why he forgave me. It’s that simple.”

Joe looked into Percy’s open, sincere, nervous eyes for a few seconds longer, then hid his face in his hands. “Oh, Christ. Percy, I’m so sorry.”

A sharp splinter of guilt punctured Percy’s stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” Joe said again. “That was— I must be so tired to even think— God, what an awful thing to say to you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Percy breathed out quickly, that odd, cold sweat breaking along the back of his neck. “It was a strange time for all of us. Just tell me we’re good and I’ll drive.”

“We’re good?” Joe cried. “How can you be good with me? I don’t even know what’s wrong with me! I can’t believe I said that to you.”

Percy slammed his foot down on the accelerator. What a peculiar feeling a mixture of guilt, relief, and sheer panic can produce. “It’s forgotten. It’s all over and that’s the end of it.”

Percy really needed to call Eve. At all costs, Joe must never find out that he’d kissed his brother, too. He must never find out about the whole bizarre affair. And they probably weren’t related by blood anyway, so was it really so terrible?

He shuddered as he heard Joe’s head donk against the window in ashamed resignation.

“So,” Althea recommenced tentatively, “was that the funny bit?”

“Shut up, Althea!” Percy shouted.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

HIGH-SPEED HIJACK

They wound their way into Tunis, all perfectly silent, just as Percy had so calmly suggested they remain. For some time, the car had been pulling slightly to the right, and a worrying, regular thump had commenced, but as each thump and bump seemed to darken the general aura that hung around the driver, no comment was made.

The group began to draw a considerable amount of attention from passers-by the deeper they moved into the city, and Percy found that although he applied more pressure to the accelerator, somehow the machine wasn’t keeping up with the performance its once-sleek exterior promised. Then appeared the series of black cars, all large, all expensive, all sparkling clean, in the rearview mirror.

“Joe, take the guns.”

Joe leaned forward and collected the three remaining guns from the seat beside Percy. “Want me to ditch them?”

“No, I want you to shoot people.” Percy flicked his head towards the convoy, gaining fast behind them.

Joe took in the sight with the expected consternation and a worrying declaration. “I don’t know how to fire a gun!”

Percy’s foot touched the brake with an involuntary gesture of shock, before he made up the second of lost time in spades, the wheels skidding beneath them. “How do you not know how to fire a gun?”

“We’re not all ‘art historians’, Percy. Let me drive.” The car swerved as Percy attempted to make space for Joe, who was forcing his wide shoulders into the front half of the car. It was more physical contact than they’d had for some time now, except for a stolen kiss in the desert, and suddenly the promise of a gun fight, the idea of hot sex in the very near future, and the thought of Joe’s full, considerable weight on him, kissing him, licking every inch of his body, just about sent Percy into overdrive.

Joe leaned across and took the wheel, and all the heated masculinity of him hit Percy. He couldn’t help himself. He wrapped an arm around Joe’s waist, sliding his hand down his stomach, every firm muscle under the shirt a comforting promise. He planted a kiss on Joe’s neck, just behind his ear. “I’m sorry for everything, and I love you.”

“Percy,” Joe whispered, melting into him.

“Almost there.” Percy ripped himself away, climbing into the back as Joe slid into the driver’s seat.

Althea, meanwhile, had never taken her eyes off the encroaching cars. “They’re gaining.”

“Head towards the airport,” Percy directed. “And drive faster. Make it go to the top of the speedometer.”

Going straight past the turnoff to the ferry, Joe muttered, “You broke the car. The car isn’t going to the top of anything.”

“Well, then…” He was right, of course, so there was only one thing for it. “Slow down. I’ll take them out. Find a small street so I can line them up.”

“Take them out?” repeated Joe, as though Percy hadn’t made himself perfectly clear.

“You’re just going to kill whoever’s in those cars?” Althea added, as though that was necessary either.

Percy settled into the seat beside her. “Only if I have to.” His eyes fixed on his target, and he held the gun steady.

Their car did slow dramatically, but it was despite Joe’s best efforts to get the thing moving faster and away from their potential victims. “Percy, don’t. You don’t know who they are.”

“Shall we send her back to the vampire, then?” He pulled the trigger, blowing out the front wheel of the car behind them. It swerved up onto the pavement and came to a relatively safe stop after a rough slide into a wall.

A second car overtook the first. Their own car hit a pothole, sending a stray bullet flying off into the side of a building. “Steady!” Percy yelled.

Joe regained control, the engine whirring sickly under his boot, then he took a sharp right. It was a narrow alley, exactly like Percy had requested, lined either side by tall buildings. The car behind followed closely. Percy shot and blew out the wheel, just as he had the last time, but this time the driver regained control without difficulty, listing to the side, but keeping an easy pace with their own sad wreckage.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He let out a hard breath, realigned his arm, pointed at the driver. “Fuck!” He squinted at the vehicle. “Fuck! It’s Tareq.” He aimed a second time, his finger firm on the trigger. “I told him I’d kill him if I saw him again…”

“Don’t you dare shoot Tareq!” Althea cried.

Percy frowned, held his aim a few seconds longer, then lowered it, looking for some sort of sympathy from the front of the vehicle. “You know, I just don’t want to kill him.”

“Who the hell is Tareq?” Joe shouted.

“The nice man from the hotel. You know, the one you thought I was going to execute.”

Joe’s eyes flared. “Nice man?”

“The cute one,” Althea put in.

“It’s hopeless,” said Percy. “I can’t do it. And it’s not like he attempted to kill me or anything. The man’s just trying to do his job, after all.”

“Who are you?” Joe yelled.

“It’s fine. I’ll just try smash…” He took aim, pulled the trigger, and the front window shattered, sending a web of broken glass across the vision of the driver. The car slowed at the shock, but still it came.

Percy blew out the other tyre, but still it came. “Fuck!”

A bullet from behind smashed Joe’s side mirror.

“Shoot Tareq!” Joe shouted.

“You’ve certainly changed your tune!” Percy yelled back.

The morning sun shone sharply on the passenger side of the car, obscuring Percy’s view of the shooter but for a dark silhouette, leaning towards its own window, with a gun pointed back at them. Percy launched a bullet through the skull of the silhouette, only knowing he’d met his mark when an appalling splatter of blood sprayed Tareq’s beautiful face.

But Tareq didn’t flinch in the least.

Percy focused on him as best he could on the bumpy road. There was an absence about him somehow. He drove, single-minded, relentless, giving no sense of the animation that had characterised him when Percy met him several hours prior. “Something’s wrong.”

Joe burst into a furious bout of nervous laughter as the car shuddered painfully.

“No,” said Percy. “There’s something—” Tareq rammed his car forward, slamming into the back of them. Their own car mounted the pavement, scraping along the wall.

Joe wrenched it back onto the street. “Just shoot him in the shoulder or something!”

“No,” Percy muttered. “I have a feeling it wouldn’t do any good. And I already did shoot him once, just so you know.”

“Not very effectively,” Joe grumbled.

“If you could just drive the car effectively,” Percy threw back.

“This isn’t a car, it’s a wreck! And we’re getting too far from the harbour. We’ll never make the boat.”

“Fine! The shoulder it is.” Then to Althea, “I did warn him, after all…”

Althea offered a slight nod, then shrank back, turning her eyes away from the expected horror. Percy raised his gun, shot twice, and successfully hit his mark with the second bullet. It plunged into Tareq’s shoulder with a spray of scarlet down the cracked windscreen.

Tareq drove on without the slightest response.

“Percy?” Joe called from the front. There was a complete and rare silence in the back. “Did you hit him?”

Percy watched a little longer, eyes locking with those once brilliant and bright, and now cold and lifeless, with no spark of recognition or humanity. “He’s not going to stop, Joe.”

“Then shoot him again!”

Percy climbed into the front. “Stop the car at the end of the street. Block the whole road. We’ll get out driver’s side, and you both do as I say. And I mean that. Don’t stop to question me once or we’ll almost definitely die. Joe, now!”

Joe swung the car to such a smooth and impressive stop that Percy’s heart just about exploded with a hard punch of pure love. Joe kicked open his door and wrenched Althea’s wide. Percy smashed the latch to open the boot and followed as Joe wrenched Althea to safety, shouting, “Get Back!”

Tareq’s car slammed into the side of their own, crumpling half the car in on itself and forcing it to the edge of the alley. Tareq immediately backed his car up for another run. Percy ran, grabbed the sheath, then just as a deer might seek out its hunter, Percy was drawn, looking straight into those cruel, dead eyes that were locked onto him. The accelerator was floored with no regard for the driver’s own life. The shift from the Tareq of the night before was unmistakable to Percy, even as the eyes and the car came, and he did move, but all too late, had Joe not pulled him out of the way as Tareq’s SUV smashed full into the wall, pancaking the trunk of their own car and everything inside.

Percy landed softly, safely, warmly, in Joe’s strong arms, and quite before he got his bearings, Joe’s lips were against his, his hand strong on the back of Percy’s neck, holding him firmly, desperately. Joe, certainly not Percy, was the first to pull back, and he brushed the hair out of Percy’s enamoured face with a grin. “You’re all right?”

“I’ve never been better in my life.” Percy would have kissed Joe again there on the rough asphalt of that small and scandalised alley, had the slam of a car door from behind not interrupted the compelling moment.

Both somewhat reluctant, the men climbed to their feet, where Percy directed Joe and Althea to follow with a tilt of his head and the barked order, “No questions!”

He led them all of five metres before he thrust open the door of a car stopped at a nearby intersection and jumped in, levelling his gun at a terrified woman and saying, “Souq wala noqtlek,” which, to the uninitiated, was Percy’s best attempt at ‘drive or die’.

Joe pulled Althea into the car with him just as the woman slammed her foot down on the accelerator.

Percy looked over at Joe with an expectant grin, which fell when Joe said, “What did you just do?”

With a huff, Percy turned back to the front. “I should think that’s obvious.” He directed the woman for several turns, mostly by pointing, until, “Stop.”

Joe apologised to her profusely in French, English, and Italian as he and Althea climbed out to pursue Percy.

Percy ran through the intersection and hijacked the next nearest car with a single driver. This he did twice more, each time driving in what Joe guessed were circles of varying sizes and styles, keeping them close to where they needed to be, and all but untraceable in the busy streets. The final time he hijacked a car, the driver was ejected entirely and Percy took the wheel himself. Moments later, all were somewhat surprised but overwhelmingly relieved to find themselves pulling into the harbour, all in one piece, and apparently free of pursuit.

Percy scanned the area, and just as he took a deep breath in preparation to let loose a torrent of abuse at everyone and everything in sight, he paused, broke into an outrageously handsome and unquestionably proud smile, and yelled, “Althea, do you see that man just there?”

Joe and Althea followed the line of Percy’s pointing arm to where a young man stood by a large suitcase, shadowed by a deep doorway, leaning back against a wall, smoking a cigarette just as Percy might, but all affectation, a palpable nervousness undercutting what should have been a very impressive effect. To Joe and Percy, at least. Althea flushed, eyelashes fluttering uncontrollably, as she sucked her bottom lip behind her top teeth.

“I see you see him, Althea.” Percy grinned, to no response at all. “Althea?” And no response at all. “Althea!”

She remembered Percy’s existence. “Hmm?”

“Run to him, tell him I sent you, and do whatever he says without question. Got it?”

“I will,” she breathed, and was out the door in a flash. Percy and Joe watched as she addressed him, and he set the cigarette at the edge of his lip nonchalantly to listen. To his credit, he only half blinked once or twice as the smoke blew into his eyes, and thought quickly to throw it off with a nod. She followed the direction of his nod into the doorway, he flipped the suitcase open and around, and after a pale and tightlipped objection from her, and an apologetic shrug followed by the correction of a stern and seemingly careless tap of his cigarette, she relented and was safely zipped inside. Without even a glance in their direction, he dropped an envelope in the doorway, and made his way to the boarding line, dragging Althea along with him.

Joe, open-mouthed, watched them disappear into the queue. “What the hell was that?”

“That was Leo.” Percy grinned. “My protégé.” He climbed out of the car, Joe fast by his side.

“How come you have a protégé? Where did he come from?”

Percy lit his own cigarette, keeping a fast pace, drawing deep, then handing it to Joe for a puff. “I’ll tell you, but don’t say a word to the boy.” He swept into the doorway, pulled the cigarette out of Joe’s mouth and back into his own, then fumbled the envelope open, finding two tickets for the ferry to Sicily. “I won him in a poker game a few years back.”

Joe smiled softly. “That’s bullshit.”

“That’s not bullshit.”

Joe’s response was cut off by the cigarette that landed firmly back in his mouth. Percy handed him the ferry ticket, shoved his own in his pocket, and made for the boat, then turned back so suddenly Joe almost smacked into him. “Stop.” Percy’s quick hands expertly straightened Joe’s collar, then shoved his hair to the side, running his fingers through as a comb, fashioning a carefree curl about Joe’s temple. He examined the cut on Joe’s cheek, wiped off a speck of dried blood, and nodded his approval. “What about me? How do I look?”

Joe’s lips tilted, trembled, then broke into a gorgeous smile. “You look like shit, Percy.”

“Thank you, darling.”

“I’m sorry.” Joe laughed. “There isn’t a thing I can do. You’re covered in blood, it’s all over your hands and your face. I think you’ve got vomit on your shirt. You smell… bad…”

“All right. Thank you.”

“You look and smell like a tramp in a good suit.”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

“I don’t even want to be seen with you, if I’m honest.”

But Joe didn’t leave Percy’s side once as they joined the very end of the short line, showed their passports, to much scrutiny, and climbed aboard the ferry. There they waited, just out of sight, until the gangplank was pulled away and the gate shut tight.

“Up top.” Percy took Joe’s hand, and they wove their way up and up to the top deck of the ferry, and to the very back of the boat.

“Shouldn’t we check on Althea?” asked Joe as they approached the end of the boat.

“She’ll be fine.” Percy placed a stalling hand on Joe just before they came close enough to see the dock. He took a slow step nearer, then “Shit!” and sunk down, pulling Joe with him.

Together, they peered over the stern, and there on the dock, scanning the ferry and the general area, was Tareq. He stood even taller somehow, equally beautiful as he had been at the start of the adventure, but now his shoulder hung dislocated and bleeding, and his face was dressed with the splatter of another man’s blood. It soon became clear whose blood, even if it was hard to recognise him at first, with a chunk out of his head where the bullet hit him, and the stump of an arm, drip, drip, dripping where his hand should have been. Waleed.

Bile rose into Percy’s throat, the first symptom of the full-body horror that swept over him when the understanding crystallised in his mind.

He felt Joe take his hand, pulling him down behind the railings as the boat lurched away from the dock, sweeping them towards safety. “Is that what I think it is?”

“They’re zombies,” Percy confirmed.

“That’s not good.”

“Not good.”

“What the hell are we going to do now?”

Percy’s fingers were anxious as they grasped Joe’s. He took them close against his chest, right to his heart, and he searched Joe’s eyes for the understanding he needed to see there. “I swear to you, they weren’t like that last night. They were fine when I left. I swear, I left them alive, and they were totally fine. I didn’t do that to them.”

Joe was a little taken aback by the earnestness of the outburst, as though Joe would have thought for a second Percy might have killed them in cold blood, then lied about it. “I know,” he tried to reassure him. “I know that. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out. The important thing is, we got away. We’re safe. Althea’s safe. We did it. You did it.”

Joe leaned in to kiss him, but Percy had already turned away, eyes to the deck, studying the heavily lacquered wood as he formed his next plan. Joe watched and waited, wondering what he would come up with. The last thing he expected was for Percy to look back, focus his turbulent blue eyes on him, and say, “Joe, I’m ending this. Us. Now. It’s been fun. But I don’t think we’re compatible.”

Joe remained silent for a good ten seconds as he tried to grasp the unexpected declaration and formulate an appropriate response. “We’re not compatible?”

Percy shook his head sternly. “No.”

“Us?”

“Us.”

“You and me?”

“Yes.”

“In what way are we ‘not compatible’?”

“In the… uh… In…” Percy’s handsome brow creased with great concentration. “In the way that…”

Joe choked down the soft chuckle that snuck into the back of his throat, drawing Percy’s immediate ire. “Is this funny to you? Do you like being broken up with?”

“Maybe I do.” Joe kissed his cheek, a kiss which, this time, Percy leaned hopelessly into. “Do it again.”

“I’m not finished with the first attempt.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

Percy nodded, then forced a serious expression. “I know it’s going to be hard for a while, but it’s better this way. We’ll go to Sicily, and then, in a couple of days, when you’re ready, we’ll go our separate ways.”

Joe nodded. “No.”

“‘No?’ You don’t get to say ‘no’ to a breakup.”

“I just said ‘no’ to your breakup. That’s a terrible idea. I don’t want to break up with you.” He closed fingers around the top of Percy’s shirt and tugged him close, kissing the very corner of his lips. Percy closed his eyes, his own lips parting a little in response to the soft caress. “Plus, you promised to fuck me in Sicily.”

“I did,” Percy murmured into even more kisses, working their way across the lower edge of his bottom lip. “We can still do that. As exes, obviously.” Joe laughed while Percy waffled, “It will be very romantic. A final fling made particularly passionate because neither of us are quite sure we’re ready to let go.” But then his voice darkened a shade, more grave, more melancholy, and he pulled back, looking into Joe’s eyes with a worrying sincerity. “It would be for the best. I have a feeling things are about to get very bad.” He brought Joe’s hand to his lips and laid a kiss across his fingers. “She doesn’t know who you are. She won’t—she can’t—send them after you if she doesn’t know who you are. If you leave now, I’ll find a way to fix everything, but… You saw how the last day went. It was a drive, plain and simple, but I fucked every single thing up, every single thing fell apart, every step of the way, and I have the worst feeling it’s always going to be like that with me. But you…” He ran his thumb beneath the cut on Joe’s cheek. “You’re so beautiful and I don’t ever want a thing to touch you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Look at the way you touch me,” said Joe. He turned his cheek to kiss Percy’s palm. “The way you look at me. You kidnapped a teenager for me yesterday, and I know you did that for me, because there were easier things you could have done. You’re cut up, and you’re bruised, and you smell so bad⁠—”

“Do you mind?”

“—And you did it all for me. And I’ve never once in my life felt so safe and so protected and so loved as I do with you. I don’t care about any of the rest of it. I just want you. But I want you to feel like that with me, too.” Something in the way Percy touched his skin, something in his unerring gaze on that cut, brought Joe’s fingers up to his, pressing them harder against his cheek, against the healing wound. “I’m not one of your delicate artworks, Percy. I’m not going to crack. If you do really mean it, if you want me gone because you think I’m not capable of taking care of myself⁠—”

“I don’t think that.”

“Or of you⁠—”

“I don’t.”

“Then tell me now. Do you really want me gone?”

It wasn’t as though even Percy could lie at a moment like that, Joe’s eyes so clear and true and trusting. “No. No, I love you. I don’t want you to go⁠—”

“Then don’t say anything so stupid ever again.” Joe took both arms around Percy’s neck, kissed him, then manoeuvred him to lay down on the wooden planks, Percy’s head on Joe’s shoulder, Joe’s lips against Percy’s sandy, sweaty, bloody hair. The pair stared up at what had become a perfectly blue sky, and they drifted that way, silent, spent, until their tired eyes began to close, fleetingly at first, then heavily. They dozed for roughly five minutes before other passengers began to ascend, forcing them to pull apart, sit up, and get their bearings anew.

Joe stretched his arms up above his head, flexing out the cricks in his worn out back. “Is Althea all right, do you think?

Percy, eyes fast on Joe’s immaculate form, was suddenly wide awake again. “Of course. Leo’s a marvel, actually.”

“And yet you’ve never mentioned him once beyond that phone call.”

“We’ve been busy.” Percy stood and pulled Joe to his feet, leading as they wound their way to the cabin indicated on their tickets.

Some way deep down in the belly of the boat, boots clanking on metal steps under a low ceiling, Percy softened his voice to secrecy. “Listen. With Leo. If you sense any, er, lack of polish, just gloss over it.”

“Of course I would.”

“I know you would. It’s only… He’s a very sensitive boy. He’s had a hard life and we have a very delicate balance going on.”

“Is that why you fired him?” Joe joked.

Percy remained serious. “Partially, yes. Sometimes he needs to be pushed. It’s for his own good.” Then, after a few more steps, “And we were desperate.”

“All right. But you trust him with Althea?”

“I trust him with my life.”

Percy pulled open the door to reveal a very nervous-looking Leo, who stood and straightened upon their entrance, grinning widely. “Percy!”

“Leo! You beautiful thing!” Percy threw an arm around the young man, who looked to Joe to be all of nineteen, and who wrinkled his nose at the smell that accosted him with Percy’s embrace. Still, he wrapped his own arm around Percy, and nodded towards a huge black suitcase.

“Is she in there?” Percy asked.

Leo gave a proud tilt of his head. “Mmhmm.”

“You know she should have been down in the baggage compartment, don’t you?”

The suitcase mumbled and shook in response.

“Yeah, I know.” Leo shifted in his expensive shoes, his hands wandering into his pockets. “I felt bad.”

Percy kept hard eyes on the averted face. “And what happens when we feel bad?”

“We fail,” said Leo, his eyes stuck to the floor.

Percy clapped a gentle hand to his cheek. “But you didn’t at all. Well done, Leo.”

Leo’s face shone like a lightbulb, and with those last three words, he was standing tall again, staring up at Percy adoringly.

Percy unzipped the bag and stood back to make way as Althea tumbled out onto the floor. He put out a hand which Althea took, and he pulled her to her feet.

“The baggage compartment?” she gasped, doubled over with hands on her hips. “I can’t breathe in there! I almost died!”

“I deliberately got a fabric bag,” Leo protested. “And I didn’t even zip it all the way.”

“You did everything just right,” said Percy, ignoring Althea, though Joe was hard at work listening to her complaints. “Thank you. I’m deeply impressed. But now that we’re all here and we’re all safe, I don’t want to see either of you for twelve hours. Leo, where’s my room?”

Leo shifted a fidgeting hand to the back of his neck. “Your what?”

“My room. My real room. The one with the shower and the large bed. Where is it?”

“It’s…” He took a bolstering breath. “This was the last one they had.”

“I know you’re joking,” was the calm, vaguely menacing reply that arrived on top of a cool smile.

Leo’s eyes sparked. “I can’t help if it’s all booked, Percy.”

Percy’s eyes sparked. “You knew I was bringing Joe, Leo.”

Like a switch had been flicked, the formerly awkward Leo’s voice raised well above an acceptable level for a small cabin pushed tight with a hundred others on the high sea. “You told me passage for three, plus one illegal. You didn’t say, ‘plus a fuck bunker’.”

“Fuck bunker!” Percy shouted. “Leo, you absolute shit!”

Leo rolled his eyes just like a teenage boy might. “Oh, but never mind us. Althea and I will go wander the ship while you two⁠—”

“You know Althea can’t leave this room,” Percy hissed. “She shouldn’t even be in here!”

“Well,” Leo grinned annoyingly, “since she’s not in the baggage compartment, I guess that’s up for grabs then.”

“Joe is not the kind of date one takes to a baggage compartment!” Percy yelled.

“What?” Turning dramatically to address Joe and Althea now, “How disrespectful is that? Other men are fine in the baggage compartment, but not ‘the hottest priest on earth’.”

“Shut up, Leo,” Percy blustered, turning to Joe. “I never fucked anyone in the baggage compartment, just so you know. It’s pure slander. And I never said that about the hot priest thing. Or, well, I did, but only because it’s true. Of you. I don’t fetishise your priestliness or anything, because that’s how he makes things sound.”

“It’s a double standard is what it is,” Leo dropped.

“Life is a double standard!” Percy snapped. “Now shut up or you’re fired. In fact, no, you’re already fired. I don’t even know why you’re still here.”

Swiftly Leo turned, reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

“You’re not fired, Leo. Not this one time.” Percy ripped the shirt from his beautiful body, both Althea and Joe gripped nearby objects for stability, and he threw it at Leo. “Wash this. Get glasses. Where’s a shower?”

Through gritted teeth, “There isn’t a shower.”

A red flush rose to Percy’s cheeks.

“But I brought cards too,” Leo said, taking a small packet from his pocket.

Percy stared very hard at him for a time, then snatched the cards out of his hand. “Fine. Prepare to lose all your money. After you fix the shirt.”

“Yes, sir.” He made for the door.

“And don’t use cheap soap!” Percy yelled.

“No, I’ll use the boat’s finest,” Leo called back.

“Little shit,” Percy muttered, flinging himself down on one of the four very small, very thin bunk beds. He cracked the scotch open, took a large gulp, and passed the bottle to Joe.

“And how long is this boat ride?” asked Althea, watching Joe quaff the scotch as readily as Percy had.

Percy grimaced. “About twelve hours.”

“Right.” She settled down with a heavy sigh, stretching out long on the opposite bunk in resignation.

