The Emperor of Evening Stars by Laura Thalassa

Chapter 18 Under a Peruvian Sky

March, 7 years ago

The Peruvian night sky glitters down on us as Callie and I order dinner at an outdoor café. I’m supposed to be procuring a couple pounds of cursed gold from one of my clients here, and Callie’s supposed to be tucked away in her dorm like a good little siren, but neither of us much likes doing what we’re supposed to.

We only have a couple hours to enjoy ourselves before I need to take her back to Peel Academy. You can call me her fairy-fucking-godmother.

“So, when are we going to do that deal?” Callie asks.

The deal I’m blowing off, she means.

I lean back in my seat, one booted foot crossed over my knee as I assess her. She’s a little too eager to get involved in the seedy side of my life. “All in good time, cherub.”

Callie nods, her eyes drifting across the street; they brighten with interest. I follow her gaze, then nearly groan.

A tourist trap of a shop sits across from us, selling all sorts of brightly colored T-shirts with llamas and Peru emblazoned onto them. Stacks of blankets made from Alpaca wool sit outside the shop, right next to a series of carved gourds. A rickety stand of keychains and another of postcards border the shop like sentinels.

And Callie is all for it.

Her interest is interrupted by the waitress, who sets down a plate of pollo a la brasa and another of anticuchos in front of us. A moment later our drinks come, the amber liquid glistening under the streetlights.

Callie tears her gaze away from the store to take our meals in. She looks a bit reluctant.

I might’ve ordered for the both of us.

“When have I ever steered you wrong?” I say. I was the one who suggested she get the pollo a la brasa and the chicha. As far as new and unusual food goes, this is tame.

She guffaws. “Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

In response, I pick up my drink, flashing her a shadow of a smile.

Her skin flashes in response, her siren eager to surface, and then her face heats. It’s all so positively delectable.

How very much I enjoy tempting her darker side. And how very much I like witnessing her desire for me, even when I can’t and won’t act on it.

To cover up her own embarrassment, she picks up her drink and takes a large swallow of it.

A second later she nearly chokes on it.

“Alcohol?” she wheezes.

“Really, cherub, you shouldn’t be surprised by this.” It’s not the first time I’ve given her spirits.

What can I say, I’m no angel.

“What is it?” she asks, taking another tentative sip.

“Chicha.”

She huffs. “And what is ‘chicha’?”

I take a kabob from the plate in front of me, pulling off a bit of meat. “Horse piss.”

The girl actually pales.

This human! If I could, I would go back in time and slap my younger self for lamenting this fate. Being with her is the most fun I’ve ever had.

“It’s Peruvian beer,” I say, my voice conciliatory, “and it’s decidedly not made from horse piss.”

Callie fingers her glass. “What is it made out of?”

“Fermented corn.”

“Huh.” Callie takes another sip. Then another.

That’s my girl.

“And the food?” She asks, her attention turning to her plate.

“Not made from horse piss either.”

She looks heavenward. Gods I relish exasperating her! She should know by now that I take particular pleasure in not answering her questions.

“That’s not what I mea—”

Using my magic, I make her fork scoop up some of the chicken from one of the plates, then levitate it towards her mouth.

“Des!” She looks around us, afraid someone will see a fork successfully fighting the laws of gravity.

Her naiveté is another endearing feature of hers. I wouldn’t pull a stunt like this without shielding my magic from unwanted eyes.

The prongs of the fork bump her lips, and a bit of the chicken falls off of the utensil, landing on her white shirt.

She wrestles the fork away from her mouth. “Oh my God, fine, I’ll try it already. Stop hustling me.”

I kick my heels up on the table, eating a bit of my kabob as she tries the dish.

An hour later, our plates are clean, and Callie has polished off two glasses of chicha when we finally leave the restaurant. Her cheeks have a rosy hue to them.

Shit. She’s a lightweight.

Definitely taking her home before I meet my client. Between her lowered inhibitions, the relentless siren that’s been making her skin flicker like a strobe light, and my own protectiveness, mixing business and pleasure right now might be a very bad thing.

She stumbles into me as we leave the restaurant, giggling a little as she tries to right herself.

“Whoops!” she says, her skin flaring to life for the twelve thousandth time.

Her eyes alight upon the tourist shop across the street.

Fuck me.

She gasps dramatically. “I want to get you something.” She’s eyeing the tacky shelf of mugs that sit inside the shop.

“Please don’t.”

“C’mon, Des,” she says, grabbing my hand. “I promise you’re going to like it.”

“Do you even know what a promise is?” I ask her ten minutes later, when she heads to the cashier with my “gift.” I frown at the lime green shirt tucked under Callie’s arm; it has a cartoon llama on it and Cusco written beneath.

Buzzed Callie has poor taste in souvenirs.

Salvation, however, comes in the form of an actual llama. I don’t know what the hell the owner is thinking, bringing the beast through the streets of Cusco, but even mated, I’m considering kissing him.

Callie’s eyes widen at the sight of the beast, and the shirt slips out from under her arm, falling, forgotten, to the floor. “It’s … a llama.”

Sometimes, I just can’t handle this girl.

She heads out onto the street, abandoning her quest to find me the perfect souvenir. My normally reserved mate approaches the man and his llama, cooing at the creature.

Ah, be still my heart.

I follow behind her, and in Spanish I ask the man, “Do you mind if my friend pets your llama?”

It’s a useless question. Callie is already nose deep in the beast’s neck fur.

I slip the man a few bills anyway, and he seems happy enough to let the beautiful teenage girl accost his animal.

“Des, I think llamas might be my new favorite animal,” she says.

“I thought tarsiers were.” She declared it after the two of us saw the creature on a nature documentary.

Because it has such big eyes, she explained, like that made any sort of sense.

“Nope, definitely llamas.” She continues petting the creature, completely oblivious that I only have eyes for her.

Her hair slides haphazardly over her shoulder, and godsdamn, this girl is gorgeous. She has no idea.

Here I am, the Kingdom of Night’s most notorious bachelor, trying for the first time in my life to put a little effort into a woman—all without her being aware of my true feelings.

Oh, and that woman happens to be a teenager.

I’m officially a one-man shitshow.

I back away from Callie while she’s distracted, grabbing a carved gourd and buying it for her.

For the thousandth time I vow to myself that this is it. No more contact with Callie until she’s an adult.

I already know it’s a vow I won’t keep. The moment this little siren calls out to me or the moment I start to miss her a little too much, I’ll be back to get my next fix.

It’s times like these that I’m not sure I know what a promise is either.