Author: klhiers

Chapter 1.

Sloane Beaumont sighed, regarding the cheesy Halloween decorations scattered around the house with a disgusted pout. They were absolutely hideous. Green pimpled witches leered at him while twisted jack-o’-lanterns grinned brightly alongside nimble skeletons dancing across the walls.

The worst were the tentacled cartoon !ends stretched out on the mantle, and Sloane smiled wearily as he recited their names. “Yeris, Salgumel, Galmelthar, Shartorath, Bestrath…”

All old gods of an ancient faith, reduced to ugly cardboard cutouts at a Halloween party.

He could still remember his mother pressing jasmine flowers into his pillow after a nightmare, for Salgumel to bring him more pleasant dreams. His father would wear amber when they went fishing so Yeris would bless them with a good catch. On the rare occasion that his parents had a fight, they would burn lavender incense and pray to Shartorath.

Up until their untimely death, they had always been dedicated followers.

They had been Sages.

“What’s wrong?” a concerned voice asked, snapping Sloane out of his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling when he saw it was his best friend and the host of the party, Milo Evans, peering worriedly at him. “Just not really in the mood.”

“It’s Halloween!” Milo cheered, clapping a hand on Sloane’s shoulder. He was broad and bearded, dressed up as Han Solo for the evening’s festivities. “This is like a super cool holiday for you, right?”

“Something like that,” Sloane replied with a strained expression.

It wasn’t easy for people to understand. All of Sloane’s life, his parents were the only Sages he had ever known. The religion was considered archaic, a joke to some, and had made him the target of relentless childhood bullying. Sages worshipped gods they believed descended from the stars, their rituals structured around the seasons and the movements of celestial bodies.

Sloane’s mother had told him the gods all went to sleep ages ago, and that was why their following had begun to dwindle. People no longer believed in Azaethoth or Gronoch, even though all of their gifts to mankind remained.

Gifts like the power of magic.

Most people believed magic came from the natural world now, explaining it through science and attributing it to unseen energies that could be measured within the elements. If there was a spiritual attachment, it was given to the new god, the Lord of Light.

When the old ways began to fade, the Lucian religion took its place. Instead of dozens of deities, there was only one to appease, and it was now the dominant faith for practically the entire planet.

The Lord of Light condemned the old gods as blasphemous and obscene, and Sloane remembered all too well when Lucian children would tell him how he was going to burn in some fiery pit for being a nasty sinner. Even as an adult, it was isolating. Granted, no one was
telling him that he was going to roast in holy flames for all of eternity, but it was hard for anyone else to understand when he got upset.

He couldn’t explain to Milo that this all felt wrong to him. This wasn’t Halloween. This was Dhankes. This holiday was about praying to the dead, cooking feasts, and giving thanks to the gods, not dressing up like robots and cowboys while gorging on candy.

“Is it because of your parents?” Milo asked hesitantly. “Their death day is right after Halloween, yeah?”

“Yup,” Sloane said with a grim smile. “It’s been almost twenty years since they were murdered and I still…” He paused, shifting awkwardly. “The holidays are always hard for me, but especially this one. The dead are supposed to be able to hear our prayers tonight,
and I keep thinking okay, this one… This will be the Dhankes that I can finally tell them I caught the guy who killed them. And another one goes by and another and I still haven’t found him yet.”

“Never gonna give up, are you?” Milo smiled affectionately.

“Nope. I don’t care what the police say. The case is not closed. It wasn’t a magical ritual gone wrong. I know what I saw.”

“Crazy guy in a robe with a glowing dagger?” Milo recalled.

“Yes,” Sloane replied begrudgingly.

“Look,” Milo said gently. “I believe that you believe you saw whatever you saw. But I’ve gone over the case like a million times with you, remember?”

“Before I got fired.” Sloane cringed.

“Using department resources without permission can kinda do that. But there was no evidence, magical or otherwise, that anyone else had ever been inside the house. I’m CSI, remember? I should know.”

“So my testimony was just the rambling of a hysterical child,” Sloane grumbled.

“Hey,” Milo said, holding up his hands defensively. “I didn’t say that. I just mean maybe it’s time to let it rest, you know?”

Sloane scrubbed his hand over his face with a long sigh. He’d put everything he had into getting justice for his parents, but he was no closer now than he’d been when he first started.

“You’re gonna go home, aren’t you?” Milo asked forlornly.

“Probably,” Sloane said with a grimace. “Look, I’m really sorry. I appreciate the invite and everything—”

“Seriously, does talking about your parents and all this Halloween stuff, um, bother you? You can tell me, and I will totally shut up if it’ll make you stay.”