“But don’t worry,” said Percy, lighting a cigarette and passing it to Joe in exchange for the bottle. “The holiday starts now. From here on in, it’s nothing but rest and relaxation.”

Joe smiled across at him. “Is that right?”

“That’s right,” Percy replied. “No blood, no zombies, no guns, no killing anyone at all. Just you and me on a calm, normal, average, carefree holiday.”

Joe laughed and took another swig of scotch. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Believe it, handsome.” Percy took Joe’s hand and placed a cheery kiss against his knuckles. “You and me in Sicily? What could possibly go wrong?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

THE GRAND HOTEL ET DES PALMES

Percy flung wide the large glass doors of the Grand Hotel et Des Palmes as though he owned the place, which for all Joe knew, perhaps he did.

Past the marble statues, the opulent chandeliers, the cool stone walls, Percy stalked a few steps ahead in a surprisingly crisp black shirt to a wink from the bellboy, an excited whisper from two ladies in the lounge, and a warm welcome from the desk staff who recognised him on sight.

The scents of fresh air, blooming lilies, and appalling wealth encircled and buoyed Percy enough to soothe the tension of intimidation the rest of the party was feeling, unkempt and exhausted as they all were.

He was given the key to his suite, which he passed immediately to Joe, grasping his hand meaningfully as he looked pure fire into the eyes of his beloved. “Ten minutes.”

Joe, the heat of lust lighting his cheeks admirably, disappeared in an instant.

Althea was dispatched to a distant corner of the hotel under a false name, with instructions for Leo to get her anything she wanted so long as neither Percy nor Joe heard from them for the entire night, short of a supernatural emergency.

Percy made a mad dash to the pharmacy and back, took the marble-lined elevators all the way up to the presidential suite, slammed the door closed behind him, and commanded, “Take everything off at once.”

“Everything?”

Joe stepped from a steaming bathroom clad only in a wet, white towel, slung excruciatingly low around his hips.

“Joe…”

Everything about the man was aesthetic magnificence. His face, yes, it was maddeningly beautiful, particularly now with the expectant swell of the pink lips, those golden eyes behind the exquisite lashes enjoying every second of Percy’s frozen, breathless admiration. The warm blush of the strong cheekbones against olive skin perfectly contrasted with the chestnut curls that now dripped, dripped onto his fine shoulders. And those shoulders, large and round, as were his arms, his biceps thick and finally free and not stupidly hidden away where Percy could only sense the strength, not see it with his own eyes, see the sure proof that Joe, if he chose to, could match Percy’s strength in every way—could be one of the few people capable of really working him over.

“Everything,” whispered Percy.

There was no hiding it. Thick and luxurious as the towels of the Hotel et Des Palmes were, Joe’s cock was thicker still, and the delicious bulge drew Percy’s gaze.

“Or don’t,” he said, closing the distance sedately, savouring every second, unbuttoning his own shirt by instinct only, unable to look away from the gorgeous form that awaited his touch.

Both Percy’s hands went straight to Joe’s abs, hard and firm. Even that first gentle contact was like a fire beneath Joe’s skin, and he breathed in sharply at the touch. The fingertips traced over his hips, back around to the front, sensually, reverently, down and down his sharply defined adonis belt, until they met, gripping the top of the towel, Percy’s eyes hard on Joe’s body, Joe watching Percy’s adoring expression intently, and Percy knew it.

His eyes shot up to Joe’s, taking him by surprise. One hand gripped the top of the towel and wrenched him close as the other wrapped tight, just the right sort of tight, around his delicious length. “Percy,” Joe grunted.

Percy pushed his lips against Joe’s, Joe’s lips parted, and Percy’s tongue found Joe’s, and it was an agony of perseverance as Joe found the strength to respond, “Shower.”

The kiss stopped, but Percy remained exactly where he was, cheek close by Joe’s, hand on dick, in utter disbelief. “I don’t think I could have heard you correctly.”

“No. Shower. Now. Please.”

Percy sank his teeth into his lip and Joe’s resolve almost crumbled at the enticing display. “You want me to go in there?”

“Mmm.”

“Away from you?”

“Yes…” Then, to fill the deafening silence, “It’s been a long time.”

Percy let go of Joe’s perfect cock and braced himself against the wall, suddenly looking about thirty years older. “You’re going to be very particular about this sort of thing, are you? Going forward?”

“It’s really just the blood,” Joe mumbled. “And the vomit. And the dirt and sand. And chips. Half digested, is all⁠—”

“Very well.” Percy staggered exhaustedly towards the bathroom, half turning only briefly before he crossed the threshold to say, “But keep the towel on.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

The room Joe found himself alone in was stupidly large. The bed, yes, the bed was big, but still the suite found space for a full lounge setting with a coffee table, a huge desk replete with writing materials, side boards here and there, chandeliers to a surfeit, and, of course, a grand piano.

Dwarfed, he wandered aimlessly, unsure where to place himself. He could wait on the couch. Dull. He could get into the bed, but the bed was stark and almost cold-looking under the high ceiling.

He called room service to order champagne. He ummed and ahhed over which bottle to request, not wanting to spend too much, but knowing Percy would likely complain if he didn’t buy the best. After picking something from the middle of the list, he wondered if obtaining a second credit card for the trip was feasible.

He switched lamps on and off here and there and tried to make everything right, and ultimately, he was leaning over the coffee table, setting fire to the last of the many candles in one of the many candelabras that came with the room, when he felt Percy’s presence.

It was complete madness.

It had to be.

No one should be that beautiful.

Percy leaned against the doorframe, wrapped in his own low-slung towel, looking at Joe in a way no one in his life had ever looked at him before. No one except Percy.

“How long have you been there?”

“Not long enough.”

Percy didn’t move. Joe didn’t move.

“Ow, fuck!” yelled Joe as the lit match burned his fingers.

“Are you all right, darling?”

Joe slipped his thumb into his mouth, provoking Percy into action. He made his way swiftly across the wide room, eyes on Joe.

There was a knock at the door. “Servizio in camera,” a voice called.

“Leave it outside,” Percy growled.

“Scusa,” Joe called, laughing as he took an insanity-inducing step back out of Percy’s reach. “He’s a beast.”

The phone rang on a table by Percy’s wrist, and was seamlessly disconnected by being hurled across the room.

“That might have been important,” Joe attempted.

“This is important,” Percy replied.

Joe was caught in the middle of the vast room, where he raised his chin with a defiant air, before Percy took it between strong fingers. “We were right about here.” His hand was on the towel again, his fingers curling around the edge, but there was no pausing this time. The thing was flung to the floor, and Percy dropped to his knees. He wrapped his hands around Joe’s thighs, digging his fingers into the firm flesh of Joe’s ass. Holding him tight, Percy licked from the very base of Joe’s painfully erect cock, all the way, slowly, deliciously, lingering on the very tip as he let the first taste of precum glide over his tongue.

“Fuck, Percy.” There was nothing, nothing to hold on to, so Joe rested his hands, a little tentatively at first, on Percy’s muscular shoulders.

Percy worked his tongue slowly, all the way up again, this time sliding his lips over the tip of Joe’s cock.

Joe took a gentle hold of Percy’s hair, wanting to watch him, but almost scared to. It was all too sexual all at once, too open, too sudden. Percy cast his gaze up, his blue eyes so deliciously dark, drinking in the curious vulnerability. Joe’s ample cock hid most of Percy’s perfect lips, but Joe could have sworn he saw a smirk before Percy tightened his grip and took him deep in his mouth. His hands curled into fists in Percy’s hair, and Percy let out an approving grunt. Joe felt it, felt the vibration from his dick and all through his body. He felt Percy’s muscles strain enthusiastically, and he pulled him in close. Percy moaned his enjoyment again as Joe began to lose himself to the sensation.

He couldn’t—he absolutely should not let himself come here and now in Percy’s intoxicatingly hot mouth. Not when Percy had waited so long. But everything about him was bliss. His warm, wet tongue, his gorgeous, gorgeous lips, every sound of pleasure.

Joe held him tighter now, too scared to thrust hard into his mouth like he wanted to, grasping at his neck and back for stability. He felt his balls tighten, felt the thrill from the base of his shaft, threw his head back as his lips trembled, and used his last ounce of strength to shove Percy off.

Percy was standing before Joe had his balance, arms around him, kissing him, walking him back towards the bed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Between kisses, “You’re… I’m going to…”

“I’m going to make you come. Say it.”

“You’re going to make me come,” Joe whispered.

“Damn right, I am.”

Percy shoved Joe back and was on his knees between his legs again, cock in mouth, hand squeezing his balls.

“Oh, fuck. Percy!”

Percy’s mouth moved faster now, hotter, tighter, hotter, tighter and faster, and Joe’s brain just about exploded. He smacked Percy’s shoulder hard with his palm as a last ditch effort, once, twice, then in one fast, explosive movement he picked Percy up from the floor, turned him, and shoved him onto the bed.

It was like crack to Percy. Joe fell onto him, forced his kisses against him just as hard as he knew Percy wanted him to, reached down and grabbed his cock, slick with precum, and worked it over and over, up and down, licking, kissing Percy’s neck, his hard nipples, his shoulders, his chest in a frenzy of desperation. His arms were exquisite, his pecs, his abs, everything achingly hard and there wasn’t a spot Joe didn’t want his tongue, but again and again Percy pulled his lips back to his own, his tongue back to his, always and over again, watching him, unable to tear his eyes away.

Joe broke free, pushing himself up on muscular arms, leaning over to the bedside table.

“You’re exquisite,” said Percy, rolling onto one arm.

“Is that right?” Joe replied, trying to break a condom free of its packet.

“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.” Percy knocked the condom out of his hand with a casual flick of his wrist and came to kneeling opposite Joe. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Joe tilted his head back as Percy nipped his neck, his hands snaking around his back, the firm heat of him everywhere, and his hand on Joe’s cock again, drawing a gasp. “I think I do, yeah. So I’m gonna need that.” He grasped the condom, only to have it knocked out of his hand again. “Percy!”

Percy shoved him down onto the bed and grabbed a bottle of lubricant. “You won’t be needing it.”

“Yes, I will.” He reached across again, gaining the condom for half a second, before his arm was twisted behind his back and the thing was flung across the room.

“Percy, you’re being really immature.” Joe wrenched his arm away and pushed himself back up.

Percy shoved him back over and flipped the lid on the lube. “I’ve waited too long for this. You’re getting fucked tonight.”

Joe yanked the lube out of his hand. “Oh, please. Are you honestly going to tell me you don’t want me to fuck you tonight?”

Percy snatched the lube up, threw an arm around Joe’s neck, and in between kisses, mumbled, “I will never tell you that. But a promise—” He let out a sharp breath as Joe grabbed his dick. “Is a promise.”

“No, Percy.” Joe ran his hand down along the length of Percy’s glorious arm, over each and every taut and rippling muscle. “I will be fucking you tonight.” He grasped the lube.

“Will not.” Percy wrenched it away.

“Will too!” Joe grabbed the bottle, which Percy did not release, and thus the entire contents were ejaculated at extreme pressure across the high thread-count sheets, across the pillows, across the mirror and all down the wall.

Joe glared at Percy, furious.

A laugh choked in the back of Percy’s throat.

“That is it!” Joe snapped. He pushed Percy face down onto the bed, slamming a knee down on his back. “You are nothing but trouble.” He swiped through a swathe of lubricant with one hand, clamping down on Percy’s neck with the other. “You are…” he leaned over Percy, kissing behind his ear.

Percy shoved a shoulder back into him. “Impossibly sexy?”

“Impossibly sexy,” Joe agreed, sinking his teeth into hard muscle. He ran the tips of his fingers over Percy’s immaculate ass, savouring the perfect, firm flesh, then sank the tip of his middle finger.

“Joe—”

He pushed a little deeper. “Mmhmm?”

“That wasn’t⁠—”

A second finger. “Wasn’t what, Percy?” Joe pulled his finger back, running over Percy’s prostate.

“Fuck…” Joe pushed his finger back in, licked the length of Percy’s spine, savouring every gasp of pleasure from his beautiful lips as he worked his ass, his strong body shifting forward, his dick rutting against the sheets, desperate for Joe’s touch. He worked all around his rim, adjusting his speed to the desperation with which Percy said his name, then worked him with two fingers, pushing, stretching, until Joe’s dick couldn’t take another second of the glorious show without relief.

“Don’t move.” Joe reached for the condoms again, and, naturally, Percy shoved his leg off, rolled over, and brought Joe crashing down on top of him. “Percy!”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re angry.” And he planted another incensing kiss on Joe’s lips.

Joe clambered up again. He reached for the condoms for perhaps a sixth time, only to find Percy’s mouth straight back on his dick. “Percy, stop!” Joe yelled.

Percy looked up in alarm. “Did you actually mean that one?”

Joe pulled Percy to standing with the iron grip of a hand under his chin. “I’ve had about enough of your behaviour.”

It was a smirk. A straight up smirk. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Joe wrenched Percy’s mouth against his, kissed him hard, clashing his teeth against Percy’s as he found his tongue. He forced him around, walking him backward, chest against chest, a hand in his hair and a hand on his dick. Joe grabbed both of Percy’s hands, spun him, and slammed them down hard atop the grand piano. His chest rammed into Percy’s back, holding him tight against the cold wood, his hot dick sliding in between Percy’s ass cheeks as he kicked his legs wide apart. He ripped the latest condom packet open with his teeth and sheathed his enormous dick. “Now, Percy, you get fucked.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

PERCY GETS FUCKED

“Only if—” Joe slapped a hand across Percy’s mouth. Percy had strongly considered hitting Joe just a little earlier, and even now he thought of sending back a sharp elbow to the ribs, but when he felt his face driven hard against the cool mahogany of the piano and held there by Joe’s fist in his hair, he was well satisfied that he’d provoked Joe enough.

“Don’t fucking move,” Joe growled.

Percy could have squeed if not for the fact it would almost definitely have ruined the mood.

Joe was a priest. Joe looked like a god. Joe fucked like a demon. It just took a little effort to coax it out of him.

But there he was, his hand on his beautiful dick, lining it up against Percy’s entrance, pushing just a little, toying with him, his thick, firm thighs pressing into the back of Percy’s legs, incredibly strong, intoxicatingly masculine.

Percy’s only regret was that he was unable to see Joe, so he turned his head just a little, and had his hair gripped that much tighter for his effort, and pulled back hard. “What did I say?”

“But you’re so beautiful.”

“Shut up!” Joe slammed Percy’s face back down, grabbed his hip tight with one hand, moved the other hand beneath his shoulder like a vice, and drove into him. Percy’s entire body shuddered with the pleasure of the slow, determined movement. Joe’s girth was certainly considerable, and in fact, formed a major part of Percy’s consideration of whether to take on a boyfriend at all. He was glad he did.

The sound of relief, of sheer sex that escaped Joe’s lips, made Percy desperate for more. He pressed back, and he knew Joe was already close by the shiver in his movement, the way his fingers dug even deeper into his flesh, and it made him all the more determined to make Joe come. His own dick ached to be stroked, but everything was almost too intense already, the sensation of Joe’s cock deeper, wider, more exquisite with every second. Percy let out a gasp as Joe’s dick hit his sweet spot, and there Joe redoubled his grip, pulled out, and rammed himself back against Percy. “Fuck,” Percy grunted, as his dick slammed into the side of the piano, coating it with a fresh splatter of precum.

“More,” said Joe, reaching down to pull his ass cheeks wide. “Spread your arms.”

Percy stretched out long, gripping the piano tight from either side. He was completely splayed out, the chandelier light dappling over his back, his taut muscles thick with effort and pleasure. And he was the most glorious sight Joe had ever seen.

“I love you so much,” Joe exhaled, burying himself in Percy again. Percy’s spine arched in delicious compliance, and Joe slowed the movement as he pulled back, to enjoy the delight to its full extent. “But you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“Fuck you, darling.”

Joe slammed hard into Percy, and he let out another groan of pleasure, trying very hard not to laugh. But Joe kept going over and over, slowly, slowly moving back until Percy was desperate for him, then forcing himself back in, working a perfect rhythm, until those tight muscles of Percy’s constricted, until his breath hitched, until Joe reached around and finally, took his dick in hand.

It was, perhaps, the one time Joe could have made Percy do absolutely anything without a word of protest. Percy was a slave to pleasure, and therefore, he was a slave to Joe. Joe wrapped a hand around the back of Percy’s neck, worked his cock with the rhythm of his thrusts, slow and deep. Percy held the piano with white knuckles, aware even in his ecstasy that he was all beauty, all baroque spectacle for Joe, such as Joe would never get with another lover. Not like Percy could give him. Percy jealously listened for the shuddering of Joe’s breath, sought the determination in his hands to work Percy at every possible point of pleasure, to be the perfect, incomparable lover he already was.

“I love you, Joe,” Percy whispered, and just like that he forced the final, deep, convulsive thrust, that sank into him as Joe grasped Percy’s dick tight, setting off a chain reaction that saw Percy push back against Joe’s exploding dick, as he slammed a steadying hand down on the piano, his own appallingly exquisite orgasm taking him over while a cascade of cum decorated Percy’s chest, his abs, the entire side of the grand piano, and good portion of the wooden floorboards beneath.

Joe fell down on Percy’s back, still shaking as they both rode out the waves of pleasure that racked their bodies, until Joe, his forehead damp with the heat of the night, and deeply content against Percy’s muscles, felt the deep rumble of a laugh from the man he adored.

Percy could feel Joe’s gorgeous smile against his back, and would have been quite content to stay there all night, had he not needed quite so badly to kiss Joe’s beautiful lips. Those lips kissed their way up Percy’s spine, across his shoulder, and onto his cheek.

“I swear that was your fault, somehow,” said Joe. He pulled out and Percy was up like a shot, bringing Joe against him, holding him tight, smothering him with kisses.

“Look at this mess,” Joe all but whined, content as he was.

Cum dripped from the piano, lube slid down the wall, the telephone lay in pieces, and both were quietly relieved they hadn’t knocked over a candelabra in the process.

It may have taken a great deal of convincing, but before Joe knew it, he found himself in the hot water of a marble bathtub, surrounded by more bubbles than should be possible, a glass of icy champagne in hand, awaiting the man of his dreams, who had insisted Joe let him take care of everything.

It was easily, already, the best holiday Joe had ever had.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

SEXY JESUS

“Even your feet are beautiful,” Percy marvelled.

Joe’s foot rested on Percy’s raised knee, his leg stretched out across the bath, toes just above the waterline. Percy gently pushed and pulled them here and there, running his index finger down the inside, tracing the shape, until he relented, bringing Joe’s foot to his chest. “I need it right here.” With one hand, he dripped warm water onto the toes he held close, with the other he reached for his champagne glass.

It was perfection. Percy’s beautiful form, the ridiculous opulence of the room and the enormous tub that somehow fit them both comfortably, Percy’s never-quite-satisfied gaze drinking in every inch of Joe.

“If you’d told me a month ago we’d be here, together, I never would have believed it,” Joe said.

Another handful of water bathed Joe’s toes. “A month ago? Is that when you finally fell for me?”

Joe blushed, and Percy loved every second of it. “No. It was before that.”

“When was it exactly?” He pulled the foot a little higher, resting his cheek against the toes, rapt attention on Joe.

“I liked you so much,” said Joe. “Straight away. That first day we met. I thought you were so, so beautiful.”

“But I was a dick,” Percy suggested.

“You were such a dick,” Joe confirmed. They both laughed, and Joe sipped his champagne. “But I still thought about you. A lot. But then everything got so complicated. I wondered how you were doing the whole time I was away. I wondered if I’d ever see you again. And then the exorcism happened.”

“Mmm.” Percy’s face clouded over. It was an awful time. Touch and go for three full, sleepless days and nights, and it wasn’t something Percy wanted to revisit, either in reality or conversation.

Joe could see as much, but he still said, “You were so caring. The way you looked at Eve, how you took care of him. The little things you did for everyone. But… It wasn’t until afterwards, after it was all over and… What you did for them…”

Percy’s eyes turned hard at the memory, staring into the water, unseeing, but the next words drew his dark interest back.

“That way you looked at Anna.” Their eyes met across the bath, a fast, suffocating silence between them, until Joe blurted out, “I wanted you to look at me like that. The way you looked at her. I wanted you to do things for me like that. I wanted you to sacrifice everything for me, like you did for her.”

It was a rare occasion that Percy Ashdown was lost for words, but his lips only parted and closed again as he tried to navigate the treacherous path laid for him.

Joe came to his rescue. “I wanted you to love me.”

“I do love you,” said Percy.

“I know.” Joe smiled with contented eyes behind his long lashes, so Percy smiled, and all the tension slipped away so easily. “I only say it because that’s when I fell for you. That exact second when I saw how much you could care about someone, and how good you really are.” Percy shrank from the word ‘good,’ as there was still so much Joe had no idea about, but he let him carry on without interruption. “After that, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You remember that evening we stayed up all night drinking together? You were so funny, and your stories…”

Percy gave a self-deprecatory shrug. “I was doing my best to seduce you.”

“It worked.” Percy kissed Joe’s big toe and chuckled with deep satisfaction as Joe went on, “The next morning, I had to go to church. I was so drunk, and I had to give this whole sermon, and it went on forever and…” He trailed off with a laugh and blush.

“What?” Percy said, already on tenterhooks.

“No. I can’t. You’ll laugh at me.”

“I’m already laughing at you. Tell me anyway.”

“There’s this…” He hid his face in his beautiful hand. “Oh, god…”

“No, tell me.” Percy kicked the hand away. “I have to know now.”

Joe sighed to prepare himself. “At my church, there’s this… You can only see it from the pulpit, but it’s a…” Joe hid his eyes again and forced out, “It’s a sexy Jesus.”

“God damn,” Percy breathed.

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” said Percy. “One of those with the really low-slung loin cloth?”

“Yes!” Joe gasped. “Yes! Why do they make them so low like that?”

Percy nodded his vehement agreement. “And you can see his belly, and it’s so nice and so firm.”

“Yes! Oh, I thought I was going insane.”

“No, it’s not just you. It’s deliberate. All those sculptors, those painters, they knew a beautiful male body. You’ll never convince me it wasn’t done on purpose. It’s enough to make almost anyone turn Christian. Is that why you became a priest?”

Joe’s foot gave Percy a shove. “No, it’s not. I felt so guilty for years finding dying Jesus on a cross sexy like that.”

“Having an eye for beauty is nothing to feel guilty about.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Joe half laughed, wincing inside at his very impure, very… uncatholic thoughts. Or were they? It was a kind of worship, after all…

“Sexy Jesus,” Percy prompted.

“I’m really beginning to wish I hadn’t told you.”

“I’ll be good, I promise.”

Although the twice raised eyebrows led Joe to believe otherwise, he continued his story. “So there I was, up in the pulpit, drunk, trying not to slur my words, all eyes on me, and my eyes fell on this sexy Jesus.”

“Mmhmm,” Percy encouraged.

“And I had this vision and…” His eyes flitted to Percy and away again. “It was you. All I could see was you. You with your shirt off, you in my bed… you… strung up. And my… I… my body…”

Percy’s eyes danced with both good humour and lust. “I’ve just had a lovely idea for a date.”

Joe laughed softly. “I was… maddened with the thought of you from that time. I couldn’t even stand to be near you, but all I wanted was to be near you, and I know…” He trailed off and they both knew what he wasn’t saying, but still he forced out her name. “I went to Anna that same night, and I told her how I felt about you. I told her I didn’t want to live with my celibacy anymore, and that I couldn’t get you out of my head, and she said she’d talk to you for me.”

Percy, guiltily, listened in silence.

“And the next thing that happened was she kissed you. About two minutes after I told her that.” Joe took an irritated sip of his drink.

Percy wanted the Joe of a moment before, sweet and happy, and therefore he declined to tell Joe the unpleasant truth, which was that he had kissed Anna, unprompted and possibly unwelcome. It had likely shocked her as much as it had shocked Joe to walk in on, but as was Percy’s wont, he thought only of the present, nothing of the future, and therefore he let Anna take the fall for his appalling behaviour with no regard whatsoever for the consequences. “All you ever had to do was say the word and I would have been true to you from the start.”

“I didn’t know how to say it. I had never… I had never told anyone I liked them before. And I didn’t know what you’d do. I knew you liked her.”

“You knew I liked you,” Percy corrected.

“Not really, no. Not like that. There’s… There’s sleeping with someone, and there’s what I wanted. Which was more than sex.” His face lightened again. “Which was this.”

Percy curled both arms around the small portion of Joe he had within his reach. “Just this?”

“This is everything,” said Joe. “You and me. Just like this.”

Percy grinned his wicked grin. “But also me crucified?”

Joe laughed. “Only on occasion.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Would I have the loin cloth?”

Joe sank his teeth into his bottom lip. “You would not.”

“Just for a while?”

