Blind Faith

Flynn

I tried to be more aware of time passing while I continued to research and develop a ward for Owen. I wasn't great at remembering to take care of myself, but I at least managed to drag myself out of the haze enough to eat and walked away long enough to sleep at night.

I was a little late for bed a few nights later when I climbed the stairs up to the loft. Owen was reading in the soft lamplight. He was wearing just his boxers and his pale skin looked absolutely luminous in that low light. I crawled into the bed and put my head in his lap. He snickered and rested the book on top of my head.

"Good job on coming to bed before I came down there to drag you up," he said.

"I'm a very good boy," I purred back at him. "I remembered."

"Oh?" he said and closed his book. I twisted to look up at his pretty gray eyes. Owen smirked and traced along the stubble of my jawline. "You're cuddly tonight."

"I've spent the last few days setting intentions," I answered. He gave me the look that meant I was saying something strange and he needed an explanation. "Um, I'm writing new spells, so they need intent. Every part of this one will be drawing strength from our bond. So, I've been thinking about how much I love you for however many days I've been doing this."

"You sweetheart," Owen chuckled. He leaned down to gently kiss my forehead. "You want to be my treasure tonight?"

"I'm always your treasure," I giggled. Owen ran his fingers through my hair and sent shivers down my arms. "Tonight I'll be whatever you want me to be."

"I want you to be my sweet, wild artist," he murmured to me. "I want you exactly the way you are. My beautiful boy, how about I give you another reason to love me?"

I nodded eagerly. His sexy smirk already had my heart jumping. Owen moved me to my back and made quick work of my clothes. He crawled over my body, pressing his smooth, warm skin to mine with a contented sigh.

Owen always took his time getting me ready. He liked to see my eyes go hazy before he really got to the point. I was whining and panting with his slippery fingers teasing my prostate and his tongue on my dick when he finally moved back over me.

"You make the cutest little noises," he purred in my ear. I couldn't help but whimper in reply. "Yeah, just like that."

There was no bliss quite like the way Owen looked into my eyes as he rubbed his dick over my hole. He cupped my cheek with one hand when he gently, oh so gently, pressed into me. My breath hitched in my chest at the intensity.

His treasure. That was what he called me the night we met, and that was exactly how he treated me. Like the most precious person in the whole world. Like my needs were his own and my wants were divine.

"Sh-shark," I stammered, clinging at his narrow chest in an effort to get him closer than physical reality would allow. He chuckled, kissed me, and made it his mission to coax out the gasps and whimpers he so loved.

-

Owen

I was trying not to look too put off by Flynn's tattooing set up. He had made a point to get his hands on a real tattoo gun, ink, and various supplies that he was carefully laying out on top of our little table.

"Have you, um, used one of those before?" I asked him, looking at the machine where it lay next to a row of sealed, fresh needles.

"The gun? Yes, I did big ones on my chest with a gun," he said as he carefully poured ink out into little cups. "It's a lot faster and should look better than the stick and pokes. The real tattoo ink should help, too. All mine are india ink and broken pens. The blurry one on my right thigh is ashes from my first grimoire."

"Fuck, Bun," I mumbled. He wasn't listening, though. He was arranging my arm on the table and carefully copying the sigil he had designed onto the underside of my forearm with a red marker. I couldn't help but smile at the way he carefully checked over his work, ensuring it was absolutely without flaw.

"This one shouldn't hurt that much," he said. I believed that he believed that. Flynn could, as far as I knew, feel pain just like anyone else. It just seemed like he had decided not to let that bother him.

He proved that once again by cutting that spot on his arm open again. I watched with a knot of nausea in my throat as he added a drop of his own blood to each ink cap as casually as he would add salt to food. He caught the look on my face and shrugged awkwardly.

"It's blood magic," he said. "It has to have my blood in it to bind us."

"Hm, right," I agreed uneasily.

He took an excruciatingly long time perfecting those intricate lines. I groaned softly to myself at one point and asked him to give me a break to stand up and stretch. He blinked at me, coming out of that telltale trance he fell into when he was doing art that was more than visual.

"Are you almost done?" I asked him and I listened to both of our joints pop. The thing looked done to me. It was already more intricate and more beautifully done than any of his own tattoos.

