The alarm clock ticked loudly at the side of their bed, and while Francesco snored like a buzz saw clearing a rain forest, Stanley lay awake. It wasn’t his partner who was the cause of his insomnia for Stanley could doze through the wildest storm. In fact, Stanley was sound asleep only ten minutes prior until he thought he heard someone whisper in his ear.
The arms of his alarm clock inched their way toward the number twelve. He sat up and, shortly after, stood and took his dressing gown from the bed post. He remembered hearing the word “eternal” in the sentence that was murmured to him, but the rest of the phrase was hazy.
Numerous cats meowed in unison. Stanley was unnerved. He strode to the living room and peeked through the curtain. Several feline gangs gathered on the front lawn. An eerie wind shook the trees as the cats strolled to the centre of the garden.
Stanley studied the sky. Not a star in sight. Nor was there a cloud above, so the lack of any sign of the universe made no sense. He pondered the end of humanity before concerning himself with his morbid train of thought. The voice whispered again, and Stanley instantly felt drowsy. He sauntered back to the bedroom and fell on top of the sheets.
In his slumber, his dreams began, and in this personal movie he sat at a small round table in a circular room. A crimson curtain wrapped itself around the space.
A crisp white tablecloth fell just above his knees and embossed on a shiny gold card in the middle of his table were the words RESERVED. THE MIDNIGHT MAN.
There were other tables too. All with the same small card and all with either a mature-aged man or woman sitting at them. The only difference was, each of these people were dining and chatting with a younger male companion.
He noted the dress code. Every man, young or old, sported a dinner suit. Stanley also wore one. Each lady was adorned in a stylish black dress.
“Excuse me, sir.” Stanley looked up. A tall waiter with a quaint moustache addressed him. “I’m sorry to say your Midnight Man is running late.”
“Okay,” he replied, mumbling.
With time to spare, Stanley picked up the card. He gazed at it, giving the appearance it aroused his curiosity, but he was actually eavesdropping. He eased back in his chair to listen to the woman who was sitting behind him.
“Interesting conversation?” This questioning voice startled Stanley, but boy, was it sexy. Its honey-rich timbre could invite you to a murder and you’d stay under its spell until the moment the knife was placed in your hand. Stanley looked up to see whose voice it was.
A young man stood with hands in his trouser pockets. His smile sent Stan’s thoughts spinning. Stan knew a genuine grin and this lad had no hidden agendas lurking behind his cordial manner. Stanley was convinced of it.
He measured up to all the best-looking groomsmen Stanley had admired at the various weddings he’d attended. Most of the time it was the best man Stan fancied, especially if they were still playing the field. He’d stare at them wishing to be swept off his feet and carried down the aisle.
This Midnight Man had a crew cut. It’s a cliché to say it was the preferred style of boy next door types, but for Stan, it sealed the deal. Something classic. Something captivating. Something familiar enough to help him not feel old.
“I’m Asher.” He held out his hand. Stanley took it, holding onto it until Asher seated himself at the table.
“You’re beautiful,” Stanley heard himself saying. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be forward. It’s just that…” He covered his mouth momentarily. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You’re the perfect age.”
“What for? For you?” Asher smirked with bedroom confidence.
“No. No. I didn’t mean it like that. You’re my perfect age. No. I’m not making myself clear, am I?”
Asher reached across the table and tenderly stroked Stanley’s wrists.
“Are you hungry?” Asher asked. “Should I ask the waiter for the menu? I’m looking forward to sitting here and listening to your tales.”
“Strangely, I don’t have an appetite.”
“Me neither.” They were the only people in the room now. “Maybe your dream needs a change of pace.” Asher stood. “Follow me to enchantment, or something close to it.”
Stanley did as he was told. Through the crimson curtain was an opening. As they ventured through the darkness on the other side, music broke through the silence. The floor shook with each beat. The murmur of a crowd brought back many memories for Stanley, and as the laser lights flashed random colour into the void, the crowd became visible. Everyone was Asher’s age. Everyone was male. Stanley reached for Asher’s hand to lead him through this curious scene. They were both dressed differently.