“I can’t have a serious talk with you while you’re dressed like Han Solo.” Sloane laughed, playfully tugging at Milo’s vest. He knew his friend didn’t mean to offend him, but he wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart.

Not tonight.

“Hey! Wait until you see my date!”

“Slave Leia?” Sloane guessed.

“I’m gonna marry this woman.” Milo sighed dreamily. “I know it’s only been a few weeks, but Lynnette is seriously like the perfect geek lady. And hey, she’s got a pretty good lookin’ brother. He’s coming with her. Just saying!”

“Mmm, planning double dates already?”

“I’m merely suggesting that you wait like five minutes for them to get here, have some delicious punch, and meet him,” Milo pleaded, giving Sloane his absolute best puppy dog face. “Pretty please?”

“Ugh, come on.”

“Look, man. I worry about you,” Milo said, dropping his voice again. “All you do is work. When was the last time you had a freakin’ date?”

“Eh, probably not since we were in college?” Sloane admitted bashfully, which was over four years ago. “I’ll meet this guy, but I’m not making any promises.”

“You’ll love him,” Milo assured him. “I gotta go check on the punch and make sure it’s alcoholic enough to provide the proper amount of lubrication for social interaction.”

“Sounds like fun.” Sloane chuckled, patting his friend’s back. “I’ll come help you test it, how’s that?”

“Best idea ever.”

Sloane downed three cups of heavily spiked punch and was already working on his fourth when he finally noticed the time. It was almost eleven, and he still had a candle to light before midnight.

Lynnette had appeared in full slave Leia regalia, golden bikini and all. Introductions were friendly, though brief. She was very beautiful and gave Sloane hope that perhaps her brother would be as well.

She said her brother was running late but promised he would be there soon. All of Milo’s attention had been focused on her ever since.

Sloane couldn’t stop looking at his watch, deciding that soon had already come and gone several times over. He couldn’t wait any longer. He decided to make a quick exit and darted toward the door.

So speedy was he in his escape attempt, he accidentally smacked right into a guy in a devil costume on his way inside.

“Oh hey!” The devil laughed, grabbing Sloane’s shoulders to steady him. “You okay?”

“Shit! Sorry!” Sloane sputtered, blinking stupidly as his eyes focused on the most gorgeous man he had ever seen. He was tall and athletic with a mop of curly red hair. Sloane was immediately lost in bright green eyes that twinkled beautifully, and bewitched by a killer
smile that accompanied an absolutely flawless face.

He’d blame the drinks, but this guy was perfect. The fact that he was dressed as the devil seemed fitting because Sloane definitely thought this was a fellow worth selling his soul for.

“I mean it, you okay?” the devil asked sweetly, holding on to Sloane as if he might still topple over.

“Fine!” Sloane replied quickly. “Just, um, trying to get out of here. I’m so sorry!”

“What’s the hurry?” the devil asked with a shy smirk.

“I have to go light a candle for my parents,” Sloane said, hoping the unusual answer would prompt the stranger to let go of him, even though having his hands on him was very nice.

“Oh! You’re a Sage?” the devil asked instead, obviously interested.

“My parents were,” Sloane explained, surprised that the stranger didn’t seem put off yet. “Very devout. I’m not really anything, but I still make sure to light a candle and leave out some food.”

“Make sure that candle is lit in a doorway facing west.” The devil chuckled. “I have a great recipe for colcannon if you’re interested. Guaranteed to please the gods.”

“Wait, you’re a Sage?” Sloane blinked in disbelief.

“Mmhm,” the devil said with a little smile, finally letting go. “My whole family is Sagittarian. Sages for countless generations.”

“Wow,” Sloane gushed, honestly excited to meet another person who shared his family’s faith. “You must hate Halloween, right? It’s such a freakin’ rip-off!”

“I prefer to think of it as a very heavily inspired holiday,” he said carefully. “People don’t mean to be so offensive, and it keeps traditions alive that are thousands of years old. The meaning is lost, yes, but the act itself becomes immortal. There is something beautiful in that.”

“You really think so?” Sloane was still skeptical.

“Of course. Sure, lighting up carved gourds isn’t quite the same as lighting a candle to guide the dead back home, but the ritual persists to this day.”

“It’s a night for the dead, and we all still light candles,” Sloane mused.

“See?”

“I suppose I never thought of it that way.”

“And hey,” the devil said, gesturing to his costume. “The dressing up is pretty fun! Who are you supposed to be? Let me guess. Chad Warwick, American Horror Story?”