“Stop making fun of me. I’m being vulnerable and romantic and you’re being…” He searched for the appropriate word. “Percy.”

There was a half shake of the head and a delightfully handsome twist of the lips. “I’m not making fun of you. That’s easily the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Stop it.” He didn’t mean it, though. He was very happy for Percy to go on. And go on, Percy did.

“The thought of you in church—and you know I love you in that collar⁠—”

“Stop.” But it was even more half-hearted this time.

“In front of your flock, in front of God, racked with guilt, your cock straining against your pants, dripping with cum, and all because of me?”

Joe fell silent as he felt his cock firming up again.

Percy’s eyes remained hot on him. “I wonder what would have happened if I came to your lecture that day…”

“Sermon,” Joe corrected.

“And if I waited until they all left…”

Joe looked down at the bubbles, suddenly shyer than he felt he should have been.

“And if I locked the doors tight behind me…”

Joe lifted his eyes, and Percy traced the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

Percy pulled the plug. Joe watched as he cast the golden disk aside. “We’re getting out?”

“No.” The water drained, the level falling, revealing bit by bit, centimetre by centimetre, Percy’s astonishing frame rising from the bath like an idol.

“Then what…”

Percy’s eyes were dark and steadfast as he watched the heat fall over Joe’s cheeks.

Lower, lower, the water receded, the very top of Percy’s sculpted abs coming into view.

“Kneel.” There was no question in it. The command wasn’t given with any sort of authority, as though it might ever be disobeyed. It simply was.

Joe did as told. He swept his heels around beneath him and awaited instruction. Percy took a sip of champagne, studying him, eyes sparkling in the candlelight. Joe shifted nervously. The water receded.

“Kiss me.”

Joe leaned forward, his hot mouth catching Percy’s. There was a layer of steam from the scorching bath all along Percy’s top lip. Joe tasted the salt of his skin, tasted the champagne on Percy’s cool tongue as it swished across his.

Percy broke the kiss. A thumb on Joe’s chin, a finger underneath, he tilted Joe’s chin upwards, his lips still parted from the delicious kiss, his gaze catching the glint of the glass bottle as Percy poured champagne down upon his mouth. He drank, swallowed, drank and swallowed, and followed the line of the sparkling pour as Percy moved the bottle away, heard the sharp hiss through his teeth as the champagne fell down and down, anointing the divine cock of Percy.

Joe barely thought at all of how many lire worth of champagne was escaping down the drain as he watched the delicious cascade of wine, all over Percy’s abs, all over his thighs, all over his beautiful erection.

He heard the clank of the bottle being set down. He saw the arch of Percy’s pink, pink lips. He felt the fire in his eyes.

He heard the command.

“Worship.”

Joe took Percy full in his mouth at the word, Percy’s back arching deliciously towards him, a satisfied and satisfying grunt escaping his lips as Joe’s tongue licked the champagne from his full, considerable length.

Percy wasn’t like Joe. He didn’t look away, and he didn’t feel the slightest shyness or guilt or shame, only drank in every inch of the display. Joe’s muscles flexing in the candlelight, Joe’s gorgeous brown curls which he slipped his hand into, gently at first, but as his pleasure built, less gently, and less gently again.

Joe loved Percy’s dick, and there was no doubt about that, but this was some kind of wrong. Some kind of exciting and deplorable wrong, yet when Percy’s leg shifted against Joe’s shoulder, Joe only went faster.

Percy. Percy who was beautiful. Percy, who was like a god. Percy, who was lost in some sort of fantasy, actually drinking champagne while Joe sucked his cock in a giant marble bathtub in this stupid extravagant hotel room in this indescribable city. Was that demeaning? Then why did it feel so good? Why was it so damn sexy that he was whatever Percy wanted him to be? That he was Percy’s fantasy at this moment? But that was hardly enough.

He took a grip of Percy’s balls. Percy’s breath came harder, hoarser, and so Joe wrapped his hand around Percy’s dick too, working him in a strong, gentle rhythm with his lips, until the glass was set down with a gasp, and both hands were back in Joe’s hair, with a “Fuck” escaping Percy’s lips.

Joe wanted Percy to command him, to tell him to go faster or slower, or to take his hair in his hands and force him to do everything he wanted. Was this sex with all men? Or was it a distinctly ‘Percy’ thing?

“Slower.”

Joe shivered, and not from the cold of his wet body in the ever-cooling ensuite. Joe slowed his movement.

“Just the tip.”

He melted into Percy, running his tongue around his ridge, lapping at the precum he felt rise from the very base, still stroking, still begging internally to be told to please Percy.

“More.”

Joe took him a little deeper. He felt the rise of Percy’s body as his head tilted back, closing his eyes, losing himself to Joe’s relentless rhythm.

“You’re perfect,” Percy whispered, before his sex-drunk gaze fell on Joe once again. “You’re so, so perfect.”

Joe could hardly help himself. He took him deeper still.

“Fuck,” said Percy, his hands back in Joe’s hair. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He felt Percy’s almost intolerable eyes as Percy worked his mouth, thrusting deeper and deeper against his tongue and throat, tensing, tensing by the second, his cock impossibly hard, deliciously thick.

“Fuck, Joe…” Joe sank his fingers deep into Percy’s thigh, squeezed his balls right from the base, as he felt Percy’s body go rigid, felt the pull of his hair, heard the gasps of pleasure echo off the marble walls and drank down Percy’s beautiful, blissful, all-consuming orgasm, not sacrificing a single sacred drop.

The look in Percy’s eyes as Joe leaned over and kissed him was everything Joe had been chasing. Utter, unadulterated adoration. Pure love. Pure obsession. Percy kissed him long and hard, then turned him, his back pulled flush against Percy’s chest, his arms tight around him.

“How the fuck did you learn that in the space of two weeks?” Percy whispered breathlessly.

“I’ve got a very good teacher.”

“Jesus Christ, Joe. You’re the most gorgeous thing on this planet, do you know that?” He turned Joe’s chin and kissed him again.

“I love you,” said Joe, looking into the perfectly unguarded, perfectly blue, blue eyes.

“I love you.”

Percy threw the plug down with his usual perfect aim and slammed the water back on hot.

“Just like that?” said Joe. “You just drained the whole bath for that?”

“Mmhmm,” said Percy, bringing the champagne glass to Joe’s lips, watching with unwavering attention the movement of Joe’s lips, of his throat. Percy took a sip and kissed the spot just behind Joe’s ear with his cold lips, making him shiver deliciously. And then his hand was on Joe’s cock again.

“Percy, you can’t be serious.”

“Want me to stop?”

“Percy…”

It certainly wasn’t a no, and so the evening continued in much the same way until some unknown time later, Percy and Joe fell side by side into bed, for the first time in far too long, and were both asleep, wrapped up in one another, within seconds.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

MORNING WOOD

Thunk!

Joe shifted a little, warm, soft, a cool breeze against his cheek.

Thunk!

He sank down deeper into the gentle luxury all around him.

Thunk!

He became aware of the light beyond his closed eyelids.

Thunk!

Slowly, he opened his eyes to the fresh, salty, sunny air streaming through the gigantic open doors. White curtains blew softly in the breeze, the glitter of the chandeliers sparkled over the comfort of the thick rugs on the floor. And there was Percy, in a fluffy bathrobe, taking aim with his antique knife.

Thunk!

It landed dead in the middle of an old wooden wine crate.

“Where did you get that?” Joe muttered.

“Ah, you’re awake!” Percy dropped the knife onto the lounge and threw himself down beside Joe with a bounce. “I found it in the cellar.”

Joe eyed the crate disdainfully. “Why?”

“Reasons,” said Percy. “But I’ve talked to Leo and he’s getting us some clothes.”

“Oh.” Joe rubbed his sleepy face. “That’s nice. I suppose.”

Then, very seriously, Percy explained, “I’m afraid they’ll be off the rack.”

Joe examined Percy, Percy examined Joe, and Joe said, “I always wear off the rack.”

Very slowly, the edges of Percy’s mouth drew into a smile, and he laughed at the ridiculous notion. “Jokes aside, I’ll sort it out as soon as possible. Until then… Are you very hungry?”

“No,” said Joe.

“Good.” The sheet was thrown back, Joe’s inexplicable morning wood was discovered, and so the morning drifted away pleasantly.

CHAPTER FORTY

WE HAVE TO LEAVE THE HOTEL ROOM SOMETIME

Percy left Joe to recover in bed while he showered and dressed in the off-the-rack clothes Leo had left discreetly outside their door. Joe used the time to order breakfast, and as a fully dressed Percy settled back into bed next to him, pressed a hand to his cheek and pulled him in for a kiss, there was a rap at the door.

“Servizio in camera.”

“One interruption after another,” grumbled Percy, but he still made his way to the door with the widest smile he’d had in a week, and accepted the silver tray from the instantly adoring room attendant with far more quiet joking and chit chat than Joe thought was strictly necessary.

When he closed the door, Joe’s face was set on sour. “Were you flirting with her?”

“Who?” Percy replied, as though there had been more than one ‘her’ in their recent vicinity. “Caterina?”

“Oh, she’s ‘Caterina’ now?”

It was almost too easy. “She is a human being, Joe, not just your personal delivery service.”

Yes, thought Joe, a human being with long blonde hair and eyelashes to rival his own.

“And,” continued Percy, placing the tray down on the bed and stretching himself out long next to Joe, “she’s doing me a little favour.”

“Just like that?” asked Joe, softening only a little with the kisses that traced up his neck.

“Yes. Now…” Percy pulled back and assessed Joe’s lightly mollified face. “I’ve done something, and you need to promise me you won’t get mad.”

And straight back to sour. “What did you do?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“What did you do?”

“And don’t tell Caterina.”

“I don’t even know Caterina!” Joe cried. “Why would I tell her anything?”

“Exactly the answer I needed.” Percy rolled over, swung an arm down and came back with an icy, condensation-laden bottle of Dom Perignon, the large digits of the year reading a disconcerting ‘1968’.

Joe was silent for some time, trying to process the unexpected development. Percy could afford the champagne. Couldn’t he? Yet Percy didn’t want the room attendant to know he had it. Yet Percy said he had been down to the cellar that very morning…

Joe’s sharply lined jaw dropped open. “I know you didn’t steal that bottle of champagne worth thousands of dollars.”

“Lire,” Percy corrected with a maddening grin.

“Percy!” Joe whisper-screamed in that way he did. “You did not steal that!”

With a tilt of his handsome head that swept the dark hair enticingly before his blue eyes, “When you consider the price of the room⁠—”

“I won’t consider it!” Joe shouted, not even a bit distracted by his partner's good looks. “Take it back!”

It was a fast flick of Percy’s fingers and the cork shot out and straight into the chandelier, which tinkled delightedly with a sparkling shimmer of sunshine all over Percy while he bit his lip and awaited Joe’s response.

Beautiful, beautiful, fiery eyes that would burn him to a cinder if they could.

But the door was tapped upon, Percy bounced across the room and Joe absolutely would have told Caterina there had been some mistake with the champagne had she not returned with two extra buttons hanging open on her shirt, a glimpse of her black bra in plain sight, and, to Joe’s eyes, appeared to be standing in a particularly provocative pose. She wasn’t. She just had nice hips. And that was incensing in and of itself. “I brought your mail too, Doctor Ashdown,” she trilled.

“Call me Percy,” he replied.

“Thank you!” yelled Joe from the bed. “That will be all.”

Her irritatingly cute half curtsey almost sent Joe over the edge, but Percy quickly kicked the door closed after a loudly whispered apology for Joe’s ‘appalling’ behaviour. He placed the ice-bucket, the glasses with their silver tray, and the mail down on the side-table.

“Give me some champagne,” Joe spat, glaring at the door.

“That’s the spirit.”

And the champagne was good. Very good. But unnecessarily good. Much like the room. Much like breakfast. Everything was unnecessarily good except Joe’s mood, and Percy loved him, so after a few minutes of brooding quiet, he said, “I didn’t steal the champagne.”

Joe’s cynical face lightened, but only slightly. “Are you just saying that because I’m pissed?”

“No. I thought you would think it was funny if I told you I stole it, but clearly you don’t, so I’ve had to come out with the truth. I paid for it. Fino all’ultimo centesimo.”

Much to Percy’s chagrin, his well-meant ‘confession’ only doubled Joe’s ire. “You actually paid for this?”

With a near-defeated laugh, “What have I done wrong now?”

Joe sensed the conversation was taking on an edge of genuine anger, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Exactly how much did this cost?”

“Why does that matter?” Percy rounded, raising his voice a little.

“Because that’s a stupid amount of money to pay,” said Joe, raising his voice to meet Percy’s.

“You don’t even know what I paid,” Percy threw back, louder still.

“I know it’s almost thirty years old, so I know that’s ridiculous money for champagne.”

“That’s normal money for champagne.”

“What champagne are you drinking?”

“Decent champagne!” Percy yelled. He turned his entire body towards Joe, and though his face was serious and his tone firmer than Joe was accustomed to having directed at himself, he spoke in as clipped and elegant a manner as he always did. “It’s not ridiculous to have a champagne breakfast on holiday with my beautiful boyfriend. It’s not ridiculous to celebrate being alive, being here, with you, now, in whatever stupid way we like, because we both barely cheated death only hours ago. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s something worth drinking to. And this is my money, not yours, so go have a cup of tea if it makes you feel better, but don’t ruin the morning over some old grape juice just because it has a large price tag.”

Joe’s stomach dropped just as quickly as the realisation hit that this wasn’t remotely about the champagne or the money. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Percy replied just as vehemently. “I only want you to understand. I appreciate your concern, but I have a lot of cash to throw around, and I’m going to enjoy it while I can. It’s not as though I’m saving for retirement.” With that, he crossed the room to lean against the open door to the balcony, staring far, far out over the orange-red rooftops, the steeples and the domes, towards the harbour under its intensely blue sky, where he saw nothing at all.

The fact was, Percy did have a lot of money, but only in theory. His home was a treasure trove of artefacts and artworks he had procured one way or another since he was a teenager, and he needed to sell but one good piece to have more money than most people could ever dream of. But Percy was attached to beauty in a way most people are attached to air. It was a need and a compulsion and he would die before he parted with one beloved thing in his life. Every safety and comfort he never had growing up, he had replaced with the surety of paintings, sculptures and supernatural objects that controlled the dark forces that had haunted his childhood. It was lucky for Percy that he tended to find beauty in the ugly, the vulgar, and the mundane, almost as easily as he found it in a gallery or manor, but once he had found it, he would kill or die for it before he would part with it willingly.

The long and short of this aesthetic obsession was that, in reality, Percy was approaching broke. Yet it was as vital as ever that all the ugliness of the world he inhabited continue to be offset, and therefore not a speck of his and Joe’s elegance would be sacrificed, lest it sully the whole affair. But it wasn’t Joe’s evident aversion to reckless spending that had sent Percy into a spin that morning.

He had stolen the champagne. He would never have called it a test, but had he called it a test, Joe would have failed miserably. And if he was honest with himself, Percy wasn’t remotely surprised to find Joe disapproving of frivolous theft. But that was good to know, because Percy would be taking a job, and soon. And that job would almost definitely be highly illegal. How to play it from here?

As Percy turned the problem over, Joe remained silent, with an eye on his partner, wondering how to wind things back. Percy was perfectly correct. It was his money, and not Joe’s. Ultimately, it was his life and not Joe’s, and if it made Percy happy, especially after everything he’d done for Althea in the last few days, what right did Joe have to interfere? But it didn’t sit right somehow, particularly after Percy’s last comment about not saving for retirement, so by way of explaining, Joe began, “I didn’t grow up with a lot of money…” But there he faltered, because his childhood really wasn’t something he wanted to talk about.

Oh shit, Percy thought to himself. Realising there was a very good chance Joe had mistaken his conniving calculations for something else entirely, before Joe could open any old wounds or be forced to pour his heart out to make amends for Percy’s fuck up, Percy returned directly to Joe’s side and sank down onto the soft bed beside him. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did. It’s just that if we die next week, I’ll miss the luxury of this champagne.” And that, at least, was perfectly true.

Joe attempted to throw off the tension with a joke. “If we die next week, I’ll be in heaven and I’ll have everything I need.”

“And I’ll be in Hell,” Percy replied grimly. He leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Joe’s lips. “And I’ll miss you. Let me spoil you while I can.”

As ever, Joe yielded easily to his touch, and Percy pushed him back a little further, interrupting each of Joe’s words with another kiss. “It’s fine. If it makes you happy to give thousands of dollars to rich hotels, then it’s none of my business.”

Percy took the glass from his hand and placed it on the bedside table, dropping his lips beneath Joe’s ear. “It is your business, though. You’re my boyfriend.”

“That’s very sweet, Percy, but,” and here Joe let out a small gasp as Percy took a hold of his erection through the sheet, “I’ve only been your boyfriend for a few weeks.”

“You’ve been the object of my affection for almost half a year,” Percy murmured, kissing his way down his chest. “We’re basically married now.”

Joe laughed, Percy was well-satisfied with the progress, and he made his move swiftly before the conversation could meander back over shaky ground. Sadly, despite his best effort, his hand was caught and pushed away. “Percy, we have to leave the hotel room sometime.”

Percy flopped back with a groan.

Then came the, “Are we even going to discuss the zombie situation?”

“No, that’s for another chapter,” Percy mumbled.

“Another what?” asked Joe.

Percy pushed the question away with a swish of careless fingers. “Another—I mean—the next—the next thing we do. Whatever it is we do next. We’ll talk about it then.”

Joe eyed him suspiciously, then tentatively asked, “Okay, but we are going to do something about the zombie thing?”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“Soon.”

Now it was Joe who, with a sigh, leaned over to kiss Percy’s shapely cheek, but even then he only spoke common sense at him. “I feel like Althea probably wants to get home and get on with her life.”

Percy gave a slight, somewhat childish shrug. “Presumably she’s been missing for years. What difference will a day make?”

“Maybe we should ask her how she feels about that?”

“If we must. Let’s finish breakfast, then I’ll call some criminals and get her passport sorted.” He rolled onto an arm to look at Joe. “Then we’ll go for cocktails.”

“Percy…” But this smile was irrepressible.

“Then the beach,” Percy insisted. “And somewhere nice for dinner. And I’ll fly her out tomorrow.”

“And we’re just going to pretend we’re not being hunted by an evil princess with who knows how many undead in her thrall?”

“That’s exactly right.” Percy grinned his infuriating grin.

It was ridiculous. It was desirable. It was Percy all over.

“All right,” said Joe, pushing Percy’s thick hair back from that one handsome eyebrow with the scar. “Let’s have a proper holiday. Just for today. You need it.”

“You need it, too.”

Joe slipped his body a little closer, while Percy remained quite still, yet quietly expectant, as, by the second, Joe’s eyes became more and more appreciative of the immaculate form, thoroughly clothed, against his own bare skin. “Well, since we’re on holiday, maybe we can spare another half an hour…”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

GIORDANO’S BAR

It was somewhere approaching midday when Percy and Joe finally found their way downstairs to the lobby. Percy hadn’t told Joe yet, but all his phone calls to either Althea or Leo that morning had gone unanswered. He’d discovered that around nine a.m., the pair left word for Percy with reception that they would be going shopping. This was something Percy had approved in advance, allowing a four-block radius of the hotel, as Althea had, physically, no more to her name that day than he did. But given that Althea was a wanted person, Percy had assumed Leo would have the good sense to bring her back to the hotel, and to Percy’s lax supervision, as quickly as possible.

He checked his watch again under the guise of straightening a cuff so as not to reveal any concern to Joe, but then he heard a laugh from the adjoining bar, where his darkening gaze immediately settled. Percy made a path towards the sound.

“Cocktails already?” asked Joe.

“I’m meeting an associate here,” said Percy. Which was true. He had called his favourite criminal, Luca, with whom he’d had a long and relatively trusting relationship, and that was, ultimately, what finally brought them both downstairs.

Yet that laugh tinkled again, sounding exactly like a drunk teenage girl.

Joe caught it this time, quickening his pace, even as Percy slowed his.

It was enough for Percy that there, at the corner of the gilt bar, Althea sat decked out in the loudest, gaudiest, most clashing ensemble of designer clothing she could manage to find that morning. She held a bright pink cocktail in hand, calling a great deal of attention to herself, though at least, to her credit, she looked nothing like the girl she was the day before. It was trying too that Leo, having taken especial care with his own presentation that morning, leaned all too close, too appreciatively, too handsomely over to her, laughing with her, fiddling with the tips of her fingers which she didn’t once pull away. But the spine-shattering straw that floated feather-light on top of Percy’s back was Giordano.

Giordano leaned on one glorious arm behind the bar. He’d seen Percy long before Percy had seen him, and he waited in his handsome pose, with his handsome face, with his handsome fingers gripping the bench tight. His hair fell down in dark curls about his cheek, and he watched Percy come to him as though it wasn’t a big deal. As though Percy didn’t know it took every bit of self-discipline Giordano had in him to put on that show of casual disregard. And Percy felt terrible every step of the very long walk from the lobby to the bar, where Giordano waited, just as he had for the last four years.

“Giordano.”

Leo wrenched his hand back from Althea’s at the sound of Percy’s voice, and stood very tall and distant, while Althea spun her chair around excitedly. But she halted her words at the sight of Percy, then Giordano, each holding one another’s gaze with the intensity of a pair of thieves, one about to out the other.

Giordano was the first to look away, his eyes dropping to the chilled champagne glass he turned swiftly and placed on the bar. “Usual?”

Percy remained where he was, right at the entrance of the small room. “What are you doing here?”

Giordano’s hands moved unerringly over the bottles he knew by heart, working by touch, seeing none of it. “I’m always here.”

Shifting his hands into his pockets to lean against the doorframe, “Not in the day, you’re not.”

One bottle was exchanged for another. “I swapped shifts.”

Percy made the decision to kill it. He strolled over to Joe’s side, Joe having made his way to Althea before he noticed the stand off. “Giordano, this is Joe. My partner.”

Giordano froze with a handful of ice and a stark study of Joe, then mechanically clanked his load into a metal shaker. “A drink for Joe too, then.”

The entire scene was awkward enough to shut the rest of the group up, but all except Percy averted their eyes completely when Giordano added, “My mother made you some caponata.” A ceramic bowl was placed on the counter with an obtrusive ‘tink’ cutting into the silence.

Percy gave very little. “How is she?”

“Worse,” he replied, measuring the Campari by sight in a long, thin stream. “She won’t go to the hospital. Says it makes her sick.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

Wary brown eyes glanced up and away again, as a lid was shoved hard onto the shaker. “Yes.”

Giordano’s white shirt was thrust up at the sleeves in a way that would have been unacceptable at the five-star hotel, had not this beautiful barman been requested by name, by the stinking rich, almost every night.

As he lifted the shaker high, Joe’s eyes swept over the veins that laced along his forearms, tanned and thick and tapering to large, statuesque hands, and Joe thought of those hands on Percy, and winced. He dropped onto the stool beside Althea to contemplate his new reality, which, so far, seemed to be an endless stream of ex-lovers and sycophants, punctuated by flights of death and blood. Except when they were alone. Everything was very different when they were alone. And he began to wish they hadn’t left the hotel room after all.

Percy slipped onto the seat beside Joe, picked his hand up and kissed it, despite Giordano’s very deliberately averted face. The drinks were poured, red and sparkling and exactly as though it were a normal holiday.

Whatever tension had been between Giordano and Percy was now, apparently, on hold, and Percy leaned down the bar towards Leo, a hint of menace in his quiet tone. “You’re not supposed to be drinking.”

Leo threw a guilty look at his almost empty glass. “It was only two.”

His gaze burning into the young man, Percy said, “None.” As if by command, Giordano took Leo’s drink down from the bar. “And where’s my mail?”

Leo looked up in alarm. “I had it forwarded. Just like you asked.”

“My personal mail.”

Leo thought for a few seconds before he remembered. “Ah, shit,” he said. “I had it separate from the business stuff. I was going to⁠—”

“As soon as you get back.” Swiftly, Percy turned his attention to Althea. “How many have you had?”

“Not many,” she mumbled, hurriedly explaining, “Drinking age is sixteen here…”

“That’s her third,” said Giordano. Then, to the frown Percy gave him, “She said she was with you.”

Percy nodded towards her half-empty glass. “Nothing more than that until we eat. I know you’ve had a hard time, but there are people trying to kill you and you need to be on your guard.”

“Okay, Percy,” Althea whispered.

With his voice almost as low as hers, he added, “You look beautiful, by the way,” and she bounced back from the last rebuke admirably.

Joe wasn’t impressed by the ease with which Giordano reacted, or worse, didn’t react to Percy’s comments. He was less impressed still by the way Giordano intently watched Percy finally take his drink to his lips.

Percy’s sip was slow and quietly contemplative. “You’ve added bitters.”

“You noticed.” Giordano smiled.