Stanley wore a waistcoat adorned with tiny roses, buttoned tight to expose his chest. Asher wore a blue T-shirt as he strode toward the DJ. Stan looked down at a smiling quarter moon, the oversized design on his belt buckle. He stomped his foot. His shoes were sturdy, leather and unmistakably British.
It’s perfect in every way, he thought. So perfect in fact, he was waiting for the ecstasy to kick in. He worked his way back to Asher.
“Why are you called the Midnight Man?” he yelled over the house tune.
“We’re all Midnight Men,” Asher called back. “Everyone dining with your generation in that restaurant was a Midnight Man.”
“But what does it mean?”
“It’s the time I entered your life—midnight.” His playful grin returned.
Then Stanley felt a change.
First, the music. It sounded hollow, as if someone had played around with an equaliser and got it all wrong. Then, like a jet engine, it soared.
Next, awareness of his own lanky shape was replaced by a oneness with everyone in that huge hall. There were no creaky joints or sagging skin. Decades disappeared. A sense of love so overwhelming consumed him. And in this micro moment, Asher was arguably the most bewitching guy Stanley had ever met in the decades he walked the earth.
Then it hit full charge. The need to dance! The want to take off his waistcoat and sense the sweat, the pleasure, and the energy that took control. He was lost in sensation. He was lost in thoughts that highlighted every positive thing about himself. He hadn’t felt this for a very long time.
And Asher was part of this charge, the best part. A boy at the start of the finest years of his life. Young enough to be sought after and brave enough to seek love from those who’ll fall under his spell.
The guys nearby were eyeing Stanley. A lover Stanley recalled for his kindness at a time when he was finding himself. This guy waved at Stanley. The gesture was returned with an air kiss.
Coming toward them was a guy who sported small mirror tiles on his shoulders, as if he was a walking disco ball. He had similarly mirrored shorts. And he also held a mirror.
To Stanley, this guy wore the face of a human hiding his hurt. Someone wishing others would understand his sadness, yet too polite to talk about his feelings, or cry until there were no more tears. A feeling too familiar.
Stanley raised his arms and shook his butt, encouraging Mirror Man to find his bliss. For a moment, the guy laughed. A door was open, ready for pain to be released. He swung his hips, making his way toward Stanley, so Stanley raised his arms higher to transmit love in all directions. Then the guy held his mirror to Stanley’s face.
There it was. There was no denying it. Stanley was not twenty-one again. He was nearly fifty. A man in need of maturity.
“What is it?” Asher asked.
Mirror Man was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m not meant to be here.”
Stanley sat startled as he found himself opposite Asher back at the restaurant. Both were wearing suits again.
“So, tell me, Stan, where are you meant to be?”
“LOCH,” SLOANE Beaumont began calmly, “you cannot threaten to turn the mailman inside out.”
“But I can,” Loch argued defiantly. “It’s actually really easy once you know how. You just start at the feet and roll the skin upwards—”
“I’m not saying you can’t do it, as in you’re not physically capable of it,” Sloane growled. “You’re an ancient and very powerful god. I have no doubt that you could, but what I am trying to tell you is that you can’t keep threatening him! We’ve been over this!”
“Ah!” Loch nodded in understanding. “What you mean is I should go ahead and do it because a clear example needs to be made!”
“No! Ugh!”
“You are so confusing, but you do look very pretty when you’re mad.” Loch batted his eyes, quickly changing gears. “Your eyebrows are so very luscious and thick, and you remind me so much of that nice human who plays Spork in the movie about trekking through the stars.”
“Hey, focus!” Although Sloane did appreciate the flattering comparison, he was not letting Loch get off so easily. “We’re talking about something important.”
“Mmm, yes. You.”
“Loch.”
“Your eyes are like warm pools of dark chocolate, and your lips, oh, I could go on about your lips for eons!”
“Loch!” Sloane groaned again, sitting down beside him on the couch and taking his hands. “Remember how you can’t reveal that you’re a god because it would cause mass panic since most of the world is Lucian now and believes the old gods aren’t real?”
