Machine by K.Z. Snow

over to Will’s before he lowered it again. “It wasn’t the fact they’re women. I can’t help but wonder if Clancy has been feeling cut off from his global community now that he’s spending so much time in one place. With mortals. You know, he is missing out on all that bloody excitement he used to find all over the world.” Simon had given the word bloody an arch emphasis. “Can’t say I blame him for being bored.”
    “Simon,” Marrowbone said, “I’m not bored. It was one night. I didn’t fly off with them. I’m well aware of the consequences if I simply pick up and leave without notice.”
    Bentcross nodded. “Yes, well… as long as that’s clear.”
    “As glass.” Marrowbone turned his attention to Will. “Where’s the Eminence?”
    “Right here, gentlemen, right here.” Fan blew into the room wearing a grin befitting a carnival mask. Grasping Simon’s and Clancy’s faces in turn, he kissed each man on the lips. He gave Will an oddly appraising look, then grabbed his hair, forced his head back, and nearly thrust his tongue down Will’s throat while he squeezed Will’s genitals. Will made a strangled sound and jerked away, almost knocking over his chair.
    “For gods’ sake, Perfidor,” said Simon, “don’t choke the poor boy.”
    Fan lifted his head. His bicolored gaze pierced Will’s eyes. “He’s not a boy. Are you, William?” His voice, gruffer than normal, was almost… mean.
    Thunderstruck, and aching in several different places, Will spasmodically shook his head. He’d just received confirmation of his assumption.
    Fan drew his thumb back and forth over Will’s lips. “You’re luscious. Do you realize that? So naïve but utterly delectable. I could fuck you right now, right here on this table.”
    From the corner of his eye, Will saw Marrowbone clamp a hand over Simon’s wrist, probably as a warning to keep his mouth shut. The brash Bentcross had a tendency to make inappropriate comments—like the one he proceeded to mumble to his lover: “Oh, don’t pretend you wouldn’t like to watch as much as I would.”
    Marrowbone quickly changed the subject. “Fan, have you been taking your medicine?” he asked in a mildly curious way, without a hint of accusation or alarm. He was very astute, and much more familiar with Fan’s erratic behavior than Will was.
    The question touched off another minor squall. Abruptly turning away from Will, Fan ranged aimlessly through the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards, lifting things up and setting them down, all for no discernible reason. “I’m sick of hearing about that damned medicine. I’m tired of being treated like a feeble old man.” With a toss of his head, as if he were ridding himself others’ concerns, he turned back toward the table. Once again his mood shifted, but it stayed within the bounds of his mania rather than crossing into clarity. “I might be a physically mangled, buggering abomination, gentlemen, but I’m no invalid. And speaking of abominations, have you heard of my father’s spectacular return to Taintwell?”
    Simon and Clancy exchanged wide-eyed glances before looking to Will.
    “It’s true,” Will said calmly, although he felt anything but placid. The last thing he wanted to do was stir this pot by acting unstrung. “In fact,” he told Simon, “he’s the man you encountered at the circus yesterday, the one with that large gold wagon called the Spiritorium.”
    Simon’s eyebrows shot up. “Shit, Perfidor, that’s your papa?”
    “No. He isn’t my papa. He’s the male cur who sired me. Lovely gent, isn’t he? But don’t bother asking me any questions about him. I’ve no desire to ruin my evening.” In a blink, Fan’s attention leapt to another subject. “Shame on you, William, for not offering our guests some refreshment.”
    “I’ve been refreshed, thank you,” muttered Marrowbone.
    “Now that you’re stocking Diller’s for me,” said Simon, “I believe I’ll take