Percy placed the drink down. “It’s entirely too much.” And without waiting to appreciate the way Giordano’s face fell, “Where’s Luca? He should be here by now.”

“He’s waiting for you.” Giordano tilted his head towards a nearby doorway, then tipped Percy’s entire cocktail down the sink.

Percy turned on his stool towards Joe, who was reeling from Percy’s rudeness, lost and unsure whether he should drink his own drink or not, wondering what kind of message it would send to either Percy or Giordano if he did or didn’t drink it. But Percy wrapped him in his all-consuming attention in the way Percy always could, with a squeeze of his knees, where he rested both hands while he spoke. “Handsome, Luca is Giordano’s brother and my business associate. He can help us with the passport. I’ll be ten minutes, then we’ll go for a walk, all right?”

“All right,” said Joe, hardly wanting to be left with Giordano, but apparently about to be left with Giordano, plus two drunk teenagers.

Percy kissed him, stood, then reached across and moved Joe’s cocktail down behind the bar. “Make him another. And make it properly this time.” Giordano’s eyes flared, Joe felt about to sink with discomfort, but Percy, walking away from them with a cigarette in his hand, threw over his shoulder, “You know no one else can do it like you. I’ve missed it.”

It pissed Joe off mightily, but even he had to admit that Giordano was a new sort of handsome when he broke a smile at Percy’s back, then stepped up to the bar, actually winked at Joe, and said, “I’ll make you something even better.”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

DANGER MONEY

Percy loved and loathed Giordano in equal measure. He had been Percy’s second love and had subsequently become the one that got away. Well, one of the two that got away, but the one that was irretrievably gone, as opposed to the one he kept quietly on the back burner in case things didn’t work out with Joe.

Percy had always fallen in love far too easily, a failing he would readily admit, but that he had given up chastising himself for. And who could blame him where a man like Giordano was concerned?

They’d met at the University of Padua, and it was the sort of fast and easy romance that two artistically inclined young men might idealise. Percy had been introduced to Giordano’s circle and his brother, Luca, and with that contact, his lonesome criminal lifestyle took on a shade of order and camaraderie. Luca knew people. Luca could find things Percy wanted, Percy could get things Luca wanted, and at the end of the day, there was Giordano, right at the edge of it all, quietly enjoying their growing success, that Percy had always thought was fifty percent his own doing.

That was until Percy discovered Giordano had been a whore and a honey trap all along.

Not for him. Certainly not. Giordano swore up and down it had all been true and real and quite coincidental, but just as Percy could never settle the queasy feeling that came with knowing his lover was, and would continue to be, with other people, he couldn’t stand the thought that a second of their romance hadn’t been true and beautiful. Every memory was tarnished from the moment he found out, but rather than the dramatic heartbreak it should have been, due to their romantic idealism and their immaturity, the whole affair became a death by a thousand cuts.

Giordano moved to Palermo, Percy undertook his PhD in Padua, but Percy was so mixed up with Luca by then that they saw each other far more than they should have. Every time it started well, then ended badly. Giordano wanted only to be assured enough of Percy’s love to cut ties with everything and choose him. Percy wanted Giordano to sacrifice his brother and his family and his income and restore his faith with that one grand gesture before he would give an inch. Both were too young, childish, proud, hurt and resentful to tell the other, and so it went on and on. Percy was also half mad by then with the effects of the Necronomicon he had stolen, and after one particularly vicious argument, he finished their relationship with a vile dissection and brutal denial of everything they had ever had, skewed in a manner that left Giordano in pieces.

Percy continued to visit Palermo. He continued to stay in the hotel where Giordano worked. He slept with the staff and the clients and anyone else he fancied, and it didn’t matter that Giordano was turning tricks downstairs or next door or wherever the hell he was. Giordano’s work brought in business for Luca and for Percy and made them all wealthy in the process. So long as Giordano stayed out of Percy’s way, there was no problem.

Until today.

But it was all under control. An hour hence, he would walk back out of Giordano’s life, with Joe, and so they would carry on until it was nothing more than a bittersweet stepping stone to what he really wanted. Which, right now, was money. And a lot of it. Money to run and run and take Joe with him as far as he could.

Of course, it would all go more smoothly if Giordano told Joe nothing of their shared past, or of Percy’s illegal work, at least not before Percy could put his own twist on things, so he quickened his pace around the corner and into a hidden alcove where Luca sat with a pile of manilla folders, a near-empty cup of coffee, and a pen scratching across a sheet of paper.

“Luca.”

Luca looked up with his bright blue eyes and a warm smile. “Percy.”

They embraced, then took to their chairs, Luca almost invisible to anyone in the bar, but with a slim vision through the leaves of a palm nestled in a split in the wall. Percy took in the view of Joe and Giordano, and developed a new conundrum as to why Joe was looking surprisingly relaxed without him there. And what the hell kind of drink was Giordano making for him now?

Luca called him back with, “Who’s your friend?”

“My partner. Don’t worry. He’s fine.”

Luca scanned Joe with a sharp eye. “Did we know him in Padua?”

“No.”

“He looks familiar.”

Percy shrugged, and so commenced an exchange of light pleasantries, a few stories shared, the usual sort of thing one does with an old acquaintance. Luca eventually said that Althea would be provided with a Russian passport by midday the following day, which, assuming she didn’t speak too much while passing through customs, should be adequate. Then they got down to the real business.

“Drugs?” offered Luca.

“You know I don’t do drugs.”

Luca, who always looked to Percy like a no-talent six-year-old had attempted to sketch his far more handsome brother, raised both eyebrows.

“Shift,” Percy corrected. “You know I don’t shift drugs.”

“Fine.” One folder was pushed aside, another flipped open. “How about a murder?”

With a half-hearted shrug, “I don’t know. Is it anyone nice?”

“Um…” Luca looked over some papers. “Some guy’s wife.”

“I’m not going to—it’s not—I wouldn’t…” He faltered. “Give me the file.” He ran an eye over the sparse details. “How much?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“And why?”

“Bad divorce. He’s got some other woman on the hook and he needs this one out of the way, fast.”

“That’s it?”

“That simple.”

“Kids?”

“Three.”

“At school?”

“Correct. She should be home from around two o’clock. That gives you a little over an hour to kill her before they get back.”

“Then her kids come home and find her dead at… fifty-three Via Spaccaforno? That’s just around the corner.” Percy let out a long breath as he mulled over the information. “It’s terrible the things people do to one another, isn’t it?”

Luca paused to frown at Percy. “Do you want it or not?

“Has he paid in full?”

“Of course.”

“You can give me twenty-five thousand now?”

“Give me your safe combination and I’ll have it in your room within the hour.”

“Then I’ll do it. But I’m taking my boyfriend to the beach first.” Percy scrawled out a few numbers on the corner of the hit sheet, tore it off, and passed it to Luca. He closed the folder and dropped it onto the desk. “I need more money than this. Come on, Luca, where’s the good stuff?”

“I don’t have anything good,” said Luca, searching through his files. “I’ve got drugs and more drugs. I know you won’t traffic anyone⁠—”

“Never,” replied Percy.

“I’ve got kidnaps, forgeries⁠—”

“I’m no good at forgeries.”

“—high level extortion, debt collection, another hit, I’ve got…” Then, with a long exhale through his teeth and a ten yard stare in Percy’s general direction, “I’ve got…”

Percy lifted his chin towards the folder Luca’s hand absentmindedly fell upon. “What is it?”

“I…” His fingers tapped the cardboard, then slid away. “No. No, I can’t.”

“Luca?”

“No, I…” But he considered the folder, considered Percy, considered the folder⁠—

Percy lunged for it and ripped it away from him. Luca was up and around the table in a second, and the second following that found him on the floor with a swift slide of Percy’s shoe beneath his descending foot. Percy’s eyes remained glued to the page as Luca pulled himself up with a great deal of swearing, then Percy turned back, livid. “This has been missing for years.”

“How do you know it’s been missing for years?”

“I’ve seen the mess they put in the gallery,” snapped Percy. “Why do you have this?”

“It’s not quite what it looks like,” Luca attempted.

“How is this not what it looks like?” Percy forced his rising voice back down to a whisper. “I’m an art thief and you don’t give me art theft?”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Luca snatched the paper back out of Percy’s hands and returned to his chair.

Percy dropped into the seat opposite, tapped his cigarette on the table three times, flipped it, and finally lit it. “How much?”

Luca sighed dramatically, but he still said, “Five hundred thousand.”

“Sold.”

“No, you don’t understand⁠—”

“What is it? Russians? Mafia? Yakuza?”

“You know I don’t deal with those sorts of people.”

“Then what can possibly be so bad?”

It was clear to Percy that Luca was going to a great deal of effort to make himself explain, but he did eventually reveal, very quietly, “It’s the painting itself that’s the problem. It’s no ordinary artwork.”

Percy kept his best poker face, which was a very good one. “I know that. It’s priceless, it’s Edvard Munch, and it’s ghastly.”

“And it’s haunted,” said Luca.

A brief silence ensued, before Percy’s lips slowly, very slowly, curled into a wide grin, so handsome that it was a shame only Luca was there to see it. “Haunted, did you say?”

Luca ran a hand over his brow in embarrassment. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Who says I don’t believe you?”

“If you believe me, then why are you laughing?”

He could hardly help it, though he tried again to hide his enjoyment of the whole affair, halfheartedly, from that time.

“Listen, Percy.” Luca leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his deep blue eyes just about as serious as Percy had ever seen them. “I know this all sounds ridiculous, but there’s a reason this job has such a big payout.”

“Danger money,” said Percy.

“Danger money,” said Luca. “I know you’re a fancy pants professor guy over there,” Percy shrugged noncommittally, “but…” And a long sigh cut short what was about to be an attempt at a story.

“Out with it,” Percy prompted.

With a glance towards the bar and a lowered mumble, “You know Giordano still has a thing for you, right?”

Percy licked his lips and looked away. “Does he?”

“And you know my mother really likes you.”

“I really like her too.” He took a long drag on his cigarette, puffing out, “Get to the point.”

“I know you’ve done dangerous things before, but Percy, if they knew I was giving you this job…”

He grinned at Luca. “I won’t breathe a word.”

Luca glanced at his little brother, who was saying something that made Joe smile one of his ravishing smiles, drawing Percy deep into his own spiteful assessment of the situation, as he tried to figure out what the hell was going on out there. Why the actual fuck didn’t Joe look annoyed? Why was Giordano being so charming?

Then the idea dawned on him, dimly at first, then with a small, excitable trepidation.

Was a threesome on the cards?

Luca’s voice rudely called him back to reality. “If I give this to you, please don’t die.” Percy gave a slight nod, which didn’t spark a great deal of confidence in Luca, but he threw the folder across the table anyway.

Being an art historian and an expert on the supernatural, Percy already knew the painting’s dark history, but he kept his cover—that of a serious gentleman thief (when he wasn’t murdering people in cold blood), not that of a man given to superstition—and he let Luca explain the basics. “You see in the picture, there’s the dead mother, and there’s a little girl. She knows her mother just died, and she’s very sad.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Percy drawled, just as an art historian might when a philistine explains a painting to them.

Luca glared, but carried on. “One of them, we don’t know which one, but one of them is not well.”

“I should think not.”

Becoming a little less patient, “Stop talking and start listening. This is the dangerous part.” Luca remained very stern until Percy humoured him with a tight smile. “If you ever get stuck in a room with this painting, whoever it is that comes out of that picture, you won’t live to tell me about it.”

“Oh really?” Percy blew out a challenging waft of smoke. “Then how come the owner’s still alive to tell the tale?”

“Because he knows. He keeps it locked away. He won’t let anyone near it, unless,” and here Luca lowered his voice to its most confidential, “unless he wants someone gone.”

Percy leaned forward. “He has this little girl do it?”

Luca nodded. “He invites someone to stay over. Or he has it quietly decorate an office or a hotel room. Or he gifts the thing, then takes it back once the job is done.”

Percy gave an evil-sounding cackle. “That’s brilliant.”

“Brilliant,” Luca conceded, “but now my client’s got wind of it, and they want this picture. That’s why you need to steal it.”

Percy narrowed his eyes. “And who might your client be?”

“My client might be a secret,” Luca deflected. “And yours is not to ask. You’re a very expensive delivery service, nothing more, nothing less, and that’s an end to it.”

“Hmmm.” Percy reflected with a tap of his cigarette ash. “I don’t much like the thought of a work like this being in a private collection.”

“It’s killed three gallery security guards already.”

“Fair point.”

“That’s why the fake was made. That’s why it sits in the gallery now. The gallery knows all about it. Even you knew about it. But that’s how bad this thing is. You need to think very carefully before you take this job⁠—”

“I’ll take it.”

“You’ll have a hell of a time getting hold of it in the first place, but then transferring her⁠—”

“I’ll take it. Fifty percent upfront. When will it be in the bank?”

“Within the week. But I’m keeping ten percent.”

“Then you’d better make it at least six hundred thousand.” Percy stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “Seven if you can.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

DAMN GOOD COCKTAILS

Joe was intent on enjoying the holiday. And if he couldn’t do that, he was intent on having Percy think he was enjoying the holiday. His most recent exploration of Percy’s body had been, just as it always was, an exploration of scars from the past, both near and far. But these latest, just starting to heal, much like the knife wound in his own chest, that he exacerbated the night before and that now smarted whenever he lifted an arm to drink, had settled in Joe a new resolve.

He hadn’t cared about the champagne. Not really. He cared about Percy’s tendency to ruthless self-destruction. The thought that a man that brave and that capable of really remarkable things would make trouble for himself either with the hotel or the law, was more than a shade of ridiculous. But it hinted at something more worrying and it hung more and more heavily all around Joe from the time Percy said he wasn’t saving for retirement. No surprise there, not at all, but to hear the words on his lips and thrown out so casually. It was something he’d clearly thought about. Percy had a death wish, and Joe did not. And Joe did not want Percy to die. And he believed that, if not already completely unrecoverable, Percy was teetering right on the edge, and their fates were, and always would be, resolutely tied up in one another. Therefore, for Joe, saving Percy was becoming a matter of saving himself.

Joe listened distractedly to Althea’s rundown of the morning, far more relaxed and candid now Percy had disappeared. It felt good to know she was close and safe and happy, even if he barely knew her at all, and Joe began to understand the brotherly fondness with which Percy had probably collected Leo.

Leo made no breath of protest when he was given a Coke by Giordano, on the house, and he listened to Althea, laughed at her jokes, engaged Joe in some light conversation, but there was a wall there. He wasn’t at all forthcoming in Joe’s presence, and he eyed the corner where Percy had disappeared as frequently as Joe eyed Giordano.

Giordano. He was an intimidating sort of handsome. The kind most people either stare at from a distance, or shuffle past discreetly, as though they suddenly feel they’ve come to a place they’re not worthy of inhabiting. The kind of person that only those with self-assurance to the point of vulgarity would think to approach.

Unbeknownst to Joe, despite Percy’s near-constant reiteration of the fact, was that Joe was just as beautiful as Giordano, only in a softer way. His lines were drawn with a delicacy and a blurring of the edges. A glow and warmth and not the sharp, hard, untouchable edges of Giordano. It shouldn’t have been relevant. It shouldn’t have mattered, but Giordano, whose business it was to be adored, rarely found a real competitor. And so they looked at one another and they looked away, and Giordano made the drink and placed it before Joe. “Tell me what you think.”

Joe did wonder if it might be poisoned. He wondered if this man had something supernatural that Percy wanted, or vice versa. He wondered if Percy loved him, or had ever loved him, and when Giordano dried his hands on a dishcloth, Joe felt sick to his stomach at how Percy might have admired those hands.

With a whisper of suicidal ideation, Joe raised the drink to his lips.

It was good.

It was damn good.

Giordano studied him, not with the jealous scrutiny of a rival, but with the honest concern of a bartender. It caught Joe by surprise, and he felt compelled to smile and say something under the expectant gaze. “It’s very good.”

“I’m glad you think so.” He threw down the cloth and rested both arms on the bench in front of Joe, lowering his voice as he leaned in. “Because you’re cute when you’re tipsy.”

Confusing, unprecedented panic flummoxed Joe. “I’m not tipsy.” It was all he could think to say.

Giordano laughed, one of those deep, soft, chesty laughs, and raised his chin towards Althea. “Is he tipsy?”

“He’s always tipsy,” she replied unhelpfully, slurring her own words.

“I am not!” Joe protested.

“No,” and her silky black hair fell in her face as she shook it mockingly, “just since we got near alcohol.”

Joe thrust a finger in Percy’s direction. “He made me have a champagne breakfast.”

“Ah,” said Giordano. “That explains it.”

Joe tripped over his speech and into silence, until he rasped out, “Explains what?” But Giordano was already noisily moving things around his small fridge in search of something or other. Guiltily, wondering if Percy had lied about the champagne after all, wondering if Giordano knew, wondering exactly how much money they might be on the hook for, Joe stared down into his drink for a time.

A chopping board was slapped on the bench in front of him, wrenching his attention back, and for whatever reason Giordano pushed his sleeves a little higher up his well-sculpted arms, then began slicing into a handful of limes. He waggled the short knife towards Joe’s drink. “You sure you like it?”

“Yes.” And he took another sip to prove it.

“I’ll make you another. Something different.”

“I should probab⁠—”

“Uh.” The sharp sound shut Joe’s mouth up again, and he wondered for the twentieth time exactly what was taking Percy so long. But then he was obtaining an illegal document. That probably took time. And so Joe took another sip, became a little tipsier, and waited patiently with his very good drink.

Giordano, concentrating on his limes, asked casually, “Are you going down the beach later?”

“Yeah,” said Joe. “I think so.”

Warm eyes searched over Joe’s chest with a small wrinkle at the left corner of the fine lips. “I’d like to see that.”

What was going on? Joe fell mute again as a new, chilled glass was tapped down on the bar next to his quickly diminishing cocktail. Who the hell was this man? An ex? He was, Joe was quite sure, engaging in some sort of flirting. But not with Percy. Not with hot, handsome, irresistible Percy. It was confounding.

New ice clanked into a fresh shaker and Giordano went about making the third cocktail of their brief, strange time in the bar, talking lightly of weather, local restaurants, as though Joe were any other tourist. He made some jokes, which were actually quite funny and that Joe couldn’t help laughing at, until, “How long have you been together?”

Aha, Joe thought. Giordano’s chance to assert dominance. Joe certainly wasn’t about to say they had only been together for a few weeks. “A while. A long while.”

“That’s good to see.”

“Is it?”

A green drink was poured long into Joe’s glass. “He usually gets bored very fast.”

Joe licked his lips. “Okay.”

Giordano placed down the shaker. “But I can see why he’s not bored of you.”

“Can you?” Why was his heart beating so hard now? The whole thing was intolerably awkward, and he wanted desperately to be out and in the fresh air with Percy again and away from whatever this man was trying to do.

But Giordano leaned on the bar, confident eyes set on Joe. “You’re so beautiful. I would never get bored looking at you.”

It was a good thing Althea snickered right about then, and Joe was able to see the daggers Leo was throwing his way. The atmosphere broke apart about a second before it crushed him, but even as he stood, Giordano said of Joe, “He’s so pretty when he blushes.”

Althea laughed double loud, but Leo only adjusted his malevolent gaze to Giordano. “He’s taken.”

Giordano shrugged. “That’s up to him.”

Leo’s mouth dropped open, Althea leaned back to enjoy the show, and Joe’s heart sank at the thought of breaking up a fight between Percy’s assistant and his ex, or whatever he was, but then Percy’s arm fell around Joe’s neck, and with enormous relief, he felt a swift kiss dropped on his cheek.

“What did I miss?” Percy asked.

“A new cocktail,” said Giordano.

Percy smiled and took a sip of Joe’s drink. “I like this one better.”

“I can see that,” said Giordano.

Percy laughed, but looked only at Joe. “Che ne pensi di un appuntamento?”

“Solo se a cena offri tu,” Joe replied, with a pitch of sex in his voice that made Percy almost cancel the day entirely.

But then Giordano slapped a hand down on the bench. “Abruzzo!”

Joe’s eyes widened, a touch of panic about them. “What?”

“Your accent,” said Giordano. “Lo riconoscerei ovunque.”

“No,” said Joe. “I’m not… from there. I’m from… somewhere else…”

Percy saw it all. Giordano’s surprise at the denial, Joe’s discomfort at the discovery. And he knew in the instant Joe was lying to them both, but he said, “Joe’s from Rome.” Giordano’s astute eyes sought his, but Percy’s refused to meet them. “Shall we, handsome?”

“Mmm.”

Percy waved Leo and Althea through to the lobby, and waited for Joe to stand, placing a gentle, reassuring hand on his lower back to guide him past. But then Joe felt the touch fall away.

Quickly, discreetly, Giordano was called close with an instructive finger, and Percy leaned over the bar, his hot lips whispering millimetres from Giordano’s ear. Giordano pulled back, frowned at him, then Percy wrenched him back by the lapel of his shirt, and whispered again. This time Giordano locked eyes with Joe, just as though they were speaking about him. He smiled. He nodded. And he and Percy turned away from one another without any sort of goodbye.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

THE LUNCHEON ON THE BEACH

“What was that about?” Joe asked Percy as soon as they hit the hot pavement outside the cool hotel.

“Just a minute. I need to tell Althea something.” Joe watched Percy jog the few paces up ahead, where Althea walked with Leo. He told her about the passport and that they would need to choose a flight, make plans, all that sort of thing. Althea and Leo didn’t seem entirely pleased with the news, and Joe wanted to think that was what kept Percy close to them for so long, rather than any avoidance of his question. But when the four paused in the street, the only conversation to be had was about what they would wear at the beach. Just as quickly as Althea and Leo were dispatched into a shop, Percy dragged Joe into another, and another, and he moved swiftly and talked incessantly, buying pointless things like garbage bags and candles, a new satchel and gloves, and there was no ‘in’ for Joe to broach the subject again. The longer it went on, the more awkward it felt to ask, so it wasn’t until they were on the sand, laid out long on new towels, Percy frowning hard at how small and fluorescent Althea’s bikini was, that Joe tried, “How do you know Giordano?”

“Joe.” Hot muscle brushed against Joe’s arm as Giordano dropped to the sand beside him. Giordano lay along one side of Joe, just exactly as if he had actually been invited to join them, his handsome head resting on his luscious arm.

Percy, on the opposite side, rolled over, a mirror to Giordano, the two enclosing Joe with their bulging, naked chests. “What are you doing here?”

“You forgot the caponata.” Giordano reached across and opened up a picnic hamper, the hotel’s name stamped across the top. He pulled out the same ceramic dish from earlier, but rather oddly, it now had an extra bowl balanced on top, teetering over the plate that served as a lid. Joe made to take it, but Percy reached across first and took the lot. Sand fell from his back as he turned away, blocking Joe’s view, and therefore Joe did not see the very small, arguably adorable .22 calibre pistol and accompanying silencer that Percy took from under the bowl and shoved beneath his towel.

In a second, Percy was facing Joe again, smiling placidly. “It’s the best caponata you’ll ever have.” Joe didn’t believe that for a second.

“There’s bread here, and cheese,” said Giordano, emphasising the words, “with a large knife, should you need to cut anything.” The knife, which was neither a bread knife nor a cheese knife, was handed, with little ceremony, across to Percy, Giordano’s fine arms resting on Joe’s belly longer than necessary, were it necessary at all. “And if you get tired, you can getaway quickly.” Keys were dropped into Percy’s hand and smuggled quickly into his shorts with a disapproving glare at Giordano when his empty hand slipped back across Joe’s chest. “And should you need anything else, you know where to find me.”

Joe barely noticed the caponata exchange, he forgot almost instantly about the knife, but he baulked dramatically at what seemed to him to be the brazen exchange of a room key.

He leaned up on his elbows. “What’s⁠—”

“And Joe, for you,” said Giordano, “I have an Etna Bianco.” Giordano was reaching into his hamper again, opening the bottle, filling glasses, waffling about how they would taste the essence of the volcano.

“But—” Joe started again.

“I’m going for a swim.” Percy’s beloved form jogged, without another word, down the beach as a glass of wine was shoved into Joe’s hand.

His eyes shot across as he felt the clink of Giordano’s full glass against his own, and he caught Giordano’s pointed nod towards Percy. “You shouldn’t let him treat you that way, you know.”

With his heart sunk deep down in his stomach, Joe muttered, “What way?”

But Giordano made no response, his eyes locked on Percy’s fine figure as he dived beneath the blue, blue water.

Percy felt dreadful. He really, very much, regretted his decision to commit murder that afternoon, on holiday, right under Joe’s nose.

He swam fast, further and further out, sinking himself into the motion and the noise of the surf and birds and not people. He’d had enough of people. Enough for a lifetime. Except for Joe. And the kids were charming enough. For now.

He rolled over onto his back to float, closing his eyes and wondering how likely it was a shark would take him.