“Yes!” Loch said cheerfully.
“Turning the mailman inside out? Good way to cause panic!”
“But he keeps wrinkling my catalogues.” Loch huffed. “I like the catalogues. And I like them best when they are not wrinkled. There is a definite crease!”
“Azaethoth!” Sloane scolded, invoking Loch’s true godly name with a growl.
Beneath his red curls and bright green eyes, there was a great dragon of legendary proportions hiding. Loch spent most of his time in his mortal vessel, but Sloane never forgot what he really was under that gorgeous facade. The novelty of scolding an ancient god like a stubborn child was not getting old anytime soon.
Loch pouted and crossed his arms. “Fine. I will fix the creases myself like some peasant.”
“And?”
“And I will not turn the mailman inside out,” Loch added sullenly.
“Thank you,” Sloane breathed, rewarding Loch with a sweet kiss and savoring the minty taste of his lips.
Loch smiled and sent a grayish tentacle out from his sleeve to nuzzle against Sloane’s cheek.
Sloane shuddered pleasurably. Any contact with Loch’s godly flesh was utter bliss. It was still hard to believe sometimes that a giant tentacled dragon was crammed inside that human body.
“Mmm, let me take you to bed,” Loch purred, more of his tentacles slithering out to pull Sloane into his lap. “I want to apologize for my awful behavior.”
“We have a case.” Sloane playfully swatted at him. “Remember? Jay Tintenfisch? Works with Milo? Mysterious disappearing roommate? Cat might be guilty?”
“Yes, I remember, but that can wait until I’m done apologizing.”
“No. We did plenty of that last night and this morning!”
“So? It’s tradition to celebrate an engagement with intense physical coupling—”
“Work first, playtime later.” Sloane wiggled out of Loch’s lap, grabbing his hands and pulling him to his feet. “Come on.”
Loch let himself get dragged up from the couch, mumbling, “Fine. We’ll go, but I’m going to complain the whole time.”
“Big surprise.” Sloane chuckled as he led Loch downstairs to his car.
“I liked the old car,” Loch said, huffing as he got settled into the passenger seat. “The old car had personality. This car is shit.”
“The old car got blown up by a very angry witch,” Sloane reminded him.
“Yes, but we shared our first kiss in that car.”
“You mean when you tricked me into kissing you.”
“God of Tricksters,” Loch said with an unapologetic smile.
Sloane rolled his eyes, frowning when his phone rang.
“Hey!” It was Milo Evans, Sloane’s best friend and former coworker when he still worked for the Archersville Police Department as a detective.
“Hey! What’s up, Milo?”
“You need to come by,” Milo insisted. “Like, right now.”
“Right now?” Sloane glanced at the time. “I’m supposed to be meeting with a new client.”
“It’s about the blue goo.”
“Oh?”
“Look, it’ll take, like, five minutes!” Milo sounded particularly excited. “It’s super important! I have to tell you, in person, like right now.”
Sloane flinched, and he glanced sideways at Loch. Milo was known to be passionate even about mundane things, but the blue goo in question was of particular concern. “Okay, we’ll be there in five.”
“Okay! Hurry!”
“What is it?” Loch asked, tilting his head. “Did Milo anger Lynnette again?”
Lynnette was Loch’s little sister; well, technically, she was Lochlain’s little sister—the hot guy whose murder had started it all. Because Loch was living in a copy of Lochlain’s body, Sloane wasn’t sure if the familial connection still counted or not.
Milo and Lynnette had moved in together a few weeks ago, and things had been a bit bumpy.
“No,” Sloane replied, “it’s about that goo.”
“You’re willing to risk tardiness to meet our new client over some magical slime, but not for hot, primal mating?” Loch wrinkled his nose.
“I promise, lots of mating later!” Sloane argued. “This could be important!”
Loch grumbled his protests the entire drive, and Sloane didn’t even wait for him to get out of the car as he hurried to the front door of Lynnette’s house.
Sloane blinked when Milo answered the door with his face covered in black ash, asking carefully, “Are you okay? Is your beard… burned?”