"Almost," he promised. "It has to be perfect. It's going to keep you safe."

"None of yours look like this, though?" I pointed out. "And they seem to be fine?"

"Oh, um, most of mine are sigils I made, they just have spells in them. The binding wards that my lady gave me are these," he said and held out his hands, palm up, to show me the deep scars there. "I was really young. I did the best I could, but I didn't really understand how to do it right. They work because the act of devotion was enough to make up for all the flaws. She was pleased enough with the effort to honor the intent. It's different binding two regular people, though, because we don't have inherent power like that. Intention isn't enough. It has to be right."

I touched those familiar scars curiously.

"How old were you when she made you do this?" I asked. Flynn winced.

"Well, I

agreed

to do it. It was an act of devotion," he said warily. "But I was twelve."

"

Twelve

," I repeated under my breath. "You cut your hands open for your goddess when you were

twelve

?"

"Yep," he said and shrugged. "I got kicked out of my last foster home for that one. I did it in the kitchen in the middle of the night. Freaked them all out."

"Why didn't they send you to a temple? Aren't temples paying top dollar for talented young godchasers? Don't a bunch of foster kids end up in the temple systems, anyway?" I settled back into the chair and laid my arm out for Flynn to finish his work.

"I'm unregistered because she wanted me that way," Flynn answered. I managed not to jump as he got back to work on my skin. "She made it clear that she would forsake me if I ended up at a temple. I made sure any nosy adult thought I was just a desperate, attention-hungry kid without any actual deity contact. I wasn't obedient enough to make a good priest, so the temples weren't interested if I wasn't able to be an acolyte. It wasn't hard to believe that I was just insane. I wasn't exactly normal to begin with. There's always been something wrong in my head."

"There's nothing wrong in your head, Bun," I scoffed.

"There is, but that's ok," he said, but he was starting to sound distant again. I didn't bother trying to argue with him. I settled in to watch him pull long, slow, burning lines on my skin, instead. He wouldn't have heard me argue, anyway.

I stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore how much I wanted to just ask Flynn to wrap it up. He eventually leaned back, set the tattoo gun aside, and squinted at his work.

"Ok, this part will hurt," he said apologetically.

"Wait, what?" I asked.

But Flynn had already laid his hands on either side of the painful mark and the air was growing heavy. I gritted my teeth and held my breath as the burn on my forearm increased to a blistering heat. The pain deepened to my bone and strangled me. Searing, racing heat blazed for a few more seconds, then ceased entirely, leaving me sobbing and shaking with my head down on the table in front of me.

"Sorry, Shark," Flynn said quietly. He stroked my hair until I gathered myself enough to sit back up. I looked down at the new tattoo, expecting to see an irritated, bleeding fresh mark that looked something like the ones I had seen Flynn give himself before.

"It... it's already healed?" I asked dumbly when I realized both the skin and ink looked perfect. Touching it revealed that the pain was completely gone. "Can you heal people?"

"Um, not really," he said with a grin. That's when I realized he was trembling hard enough to make his teeth chatter. "I worked the healing spell into your ward. I should be able to heal you now, at least. It's going to hurt like that every time, though, sorry. I'm not actually a healer. I had to force it."

"Are you ok?" I asked, reaching for him. I was surprised by the steadiness of my own hands. I felt great. Better than I had even before we started the tattoo.

"Yeah, um," he said slowly. His eyes were losing focus even while his smile stayed steady. "That was really hard."

"Head down, Bun," I ordered him, gently pushing his head down to the table. "Deep breaths."

Flynn giggled drunkenly and turned his head to look at me with his cheek pressed to the table.

"I did it, Shark," he said happily. "It worked."

"You did great," I praised him softly. "Just rest, ok? Do you think you can make it to the couch?"

"Maybe the floor," he suggested. He slid out of the chair to the floor with another drunken giggle. He stretched out there with his eyes clenched closed. I got a cloth from the counter, doused it in cool water, and pressed it to his neck. Flynn sighed happily under my attention.

"Glory," he whispered as he drifted away.

-

Flynn

I woke up on the kitchen floor with a pillow under my head and a blanket tucked around me. The ink that had been on my hands was cleaned away and it looked like Owen had rebandaged the cut on my arm while I was out. I tentatively sat up.