Not very.

Unfortunately.

But after all, he’d just made twenty-five thousand dollars. He only needed to go pull a trigger, fast and easy, and then the job was done. More or less. And he did have a very expensive restaurant picked out for dinner. And Althea really would need to buy something nicer to wear. And she would need a hotel room in London when she got back. And funds to get back on her feet. And suddenly that twenty-five thousand dollars was all but gone, and he wanted the other half and more still.

Shifting to tread water, he gazed back at the shore. Hot, hazy, almost blinding, he could still see Joe, far away as he was, and Giordano right up against him. And he wondered what the fuck was wrong with him leaving the two of them alone together again. And he wondered exactly how much longer he could keep it all up before Joe either saw sense and threw him over, or before he cracked and messed up in front of Joe, or stupidly just told him. Told him he was, that day, a killer for hire. Then Joe would be off. Gone forever.

Or maybe—and he forced the rising anxiety back down—maybe he would just go shoot this person in the head, then take Joe out for the best meal of his life, give him the sort of mind-blowing sex that would make him forget his own name, tell him he loved him, and that way make up for the lies and the one afternoon of bad behaviour amongst the many beautiful ones he planned to obliterate it with.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

SEXUAL EXPLORATION

By the time Percy made his way up the beach, Joe could barely look at him. Giordano hadn’t said another word about it, but he hadn’t needed to. The one seed, planted, grew and grew. Because Giordano was right. Joe was Percy’s partner, and he deserved some sort of explanation about whatever was going on.

But then Percy fell, cool and dripping, back to his side, and did that thing he always did. He took Joe’s hand and kissed it, onlookers be damned, and running slow circles over his knuckles with his thumb, said, “I’ve been awfully rude today and I’m sorry.”

Joe hated Giordano’s attentive presence. He instinctively refused to show any vulnerability between himself and Percy, so he only clenched Percy’s fingers and rested his chin on his own knees, pulled up tight against his chest. And that troubled Percy even more. He hated when Joe was quiet. He motioned with an angry nod for Giordano to go.

“You two have a lovely afternoon,” was the immediate response. The caponata was shoved in Joe’s face. “If he doesn’t eat this, my mother will be devastated. Make him eat it.”

“Thank you, Giordano,” Percy said. Then with a softer, more meaningful intonation, “I’ll take the bowl back to her tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” The first genuine, unguarded fondness for Percy was written all over Giordano’s features. It may have been that newfound camaraderie that made him add, “What you want will be waiting for you in the room.”

As he strode away up the sand, Percy wished slightly that he could sink down into it and die.

The second Giordano was definitely out of earshot, Joe opened with, “What’s waiting in which room?”

Percy could hardly tell him it was a twenty-five thousand dollar down payment for murder, so he ran interference. “Joe, listen. Giordano’s my ex. He’s also the younger brother of my boss. He still holds a small flame for me, but I don’t return those feelings at all. I honestly don’t know what he’s playing at, hanging around like he is, saying things like that, but I don’t like it any more than you do. Has he been hitting on you?”

How effectively the conversation turned, with Joe’s quiet, rambling, “I think… maybe… I don’t know…”

Percy studied Joe’s pink cheeks and averted gaze. “I mean, if you wanted to sleep with Giordano…”

“I don’t!” Joe gasped, as though he were the one suspected of creating a nefarious liaison in the background. “I would never do that!”

“No, no,” Percy reassured him. “I don’t mean like an affair.”

“What do you mean?”

“Only that if I…” Should he say it? Probably not. But he did anyway, because he was Percy. “If I was there too… And if you wanted to⁠—”

How could Joe’s eyes grow even larger? “What?”

“Or not,” Percy mumbled.

“All of us? Together?” Joe’s face had become a mask of horror, which was terrible, truly, but it was better than what it might have been if he was still on the trail of murder.

“I’m not suggesting we do anything,” Percy hurried out, “but I don’t want to hold back your… Your sexual exploration.”

“I don’t want to explore with anyone except you!” Joe pretty much shouted.

“Good.” Percy squeezed his hand, in which he swore he could feel Joe’s throbbing pulse. “Good. I was just making sure. Obviously, I don’t want to see that. You with him. Or… or anything like that…” But that’s exactly what he did see in his mind’s eye. Joe, all but helpless, trying not to come in Giordano’s hot mouth, while Percy pinned his knees down with his own, and fucked him unrelentingly, his arms twisted behind his back and Percy’s hand on his throat.

“Percy!” Joe could have been talking for some time. Percy wouldn’t have had a clue.

“Huh? What?”

Joe whisper-screamed, “Do you have an erection right now?”

“What? No!” Percy drew his knees in close.

“Are you thinking about him?”

“I’m thinking about you!” Percy protested. “I’m sorry, but I find you incredibly sexy and you’re just going to have to deal with that. Anything, everything you do, makes me hard. But listen, clearly no one’s sleeping with Giordano⁠—”

Joe pinched the top of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “How did we even start talking about this?”

“And that’s fine,” Percy continued. “What’s important right now is that there’s a bookstore close by⁠—”

“A bookstore?” Joe blustered. “What has that got to do with anything?”

But Percy saw the end in sight and sprinted to the finish line. “A very nice bookstore that closes at two, so I need to take you there very soon. Come swim with me first.”

“No,” Joe shook his head. “No, I’m too annoyed to swim.”

“We’re in Sicily and I need a coffee and a nice book soon, so we’re swimming.”

He dragged Joe down to the water, where things settled slowly but happily, and they enjoyed a good hour or so of a proper holiday. They ate the caponata, and it was just as good as Percy knew from experience it would be. The wine Giordano had selected was excellent, of course, even if Leo could only look on longingly while everyone else had a glass.

In that short time, Percy made sure he got back in Joe’s favour, leaving him charmed, entertained, perfectly placid in his expectation that Percy wasn’t about to sneak off for a secret rendezvous.

But all the while, Percy kept a close watch on the sun and the time in order to make it to the bookstore by two o’clock, because that bookstore was located a few doors down from the apartment of a woman who was about to have a very bad day.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

PERCY DROPS IN

They strolled between tall stone buildings, tourist shops and cafes, and as they did, Percy slowed his pace enough to pull Leo back from the rest of the group to explain that he had a quick murder to commit that afternoon, and that it would be helpful if Leo could distract Joe and Althea just a little.

Shortly later, the four came out on Via Spaccaforno, on the corner of which nestled a truly adorable book store. A little hard to find perhaps, but reasonably so, as it was not intended for the average wanderer looking for a bargain. The shop dealt in rare and antique editions only.

“Percy,” came a nod of welcome from the man behind the desk.

“Alessandro.” Percy nodded back and approached for a quiet discussion.

Joe scowled at the pair of them, and the group separated to look over the dusty shelves. It was a pointless exercise for three out of the four once they saw the prices, but it wasn’t long until Percy pulled something from a shelf and made his way to the glass windows at the front of the store ‘to look at it properly’. He remained there for some time, because, in fact, those windows gave a perfect view of his target’s front door.

There she was. About forty-five, short, dyed blonde hair, fairly nondescript, and worth more than she probably ever suspected. He watched her step into her building and close the door behind her.

He’d give her enough time to settle in, use the bathroom, make a cup of coffee or whatever she would do. Time to relax and let her guard down.

“Are you buying that?” Joe was by his arm.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” said Percy, glueing his eyes back to the book. And it was beautiful. It was an 1871 edition of Frankenstein. It was small, gilt with gold leaf, and illustrated in gothic wood-cut prints reminiscent of Gustave Doré. The scent had had more than one hundred years to develop, and as Joe turned the object over in his hands, he had a glimmer of insight into Percy’s aesthetic weakness. It was its own small but breathtaking artwork.

Then he saw the price.

Joe was careful to not make it into an issue, but he couldn’t help commenting, “Is that… Is that eight hundred dollars?”

“Hmm?” Percy mumbled. “Is it?”

“Yes,” said Joe. “I think that converts to about eight hundred and twenty dollars.”

Percy shrugged in response and glanced out the window again.

“I didn’t know you liked Frankenstein that much.” But Joe handed the book back without complaint.

“I love it,” said Percy, thoroughly distracted but trying to appear normal. “Have you read it?”

“Once,” Joe replied, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “When I was possessed.”

That got Percy’s attention in full. “The demon made you read Frankenstein?”

“The whole thing.” Joe threw it off with a soft laugh, but Percy could see the laugh was to hide his discomfort.

Percy shifted a shoulder against him as they both leaned back against a bookcase. “What did he think of it?”

“He liked it,” said Joe. “But I don’t think he picked up on the feminist subtext.”

Percy, studying his partner subtly, wondered if there was a slight, telltale flush to Joe’s cheeks. Had Joe come to that conclusion by himself? Or had he been discussing the book with Percy’s sexy brother, who also happened to be a literature professor, who Joe happened to have a crush on, and who had also been possessed by the same demon? “How do so many people miss the feminist subtext?”

“I don’t know,” Joe replied with a shake of his head, showing no obvious signs of suffering under an unrequited passion. “It’s very powerful.”

“Hmm,” Percy slightly agreed. “Then you enjoyed it?”

“I did. It was a nice sort of respite, actually. He was just gearing up to make me kill everyone, so… I don’t know. I found a sort of solace there.”

“Sounds like literature might have served you better than Catholicism,” Percy joked.

He got a wry smile in return. “Could we not?”

“We could.” Percy turned his body towards Joe and took up his hand. “So long as my buying this doesn’t unleash some kind of pent-up trauma for you.”

“No, I’m really fine,” Joe reassured him. “It’s your money. And it’s beautiful. If you want it, you should buy it.”

Percy gave his hand a squeeze and took the book to the counter. Almost another thousand of the twenty-five thousand down, but it was a done deal the second he set eyes on it and he wouldn’t let himself feel bad about that.

A few minutes later, Percy led them to a nearby coffee shop, where, immediately after sitting everyone down, he announced he needed to go find a restroom. Joe suggested he use the one there, but he resolutely refused. Joe suggested they simply down their espressos and all leave, but Percy insisted he needed a long black that afternoon. And a pastry. And an Americano. Leo declared he also needed a long black, changed his order, then turned to Joe and announced, “I’m thinking about joining the priesthood.”

“What?” Althea cried in a particularly inelegant manner.

Leo kept his eyes on Joe. “Can you walk me through that sort of thing?”

Joe sent an uncertain look to Percy, who only shrugged apologetically and ran out the door, telling himself he should be nicer to Leo in the future.

He ran directly to fifty-three Via Spaccaforno and rang the buzzer for apartment three, which sat on the top floor of the tall, skinny, beautiful, ivy-clad stone building.

A distant voice made its way through the intercom. “Chi è??”

In fluent Italian, Percy explained that he had a special delivery. The target said she wasn’t expecting anything. Percy said that was really nothing to do with him and she needed to sign for it. She refused and said to send it back to the post office and she would collect it there. Percy said she was wasting his time, and he’d throw it in a ditch if she didn’t take it now. She told Percy, “Vaffanculo,” and hung up.

With a sigh, Percy made his way around to the rear of the building, where a small alley gave access to the back of the block. It wouldn’t be easy like this, but Percy was both tall and strong, and with enough of a run up, he was just able to grasp the bars of the lowest balcony and pull himself up. He clambered over, slipping on the tiles of the first-floor balcony, before standing back up to look down at the pavement below.

It would certainly ruin their holiday if his skull shattered down there.

But a quick calculation of how much their dinner for four would cost at the restaurant that evening made him step up onto the thin railing and, with his very best and most careful balance, stretch up high to grasp the next set of metal bars. He could only reach with his fingers, but he curled them tight, and with an effort that felt like it might snap them, he lifted his body high enough to bring his thumbs around. One hand edged up a little, then the other, then the other again. His triceps and abdominal muscles burned with the effort, but he made fast progress to the top and swung a leg over.

Once he had obtained that level, he refused to look down anymore, only crouching on the second balcony for a short time to catch his breath, a thin trickle of sweat slipping between his shoulder blades. He wiped his clammy hands on his shorts, shook his aching fingers out, and wiped them again. He took out the small pistol, and he screwed its small silencer into place.

He looked up at the balcony above and felt a twang of guilt for what he was about to do, but he fought it, and stepped again onto a thin railing.

Using all his strength, cursing himself for having let his push-up regime lapse since he ran off with Joe, he wrenched himself up and up, slipping twice, but finally, he propelled himself over the edge, landing silently on his victim’s balcony.

Her glass door was open, the curtain blowing in the soft breeze, the sound of her television floating on the air. He felt a touch of relief. Smashing or shooting his way in would have been an irritating kind of noisy.

He took a deep, preparatory breath, then moved fast, wrenching the curtain back and storming into the apartment.

Faced with the vision of a strange man, gun in hand, appearing in her living room, the target screamed and ran straight for what he conjectured was the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind herself. A reasonable decision. Yet there she screamed and screamed again and shutting her up became imperative.

He didn’t want to leave too many bullets about the place for the police to find, so he counted to three, gathered his strength, and kicked the flimsy door in.

It smashed back against the wall with a bang to reveal the woman, shrunk into her towel rack, crying hysterically, begging him to spare her life.

He advanced three fast paces, levelled his gun at her temple, and said, “Your husband’s paid me to kill you. Tell me where he is, and I’ll take him instead.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

A SICKENING DIVERSION

Five minutes later, Maria, for that was the target’s name, was still shaking violently, so it was Percy who lifted the hissing coffeepot from the stove and filled two small cups.

“Fifty thousand,” he said.

“He must have mortgaged his apartment to do it,” she replied, as she looked over her own murder file.

“Apparently, he has someone wealthy on the line, and once you’re gone, he’ll marry rich.”

“She’s a slut,” Maria said.

Percy placed her coffee down on the table and took a seat. “Then she’s about to be a slut with a dead fiancé. Have some sympathy.”

Taking the cup in hand, she quirked a brow at him. “Any chance you could kill her, too?”

Percy was glad he hadn’t murdered Maria. “No. I don’t hold it against her for having bad taste in men.”

Maria felt the double-bladed comment and gave in with a sigh. “Let me get his photo.”

Another ten minutes was spent on Percy studying the images she provided, storing away all the places he was most likely to find his new victim, all while making himself as likeable as possible, so she wouldn’t point the finger at him later.

When he was done, and she had kissed him on the cheek and told him what a good man he was, he ran double speed down the stairs.

The whole expedition had taken almost half an hour, and Joe was going to be furious.

Again.

Joe’s descriptions of the daily life of an Italian priest, given to a man who clearly wouldn’t have joined the Church if his life depended on it, soon fell flat, and Joe quickly surmised there had never been any real interest behind Leo’s question. He was running distraction, and he was doing a very poor job of it. He had been doing a very poor job of it for almost half an hour, and the back of Joe’s mind was fully occupied considering the thousands of things Percy might be doing, but it always came back to the same fear.

Giordano.

It must have been Giordano.

But Percy would never do that. Why would he do that? They’d only managed to crawl out of bed from their last tryst a few hours earlier. Surely he was satisfied? But maybe it was different with Giordano. And Percy loved sex. Joe was sure he loved sex more than most people, but then he had no real measure for that. Only that Percy always wanted sex. Only that Percy was basically walking sex. Only that, everywhere they went together, there seemed to be someone Percy had either slept with or was thinking about sleeping with.

And then all that talk at the beach about the possibility of both of them sleeping with Giordano. And, arguably, Percy’s moral compass did spin a little wildly at times. Maybe this sort of thing just wasn’t such a big deal to him? Maybe he didn’t even realise what a big deal it was to Joe that it should be just the two of them together and no Giordano. And no anyone else.

But he thought he had made it clear. But Percy never did answer any questions about the keys. He only made Joe forget about it by talking about sex and books. Was that deliberate?

No. None of it made sense. He would simply ask Percy about it when he returned. There was bound to be a good reason for everything.

And Joe watched the clock as, second by second, a feeling of hurt overtook the feeling of anger. He would have preferred to feel the latter.

“That was some shit, Percy,” Leo said helpfully as the man himself walked in the door.

Percy stopped in the middle of the tiny cafe full of quiet people, and shot a particularly vile look at Leo, who responded with a goading grin. “Feeling better now?”

“So much better,” Percy muttered, lighting a cigarette, ordering an espresso, and sparing a conciliatory half smile for Joe. “Must have been something I ate.”

“I’m pretty sure I ate all the same things you did,” Joe said.

“Not all the same things.” It was quiet and suggestive and might have amused Joe if he hadn’t been thinking obsessively about Giordano.

“Where did you go?”

“Public lavatory. Six blocks away. It was horrible, and I suggest we all go to Mondello in a minute.”

“Let’s do that,” Leo agreed eagerly. Too eagerly, all but jumping off his stool, but unable to answer Althea’s questions about what exactly Mondello was or why they needed to go there.

“I’m fine here,” said Joe, a tense challenge in his tone and unmoving frame.

“Yes, but the restaurant…” Percy trailed off into an odd silence, capturing Joe’s attention. He passed a hand to his stomach, with a few creases lining his handsome brow. He held up a finger, as though he needed a moment, then dashed from the cafe, letting the door slam closed behind him. Joe was fast in pursuit, faster than the other two, particularly since Joe didn’t notice Leo stalling Althea, and therefore it was Joe who discovered Percy, doubled over against a wall, throwing up.

“Percy!” He dashed to his side.

“No, I’m fine—” and another foul splatter hit the pavement.

Joe’s immediate and crushing guilt could easily have sent his own half-digested caponata to the ground, but Percy interrupted with, “Don’t let them see.”

Joe ran a hand over Percy’s heaving back. “You need to go home.”

“No. Water. Please.” And he gave another very emphatic wretch. Joe hustled Leo and Althea back into the cafe, purchased two bottles of water, and was with Percy seconds later. He found him with his eyes closed, leaning back against the wall, and Joe noted that he did indeed look tired. Thoroughly unwell.

Poor, poor Percy.

And here was Joe, thinking such hideous thoughts about him while he was ill. “Let me take you back.”

Percy swished his mouth out and spat onto the vomit. “You all deserve a holiday. I won’t let this thing get the best of me.”

Sweet, thoughtful Percy. Joe hated himself that much more. “No, it’s been beautiful. Everything has. But please. You’re so sick.”

“No, no.” Percy dropped a smile. “I think I just needed to get that out. I feel much better, actually.” And he went about washing his ejecta down a nearby drain, with only one more small wretch.

They argued for a time, Joe doubling down in his need to care for Percy because of the guilt gnawing away at his insides. Lovely Percy, who was insisting he would sit there uncomplaining and sick all afternoon, while everyone had a good time around him. And all Joe could do was make up hideous scenarios about his beautiful partner.

Joe’s building horror at himself reached its crescendo right about the time Percy pulled a set of keys from his pocket and said, “I told Giordano I wanted to take you somewhere special this evening, so he loaned me his car, but I don’t trust myself to drive. Would you mind?”

And there it was. Percy’s secrecy with Giordano was about nothing more than making a date with Joe. Because Percy, sick to throwing up in the street, was simply amazing.

Meanwhile, Joe, clearly, was the worst boyfriend in history.

He tried one last time. “Please. Let’s just call it off so you can get some sleep.”

“Handsome,” said Percy, straightening himself, “there’s nothing on earth that could stop me spoiling you tonight.” Percy linked an arm through Joe’s and started, slowly, back towards the cafe. Joe’s eyes remained glued to the pavement the entire time, worriedly going over how he might make the disloyalty up to Percy, whether Percy noticed it had happened or not, and therefore he didn’t see the slightly sheepish look his lover threw him as he said, “But please forgive me if I need to disappear again for a little while later on.”

Resigned but adoring, Joe insisted, “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“Of course,” said Percy, squeezing Joe’s arm. “I always do.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

APERITIVO

Making himself throw up in the street was a low moment for Percy. One of the lowest. Not a sophisticated ruse, by any measure. Not fitting of a gentleman thief at all. Yet, the subsequent hour or so he spent wedged against Joe’s protective, naked chest on the hot sand healed the self-inflicted injury quickly enough. So well, in fact, that by the time he was done arguing with Althea in a high end boutique about her choice of dress, instructing Leo on his trousers, and softly edging Joe towards a different shirt, he was well enough to drive them all to the restaurant.

He chose to park down a dim alleyway, which Joe suggested was maybe not a good idea, given there might be criminals around the place. Percy said he would take his chances for the sake of convenience. The conversation might have gone on, but was ended abruptly when Leo called Percy away for a quiet word. Joe wondered briefly what was so admirable about the knee-high basement window they were both looking at, but didn’t give it too much thought.

What Percy hadn’t said, of course, was that the window belonged to the restroom of the very restaurant they were attending that evening. A restaurant that was in close proximity to his victim’s apartment.

Leo had also disappeared to a ‘restroom’ for some extended time during the afternoon, sparking fears a stomach bug was passing between them. During that time, he had paid a hefty bribe to the restaurant they didn’t originally plan to attend, and a table had been found at the last minute for around a thousand dollars. It was still one of the best restaurants in Sicily, with a wine list boasting some six-hundred possibilities, therefore Percy was pleased with the change of plans, despite another chunk having to come out of the twenty-five thousand.

Percy intended to suffocate his victim and leave him in his bed, but anything more violent than that and he might have to remove the body, so a close parking location was paramount. The alleyway was perfect. And should the car be missing when they returned? Well, he would say Joe was right all along about the poor choice, and they would taxi home.

On entering, the group was seated in a long, arched, stone room at a table with the whitest white, crispest sort of tablecloth. Percy reassured everyone it was his treat, a celebration, and therefore they would do it all, as many courses as humanly possible, and no one was to mind the price. This nauseated Joe, but he did his best to simply not look at the prices and smile his way through it, between anxious checks of the hue of Percy’s cheeks, which he was pleased, but a little surprised, to see looked totally fine.

Percy got straight to business. “Althea, how do you feel about a flight tomorrow afternoon?”

Panicked looks were exchanged between Althea and Leo, with him shifting a little and asking, “Are we all leaving tomorrow?”

“That’s what we’re deciding right now,” Percy replied.

“Because,” said Althea tentatively, “I was thinking about that thing you said. About, maybe, a job?”

“No,” said Joe.

“She’d be good,” said Leo.

“No,” said Joe.

“How much would it take for you to kill someone?” asked Percy.

“Percy!” Joe snapped.

“Depends who it is,” Althea replied archly.

“No!” Joe reiterated, a little louder.

Percy put his champagne down and leaned forward, eyes meeting Althea’s with a searching darkness, voice low. “How much would it take for you to kill Cleo?”

They all fell silent. Not only because a waiter chose that moment to top up their glasses, but because both Leo and Joe were surprised at the indelicacy of the question, even for Percy. Althea didn’t flinch, despite the casual mention of the woman who had kidnapped, tortured and almost killed her. And that impressed Percy. He held out a hand to cover Leo’s empty wine glass until the bottle was taken away.

Althea leaned in just as close across the table. “I would gut her like a pig for free.”

The smile that spread across Percy’s face sent Joe into near panic. “Althea, you need to get back to your life. You’re a missing person, aren’t you? Don’t you have family you want to get in touch with? Friends? Your old life?”

She relaxed back into her chair and sipped her wine with a slight shrug. “Not really. I called my parents, so they know I’m not dead. I’ll need to go back for a visit, eventually, when I save up.”

“Would you rather fly there than London tomorrow?” asked Joe.

“No. There’s nothing in Surabaya for me. Not really. Or London either.”

Althea had delivered the words sadly, so it was with doubled enthusiasm that Leo suggested, “Come to Paris.”

Percy shut it down. “If you worked for me, you wouldn’t be in Paris with Leo.”

“She’s not going to work for you,” Joe urgently reminded them all.

“I wasn’t suggesting Paris,” said Althea, even if she was. “But I just…” She twirled the stem of her champagne glass back and forth absentmindedly, watching the bubbles dissipate into nowhere. “I just feel a bit lost, I guess. I don’t really know where to start, you know, rebuilding, or whatever.”

Percy passed a strategic hand to his stomach, confusing Joe temporarily as to where best to send his sympathy. Percy gave him a reassuring smile, so Joe turned it on Althea. “We’ll help you however we can. But working for Percy… Well, his work is⁠—”

“It’s so much fun,” Leo cut him off. “You don’t get dinners like this working for anyone else.”

“That’s just not true,” said Joe.

“Or hotel rooms,” Leo continued. “Frequent international travel. A generous pension contribution…” Joe’s eyes ran across to Percy, but only for a second because Leo stupidly added, “Plus, I occasionally get to smuggle pretty girls.”

The comment got a sardonic smile from Althea, but wiped Percy’s off his face. “Leo, I need you back in Paris. Soon. By yourself. Althea, it’s up to you what you want to do next. Joe disapproves of me hiring you, but if it would help get you back on your feet⁠—”

“No!” Joe repeated for perhaps the tenth time.