“Oh! I’m good!” Milo patted at his thick beard with a sheepish grin. He was big, broad, and always smiling. He bowed to Loch as he finally caught up. “Nice to see you, Your Most Holy Tentacle-ness!”
Milo was a recent convert to the Sagittarian faith. He was a bit exuberant, but Loch loved the attention.
“Greetings, furry mortal child,” Loch said sweetly, wiggling his fingers in a friendly wave.
“You guys have got to see this!” Milo ushered them inside and led them into the kitchen, where he had set up a small laboratory.
There was still a faint smell of smoke, and judging by the broken glass underfoot, something had definitely exploded.
“What the hell?” Sloane gasped in horror. “Dude, Lynnette is gonna kill you if you don’t clean this up—”
“Just listen,” Milo whined, grabbing a dish towel to wipe off his face. “You first found the blue goo when Lochlain was murdered, right? After Loch took over his body and you guys went back to his apartment to look for clues?”
“Yeah. We also found it at Kunst’s house.”
“After he blew up the car,” Loch helpfully chimed in.
“Right!” Milo confirmed. “All places Bad Robert had been, so we always assumed it was him. But you know where I didn’t find any? In the yard after you went all Starkiller on his ass.”
“So?”
“I found some definite worm slime, but it’s not the same stuff as the goo. Follow me here for a second. I think the blue goo belongs to another god,” Milo said slowly.
“Are you freakin’ serious?” Sloane scoffed and exchanged a worried glance with Loch. The old gods were not known for their sanity, most of them having gone insane when they went into their deep slumber.
“Yeah,” Milo replied with a grimace. “I’ve been blowing myself up all morning testing it again to be sure.” He grabbed two plates from the counter, offering them for Sloane’s inspection. “Look for yourself. Lefty is the original blue goo, all refined down. Right is the slime from Bad Robert.”
Sloane held up his hands to form a triangle for a perception spell. He recognized the blue residue immediately, the holographic aura familiar and equally uncomfortable. The worm slime had a similar shine, but Milo was right.
They weren’t the same.
“It’s definitely godly. Like, for sure. We know it’s not Loch, and if it’s not Bad Robert… well.” Milo eyed Loch. “Any idea who might have been awake running around with your brother trying to end the world?”
“How much time do we have?” Loch retorted dryly. “It’s a long list.”
“Seriously.” Sloane squeezed Loch’s arm. “Can’t you, like, go back to Zebulon and do, like, a head count or something? I mean, shouldn’t we be worried?”
“I’ll reach out to my sister,” Loch soothed, pulling Sloane into a tentacle-filled embrace. “She still wakes often. Maybe she’ll know who Toll was hanging out with.”
“Toll?” Milo put the plates away.
“Tollmathan,” Sloane replied. “God of music, poetry, and plagues. Aka Bad Robert?”
“Right! Sorry!” Milo grinned sheepishly. “Still trying to learn them all.”
“The most important one to remember is Azaethoth the Lesser,” Loch said. “Me.”
“How soon can you talk to your sister?” Sloane asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.
Loch closed his eyes and clicked his tongue. “Done! Mm, I hate to wake her up so early, but I suppose we do need to start discussing wedding plans, after all.”
“Wedding plans? What?” Milo squeaked, grinning at them and clapping. “You mean, wait, did you, you two…?”
“Loch asked me to marry him last night at Lochlain and Robert’s wedding,” Sloane confirmed. “We didn’t want to announce it then and steal any of their thunder—”
“I wanted to,” Loch said with a soft huff. “Sloane wouldn’t let me.”
“Ahhh! Congrats!” Milo gushed. “That’s so awesome!”
“Don’t say anything yet! We want to make an official announcement later!” Sloane pleaded. “And maybe keep this new god business hush-hush. I don’t want anyone freaking out if it turns out to be nothing.”
“Okay! Can do!” Milo looked around at the huge mess he’d made. “Little help, my super awesome starlit friend? Lynnette might come home for lunch, and well….”
“I got you.” Sloane wiggled away from Loch’s many arms so he could clap his hands together. All the broken glass was immediately made whole again and the smoke cleared, all evidence of the disaster magically gone.