There was a terrible ache in my head. I expected that. My goddess gave me a lot of blessings, but healing was not among them. While I could force it through my study of sigil construction and spell writing, it hurt like hell to channel magic to my own will.

Clever, zealot.

I chuckled. I was lucky she generally found my resourcefulness charming instead of insolent.

"Thank you, lady," I responded gratefully.

Owen jumped up from where he had apparently been asleep on the couch to crouch beside me.

"You ok, Bunny?" he asked quietly.

"I'm great," I said. I grabbed his arm to examine my work. The ward looked perfect. The lines were crisp and precise. It was worth burning myself out with that healing spell to make sure it stayed exactly the way I drew it.

"So, what now? Do we find that failed temple?" he asked.

"Well, I do," I said warily. "I don't know what exactly I'm going to find there. You should stay here."

Owen's eyes snapped up from examining the ward I gave him.

"No," he said firmly. "I'll go be a dog this time."

"Um, well," I started and trailed off. I pulled myself off the floor to find a bit more time to formulate an answer. "You can't really do much to protect me on this. If it's a failed temple, it'll be a bunch of spells or consecrations for me to break."

"I can keep you from hurting yourself," he argued. "Or from pushing so hard that you pass out in the woods all alone. I can make sure you don't get eaten by a bear."

"Black bears usually avoid people," I said without thinking. "Especially out here where they aren't acclimated to tourists feeding them."

"Not the point, Bunny," Owen sighed, but he still smiled fondly at me. "I'm going with you. We'll do this together."

"You have to listen to me," I said. "Even if you don't understand, you have to do what I say. Decayed spells are dangerous, Shark."

"I'll listen," he promised. "But I won't sit here and let you go alone."

-

Owen

I followed Flynn as he picked his way through the woods. I managed to convince him to sleep and start fresh in the morning. That did absolutely nothing to help with the heat and humidity. Early morning dew dripped off of leaves as we brushed past, leaving my clothes unconformably damp even before I was soaked in my own sweat.

Flynn wasn't talking. That sweet boy was only silent when he was tapping into his intuition, so I let the quiet flourish in the background noise of bird song and snapping twigs. He paused every now and then with his head cocked to one side, then he would inexplicably change directions.

Near midday, we came upon a wall of thick, strangely interwoven branches. It looked like a makeshift fence, but was taller than seemed necessary. Even Flynn wouldn't be able to look over the top. Flynn stopped and wiped sweat off his face.

"It's on the other side of this," he said. I didn't question him. I knew well enough that he wouldn't explain how he knew that. He looked at the wall of branches for a long moment before he went on, "We can't cross here."

"Why? We can definitely climb this," I pointed out.

"We can't because it's the wrong place to cross," he said. "Come on, this way."

I remembered my promise to listen to him and swallowed my arguments. Flynn walked beside the wall with one hand trailing along the branches. He stopped after about ten minutes and pointed at a sigil scratched into one of the larger branches.

"That's why," he said with a smile that suggested I should know what that mark meant.

"Is that a trap or something?" I prompted him to explain.

"It's the entrance. We couldn't actually get inside anywhere else," he said. "This, um, like a pocket? You can't reach into a pocket from the wrong side."

"Oh, right." I didn't understand, but I let that go. Flynn clearly understood.

He laid his hand on the symbol for a moment, then pushed on the wall. My brain rejected what I saw next. A portion of the branches swung out as though they were set on a hinge. I blinked in dumb surprise until Flynn grabbed my arm and pulled me to the opening.

I expected to see the forest continue beyond the wall. I could see the treetops above the wall as we walked around it. That wasn't what I saw through that opening, though

I didn't have time to question it before Flynn pulled me behind him onto the unkempt lawn of a dismal, abandoned mansion.

-

Flynn

It was late evening on the other side of the gate. My eyes were still dazzled from the bright noon we left behind, I blinked until my eyes adjusted enough to check the back side of the door for an exit sigil. I found what I was looking for, so I let the gate close behind us, plunging us into a cool, quiet dusk.

"Where are we?" Owen whispered.