“—then I do have some very low-key tasks I could pay you for. Could you come to an art show in London next month?”

“Yes!” cried Althea.

“Percy, seriously,” Joe warned.

So Percy grunted softly, clenching his stomach again. “We don’t need to worry about any of this right now. I’m taking a hotel room for you in London for two weeks. I think it might be good for you to take some time to yourself, alone,” and here he glared at Leo, “to figure out what it is you want. You don’t have to go to London. Choose wherever you like. Anywhere but Paris or Bruges or Lerwick, because that’s where we’re going.”

This latest plan, two weeks in a hotel in London, was news to them all, but especially to Althea. This on top of the fake passport, on top of the flight, on top of this dinner, and Sicily, and what had been a nagging feeling of unease settled repeatedly by Leo, sparked. She put her glass down. “Percy, why are you doing this? You don’t know me at all.”

“No,” he said, holding her gaze steadily. “I don't know you. But I know Cleo. And what she did to you, and all those other girls, was unforgivable.” He leaned back with a sigh, tapping his ring finger on the table, uncomfortable with the admission that was coming. “She was my friend. Or so I thought. And I don’t know how I could have missed it, but I should have seen something. You don’t let the blood of a bunch of teenagers and raise an army of zombies without anyone noticing anything. Especially me.”

“I’m not sure it was an army,” Joe put in sympathetically.

“We just don’t know yet,” Percy replied, before turning his attention back to Althea. “I don’t understand how she could have been that person all along. I really thought…” Whether it was Joe’s presence, Althea’s, or just the memory, Percy stopped there with a frown. Instead, he said, “Doing these little things for you helps to alleviate some of my guilt that I somehow let this happen. It’s that simple.”

“Oh.” It was about all Althea could say to such a frank and unexpected admission.

Percy continued, “If I’m making you uncomfortable, then tell me. You don’t have to accept any of it, but you also don’t owe me a thing if you do. Not now or ever. It’s really the least I can do.” He took a sip of champagne, and so did Althea, then he added, “Or not quite. The other thing I can do, and will do, is figure out why she’s taking people’s blood, and stop her from doing it ever again. Then I’m going to steal her nicest belongings and sell them, so you’re costing me nothing.”

A small laugh rippled around the table from all but Joe, then silence reigned again as dishes were set down and explained in great and excessive detail. Althea’s fingers tapped on her knee the whole time, until the waiter was gone and she could whisper, “Are you going to kill her?”

Joe glanced uneasily at Percy, but all he said was, “Joe and I are going to her manor in Scotland to investigate. Just as soon as we can. That’s all I’m promising right now.”

And so they dined, for a time, Joe gently probing for information about what Althea might like to do rather than take on an almost definitely illegal, or at least shady, job for Percy. But whatever her plans had been several years earlier, before she was kidnapped, they were currently skewed by the very pretty blue eyes that sparkled under floppy dark hair next to her. And although Percy disapproved just as much as Joe of any sort of relationship between Althea and Leo until she was fully functional again, he set down his cutlery with a glance at the clock and clutched his stomach one more time.

He leaned close to Joe and whispered, “I might be a while.” Joe began to say something, so before he could, Percy added, “I promise I’m fine. Continue without me.”

Percy gave Leo a meaningful look, to which Leo returned a slight tip of the head, rousing Joe’s curiosity ever so slightly. Percy didn’t notice, as he was on his way to the restroom. From there, he climbed straight out the window, and was once again by Giordano’s car in the alleyway, ready to commit murder.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

A QUICK MURDER BETWEEN COURSES

The victim’s apartment was three buildings up the street. It was in a larger block than the one his wife lived in, though a much smaller dwelling, and Percy surmised she must have kept the family home after the split, what with having to care for the three children she told Percy he refused to pay for.

Percy pulled on gloves and pushed the call button for apartment 203. He waited some time, wondering what he would do if the man wasn’t home. Hopefully, he was just eating dinner, like Percy was supposed to be. Percy’s stomach churned at the thought, having had nothing in it but caponata, booze and three olives since breakfast, most of which he had thrown up. Finally, a voice broke across the receiver.

“Special delivery,” said Percy.

“I’m not expecting anything.”

“My name is Thomas Archer. I’m here on behalf of Maria Randazzo, and I’m serving you with a restraining order.”

After a series of exclamations and expletives, the door latch clicked open, and Percy stepped silently onto the scant hallway carpet, scanning for cameras. None at all. He pushed open the door to the fire escape, and took two stairs at a time to level two, where an unhealthy-looking man in a white singlet stood at the end of a dark hall, waving his hands about wildly, yelling even more wildly.

Percy searched anxiously for a neighbour’s open door as he quickened his pace straight past the man and into his apartment, closing the door behind him. “Elio Randazzo, is that you?”

“What’s that bitch done now?”

“And Maria Randazzo,” Percy pursued, “is she your wife?”

“Not for long.” An ugly, smug sneer crossed the man’s unfortunate face. “I’m gonna kill that bitch.”

The perfect last words. Percy punched him, hard, and cursed his luck when the man didn’t fall immediately to the floor. He had to hit him twice more in quick succession to get him down, spattering blood from a broken nose across the linoleum floor. Easy enough to clean, Percy tried to reassure himself, as he dropped onto Elio and took hold of his neck.

The idiot. They always went for the wrists, tried to wrench them off, as though Percy didn’t train his arms relentlessly for this very task. He pressed his thumbs deeper into the windpipe with expert pressure.

Elio tried to roll, so Percy rammed a knee into his stomach. A pained heave of air that Percy refused to let through sent the body into spasms, the eyes bulging large in the reddening face. Fingernails dug desperately into Percy’s wrist.

Fuck, thought Percy, as he felt the skin break. It would probably take bleach to get his DNA out from under those fingernails. Or he could just take the hands. That might be easier. But that would be messy. And if there was a mess, he might need the car…

Percy’s heart sank at the thought of dragging this lump of a person over there. And how long did he have until the second course? Had they started? Was Joe already looking for him?

The man attempted to roll away again, so Percy smashed his head into the floor, but it only seemed to make things worse. Elio managed to get a leg free, which he kicked into Percy’s ribs. Percy held his ground, but it wasn’t good. He’d have to explain that bruise to Joe somehow. With that thought in mind, he let go of the man’s neck to dodge the second kick.

There was no chance of getting out cleanly now, anyway. Not since he needed to take the hands. And, he reasoned as he kicked Elio in the face, a .22 calibre bullet probably wouldn’t get lost in the apartment. Or worse, make its way into a downstairs apartment. Just in case, though…

Percy delivered a boot to the stomach before Elio could attempt to stand. As he wheezed in agony and rolled onto his front, Percy wrenched him up with an arm around his neck, and threw him into the kitchenette, his head smashing into the sharp corner of a bench and letting a stream of blood flow down the cupboard and to the floor.

Fuck, again. What a mess.

Another boot hit his ribs, then Elio was hauled up and thrown over the edge of the bench to die with his head in a small kitchen sink. Percy shot one bullet straight into his brain, just above his left ear, and Elio fell limp.

Percy let him slip back to the floor while he caught his breath. He wiped the beads of sweat from his temple with the back of his black glove, then turned to the sink to rinse his face. There he saw that the sink was virtually clean.

Fuck a third time.

The bullet was lodged in Elio’s skull and he was going to have to remove that himself.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How was he supposed to attend an eight course dinner while dismembering this bastard?

He would just have to. Joe was going to have a nice holiday, and that was all there was to it.

Percy refreshed his face and checked his watch. All up, it had taken fifteen full minutes to make his way there and kill Elio. That time was explainable with the excuse of vomiting in the bathroom. Joe would buy that. Percy was certain of it. So long as he got back soon.

He pulled a packet of extra large garbage bags from his satchel and put one over Elio’s head to prevent any more leakage. He found bleach, or something like it, beneath the kitchen sink, and cleared up whatever blood he could find. He wrapped the body a little more and dragged the dark mass into the bedroom. There wasn’t a great deal of space, but he shoved it deep into the wardrobe, draping some clothes over it.

It would do. For a short time.

Percy quickly found the house keys, which had been knocked to the floor during the short scuffle. He locked up behind himself, and checking carefully for witnesses, ran back to the restaurant, going the long way around the block, away from the restaurant, in a circle. He climbed back through the bathroom window, short of breath and dizzy, returning to the table just as the next course appeared.

CHAPTER FIFTY

ANTIPASTI

Joe paled the second Percy slid back into his seat. He was clammy. He was a sweaty sort of clammy. His cheeks were flushed, and he had clearly just washed his face, but there was a hint of sweat in his hair. And his sleeves were rolled down, done up tight at the cuffs. Percy almost never wore his shirt like that. He must be cold. He must be cold and sweating, and that meant he had some kind of hideous fever.

Joe reached for Percy’s knee beneath the table. “I really think you need to go back to the hotel right now.”

“What?” Percy’s eyes widened a little, as though he hadn’t even considered the possibility. “No. No, I’m all better now. I won’t go into detail, but I think I really just needed to get that over with.” Yet his hand moved to his stomach again, a problem which he then waved away with, “No, I’m sure I’m on the mend. I promise. I can feel it.”

But Joe was insistent. “You really don’t look well.”

“I am. Watch me.” And Percy set to eating as though he was starving. He ate very heartily indeed, drank down a full glass of water and most of his wine, talked excessively, and his colour soon returned to normal, the only flush now apparently due to merriment.

But just as he placed his cutlery on his empty plate, he closed his arms tight over his stomach. He threw down his napkin and excused himself, only this time, with a look at Leo, that lasted a few milliseconds too long.

Leo remained at the table all of two minutes, waffling distractedly, before suddenly needing the bathroom himself.

And that was when Joe began to reflect a little more deeply on Percy’s incongruous appetite and change of mood.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

DOWN THE STAIRS HE GOES

Percy drove this time. He took Leo with him and parked a few cars’ lengths away from Elio’s front door. He clicked the boot unlocked in readiness, then stationed Leo in the fire escape at the foot of the stairs to call out if anyone tried to enter.

Percy’s head spun as he made his way back through the apartment and to Elio’s wardrobe. He probably shouldn’t have drunk that wine quite so fast. The sparse and expensive offering of nervetti and ridiculously small cuttlefish ink crepes with slivers of langoustine had done nothing to fill him up or soak away the champagne he drank before the red wine. A day in the sun, scaling an apartment building, running up and down stairs on top of that, killing Elio—all of it was making his muscles ache with the effort.

But he was so close. So close to having this all over and done with. Then he would relax and really have a holiday with Joe. Do something grand and romantic with the money to make up for being such an absolute shit all evening.

He grunted under the weight of Elio’s triple-wrapped body, dropping him by the door to check the hall.

Fine. All fine.

He shoved Elio through the doorway and locked the apartment. With one more heave, he picked up the corpse, and struggled down the hall, his heart hammering and pulse racing with exertion, until he made the fire escape. “All clear?”

“Clear.”

Percy hurled the body down the stairs, where it rolled freely, only needing an encouraging kick once or twice, until it landed at Leo’s feet. They checked for a clear path to the car, and it was easy work to throw the bundle into the trunk and slam the lid closed.

Percy was so thrilled the murder had gone off so well, he could barely hide it. He had tricked Elio, Luca and Joe, and the twenty-five thousand was as good as his. Maybe even the whole fifty if he could spin it somehow for Luca.

Now he only had to deal with the body. He’d slip out after the fourth course, do a quick dismemberment, and hopefully make it back in time for the fifth.

His chosen location wasn’t far off. He knew no one would be there. Just Percy and a dead Elio, alone in the most notoriously haunted, and conveniently located, house in Europe.

But now his appetite was really roused, so, before he could dispose of Elio, he slipped back through the window to call in on Joe.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

PRIMI

Percy was, to Joe’s eye, even more animated as he sat over his next course. This he devoured faster than the last, with astounding appetite, letting the others carry the conversation, only throwing in the occasional humorous quip, before throwing sparkling eyes on Joe, leaning over for a private, charming word in his ear, throwing back a little more wine.

Unusual, Joe thought, considering how ill he claimed to have been. Strange that he could go from, presumably, throwing up and fever, to eating so well. Perhaps he really was on the mend? Yet, there he went again, giving a groan and clutching his stomach and leaving Joe flummoxed as to what it all meant.

It may have been Joe’s sinking feeling about Giordano that had kicked off seven hours earlier, but this time, when Percy made a break for the bathroom, Joe properly assessed him.

He didn’t walk like a man suffering bouts of intestinal spasming. He walked with a sort of purpose about him now. Like someone climbing a podium to collect a prize. He disappeared once again through the bathroom door, and Joe threw his own napkin down and pushed his chair back.

“You can’t go in there,” Leo said immediately.

Joe paused, his chair halfway out. “I can’t go to the bathroom?”

“I mean, you can,” Leo said, watching Joe carefully, “but I wouldn’t.”

“Then I will.”

Joe made to stand, but Leo became a little more insistent. “But you shouldn’t.”

Joe smiled, testing him. “And why not?”

“He…” Leo looked to Althea, as though she had any clue what any of them were on about that night, then he settled on, “You’ll embarrass him. It’s not his natural state to have his head in a toilet.”

“I’ve seen him do worse,” said Joe, shifting, then being held back again, this time by Leo leaning urgently forward with a hand on his wrist.

“And the smell. It’s horrible in there. Please don’t. Not for a while, anyway. Wait ‘til he gets back.”

Whatever was between Percy and Leo, it was clear that Leo was protective of him, but this was something more. There was a spot of bright panic right at the back of Leo’s eyes.

“I actually just wanted a cigarette,” said Joe.

Leo glanced towards the front of the restaurant. “Just there? You’ll be just on the street right there?”

Pulling the cigarette packet free, “Is that okay with you?”

Leo unleashed a disdainful eye roll, with an accompanying wrinkle of an offended nose. “As if I care what you do.”

“Great.” Finally Joe broke away from the table, and as he had to go past the restroom, he deliberately veered in that direction, glancing over his shoulder to see Leo already half standing to stop him, before he continued towards the entrance with a new, worrying conviction.

Percy was definitely up to no good.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

PURSUIT

Outside the restaurant, Joe lit a cigarette as conspicuously as possible, then stepped from Leo’s line of sight, snuffing the thing straight back out. He traced the edge of the building, soon finding it led to the alleyway where Percy had insisted on parking the car. Even though there were better parking spots. Even though he had been too ill to drive at all a short time before that. Until he wasn’t.

The car was there, facing him, right by a few of the kitchen staff taking a cigarette break, right by… what Joe now realised must have been the window to the restaurant’s restroom. The window Percy had inspected. The window he shared some kind of interest in with Leo.

Joe became aware of an all too familiar sinking sensation.

He waited, hidden by a dumpster, determined that, as soon as the staff should leave the alley, he would climb in that window and catch Percy at whatever he was playing at this time.

The staff did leave, about two minutes later, but the moment they did, before Joe could make his move, Giordano’s car burst into life. Lights ablaze, engine roaring, it sped past Joe in a matter of seconds.

Joe watched it go with the startling conviction that one of two things must have occurred.

The possibility of theft that Joe had suggested earlier was a reasonable explanation, or…

There was the more likely and gut-wrenching prospect that Percy had someone else he wanted to see that night. Gut-wrenching because Joe could only think of one person alluring enough to steal Percy away from one of the best restaurants in the city, right in the middle of a long dinner, hours before he would be expected to go back to his hotel room with his partner.

Giordano.

Joe acted on instinct, and soon found himself sitting in the back of a taxi, instructing the driver to follow that car, but not too close. He had no idea what he was doing. He had no idea what he was going to do. He had no idea where he was going, or how he could think this of Percy. But there wasn’t another thing Joe could conceive of that Percy couldn’t tell him. If he was in trouble, Joe would help. Joe had seen him kill people. Joe had helped him go to Hell and back. Joe had and would always have Percy’s back, no matter what.

Unless whatever he was doing was just too awful for Joe to know about.

His anxiety increased with every passing street, but all in all, it was a very short ride. A minute or two, and Percy pulled over sharply outside a beautiful yellow house. It was dark inside and out, but Joe could see it was a large villa decorated with art nouveau embellishments on the exterior. It stood two storeys high, was surrounded by a tidy fence and clipped hedges, and looked opulent, to say the least.

It would be a lovely spot for an illicit affair.

He had the cab driver continue past Percy’s car and around the corner, then walked back slowly. After all, what was the hurry?

The closer he came to Percy that night, the more he felt an aching sense of loneliness. Alone on the quiet street. Alone outside this house, where Percy wouldn’t be alone. Alone, wondering what the hell he was going to do when he found Percy with Giordano.

But as though driven automatically, the way one cannot resist looking under the bed at night, or sneaking a glance at the carnage of a car crash, Joe’s feet moved him forward, relentlessly, to his fate.

The gate hung slightly ajar. Percy hadn’t bothered to close it behind himself. Maybe he was in a hurry? Of course he was, if he’d been intending to meet Giordano, then come back to the restaurant with Joe none the wiser.

Joe moved through noiselessly, and placed one gentle foot after another, on one step after another, until he came to the front door.

Strange.

This house was… abandoned?

Now that he was past the high hedges, he could see the windows were boarded up, all of them, except the one to his right, the planks of which looked to have been broken very recently.

Very strange.

But then Joe heard it. He heard a grunt that could only have been Percy’s grunt.

Were they having sex already?

Then a laugh. That was definitely Percy’s laugh.

He should leave. He should definitely leave. But if he left, what would he say when he saw him again?

He had to know for certain.

With a deep breath, Joe moved to the broken window and peeked through. Dark, except for a light somewhere deep in the house. A flickering sort of light.

Candlelight!

That did it.

This was premeditated. This was thoroughly planned. On top of that, it was romantic for them? They had made a romantic date knowing, both of them, Joe was waiting back at the restaurant like an idiot, and had the audacity to actually bring candles?

And Percy was laughing about it with his side piece.

The thought enraged Joe enough to propel him through the window, his feet hitting the floor hard, storming through the house, because why not? Where could they go?

Faster, faster he crossed the dusty floor, the broken chandelier tinkling dangerously above him, past the wilting silk wallpaper, up the beautifully carved ornate staircase, every rotten board creaking beneath his determined feet, faster and faster towards the light until he stepped onto the landing, turned a corner, and found a gun pointed right at his face.

He stared at Percy.

Percy stared at Joe.

“Fuck,” whispered Percy.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

JOE MAKES THE APPALLING DISCOVERY

The faintest orange glow of candlelight danced across Joe’s furious features. The full moon streamed between cracks in the wood, leaving Percy in no doubt he had really, truly, thoroughly fucked up this time. He rushed out a frantic, “I can explain.”

Joe had hoped he might be stronger, but his voice broke the second he spoke. “How could you?”

All Percy offered in return was, “You weren’t supposed to find out like this.” Joe looked like he wanted to speak, but no sound came out of the perturbed lips, so Percy quickly added, with a nervous laugh, “Well, you weren’t supposed to find out at all. Obviously.”

Joe tried to blink back the tears forcing their way to the surface, but he was unable to hide the heartbreak in his tone. “Of all the things I’ve seen you do, I never thought you’d do something like this. I thought you were it, Percy. The one. And I cannot believe I could be so stupid.”

Unprecedented panic swept over Percy as he grabbed for Joe’s hand, which was wrenched away. He desperately flung out the first excuse that came to mind. “The guy’s an asshole, anyway!”

Wrong thing to say? The way Joe’s mouth dropped open suggested it was. It became more apparent still when Joe whisper-screamed, “How can you talk about him like that after what you just did?”

“Well,” Percy shrugged, “it’s not as though he can hear me.”

“Do you really think that makes it any better?” Joe snapped. “That is so disrespectful. And you imagine that’s going to make me okay with this?”

“It’s better than if he was nice, though, isn’t it?” Percy insisted. “I mean,” he wet his dry lips, trying to reason his way out, “I could have done his wife instead, but I thought that would be worse.”

Joe’s eyes were roughly the size of saucepans by now. “How could that possibly be worse?” he yelled. “I didn’t even know he had a wife until now. But you know what? I’m going to tell her what you did. I’m going straight over there⁠—”

Percy moved his hands to Joe’s arms this time, only to have them shoved off again. He tried a placating, “I already told her everything. This afternoon when I snuck out during coffee. She was fine with it, by the way. She gave me her complete blessing.”

“When you snuck out from the cafe you were with his wife? And what… The rest of that time… Every time you disappeared… Were you with him? All night?”

“He…” How to explain it? Best come straight out with it. “It took a lot more time and energy to finish him than I thought it would.”

With a heartbroken gasp of disbelief, Joe pointed his beautiful finger that Percy loved so much right in his face and shouted, “You utter bastard, Percy!”

“Darling!”

Joe barged straight past him and into the room. The large, empty room with nothing but a few candles, Percy’s new satchel, and a large black sack in the corner. He turned back to Percy, eyes searching frantically. “Where is he?”

“Just there,” said Percy, with a nod to the black heap.

“Percy, for Christ’s sake.” Joe flung his head back in exhaustion. “Stop playing games. Where is he?”

“No, he’s just, sort of, curled up. Look.” With a resigned kick, Percy pushed the mound over and Elio rolled out onto the floor, quite pale, quite dead, with a bullet in his brain.

“Percy, what the fuck!” yelled Joe, jumping back in alarm.

“You wanted to see him!” Percy yelled back.

“Giordano!” Joe shouted. “Where the fuck is Giordano?”

“What?”

“What?”

“Did you…” Quickly, quickly, Percy replayed their entire conversation in his mind. They stared at one another, each coming to their own terrible conclusions at the same time. “Joe!” Percy shouted. “How dare you suggest such a thing!”

“Did you kill him?”

“Do you think I have no morals at all? I would never cheat on you!”

“But, did you…” Joe stared at Elio, stared at Percy, and back and forth until his eyes finally settled on his lover. “Did you commit a murder during our dinner at a fancy restaurant?”

“Yes, but I can explain⁠—”

“Did you… use me as an alibi?”

“Well, yes, sort of, but⁠—”

“But you didn’t tell me a thing, so… I wouldn’t even know… If anyone asked…”

“It wasn’t exactly⁠—”

“Percy, that’s brilliant!” Joe let off a surprised, relieved laugh, running a shaking hand through his ever-increasing mane of brown curls. The other hand, he stuck out at the corpse as if to demonstrate something, then only laughed again. “Oh, thank god.”

Percy watched in perplexity, smiling, tentatively at first, then with a little more confidence as he settled into the unexpected turn of events. “Then you’re not upset?”

“No.” Joe laughed. “I thought…” Another second, he looked at Percy. “I’m so sorry. I thought…” He hid his flushed face behind a hand, then when he was brave enough to look out again, he said faithfully, “I know you must have had a very good reason for doing this.”

Joe’s aspect was shifting into a different sort of wary as he reassessed the body and the situation. His worried but hopeful eyes fell on Percy, so, “The best,” Percy declared at once, putting the glossiest shine he could on the matter. “Elio here is actually a murderer by proxy.”

“I knew it,” said Joe, with a confident nod. Then to Percy’s questioning expression, “Or that it would be something good like that. Go on.”

Bolstered, Percy continued, “He hired me to murder his wife⁠—”

“Hired you?”

“Yes. He paid fifty thousand dollars⁠—”

Joe gasped. “To hire you for a murder?”

“Yes, but,” Percy deflected, “I double-crossed him, and did not murder his wife, who also happens to be the mother of his children, and a very nice woman, by the way⁠—”

“He sounds despicable,” Joe virtually spat, glaring down at the corpse.

“And that’s exactly why I murdered him.” Percy grinned. “But I did have to trick Luca, and so I may have lost us twenty-five of that fifty thousand.”

Softly, embarrassed, Joe said, “So that’s what the weirdness with Giordano was about?”

“Yes.” Percy’s gaze softened to adoring. “It was only murder. Nothing terrible.”

Then, sheepishly, “But you made twenty-five thousand dollars in one day?”

“Yes.”

“And you actually forfeited twenty-five thousand dollars to protect his wife from her abusive husband?”

“Well…” How good it sounded when Joe put it that way. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did.”

“Percy…” Joe absolutely beamed up at him. “You’re amazing. You’re like… You’re like some kind of urban vigilante dishing out justice where no one else will.”

Percy had killed the man because it was easy money, and because it would weigh a little less heavily on his conscience, but he said, with a smile, “I suppose I am, in a way.”

“Fuck,” was all Joe could whisper. His eyes were hot on Percy now. He stepped over Elio, and he all but threw himself into the waiting arms, pressing his lips hard against Percy’s, as Percy wrapped him in his strong hold, and they stumbled back a few paces with the force of Joe’s ardour. “Is this really what you do?” asked Joe, kissing him over and over.