“What? No!” Sloane laughed, fussing with his hair and glancing down at his sweater and jeans. “I’m not actually dressed up as anyone. I don’t, you know… do that. Although I have been compared to Zachary Quinto a few times.”

“Gives you a lot of options for costumes,” the devil said with a grin. “You could pull off a pretty awesome Spock. Just a thought, maybe for next year.”

“I will take that into consideration.” Sloane chuckled, surprised at how much he was smiling. “Maybe the Halloween traditions aren’t all bad, but the little cartoon old gods are still really ugly.”

“No argument there.” The devil laughed with his pleasant, smooth voice. He extended his hand, saying, “I’m Lochlain Fields, Lynnette’s brother.”

“Oh! You’re Lochlain! Hi, Lochlain,” Sloane replied dopily as they shook hands. “I’m Sloane Beaumont. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Lochlain said, blushing faintly, probably from Sloane’s exuberance. “Sorry I’m so late. I had something to take care of before the party. Milo has told me a lot about you.”

“I hope all good things.” Sloane realized his face was starting to heat up too. Lochlain was really attractive, and he struggled to find something to say to fill the silence. “Right, so, Lynnette is a Sage too? Milo didn’t tell me.”

“Religion isn’t something Lynnette discusses very openly. Most people assume she’s Lucian. Uh, so, Milo said you used to work together? Are you in magical forensics too?”

“Not exactly.” Sloane chuckled nervously. “I’m a private investigator now, but I used to be a detective with the Archersville Police Department. I was mostly doing cases for magic enforcement.”

“Taking DNA samples from voodoo dolls? Chasing down ancient cursed objects?”

“Mostly chasing down unlicensed magic users,” Sloane said, shrugging. “Not really that glamorous.”

Just as being licensed to drive a car or own a gun was the law of the land, anyone who wielded magic was required to register and pay for a license. There was also rigorous testing to determine what discipline a person would be registered under. Sages attributed the different types of magic to their various gods, with dozens of possibilities. Using the structure of elements provided by the Lord of Light’s teachings, the modern system designated a person’s abilities as fire, air, earth, or water.

This was too elementary for Sages, whose beliefs couldn’t reduce magic to such simple categories. An element like water possessed too many varying presentations—like ice, for Yeris, the God of the Ocean and its freezing depths, or healing for Galmethar, a god associated with the life-giving substance for his kindness and restorative abilities.

There was also a very rare discipline that encompassed all the elements, including very advanced spiritual abilities, that the Lucians called divine. The Sages called it starlight, a power they believed was given by the very !rst god and father of the universe, Great Azaethoth himself.

“I take it you’re registered, then?” Lochlain asked curiously.

“Yeah. Ever since I was a little kid,” Sloane replied dutifully, trying not to sound like he was bragging. He had shown a natural skill in magic from a very young age. “I was five, actually.”

“Really?” Lochlain was clearly impressed. “And what discipline did a five-year-old have a proficiency in?”

“Well.” Sloane paused, smirking as he answered. “As my mother would say, I was touched by starlight.”

“Blessed by Great Azaethoth himself, very nice.” Lochlain nodded, seeming even more impressed, as that gift was revered as the most powerful of them all. “I’m blessed by Yeris’s Tears. So is my sister.”

“Water,” Sloane said, noting how a Lucian would explain Yeris’s blessings. “That’s what you’re registered as?”

“Mmm. Not quite,” Lochlain said mysteriously, a bashful smile curling his lips.

“Wait. You’re not licensed?” Sloane gasped loudly, quickly lowering his voice. “Seriously? You know that’s crazy illegal!”

“Only if you get caught,” Lochlain said playfully.

“Lynnette is unlicensed too? Wait. Is she?”

“We’re Sages,” Lochlain replied with a smirk. “I bet your parents weren’t registered either. Magic isn’t meant to fall within some ill-constructed government regulations. It’s a gift from the gods, our natural right as descendants of Azaethoth.”

“My parents were registered.” Sloane pouted. “Although I know they didn’t like it, especially my mother. They didn’t use much magicat home that I remember… mostly stones or herbs, um… But seriously, you know that’s super dangerous.”

“Maybe I’m a dangerous sort of guy,” Lochlain teased, although the way he was blushing made it hard to take him seriously.

“You’re really a rogue witch?”

“Maybe I’m just a rogue,” Lochlain replied slyly. “Why? Gonna arrest me, Sloane?”

Or just dying to get some cuffs on you, thought Sloane’s alcohol-riddled brain.

“I think I can keep a secret,” Sloane said with a shy grin. Then he glanced at the time and exclaimed, “Shit, I’m gonna be late! I really have to go, but it’s been super great talking to you.”