"In a pocket," I said again. I didn't bother to keep my voice down. If anyone was home, they surely had alarms for anyone opening the gate.

The big house in front of us definitely looked abandoned. The grass we were wading through was up to my knees. It stretched from the house to the back side of the same cobbled together wooden fence we saw outside. It looked like the large yard and house were fully enclosed within that wall. The house itself was still standing, but one column on the ostentatious front porch had collapsed, taking the overhang above with it. The rest of the facade on the white house was dingy and dark.

I stopped to listen. Nope. My lady wasn't speaking. She must have decided that I could handle it on my own. My intuition seemed to be working, though. It was screaming at me to keep my guard up. As abandoned as that house looked, there was absolutely something in there.

"Come here." I pulled Owen to me and pushed his sleeve up.

"Wait, hold on," he protested and tried to pull away. "Don't burn yourself out."

"I won't," I reassured him. "I'm beefing up your passive wards. Something in that house is going to try us."

Owen relaxed and let me do my thing. I heard him hiss through his teeth. He shook his limbs out like he had the heebie jeebies when I let go.

"Ugh, that feels weird," he said and tried to smile. That's when I realized he was afraid. I had been too focused on completing my task to notice the way his breath trembled and his eyes kept darting around the overgrown yard.

"I can open the gate and let you back out," I suggested gently. "I can do this alone."

"No, I'm not leaving," he said immediately. "I can do it. I'll watch your back, Bunny."

I pulled him into an embrace. He shuddered and pressed his face into the crook of my neck.

"I love you," I said quietly. "Be a dog, but please be a trained dog. Don't do anything unless I say it's ok."

"I love you," he responded. "I'll be the good boy this time. I'm ok. Let's go."

We made our way around the house, through the sea of grass, looking for another entrance since the front door was blocked. The backside of the house had terraced gardens full of grass and brown shrubs. Owen tripped as we neared what was probably once an inviting back patio. I went to help him up when he swore quietly.

"It's ok, Bunny," he said, waving me off and standing back up. "I'm fine. Keep going."

He was looking down as he spoke with a blank look on his face.

"What did you find?" I asked him quietly. Owen winced and sighed.

"Bones," he answered. "Human ones, I think, but they aren't right."

I pushed the grass aside to find most of a skeleton beneath the blanket of green. The skull was cracked open, but that wasn't the strange part. It also had horns like a bull's sprouting just above the temples. The grass had largely taken over the rib cage, but the bones I could see seemed to be oddly bent to make the chest much wider than normal. Some of those showed fracture lines or were fully broken. I suspected there was some type of heavy, blunt object obscured in the grass nearby.

"Shit," I said quietly.

"Any idea what that's about?" he asked me. There was a tremor in his voice that hadn't made it to his face.

"Someone made a deal they shouldn't have," I answered. I looked out over the tall grass and wondered how many other bodies might be hidden in that pastoral greenery. I wondered if they were all twisted and strange.

The back door was standing open when we made it to the patio. Sigils had been carved into the door frame, but they were all burned out. A shiver ran down my spine when I peered into the dusty darkness inside. There was no grand mansion beyond that door.

An impossibly long, surprisingly well-lit hallway stretched in front of us. By all accounts, it looked like the corridor of a nice hotel with plush carpet, subtly patterned wallpaper, and deep jewel tones. The only thing that broke that illusion was the complete lack of any doors along the unbroken walls. The hallway extended without exit to a blind turn at the end.

"Ah, ok," I said and took a slow breath to try to steady myself. "That's, um, that's the Labyrinth and it already took over this whole mansion."

Owen nodded slowly, then looked back over his shoulder in the direction of the bones we found.

"So, that was a minotaur?" he asked.

"Sort of. That was probably one of the worshipers that summoned the Labyrinth to begin with," I said. "It makes its own immune system. Um, leukocytes. White blood cells."

"And someone beat it to death," Owen concluded.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"How do you get rid of this? Can you just destroy the pocket?" Owen asked.

"I doubt it," I weighed my options, looking around at the enclosed bubble of alternate reality. "That would probably just put the mansion in the woods without the protection of the walls. There's an anchor point in there somewhere where the people who summoned it performed their ritual. I need to dismantle it. That should close the door here."