“It’s…” More kisses interfered with his speech, but that odd twist of guilt that only ever seemed to be inspired by Joe’s presence was acting up again, so he said, “Sometimes. Joe, listen…”

Joe’s eyes were so bright and so beautiful when he looked up. “Percy, I was devastated at the thought of you with someone else⁠—”

“I would never do that, but,” another kiss broke his speech until he lifted Joe’s chin with gentle fingers, “to see you that upset… I don’t ever want to make you feel like that again. Even by accident. So I don’t want to lie to you anymore. And you need to know, this,” and with a sigh, he pointed at the dead man who was still waiting to have his fingers chopped off, “this is only part of what I do. There’s so much more. And I want to be honest with you about what the future holds, because… I can’t do this anymore. Not like this. Not without you.”

“You want…” With his eyes glistening, his hand running softly down Percy’s chest, taking hold of his shirt, “You want me to be your partner? In crime?”

The thought would never have occurred to Percy in a million years as a real possibility, but, “Yes,” he said, and he said it with complete conviction. Not only because his pants were suddenly feeling appallingly tight with Joe’s breath on his ear and his lips sweet at his jaw, but because somehow, nothing had ever felt more right.

Joe’s teeth closed gently on the edge of his ear. “Do you mean it?”

“I mean it.” Now it was Percy who manoeuvred Joe around and pressed him up against a wall. “I love you. I love you more than anything.” Percy worked at the top buttons of Joe’s shirt as his tongue begged for access to Joe’s mouth.

“You’re too good to be true,” whispered Joe, working at Percy’s belt, kissing him hard.

“You know what they say about things like that, handsome.” Percy wrenched open Joe’s shirt, splaying his fingers across his perfect chest.

Joe threw the belt to the floor and slipped his hand over Percy’s long, hard dick. “What do they say about that?”

Their eyes met for a brief, smouldering moment. “If I wasn’t true, I couldn’t fuck you like I’m about to.”

Percy turned Joe, stuck out a foot to trip him back, and controlled his descent to the floorboards. Kissing down his neck to his chest, biting his nipples, so Joe arched uncontrollably. Percy made short work of any and all fastenings to Joe’s pants. They were kicked to the floor, but not Percy’s. Always prepared for any eventuality, Percy wrenched a small tube of lube and a condom out of his pocket, ripped it from its packet and ran it over his length, which stood enticingly erect in the moonlight. Joe’s ankle was forced over Percy’s shoulder, kisses placed on Joe’s shin, up his leg, making him break out in goosebumps until he felt Percy’s weight on him, one knee locking a leg down while the other was stretched to his shoulder. Percy took Joe’s dick in one hand, running a thumb over the slit so Joe gasped, moistening his cock with his precum, running a firm hand down the shaft. All while the other hand slipped the lid from the lube, then sank down, finger-fucking Joe’s hole.

“Fuck, Percy!” Joe cried out. It was the first time Percy was going to fuck Joe like that. Joe had been begging him for weeks, and he’d been waiting for the right time, letting Joe settle in. But this was the perfect moment. He found his prostate, worked it until Joe shuddered with bliss. He stretched him good and proper, because he was going to need it. He kissed him and he worked him over until Joe was begging to be fucked.

Percy knocked the other knee back with his and pushed his cock up against Joe’s perfect hole. There would be no messing around tonight. No need to goad Joe into a dramatic fuck. All he wanted was to be as close to Joe as possible. To show him exactly how much he adored him.

As Joe reached down, Percy gently entwined his fingers with his own, stretched his arms back and held them tight above his head, taking a moment to admire the lean muscles, taut with strain and anticipation, the gorgeous chest, the beautiful lips, and the eyes that loved him, unconditionally, so completely, with such trust, that he had been so terrified, just for a moment, he had lost.

And he would never let that happen again.

“Marry me,” Percy whispered.

“What?” Joe began, but Percy pressed forward into Joe, stretching him slowly, watching Joe bite down on his lip in ecstasy.

Percy kissed his neck, bit his neck, licked the red mark he left, whispered against his ear with hot breath, “Marry me.”

“Percy, you’re mad,” Joe tried, but Percy only tightened his grip on Joe’s fingers, squeezed harder and harder until it was just the right edge of painful, while he buried his dick deeper and deeper, filling Joe inch by delicious inch, until he could barely speak with the intensity of the pleasure as Percy dragged back, ready for an even more profound incursion.

“Marry me,” came the words, burning against Joe’s electrified skin, but Percy’s next thrust pushed deeper still, directed expertly with such singular desire to wreck Joe that all he could do was let go a wordless gasp of rapture, trying to give something back to Percy, but held tight, unable to move, forced to take all the pleasure Percy poured into him, as he pulled back, then thrust his full length deeper still.

With a moan of happiness that made Percy that much more determined to get the answer he wanted, Joe forced out, “Yes.”

Percy relented and thrust again, slowly, but thoroughly, well aware of Joe’s dick aching to be touched, letting only the drift of his abs provide any modicum of relief, teasing the tip of Joe’s tongue with his own, as murmured, “Do you mean ‘yes’ as in I’m fucking you right? Or ‘yes’ as in you’ll marry me?”

“Yes, as in— Oh, god.” Another sweep of crushing pressure against Joe’s sweet spot, only with more calculation this time.

“What was that, darling?” Percy teased.

“Percy, fuck!” Percy took hold of Joe’s desperate cock and began a gentle but unyielding rhythm, the muscles of his shoulder working in the candlelight, the light sweat on his naked back, sweeping Joe towards the edge, pushing him into near overdrive. He took hold of Percy’s neck and pulled him down, kissing him for every bit as though it might have been the last time. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Damn right, you will.”

Joe laughed for the three seconds Percy afforded him before he took hold of Joe’s shoulder, leaned his beautiful head down against his neck, and let go a shaky breath in that way he did when he was close. And that was fine, because Joe was close too. Percy pumped his cock, feeling the rising tension beneath his fingers, feeling Joe’s beating heart against his own, and feeling just about as proud as he ever had, because he had the most beautiful fiancé he could ever have dreamed of. And he was quite sure, at that time, that what he’d said was true. That he would never lie to Joe again. That he would never have to, and that, for the first time in his life, he had found complete safety in this person who he now knew with absolute certainty was his soulmate.

He remained on the precipice just as long as he could, Joe fighting his own climax, the two of them prolonging the moment, refusing to let the other down, letting the intensity build for as long as either of them could stand until it was all Percy could do to slip his hand down, grasp Joe’s balls, and force him into the most intense orgasm of his entire life, while Percy came hard deep inside him for the first time, the two of them letting go in beautiful, shuddering exhilaration, until Percy fell into Joe, breathless, blissful, shaking, utterly content.

They very nearly drifted off there in that haunted ruin of a house, until finally Joe spoke. “Do we need to get back to the restaurant in time for the next course?”

“I think we’ve missed it,” said Percy, “but if we’re quick, we’ll make it in time for cheese.”

“Percy.” Joe shifted his head to look at him, a fold of hair tickling Percy’s arm as it fell so beautifully. “Things don’t always have to be more with us, you know?”

Percy swept the hair back with gentle fingers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can just tell me you love me. You don’t have to make a grand gesture. I know you didn’t take this job specifically to pay for all the things you’ve bought today.” Here Percy kept silent, wondering where omission became a lie, while Joe meandered on, “But I just want you to know… I’m really happy to just be with you. I don’t need anything more than that.”

Percy pulled his head back a little to assess Joe properly. “Are you breaking off our engagement already? Because I think that’s a little premature.”

“No.” Joe laughed. “As though anyone would let us get married, anyway.”

“Then you’ll be my fiancé until they do.” Percy kissed Joe’s temple as he settled back down against him, playing with the hair on his chest contemplatively.

Joe seemed to be thinking things over, and Percy waited without a sound to let him sort through it all before he delivered his verdict on the day’s strange events. Finally, he said softly, “You did a really good thing here today. Some people might disagree, but a man like that… He would have killed his wife.” Percy could feel Joe’s body tense, so he kept quiet, allowing an exit if Joe needed it, but Joe said, very casually, too casually, “My father was like that. And I used to pray every day for someone like you to come along and take him away. But that never happened for me. Or my mother. So it means a lot that you did that for someone.” He tilted his head up and looked straight into Percy’s eyes. “I’m really proud of you.”

He may as well have gutted Percy on the spot. Percy had always been willing to take Joe’s praise, in whatever way he could get it, but this was different. It was a raw spot that came with being the son of a bastard, and with knowing how hard it was to make an admission like that for the first time. “I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it. For everything. For what had happened to Joe, but also for every last terrible thing he’d done to Joe that day, or during their entire relationship, whether Joe knew it or not.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joe replied.

“I know,” said Percy. So he tightened his hold until all was calm, and Joe spoke again.

“What’s your next job?”

Why God had chosen to smile on him in that moment of all moments was something Percy never thought to question, and he thanked his lucky stars he hadn’t chosen high-level extortion. “My next job is to steal a painting.”

Joe kept a brave face, but there was a touch of ash in his complexion, spurred by his clear disappointment. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly serious. And they’re going to pay me seven-hundred thousand dollars to do it.” Percy watched carefully for the charming change that he imagined was due with his next words. “Because the painting is haunted. And it kills people.”

It was not quite as he had expected. Joe rolled onto one arm and fixed him with an accusatory stare. “You were going ghost hunting without me?”

“No, I was going painting hunting without you. It’s Edvard Munch, and it’s priceless, so I didn’t think you’d want me stealing it. It’s going to be a very difficult operation, even if it wasn’t haunted.”

Joe thought that over, then asked with a wary note in his voice, “But you wouldn’t steal it if it wasn’t haunted, would you?”

Percy very much did not want to lie to Joe again, as recent as their fresh start together was, so he replied, “If we don’t do this, a lot of people might die.” The way he phrased it was an invitation, and that melted Joe. How completely he loved him. And how nice it was being adored for a good reason. Percy accepted the kiss that sealed the deal, then said, “We should get back to the restaurant. Do you want to go ahead while I finish with Elio?”

“Nah. It’s faster with two. What do you need to do?”

“I need to take his hands, which I’ll have to dump somewhere, but they can come back to the restaurant in my bag for now. Other than that, I just need to dig a bullet out of his head.”

“Okay. I’ll take the hands.” They both sat up and began a search for their discarded clothing, as Joe reflected aloud, “You know, I’m kind of surprised you’re not traumatised by that sort of thing.”

“Severed hands?” asked Percy. “I am, handsome. That’s why I’ve been drinking since we woke up.”

Joe laughed and Percy laughed, and Percy passed Joe Giordano’s large knife, then rammed his own blade into Elio’s skull. It took a little longer to find the bullet than it usually would, so distracted was he by Joe’s beautiful fingers slicing the wrists, the way his hair fell forward as he snapped the bones, the way he blushed a little whenever he caught Percy watching him.

Lovely Joe.

What a fine husband he would make.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

DIGESTIVO

Percy insisted that, wrapped in garbage bags, rotting in the heat of the Palermo spring, Elio would be unrecognisable within a few days. He said there was more risk of being caught if they dumped the body anywhere else, because the likelihood of someone entering the famously haunted house was minimal at best.

Joe was not especially happy to discover the reputation of the house. “You fucked me in front of a ghost?”

“Several probably,” said Percy. “But the building used to be a brothel, so I expect they’re pretty open-minded about that sort of thing.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m sorry. I forgot about them. I was very distracted.” Arguing thus, they made their way back to the restaurant. Both climbed through the restroom window, where they washed all traces of blood, dust and sex away.

Leo, meanwhile, had been worried—very worried—when neither Percy nor Joe returned for such a long period. He had fretted for a while, and his knee had begun to tap, so Althea had settled it with her hand. Leo had taken hold of that hand, formed the sudden, firm belief that Percy and Joe would sort themselves out, and promptly forgotten all about them.

Without Percy to watch over him, he continued to hold Althea’s hand. He accepted the wine the next time a waiter offered it, and the next time again, and once that bottle was empty, he decided to impress her by ordering something a little more refined, which was saying something, because Percy had already ordered exceptionally well. He chose to accompany the new, frightfully expensive wine with some ill-matched but also very expensive caviar, which the wait-staff congratulated him on regardless of the fact it clashed with both the wine and the carefully planned meal. The two looked at the dubious mound of black pearls that was soon set before them, spread some on a cracker each, counted to three and shoved the lot in. They spat it all out disgracefully, laughing the whole time, at which point Leo got the drunken certainty it was then or never, and so he threaded his fingers into Althea’s hair, pulled her in, and kissed her.

He was fired immediately.

Lucky for him, Percy and Joe were both in remarkably good moods, and he wasn’t ejected from the restaurant, as he might have been for the same act a few hours earlier. As frosty as Percy was for a time, that soon fell away with the promise of ‘a serious talk tomorrow’.

Percy and Joe drank the expensive wine, and ate the expensive and poorly matched caviar, along with everything else that was presented to them during the remainder of the sitting. The bill was hideous, but Percy no longer cared. He had money again. Plenty of it. And he was about to make a whole lot more, only this time without hiding a thing from his handsome fiancé.

He did wonder how Joe would handle it all. He was smart, swift on his feet, damn good looking, but could he think like a criminal?

And that was exactly when Joe said, with a slight arch in his right eyebrow, “How about some drunk night swimming?”

What a fine, fine husband he would make.

A short time later, with two hands in his pockets, not his own, Percy entered the water. He swam fast, though not quite so smoothly as he had earlier in the day, with the pressing concern that he did not want to be eaten by a shark after all, but that carrying severed hands into deep, open water at night was about as close as it came to inviting that sort of trouble.

Percy did not get eaten by a shark, and somewhere around two a.m., he and Joe returned to their hotel room to find a short note waiting on their coffee table. It read:

Sei diventato tenero. Fallo di nuovo e sei fuori.

Coglione.

Mi tengo l'altra metà.

Which was Luca’s way of telling Percy he was a dick on thin ice who was definitely not getting the other twenty-five thousand dollars.

Percy gave a shrug, and he and Joe fell back into their bed, deeply in love, deeply happy, without any trace of the murder of Elio Randazzo.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

GIORDANO

The next morning was spent between sex and the beach, then some time in the early afternoon Leo was dispatched to Paris with Percy’s sheath. Shortly afterwards, Althea left for London, to stay two weeks in a mid-range hotel hard by Euston Station. She was given one of Percy’s credit cards, and Leo’s number, where she could reach them should she need them, before either Percy or Leo contacted her about the job opportunity.

Joe declined Percy’s invitation to meet Giordano’s mother. He knew it was offered with the best of intentions, but one taste of her caponata had left Joe in no doubt as to Percy’s worth to the woman, and he did not wish to play the role of interloper that day or any other. Especially when Percy would have enough trouble convincing her to attend her chemotherapy treatment as it was. But he was persuasive, and Joe had as much faith in him as Giordano evidently had.

Giordano.

Percy and Joe stayed on five more glorious days in Palermo. They saw the catacombs and Caravaggios, cathedrals and coves, piazzas and palaces. They drove as far as Giordano’s car would take them and returned to the city every evening, just in time to dress for dinner.

And every evening, Giordano worked the bar.

It began with a friendly nod on the way past if they noticed each other amid the comings and goings. Percy and Joe would be in and out three or more times each evening, after all. On the first night, Percy popped over with Joe to have a brief word about his chat with Giordano’s mother. They said an avoidant but well-natured sort of goodbye, and that, they thought, was that.

On the second night, Percy genuinely forgot his watch, so Joe waited in the beautiful lobby while he ran upstairs. Joe was anxious when Giordano motioned him over with a raise of his chin, but all that took place was some light travel conversation and a glass of Cynar on the house. Percy was quietly displeased when he came across the pair, but pleasantly surprised by Joe’s good mood after the event.

On the third night, Percy and Joe rolled in sometime around half past one, just as Giordano was closing. With a knowing look, two glasses were placed on the counter and, being in a cheery mood, the two took up the offer. Giordano made Percy’s cocktail properly this time and made one for himself, too.

The fourth night was a repeat of the third, except that it lasted more than one drink. Joe found himself always favoured by both men. They, directed by Percy, never reminisced in front of him. They never talked of anything that excluded him, and by five a.m., Joe found himself almost forgetting they had once been together. He never knew the depths of it, and except for Giordano’s occasional searching look at Percy, it appeared to have been nothing more than a fling with a barman. A beautiful barman, who continued relentlessly to flirt with Joe, whether Percy was there or not. Percy’s only reaction was to agree that yes, Joe was shockingly beautiful, painfully desirable, and an exquisite husband to be.

The fifth night, being their last, they stopped in for a goodbye drink. But Giordano, knowing it was their last night, made a quiet suggestion. “I’m just about done here,” he said, halfway through a drink. “What if I bring a few bottles up?”

Percy tweaked the second the words were out in the open. “We have an early flight.”

Joe had not tweaked. “One o’clock isn’t early. We can have a few more.”

“We could do that here,” Percy subtly attempted.

“But we keep him up every night,” Joe protested. “What if someone comes into the bar for a drink? We should let you close.” He got up off his chair unsteadily. “This’ll be fun. We never entertain.”

“Joe,” Percy said quietly, staying the hand that pulled out a room key for Giordano, “I think Giordano is suggesting he might like to stay.”

“Then he can stay.” Joe shrugged, then redirected his speech to a bemused Giordano. “Have you seen that bed? It’s big enough for three.”

Giordano grinned back at him. “That sounds perfect.”

“No,” said Percy.

“I’ll be up in five,” said Giordano, accepting the key which Joe tore back from Percy and shoved across.

“Giordano…” Percy began. But damn. He was beautiful. Still so beautiful. But it was almost definitely a very bad idea. Giordano had feelings. And Percy had… a seemingly everlasting fondness. And Joe couldn’t have understood what was going on at all right now. Or could he have? It was unlike him, but then, how often did an opportunity like Giordano come along?

Joe was already halfway out of the bar, so Percy, following, threw back to Giordano, “I need to talk to him. This is almost definitely a no.”

“You talk,” said Giordano, quite sure he had heard Joe suggest only seconds prior that they should all share the bed, and quite sure he knew Percy well enough to know he wouldn't object. Not unless he’d changed even more than Luca suggested he had. Yet something in that notion made him throw the key back to Percy. “I’ll knock.”

Percy caught up with Joe at the elevator, sidled in next to him, and let the doors close before he commenced, “You know he wants to sleep with you, don’t you?”

“What?” Joe squinted over at him. “No, he wants a drink. He said he’s bringing something up.”

“He’s bringing something, all right,” Percy mumbled. Gorgeous, naïve Joe. “You must know that’s code. No one ever just says, ‘can I come up for sex, please?’”

Joe blushed pleasantly. “You did.”

“Okay, that’s true,” Percy conceded. “A few times. But Giordano wants to have sex with you. And with me. Just so we’re clear.” Joe’s brow darkened slowly, but thoroughly, as the news settled in, so Percy said, “I’ll call down when we get in and let him know it’s off.”

Unexpectedly, Joe placed a soft, stalling hand on Percy’s arm. “But is that what you want?”

The doors opened. “I’m sorry, what?” said Percy with a half glance at Joe. “What I want?”

“Yeah.” They proceeded slowly down the hall. “What you said at the beach about sexual exploration and⁠—”

“No. I want you and only you,” Percy rushed out. “And I want you to be happy. And I very much don’t want you to do this because you think it would make me happy.” Percy shoved his key into the door and pulled it open.

Joe followed, mulling things over, as Percy crossed to the replacement phone that was installed after he broke the last one. “But do you think it would be bad for us? For our relationship, I mean.”

“Honestly?” Percy had the receiver at his ear, but he stopped to give Joe what he thought was the frank truth of the matter. “I think it would be bad for you. You have a jealous personality, and I love that about you, but I’m not convinced you could ever see this as just sex. You’re too sweet and too sensitive. And if we did this, I worry you would mistake physical attraction for more than it is.”

Percy began a search down the index for the number of the bar, pausing again when Joe said softly, “Would you like to see it, though?”

Stupid dick making itself known. “No,” said Percy firmly. “I don’t need to see that.”

Joe slid between Percy and the desk and kissed his cheek, wrapping his fingers around the top of Percy’s belt. “I didn’t ask if you need to.” He nipped his neck. “I asked if you want to.”

Such weak flesh as Percy was a slave to. “No.”

Joe palmed Percy’s trousers. “Then why is your dick so hard?”

“Because you’re doing things!” Percy dodged away from him around the edge of the desk. Joe was in fast pursuit, making Percy ditch the telephone in favour of catching Joe’s hands and forcing them behind his back, from where he pushed him into the wall, and held him there with his chest, one leg sliding between Joe’s thighs. “There isn’t a night I don’t want to see you fucked every which way, crying in ecstasy as I invade every hole in a radically debauched orgy of pleasure.”

Joe licked his chin, and Percy’s resolve all but disappeared, yet he still ground out, “But we’re in a good place.” And he kissed Joe’s cheek gently. “I’ve never been this happy in my entire life. And though I will almost definitely regret this, eventually, I don’t want to jeopardise that. So…” He sighed out a very long breath, preparing to say words he never thought he’d say. “I don’t want to have a threesome tonight.”

It was a relatively long and perplexed silence until Joe narrowed his eyes and said, “What have you done with Percy?”

Rarely bashful, but obsessively enticing when he was, Percy lowered his head with a laugh. “I wish I knew.”

“Seriously,” said Joe, his lips on Percy’s cheek. “You don’t want to sleep with two handsome Italian men?”

“Not tonight.”

“You don’t want to do the… the train?”

Percy groaned. “No.”

“Or, the… What’s the one with the…”

“The spit roast,” Percy mumbled.

“Yes!”

“No! No, I don’t. But if it’s important to you…” He relented gently against Joe’s enticing caresses. “Then you can…” But there he stilled, exactly as though he had just realised something. And when he looked into Joe’s eyes, Joe could see the fire ignite. “Actually, no. You can’t. I don’t want you to sleep with him. And I don’t want you to be with anyone else. Not ever. Not even once.”

And that was that.

Percy lifted Joe onto the sturdy, expensive desk and used him just as thoroughly as ten men might have.

Joe didn’t give Giordano another thought that night, or until they next saw him. Perhaps all it ever needed was a proposal, for Percy to drop all his lies, take Joe on as a partner in crime, and refuse consenting group sex with other beautiful men, but from that time Joe felt he was, finally, perfectly secure in Percy’s love.

Percy, on the other hand, did think about Giordano. Only once Joe was sleeping in his arms, while his fingers toyed absentmindedly with the lock of a curl, did he allow himself to, but he was starkly aware that Giordano never came to their room. Not that they didn’t hear him, or missed it somehow, but that he had chosen not to. And that fact endeared Giordano to him all the more. Not remotely in the same way he held and loved Joe, but there was a bittersweet finality about it. Their first parting on good terms.

He never knew how close Giordano came. That his hand was on the door when he thought better of it. Because what he had wondered about earlier in the night was true. Percy had changed. And Giordano loved him too much to touch the fragile thing that was happening inside him. So he left, maybe to wait another four years in his bar, and to see who Percy was then.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

ONE LAST SURPRISE FOR JOE

The next day, Percy and Joe were in a taxi on their way to the airport when Percy leaned across and said, “I have a little surprise for you, handsome.”

This sort of comment, at this stage in the relationship, elicited in Joe a combination of excitement, love, and teeth-grinding fear. The look on Percy’s face was less mischievous than it had been when he stole the champagne. Joe couldn’t see a hint of guilt or trepidation that he thought he might have seen there had Percy killed someone again. And with this physical reassurance, he turned in his seat to face Percy, just as Percy had turned towards him.

Percy swept Joe’s hands up into a ball, running his thumbs over his knuckles. “I couldn’t resist. I’m taking you to Rome.”

Sheer, white-hot panic assailed Joe. “What?”

“Remember our first night together? We said how nice it would be to go to Rome one day? But that was when I was doing that stupid not-boyfriends thing, and…” Percy kept talking, but Joe had already tuned him out. All he heard was the pulsing of his blood in his ears, and all he felt was the bump of the car that kept moving him, mercilessly, towards the airport, and towards Rome. With Percy. “…an apartment with beautiful⁠—”

“No.” Joe heard the word on his lips and balked at the sharply incisive curve of Percy’s brow.

“No? You don’t want to go to Rome?”

“No, um…” Joe searched for an excuse—anything feasible that would explain why a man wouldn’t want to go to, arguably, the most beautiful city in the world with his brand new fiancé. “We need to be in London. We were going to London.”

Percy laughed, though it sounded a little hollow, as thrown as he was by Joe’s unexpected reaction. “London can wait a few days, surely.”

“But Althea. What if— She might need us there. We should go there. For her.”

Percy was studying him far too keenly now, in that way he did when he was pretending he wasn’t studying something. “She’s been there almost a week already. You spoke to her this morning. She’s totally fine.”

“But what if⁠—”

“And she has Leo’s number, and he has ours. We can be on a plane in an hour if need be.”