“Phew!” Milo sighed in relief. “You’re a lifesaver!”
“You guys doing okay?” Sloane asked sympathetically.
“Yeah. She’s been super moody lately and I think she wants to kill me? But then she’s super happy and doesn’t want to kill me.”
“You should mate with her more often,” Loch advised. “Mating is a wonderful way to declare your love, and it solves almost every problem—”
“No, it does not,” Sloane scolded. “You should try talking to her first. Don’t listen to him, Milo.”
“Hmmmph,” Loch fussed. “Right, don’t listen to the all-powerful immortal being who has lived for thousands of years and gives really great advice.”
“Your advice is terrible.”
“No, it’s not.”
“When that little girl at the wedding was being picked on, you told her to summon a swarm of bees.”
“Do unto others as they’ve done to you.”
“Thanks, guys,” Milo said with a chuckle, “but I think we’re gonna be okay. Moving in together can be way stressful, you know?”
“Let me know if we can help. I’ll call you later if we hear anything,” Sloane said to Milo with a warm smile. He gave his friend a big hug. “Gotta run! Gonna go see your buddy Jay!”
“Oh good, so he called you?”
“Yeah, he called me yesterday at the wedding. He’s my new client.”
“I told him to set something up with you. I knew you’d try to help him. Everybody else kinda thinks he’s going crazy.”
“Said you guys worked together down at the department, right?”
“Yeah, he’s over in IT, and his office is down the hall from the forensics lab. They put him where the old janitor’s closet used to be.” Milo grimaced. “Hope you can help him out! He’s a nice dude!”
“Thanks for the referral, by the way! We’ll talk soon!”
“Take care, mortal child,” Loch said, waving a tentacle as he followed Sloane back out to the car. “Mmm, my sister is on her way. It may take her some time to find a willing vessel.”
“You guys can just… talk to each other? Just like that?”
“Mm-hm. As long as she’s not dreaming too deeply, my sister always hears me.”
“Well, hopefully she can help us.” Sloane started driving them toward his office. “It makes me nervous as hell thinking that Bad Robert wasn’t working alone.”
“I can think of many others that it could have been,” Loch said with a shrug. “Top of the list is Gronoch. He would have been next in line to rule after Tollmathan. Perhaps it was him? Although, he’s a very heavy sleeper….”
“It wouldn’t have been your sister, right?” Sloane hated to ask. “Galgareth?”
“No,” Loch said with a firm shake of his head. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt mortals or endanger this world. That much I’m sure of.”
“All right,” Sloane said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He frowned when his phone rang again.
It was Robert Edwards, the good one.
“Hey!” Sloane answered cheerfully. “Thought you guys were leaving for your honeymoon?”
“Almost!” Robert laughed, sounding a little nervous. “Look, uhm, could I speak to Azaethoth? Or maybe just put me on speaker? It’s sort of, uhm, personal, but….”
“Oh sure! One second!” Sloane passed the phone to Loch. “Put it on speaker.”
“Azaethoth the Lesser here,” Loch announced. “God of Tricksters, Thieves, and Divine Retribution.”
“Hello, Azaethoth!” Robert gushed, sounding even more nervous now. “I know this is very last minute, but we’re getting ready to leave for the airport, and I’m terrified of flying.” He took a deep breath. “Would you be willing to give me and Lochlain a blessing of protection for our trip?”
Sloane glanced at the time worriedly. They were so going to be late, but he nodded at Loch with a strained smile.
“Of course, my dear child,” Loch said happily. “We’ll be right over.”
“You can just meet us at the hotel!” Robert exclaimed. “Wynne Hotel, right downtown! Thank you so much!”
Sloane groaned as he took his phone back, making a quick right turn to get them redirected to the hotel. “I don’t normally ask you to use your godly powers, but if you could make every light green? That would be great.”
“I am yours to command, my sweet Starkiller,” Loch declared, always eager to show off his abilities.
They whizzed through the busy streets, and Sloane pulled up to the front of the hotel in mere minutes. He spotted Robert and Lochlain waiting for them by the door, and he put the car in park before waving them over.
