Sorcerers in Suits, part 3 (of 4)

Michael St. Juss (also known as Z4M) did not disobey his employer’s command to avoid caffeine and get some damn sleep for once.

Well, not really.

Kel’s stern lecture had both touched and amused him. And so, the thin but whipcord-tough body was tucked in up to the eyebrows beneath a cat-patterned quilt, slumbering deeply.

Deactivated.

The television had *not* been deactivated, true. It was Jusston’s only vice, even though for most of his life the technology hadn’t been existent on this plane. That fact only made him more obsessed. He refused to give up “Alien Nation” and “Star Trek TNG” even in emergencies.

But the volume was turned down to a murmur rather than a roar for once, probably convincing the other tenants of the seedy apartment building that the reserved, nondescript man in 21B was either stoned or dead. He was a fairly agreeable neighbor, they would tell the investigating officers later, but he was deaf as a post and turned his entertainment up to the level of a local riot!

They never really wondered why they didn’t feel inclined to complain about the racket. Maybe because on the E Street main drag there were worse things to worry about than shouting television aliens; pushers, pimps and grade-school knifings to name just a few. Or maybe there was a stranger reason; Jon Kelson would have thought so, but he was a stone romantic and always had been, despite his crazed sex drive and delight in the kill.

In any event, the neighbors here had never filed a noise complaint
and that was how Jusston liked it. He could of course cast a glamour to mask his doing, but that took energy away from guarding the Borderlands, no matter how slight an amount.

There was no real reason to worry about masking; he’d chosen his place well this time. Close inquiries weren’t made of disappearances or death, unless it was family or street brothers. That too was a plus; so what if his surroundings were less than luxurious? The disinterest of neighbors was more important than a fashionable address and elegant furnishings.

Mike had “died” here seven times if his memory served right. The area was near to ancient, hotels built and re-built over older ruins. It had always been convenient. And after a few hundred years, even a warrior of his skill got careless, bored---or simply overwhelmed. The Dark had been very active in the Borders these last centuries; sometimes things got out of hand.

Speaking of getting out of hand! He shook his fire-crowned head at his own foolishness. But he couldn’t feel the least bit sorry for what had happened to him, whether it jeopardized his life’s purpose or not.

It was a fact. He had someone to Guard who mattered to him personally.

It was such a strangeness, it almost felt---wrong. But not through any breaking of law, only because joy was so alien to him.

Before this, he’d felt pride in doing his job well; asked for nothing further. He knew very few Enforcers had a Chosen, someone with whom they shared the Burden. Frowned upon, it was and should be. He understood he’d always be alone, so he’d just never thought much about it. He didn’t feel guilty for the choice, though.

Maybe after hundreds of years---even one who could commune with what humans would consider gods could get lonely, if the goddamn gods didn’t reply all that often.

He still wasn’t sure how the fact would affect his integrity as a Balancekeeper, or his performance in battle. What exactly would he sacrifice, to hold Kel safe?

He pushed the uncomfortable thought aside for later. Thinking of Jon Kelson in danger made him feel sick to his stomach---even now, when he technically had no such body part to experience upset.

He’d been so careful to make no friendships in this place, though he was always vaguely pleasant to prevent active antagonism. A middle-aged crip with unfocused eyes and a hearing loss was offputting to most no matter how agreeable he acted; if someone tried to get friendly despite his feigned inattention, a little mild babbling about prawns and mint jelly usually served to send them on their way.

Jon, child of a more privileged class, would be appalled by the poverty of his friend’s surroundings. Probably would raise his salary, in a combination of guilt and misplaced altruism. But a bad neighborhood was protective coloration for his kind. And as long as he had cable, he didn’t really care where his outer shell lived. More money would buy him extra channels not better digs!

He almost wished he’d played the game of lackwit at the office, ignored Jon’s sympathy and cheerful banter, and saved himself some stress. But he’d ignored common sense to take a partner on a sudden whim, realizing Jon’s parentage and talent instantly Then he’d disregarded all his *uncommon* sense and fallen in love with the bastard---and “whim” had nothing to do with that, he’d struggled every foot of the way once he realized what was happening.

Did zero good. Love was one of those universal forces, like earthquakes, black holes and the essential yumminess of melted cheese. And now, he was in serious trouble, far more unsettling than demonic attack. “I want us to fuck in the real world.” Oh, please, Jon! Do you even realize what you’re *asking?*

Jon, you do not yet know what the real world is.

Z4M kited, as he always did under stress. Formed mental armor, dealt with the current problem. Current problem: blocking thoughts of Jon; his outrageous needs, his melting dark eyes. Jon in a super-conservative business suit but wearing that cartoon tie to an important company meeting a day after Mike had gifted him with it, bright hair tumbling around his shoulders rather than discreetly tied back. Eyes so innocent and wicked. No one had known what to do or say; he WAS the president of the company after all.

(body, long-legged and silked with golden hair, so light, so hot, I wouldn’t have even noticed if I hadn’t come to know him first but hard to *not* look when you can see through clothing like Clark Kent hard hard hard)

Mike had fled the meeting and actually got some office work done for once, to distract himself from the human urges that pretty much overcame the poor old body he’d thought immune to such impulses.

In the real world, Jon’s world? Maybe not so bad, for one of us----

By the Balance and Runes of Seeing, so much for blocking thoughts of him!

Mike supposed his temp human body did need rest; like most sentient beings these days, he tended to drive his unit to the brink, ignoring the needs of the flesh until it teetered on the verge of non-function. But since he only used this vehicle when the door bordered on the Broken Lands (of which Earth was a small but vital part), he’d seen no need in two centuries to acquire another.

(*When Jon says “real world” he means this crap Borderlands body! I can’t fuck in this!*)

Oh, he’d strengthened the stats and slowed the aging process, patched injuries or wear as they occurred, but up till now, cosmetic enhancement hadn’t entered his mind. So Michael St. Juss, Warrior in hiding, was not exactly a candidate for “hunk of the month”!

What boiled in front of the screen, a constantly-moving scarf of light and color and cloudy sparkling mist that occasionally flickered into an almost-recognizable shape from legend---that was Jusston, Icemage Dreamweaver, in the “real world.” And since he wasn’t exactly corporal, physical lovemaking such as he’d impulsively promised Kel in the rush of a very intense fit of jealousy *was* his current problem.

He watched an episode of “Voyagers” a time-travel show long cancelled but still entertaining to him, an Alice Cooper video about necrophilia, a half hour of sports bloopers. Sunset came and went; his human body slept, drained and exhausted.

He started watching a movie called “The Hidden”. It was about an alien happily stealing bodies; the coincidence made him uneasy, and he cut it short. On 30 channels, suddenly there was nothing available but news and a movie with a concept that disturbed him. And he didn’t feel like television time travel anymore.

He gave up, and did what he’d wanted to do since he arrived. He flipped channels to the office, to watch what Jon was doing.

To make sure that nothing bad was happening. Because suddenly, the universe seemed filled with danger, and Alice singing about sick things was no longer amusing in the least.

Part 1 can be read here; part 2 here