Joe turned away, eyes searching the back of the seat in front of him. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t risk being seen in Rome. So many people there would recognise his face…

Or would they? He hadn’t been back for a decade. He’d sworn he would never set foot there again. But one changes in that time. And he was a grown man now. Not the horribly recognisable teenager he’d been the last time. Maybe no one would notice… Maybe if they kept to themselves…

“What’s wrong?”

Percy’s concern required an answer, but Joe could never, ever tell Percy the truth. Percy thought he was good. Percy liked the Joe that could take care of him. He liked the sweet, loveable Joe that was the yang to his yin, the light to his dark. He liked the Joe he thought he knew… But if he had even an inkling of the truth—that Joe had done things so much worse than anything Percy had ever done—how was he to explain that?

“It’s very expensive,” he attempted.

“So is London. But listen, it’s okay.” Percy rubbed his hand. Joe could see the disappointment in his eyes when he chanced a look up, even if there was no sign of it in the reassuring smile or the light tone. “We’ll go somewhere else. We’ll just go to London. Or, if you’d like an adventure, we could see which planes are departing to which locations in the next few hours. I’m sure we can find a hotel in any major city.”

He hated so much to let Percy down. And Percy was intelligent. If he knew Joe didn’t want to go, he’d wonder why. And if he ever looked into it… “You already got a hotel in Rome?”

“I’ll have Leo cancel it.”

“No, no, don’t do that, it’s⁠—”

“No, Joe, if there’s a reason you don’t want to go to Rome⁠—”

“There’s no reason.” He thought he sounded very sure and very cheery.

But Percy knew something was up. “You don’t have to tell me.” He lowered his head to catch Joe’s averted gaze. “I would never ask you to do that.”

“There’s nothing. It’s just…” He risked pissing Percy off again, but it was all he could think of. “It’s just the money. Um… But you’re right. London’s probably even worse. But maybe, could we compromise a little, and maybe eat in some nights? Just… Spread the spending out a bit?”

Percy took too long to answer. He was thinking it over. Far too smart, far too sharp.

Joe swept Percy’s hands up and kissed them. “Because you’re going to be my husband someday. And that means you are saving for retirement now. With me.”

All those lonely years, and Joe had never once imagined he might one day be looked at with so much love. Percy was the one, no doubt about it. His one true love. He was worth the risk. And what risk? A decade on, no one would recognise him. It was nothing.

Percy said, “Are you sure that’s all? Because I promise I can afford it. And after we do this heist⁠—”

“Sshht!” Joe gave a scandalised glance towards the driver, who was trying his best to ignore the pair of them, then lowered his voice to barely above the sound of the engine. “If you say so. I trust you completely. But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with staying in on occasion.” Joe knew the best way to a shift in conversation would be to let Percy tell Joe all about how he planned to spoil him, so he started with a leading, “Besides, I bet you’ve picked somewhere nice.”

“The best!” Percy was already beaming again, animated, just the way Joe loved to see him. “We actually do have the best terrace for cocktails.”

“Oh really?”

“It’s enormous. Grape vines, statues, the lot.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“It overlooks the Colosseum.”

Joe burst out laughing, half relief he’d regained the ground he thought he might have lost with Percy, and half defeated adoration. He was going to have to save for the pair of them, he could tell already. But what a life it would be.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

ROMAN HORROR-DAY

The apartment in Rome was everything Joe had, in a few short weeks, grown to expect from Percy. Big, beautiful, luxurious, tasteful. Their first night was drinks and dinner on the terrace, and it was spectacular. There, under a golden moon, the Colosseum below and gorgeously lit with orange lights beneath a dark and darkening blue sky, they discussed the next stage of their plans.

Percy was charmingly frank about his scheme to steal the haunted painting. He made it sound like a lark. They would have costumes, fake names, the full heist gear, and it felt to Joe like the adventure of a lifetime. Not least because, for the first time, it really seemed to Joe that Percy was opening the door on his secret life, and allowing him to step inside.

The threat of Cleo remained, but with both Althea and Leo safely hidden away, and no one having heard a thing about the princess in over a week, the two were in agreement that the hefty reward for grand theft art should be obtained first, to allow them to track Cleo wherever she might move next, and put an end to whatever her evil machinations were once and for all.

Well into the night, when the two were tipsy and warm in their romance, Percy’s eagerness to wander the city streets got the better of Joe. It was dark anyway, and hardly anyone was about. It seemed like a perfectly safe thing to do. And it was worth the small risk to hold Percy’s hand and wander aimlessly about such a beautiful place. The holiday they had both dreamed of since the start of their adventure.

Joe was both surprised and charmed by Percy’s fast friendship with several of the city’s cats, and the relaxed ambience of it all made him brave enough to call into a few very quiet bars, where no one recognised either of them.

The next day, Joe having been bolstered by that experience, they ventured out a little more, then a little more again the next day, until Joe began to feel comfortable enough to really enjoy everything the city had to offer. Percy was so perfectly at home there, and there was always a church with a ‘favourite’ artwork he needed to show Joe. Or there was simply a stroll across the Tiber, getting caught in the rain and kissing on a bridge as lightning cracked above them and they got drenched in the downpour. Every moment instilled in the pair the belief that everything was going to be fine—that they were utterly made for one another.

Four days in, and Joe was comfortable, or complacent enough, to agree to dinner at a small trattoria that Percy, as usual, described as the best. The place was cute, and was quiet when they arrived, but it soon filled up until it was warm and crowded. They’d already ordered their meals and started on a carafe of wine when Joe became aware of the eyes on him.

He turned his head in the animal way humans do when they feel that sensation. Automatic. Something he wouldn’t have done had his guard not been worn down those last few relaxing days of the holiday.

The man who’d been staring kept staring, and Joe held his gaze for a few very long seconds, until the man dipped his head to another man, sitting next to him, and whispered something. That man commenced a similarly cool and unflinching assessment of Joe. Joe dragged his eyes back to Percy, only to realise he’d seen the whole thing.

“Roman stare,” Percy said softly.

Joe’s eyes flitted back to the pair, who’d now got another patron at their table interested, and he tried to laugh it off. “Yeah. Must be.”

But that table was almost silent, nothing but a whisper moving around at record speed, heads nodding, eyes squinting, until one of them yelled, “Joe!”

Exactly as if it meant nothing, Joe took a sip of wine and smiled placidly at Percy. Percy mirrored the smile.

“Joe Bruno!” the man shouted.

Someone to their left, who’d arrived just after them, who’d been drinking an apéritif behind a newspaper, got up and left. He bumped Joe’s arm on the way past, not that Joe noticed. Joe was busy with the charade, like a man who’d spent half his life mentally preparing for this moment. He stretched out a hand to fiddle with the candle, and made some comment to Percy about the bread, so stupid and so pointless that he’d forgotten what he said a moment later, but at least he’d said something.

Percy kept up the game, and he spoke about the bread too, then about bread in general, and Joe wanted to fling himself on Percy’s chest and be held there safe and sound forever.

But the man was at his table now. And he was standing between them, and he was asking, in Italian, “Are you Joe Bruno?”

“He doesn’t speak Italian,” Percy said.

The man flipped to English, his eyes still on Joe. “You look familiar. Are you Joe Bruno?”

“No.” Joe’s throat was dry, tight. “You must be thinking of someone else.”

A phone shrieked somewhere behind Percy. Joe jumped.

The man said to Joe, “What’s your name, then?”

Percy stood, easing the man back with a shoulder as he stepped in front of Joe. “You’ve got the wrong man.”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Joe was touched, but horrified.

“Percy Ashdown?” a waitress called from the kitchen.

The man stepped back against the next table, but remained there, watching Joe, with no comprehension of the mess he was about to get himself into.

“Percy, don’t,” Joe whispered, closing a hand around Percy’s wrist.

“Percy Ashdown?” The waitress called, but Joe didn’t hear it.

Percy moved his spare hand to the man’s chest, speaking in that soft, firm, terrifying tone he kept for occasions like these. “Sit down at your table. Otherwise, you’ll find yourself unable to walk out of here.”

“Doctor Ashdown?” came the third call, even louder now.

A tense standoff ensued, but the man had no desire to be hit, and he had enough insight and gossip to return to his friends as a successor, anyway.

Percy watched him sit, then leaned low over Joe, withdrew his dagger from his pocket and placed it on the table before Joe. Joe covered it by instinct, even as Percy’s whispered words in his ear shocked him into action. “There’s a phone call for me, but no one knows we’re here. That means we’re being watched. I’m going to take it. If anyone comes near you, kill them. Don’t think twice.”

“Stay,” Joe whispered desperately.

“We need to know what she knows.” He dropped a kiss on Joe’s cheek and slipped smoothly from Joe’s grasp.

Percy took the phone from the waitress and held it to his ear, searching through the restaurant, out to the street.

Cleo’s voice rang out loud and clear across the line. “Rome? How predictable.”

“I’ve already sold the sheath,” Percy replied. “It’s gone. If you want it, you can take it up with the new owner.”

She laughed, with a sinister edge that Percy had never once heard there before. “I’ll do you a trade. The sheath for… Now what’s that name? Oh, yes. Joe Bruno.”

The words were like two litres of adrenaline injected straight into Percy’s heart. He dropped the phone as six men stood, right behind Joe. One slid an arm around his neck and pulled him backwards, but Joe was ready. He thrust Percy’s knife into the arm and slit it deep, spilling blood across the table in a vermillion streak.

People were standing, trying to flee the restaurant. Percy jumped the bench, knocking anyone who got between him and Joe to the floor.

Another arm wrapped around Joe’s head, covering his eyes, wrenching him backwards. He was thrown to the floor, then both his arms were taken a hold of.

Percy picked up a chair and smashed it across the head of the assailant who had Joe’s left arm. He fell straight to the floor, freeing Joe’s one hand. Joe rolled over, took the knife he had in his right hand into his left, and drove it down hard into the foot of the man who still held him.

There was a moment of pause, as something subconscious in Joe had expected that to halt the abduction, but the man kept walking, a stream of blood pouring out of the shoe Joe had pierced, leaving the floor slick with red. And the smell. The smell that escaped was indescribably terrible, but… familiar.

By instinct, Joe pulled the dagger free, and plunged it back in, to the same effect. His feet slid on the blood as he tried to swing his legs around to get some leverage, but all it seemed to do was ease the procession across the tiles.

Arms reached down around his waist, lifted, then let go, and a stinking breath hit Joe’s face as that man doubled over from the punch in the guts Percy gave him. Then he was pulled up, head grasped and smashed down into a table. Percy wrenched him back, the crack of a neck breaking accompanying his final fall.

Joe wrapped his legs around those that pulled him along, and taking Percy’s lead, decided that crippling the man was the only option. He held strong and sliced across the back of a leg, straight through the calf muscle, right down to the bone. Finally, the man who held him slumped down to the floor, but he didn’t make a sound. He righted himself, crawling, even as Joe hurled himself away from what he now saw to be a dead thing. Something with decrepit and rotting skin and milky eyes that lunged for him.

Percy’s boot kicked the thing backwards. He pulled Joe to his feet, and dragged him through the restaurant to the deserted kitchen, the staff and customers having had the good sense to evacuate.

Percy paused in the middle of the room, taking up the biggest knife he could find—a cleaver—stuck in a gigantic hunk of pork that was being prepared for the evening’s meals. Joe passed his dagger over, finding a much larger carving knife. He turned, his back meeting Percy’s as they prepared to fight. “Kill them all?”

“Every last one,” said Percy.

The first to arrive in the kitchen got the cleaver straight into their skull, stuck halfway in. Dead eyes rolled back, and the being lost control of its movements, flailing to the floor, twitching.

“Standard zombie protocol,” Percy called out.

Joe had already slid his knife into the guts of the next thing, pulling the chef-sharp blade upwards, soaking himself in the cold blood of the undead. “Got it.” He shoved it in as deep as he could, severed the spinal column and watched the creature fall. Crushing a boot down on the side of its face, the knife went into the neck to sever the head.

The next one jumped at Percy, who uppercut into his stomach, eliciting an emphatic, “Oof!” Percy shoved him against the wall where his skull audibly cracked.

“Is that one human?” Joe stood so sharply, head snapping across so fast, that he didn’t see the fist that came from the right and cracked into his cheek, felling him to the linoleum floor.

“Bastard!” Percy shouted. Joe’s attacker, human or not, was shoved up against the wall, knifed in the chest three times, then thrown to the ground with a pot of boiling stock on top for good measure. To Joe’s horrified relief, it didn’t make a sound as the skin of the face pulled up and broke apart into angry red burns, singed off down to the muscle. Percy ripped it to its feet, smacked its chin down on the bench, and even Joe had to turn away at the brutality of the movement when Percy smacked two fists down so hard on its back that the head flung upwards, breaking the neck in one go.

Joe scrambled to his feet double fast, putting himself between Percy and the one they knew was human, who was grasping the kitchen island to pull himself up. “Stop,” Joe begged. But he recognised the one-track march to destruction that Percy had started on. “Percy, you don’t need to.”

The flash of a meat tenderiser caught Joe’s eye as it twirled off the bench, between Percy’s fingers, then came down hard on the man’s grasping hand, breaking all four fingers. A shattering scream smashed into the kitchen walls.

“Percy!”

“He’s not your friend.” Percy’s hand moved to Joe’s waist, surprisingly gentle in the firm attempt to move him to the side.

Joe slid out of his grasp, twisting to get a hand on the arm that held the weapon. “Let’s go out the back. Come with me.”

He pulled at Percy’s hand, but Percy kept on towards the man who had crawled against the wall, clutching his mangled fingers, begging for his life. “Just as soon as I take care of this.”

“Percy, please.” Joe put a hand on his cheek, bringing his eyes across to meet his own. “Let’s go.”

“If you leave them alive, they will come for you. You must realise that by now.”

“You killed them last time, and they came, anyway.” Percy rolled his eyes at the logic, the first hint he might be softening to Joe’s entreaties. Joe spoke again, twice as determined. “They’re zombies. That means they’ve got to be Cleo’s, right? If you kill him, she’ll just turn him into one of them. She’s not going to run out of dead people. Killing him makes no difference. We have to go.”

A coughing, choking splutter came from behind Percy’s foot, and the thing whose neck he had just broken twitched. The burned creature flopped and rolled. The one with the severed spine gave a powerful shudder.

“They’re reanimating,” Percy said. He eyed the doorway, the empty back alley through which they could wind their way out of the city under the cover of darkness if they were fast enough. “Fuck!” His murderous eyes fell back on the human.

“Please!” said Joe. “We need to run.”

A huff of frustration broke from Percy, and Joe allowed a small thankful smile at the victory, despite Percy adding, “Fine, but if he shoots you in the back on the way out, it’s your own fault.”

“Got it. Come.”

But Percy took one final precaution before they escaped. He raised the meat tenderiser high, then flung it down hard and fast before Joe’s jaw even had time to drop. It smashed into the man’s knee, pulverising it into innumerable bone shards and pulp.

“Percy!” Joe snapped above the screams. “Did you have to do that?”

“Do you want him to follow us?”

“Ugh!” Joe made for the door with a strong hold of Percy’s hand, and the two ran down the greasy stairs into a filthy alley, their footsteps echoing loud around the walls above them as a police siren screamed its nearing proximity. “Not the hotel?”

“No. I’ll hijack a car.” His hand reached for the dagger, but Joe knocked it away, instead pulling him harder and faster around the corner and back onto the busy main street.

Joe’s eyes immediately discerned a line of bright white cars. “How about a taxi instead?”

“Are you going to be like this the whole time?” Percy groaned. “‘Don’t kill people’, ‘get taxis’. I thought you wanted to save money.”

Joe wrenched the door of a taxi open, shoving Percy towards it. “I swear to god, Percy. You are going to be the death of me.”

Percy threw himself into the backseat and lit a cigarette. “You keep up your kindness, darling, and you’re going to be the death of us both.”

“I’m not! What’s he going to do? He’s a cripple now.”

“A cripple with a vendetta, and that’s the worst kind of cripple.”

“And whose fault’s that?” Joe shouted.

“He’d be dead if it was up to me!” Percy yelled back.

“Where to?” asked the taxi driver.

“Fucked if I know,” Percy replied. “Out of Rome. Somewhere. Just drive.”

“Not the airport,” Joe muttered as the car pulled out into traffic. “It’s too obvious.” He leaned forward, grasping the chair in front of him, addressing the driver. “How much to take us to Naples?”

“Look who’s flashing the cash now,” Percy muttered.

“Would you shut up just for one minute? I’ll pay for it.”

“Don’t you dare!”

In a heated exchange, in which Joe had very little leverage to work with, given the state he and Percy were in and the conversation the taxi driver had already heard, he drove the price down as much as he could, which wasn't much. Then, with a whole new reason to feel sick, Joe closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back seat, sinking down, wondering, what the fuck next?

As ever, a kindly shoulder pressed into his, and he felt the touch of a cigarette at his lips. He parted them, took a deep drag, then leaned into the kiss he felt on his cheek.

“You know,” said Percy, in his easy, languid drawl, as though the last half hour hadn’t just happened, “we could easily get the train from Naples to Venice. I think this is a very good idea, actually. And do you know what’s in Venice?”

“Is it another Caravaggio?”

“They don’t have any.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Isn’t it? But this is almost as good.”

Joe tipped his weary head to the side, that gorgeous, irresistible grin swept across Percy’s face, and he revealed, “The Orient Express.”

“Aaaargh, Percy, no!” Joe practically wept.

“Why on earth not? We have to be in Bruges in a few weeks for this heist. We’ll take the Express to Paris, then find our way up there.”

Joe squinted at him. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to act like a normal person?”

Percy shrugged. “Do you really think she’s going to look for us on the Orient Express?”

“It’s probably one of the first places I’d look for you. If I really believed you would ever be that ridiculous.”

“But you wouldn’t believe it, would you?”

Watching Percy raise those two eyebrows in the flashing yellow lights of Rome brought a disbelieving, loving, confounded laugh out of Joe, and Percy pounced on him. He kissed him full on the lips, even as he chuckled, snaked an arm around his back, and pulled him across the backseat of the taxi, laying his head against his chest.

Percy dropped a kiss on his hair, then spoke quietly, with the first hint of seriousness his voice had held since they got in the taxi. “I’m sorry about all of this. I promise she wasn’t a necromancer when I knew her. I’ll track her down and I’ll take care of it.”

Joe glanced up at his troubled face. “We’ll track her down. Together.”

“Mmm. Yes. I really can’t ditch you now she knows your name.”

“Percy!” Joe jabbed an elbow into his ribs.

“Ouch!” Percy readjusted his position to one without a bone in his side, but with the love of his life nestled safely in his arms, and asked softly, “Are you sure you’re up for all of this? The smart thing to do⁠—”

“I gave up on doing the smart thing the second I took up with you,” Joe quipped.

“Your cruelty only makes you more beautiful.”

Joe pulled him down by the lapel of his shirt. “And I haven’t regretted one second of it. I love you.”

“I love you.” Percy kissed him, long and tender.

And so, the taxi sped on through the night, carrying them from one danger to the next. Bruges and the haunted painting hanging over the pair of them, all while they awaited certain death from an evil princess who could inexplicably raise the dead.

But there was no going back.

And, just at that moment, neither of them would have had it any other way.

To be continued in…

THANK YOU FOR READING!

I hope you loved Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined. Part two of the duology, Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin, is coming your way on January 17th, 2025 - preorder now!

And don’t forget to grab your free copy of the steamy inter-book short story, Percy and Joe Take a Ride on the Orient Express. You can find out more about it at whlockwood.com.

While you’re here, I would be so thankful if you’re able to leave a review of Sinful Crimes on Amazon, or Goodreads, or your favourite review site.

And if you still can’t get enough of Percy and Joe, please pop on over to join the discussion in my Facebook reading group, WH Lockwood’s Book Club, or sign up for the newsletter at whlockwood.com.

Thank you so much for reading Sinful Crimes for the Artistically Inclined and for supporting indie authors.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I hardly even know where to begin with this. Percy and Joe are some of the most beloved characters I could ever have thought up, and we’ve had a long journey together. They were originally intended only to have a short comic strip together, but the more time I spent with them, the deeper in love I fell, and here we are.

I have too many people I want to thank and the only way I can get my head around it is by starting in order of each person’s appearance in the book’s timeline. So that means I start with…

Letizia Lorini. Wow. Lety has been with me since the start of my writing career. She was one of the first people to lay eyes on my words, and she has been nothing but kind and encouraging ever since. Unless you know this woman well, you wouldn’t have any idea how many indie authors owe their career to her. And I’m one of them. She’s a constant source of support, she knows good books inside out, and she’s incredibly funny and intelligent. She’s also the number one person I’ve turned to through the years whenever I’ve had doubts about this path, and she’s always kept me on track. And in case you didn’t know, she’s also an incredible writer and I hope you’ll all check her books out.

Lety, I love you so much and I can never thank you enough for everything you’ve been to me. But I’ll keep trying. Thank you! I think you’re just wonderful and I’m so honoured to have this friendship.

Ally Blythe. We started out in MM at the same time, and Ally has listened to me talk over plot points and characters in excruciating detail for hours. She’s got an incredibly sharp eye, and just between us, she has saved my neck about a hundred times. Ally, thank you so much for your friendship and your time and your advice. You’re amazing and so talented and funny. Thank you for everything. I recommend everyone check out Ally’s book.

Shelby De Jesus. What an amazing person you are. You’ve held my hand all the way through this project and your enthusiasm has sat me down to type so many times. Having someone who believes in you and your words and your characters means the world to indie authors like me. Not only that, but Shelby has read for me since the start of this project, and has been instrumental in making this book what it is today. I couldn’t have done it without you, Shelby. And I truly believe you’re one of the strongest, most incredible women I’ve ever met. From the bottom of my heart, thank you for being my friend and for being amazing every day.

TJ Rose. It’s been a time. Since the moment I met you, we gelled, and my days just wouldn’t be the same without you. You’re a kindred spirit not just in friendship, but in writing. Your books are some of my favourites, and I know I’m always in safe hands with your advice. Thank you for all the laughs, all the good times, and all the gossip. I love you and I think you’re incredible. For anyone still reading, if you love my books, you will love TJ’s books, so I’d recommend running to your TBR to chuck all her novels on there right now.

Sam Northman. You know how much I love you. Do I even need to say it? Yes, I do. Thank you for the hours you’ve spent listening to my every drama, offering your kind advice, and for being funny af the whole time. You’re so clever, so wonderful, and such a stupidly talented writer. Thank you for brightening all my author days. Can everyone guess what I’m going to say? Please go check out Sam’s book. You won’t regret it.

Marcia, Amanda, Kaylee, you’ve all been there from the start, cheering me on. Here’s a huge thank you to you. People like you are the lifeblood of this whole industry. So many authors would throw the towel in without the kind of support you give, so thank you for doing what you do, and just being brilliant.

Ian, also known as @lis_photoart. Thank you for creating my beautiful cover art. I really love this so much, and you saved me and my book right at the last minute. I adore your work and can’t wait to see the next one!

To my family, ‘thank you’ really doesn’t seem like enough. I am so, so lucky to have you all in my life. There aren’t words that can properly express how much I love you and how thankful I am every day. You have carved out a space for me to do the thing I love best in the whole world, and still I get to have you, the people I love best in the whole world, by my side every day. I couldn’t be happier or luckier. You’re the most wonderful people in existence. Thank you.

Finally, to every single person who picks this book up and reads it, thank you! Where would I be without readers and reviewers giving me the chance to do this? Where would any of us writers be? Your passion for these books makes a space in the world for creativity. You make the world a brighter and more beautiful place through your love for books. I’m so thankful I get to be a small part of that.

Thanks to this writing and reading community, to all the friends I’ve made along the way, and thanks to Percy and Joe for being so ridiculous, so romantic, and so deeply in love. Here’s to book two.

WH

ABOUT W.H. LOCKWOOD

W.H. Lockwood writes MM and MF gothic romance, action-romance, historical fiction, dark academia and cosy horror.

Raised on a diet of teen horror books and Pepsi, only willing to leave her den to attend chess club at public school, W.H. Lockwood started writing at a young age and has kept this passion throughout her life.

Always a voracious reader, she obtained an undergraduate degree in literary studies from a gorgeous sandstone university, following that with a master’s in publishing and editing, then a master’s in astronomy, thus uniting her two great loves of the arts and science, leaving her utterly unqualified to cope with the real world.

These days, W.H. Lockwood can often be found aimlessly wandering the coffee shops and bookstores of the beautiful city she calls home.

ALSO BY W.H. LOCKWOOD

Did you know Percy and Joe first met in the Endymion College trilogy? Check out those books to discover a different perspective on their story…

Endymion College 1: A Lesson in Love and Death

Endymion College 2: A Study in Survival

Endymion College 3: An Education in Evil

Visit www.whlockwood.com for more information or come find me on Instagram @w.h.lockwood.books