Robert was a handsome young blond, and Lochlain was the mirror image of Loch. They were absolutely identical, right down to their gorgeous smiles, but the similarities ended with their physical appearance.
While Lochlain reminded Sloane of a fluffy kitten playing with a bit of string, Loch was a full-grown tiger on the prowl and definitely never up to any good.
The newlywed couple hurried over to the passenger side, and they both bowed their heads respectfully in greeting.
Loch rolled down the window with a very pleased smile. “Hello, my faithful ones.”
“Hi!” Robert waved, kneeling down beside the car and trying to appear inconspicuous. “I hate to rush, but we need to leave soon—”
Loch reached out his hand, one of his tentacles slithering out from his sleeve and poking Robert in the middle of his forehead. “Great Azaethoth will be with you on your journey. His whispers will guide you and his starlight will guard you.”
Eyes fluttering from the rush of divine contact, Robert sighed in relief. “Thank you… thank you so much.”
Loch smirked at his twin, asking, “And what about you, my most devoted follower? Would you like a blessing?”
“I already have all the blessings I need.” Lochlain smiled adoringly at his groom. He grinned as he added, “Although I did hear about another shiny exhibit coming to town….”
“Ohhh, do tell,” Loch pressed eagerly.
Lochlain had become the trickster god’s most beloved follower by being a bit of a trickster himself. Lochlain was a very talented thief and had earned Loch’s respect with his profitable and clever heists.
The pair were capable of great mischief when they were together, and Sloane was quick to protest, “No felonies until after the honeymoon is over, and we really have to go!”
“We do too!” Robert grabbed Lochlain’s hand, laughing at how he and Loch both pouted. “You can play with your patron god when we come home!”
“Take care, guys!” Sloane hurriedly drove away, tires squealing. He hadn’t meant to take off like that, but they were dangerously close to being late to meet with their new client.
When his phone rang again, he wanted to throw it.
“What now?”
Loch picked it up to investigate, saying, “Ah, it’s Fred!”
“Don’t answer—”
“Hello, Fred!” Loch said cheerfully. “How are you doing, dear child? Any new bits or pieces rotting off?”
Fred Wilder was Lochlain’s best friend, a Sage, and a ghoul. His body had been destroyed by a fire and through forbidden sorcery, Lynnette created him a new one. Ghoul bodies were essentially husks, shells that would hold a resurrected soul.
Loch’s body was technically a ghoul since it was a copy of Lochlain’s, but he could maintain its integrity through his divine essence. Ghouls like Fred, on the other hand, required special magic to keep their bodies from rotting.
“Nah.” Fred’s gruff voice rumbled through the phone. “All of that is fine, but I appreciate it.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Loch said with a warm smile. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
“There is something,” Fred said, pausing uncomfortably. “Things have been going really well with my ghoul doctor friend, but I need to talk to you about somethin’ personal.”
“Ah, your penis,” Loch said without missing a beat. “You’re worried about copulation. Sloane and I are on our way to an appointment, but afterwards—”
“Not exactly,” Fred grunted.
“—I will happily examine your penis.”
Fred grumbled and hung up.
Sloane scrubbed a hand over his face. “Smooth. Very smooth.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sloane laughed, still blushing from secondhand embarrassment.
“Mortals are so uptight,” Loch snorted, crossing his arms as he pouted.
Sloane parked outside his office, quickly unbuckling his seat belt. “Okay, come on. We’re finally here.”
Loch reached over to slide his hand up Sloane’s thigh. “Mmm, you’re so tense, my sweet Starkiller…. You need to relax.”
Trying to ignore how his cock stirred at Loch’s touch, Sloane argued, “I’m tense because we’re gonna be late. We literally have four minutes—”
“I can make you come in two,” Loch promised, pushing closer.
“Loch,” Sloane protested, but his voice didn’t sound so strong. Loch already had his pants unbuttoned, one of his larger tentacles snaking its way down into his underwear and making him squirm. “Shit, shit, shit…. You’d better be quick.”