“Would you like to go out some time?” Lochlain blurted, like he was afraid he’d lose his chance.

“What? Like on a date?” Sloane smiled brightly, trying not to sound too excited.

“Exactly like a date.”

“Wow, yes, absolutely!” Sloane said, fishing out his wallet and offering one of his cards. “Here.”

“Sloane Beaumont, Private Investigator,” Lochlain read out loud, smirking as he traced the symbol stamped in the corner. “You have the Sage’s Cross on your card?”

“My mother said it would bring me luck,” Sloane said with a little shrug.

The Sage’s Cross was an arrow tilted skyward, representing the Sagittarius constellation. The Sages believed those stars led to a hidden place called Zebulon, the home in the heavens where the gods were said to have descended from.

“I agree, because I think a lucky someone is gonna get a phone call tomorrow,” Lochlain said. “You have yourself a good night, Sloane.”

“Bye, Lochlain. Yeah. Good night!”

“Night. And hey! Happy Dhankes.”

“Happy Dhankes.” Sloane laughed, waving as he left, head held high.

He hadn’t connected with someone in a long time, especially not someone so gorgeous, and yet who was also somehow as awkward as Sloane was with his flirting.

As he cranked up his car, he knew he was a little too drunk to drive, closing his eyes and coughing into his hands. All of the alcohol in his system magically came up in a neat and tidy little ball of liquid, floating in his palms. It was a handy little spell he had learned when
he was in college.

Sloane rolled down his window and chucked it outside, not able to shake his happy smile the whole drive over to his office. He didn’t like going home to an empty apartment, and an offering to the gods could be anywhere personal. Right as he was about to pull in, however, he realized he had nothing to offer.

Making a quick turn, he doubled back to an all-night grocery store and grabbed a blueberry pie. He hauled butt back onto the road, hurrying to make it to his office again before midnight. After letting himself in, he quickly searched his desk for a candle. He knew
which direction west was and set the candle in one of his windows.

It was supposed to be in a doorway, but his door was on the wrong side, so this would have to do.

Sloane lit the candle with a snap of his “ngers, reciting quietly, “Though souls stir in the slumber of stars, breathless but bright, surrender forgotten flesh and dream once more.”

He stood back, watching the !ame catch the wick and cast a somber glow around the room. He picked up the pie and left it out in the hallway with a mumbled, “Hope the old gods like blueberry.”

His mother would have scolded him for using any baked good that wasn’t made from scratch, and his father probably would have told him that blueberries were totally offensive to the gods somehow. Thinking of his parents, having lit that candle more for them than for anyone else, made him suddenly miss them with a great aching sorrow.

He made sure the door was locked and returned to his desk, pulling out a bottle of rum from the bottom drawer. He wished he didn’t have to start over after cleaning up for the drive, but he needed to drink again to cure his sober state of mind. This was going to be another holiday without them. One more Dhankes where he couldn’t pray to them and tell them he’d found their killer. Milo’s suggestion to let it go made his heart ache. He had already sacrificed so much, he couldn’t possibly give up now.

It was miserable. It was hard. And by all the gods, it was lonely.

Allowing himself to feel a flutter of interest when he glanced at his phone, Sloane wondered if Lochlain really would call him tomorrow. It had been so long since he’d gone out with anyone, maybe it was time to try and do something for himself.

Immediately feeling guilty for even considering it, he once again wished his parents were with him, if only to tell him what to do… If he should finally give up and live his life. He watched the candle burn, tears glistening in his eyes. The flame flickered briefly, and he hoped it was somehow them telling him everything would be okay.

The flame flickered again, but Sloane was certain he was reading too much into things.

Smiling sadly, he drowned his sorrows in the rum until his head hit his desk and he passed out into a deep sleep.

He slept there all night, waking to a curious chewing sound. Groggily lifting his head, he was startled to see Lochlain sitting in front of him, eating the blueberry pie.

“What… what are you doing here?” Sloane asked, jerking up and rubbing his eyes. He swore he had locked his office door. “Did you think I wouldn’t answer if you called?” He laughed lightly.

Lochlain kept munching, pulling out Sloane’s business card and laying it on the desk between them. He tapped the Sage’s Cross, as if that was a suf!cient answer, and went back to eating.

Sloane frowned, looking over Lochlain carefully. Something about him seemed different, but he couldn’t quite place it.

He was also horribly hungover, wishing he had been in the right fraternity to learn some anti-hangover magic. His sobering spell was useless at this point since his body had already absorbed all of the alcohol.

Ugh.

Maybe he was imagining it, but there was a wicked shimmer in Lochlain’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. The way he sat in the chair with his legs kicked over the arm was full of youthful mischief and yet totally commanding at the same time.

He exuded confidence, perched smugly as if he owned every inch of the office and everything in it—Sloane included—which wasn’t at all like the man in the devil costume Sloane met last night. He was dressed more casually now, normal, but the way he gazed hungrily at Sloane made him worry that Lochlain wanted to gobble him up like the pie.

It was way too early for this shit.

“Look, Lochlain,” Sloane said with a short groan. “It’s really cool of you to stop by, but I had a really long night—”

“Not Lochlain,” he replied curtly between bites, wagging a finger at him.

“Not Lochlain?” Sloane repeated dumbly.

Not-Lochlain shook his head, working on the last slice of pie. He’d eaten the entire thing, licking his lips coyly at Sloane and making him shiver down his spine.

Every bone in Sloane’s body was telling him that something was wrong—brainwashed, cursed, possessed, the possibilities were endless. He casually traced a protection sigil on the edge of his desk, asking politely, “Then who are you?”

Not-Lochlain snorted as if greatly amused by the question, tilting his head and winking. The top of the desk suddenly cracked right through the middle of the sigil.

On his feet in a flash, Sloane gasped and stuttered, “Wh-what the freakin’ hell was that? How… how did you do that? Who the hell are you?”

“Azaethoth,” he purred in reply, his tongue seductively licking every last crumb of pie from his long fingers. “Mmm. The Lesser. Named after my great-great-great grandfather.”

Sloane was stupidly entranced by that tongue, asking hesitantly, “Azaethoth the Lesser? As in an old god?”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, lewdly sucking on his thumb. “If you’re more comfortable, you may address me by this vessel’s name.”

“But you’re not… Lochlain?”

“No.”

Sloane stared back down at his desk and the fractured protection sigil. He didn’t know of any mortal magic that could possibly be powerful enough to break that spell. But there was no way this guy was actually a god.

There were no gods, not anymore.

“And why exactly are you here?” Sloane asked warily.

“You’re a witch, yes?”

“No,” Sloane replied. “I mean, I’m registered, but what does that—”

“You follow the old ways?”

“I guess? Look, what is going on—”

“This vessel,” Azaethoth-Lochlain said, gesturing to his body. “Was a very devout follower. Even while deep in dreaming, I heard his prayers. He was a fascinating human. He didn’t ask for glory or riches or any of the other mundane things most humans do. He prayed for the thrill, the rush of adrenaline, to never leave him. He always wanted to be excited and intrigued, for his heart to pound, to !nd spectacular adventure everlasting.”

“That… sounds interesting?”

“Try listening to a few centuries of people pleading for money, sex, bigger cocks, and stronger orgasms—”

“Okay, okay!” Sloane interrupted. He doubted the real Lochlain could have gotten out half of that without blushing.

“I listened,” Azaethoth-Lochlain went on, idly tracing a finger inside the empty pie pan for errant crumbs. “I often answered his prayers. But last night, there was a problem. A very serious problem. When I went to him, the damage was already done. I found your card
in his pocket.”

“Damage? What damage?”

“That’s what I need you to investigate,” he continued impatiently. “That’s what your card says you do. Investigations of a private nature, yes?”

“Wait, wait,” Sloane snapped, getting frustrated. “If something really serious happened, you need to contact the police. And Lochlain, or Loch-Thoth, whatever your name is! If this is some super weird way to get out of a date, I swear—”

“No police,” Loch-Thoth said “rmly. “They’ll only get in my way, and they won’t allow me to do what I want.”

“Which is?”

“Revenge,” he replied with a hungry smile, baring all of his teeth. “Now, I will gladly compensate you for your services however you wish. Money is customary?”

“I don’t want anything,” Sloane protested. “Except maybe some kind of an explanation. What happened to you?”

“You desired this one, yes?” Loch-Thoth turned his head. “Would you like me to pleasure you with his vessel?”

“Wh-what?” Sloane sank down in his chair, scooting back against the wall. “No! Don’t do that! That’s… that’s not right! Whatever you are, you can’t just use Lochlain’s body like that! He can’t consent.”

“Of course he can’t consent,” came the dry reply, eyes rolling dramatically. “He can’t consent to anything. He’s dead.”

“Dead?” Sloane’s breath caught in his throat, his stomach dropping violently. “What do you mean, dead?”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Loch-Thoth complained loudly. “Sloane Beaumont, I want to hire you. I want you to find out who murdered me.”

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Sucker For Love Mysteries: Acsquidentally In Love