Chapter 1
Jean Moreau always came back to himself in pieces.
The prick of light behind his eyelids. Aches and bruises from whatever state he had last been left in. Usually bruised ribs. Sometimes bite marks. Sometimes worse. The feeling of awareness returning to the tips of his fingers and bottoms of his toes, pressure so intense it nearly hurt.
And always, always– the flare of magic around his neck and wrists.
A reminder of what he was.
Property.
Jean Moreau always came back to himself in pieces, ready to serve his master. The last years of his life had become an endless refrain of endure, endure, endure.
Endure for what?
Nothing.
Jean Moreau endured because he had no other choice but to do so. Property was not given the luxury of choices.
Pulled from the quiet darkness of his vessel, Jean Moreau came back to himself in pieces and didn’t bother wishing for things like peace. Or to be left alone, abandoned to the cradle of the oblivion inside his vessel forever.
Jean endured.
He always did.
----------------
“That literally looks like it will curse us. Absolutely not.”
Jeremy and Cat looked at Laila with identical, puppy dog looks. The waves lapped gently around their ankles and the sun warmed Jeremy’s skin. The smell of sunscreen clung heavily to his skin and he could hear the sound of laughter in the distance.
It was a perfect, beautiful day.
Definitely not a day for curses.
“We’re all looking at the same thing, right?” Laila gestured to the item in Jeremy’s hand. “That has seriously bad energy.”
“It’s cool,” Cat insisted.
Jeremy glanced back down at it. It was some type of rectangular box carved out of obsidian. There was a lock on the front– couldn’t open it, Cat had already tried, but the entire thing was covered with intricate carvings. The most beautiful, though, was the raven that took up the entire top of the box, its wings spread wide in mid-flight.
Cat was right. It was totally cool.
And definitely magical in some type of way. Jeremy could sense it thrumming underneath his palms, but it felt strangely… muted. Still, it didn’t seem cursed. Jeremy might be semi-useless as a witch, but he could at least tell that much.
“You wanted to come to the beach and treasure hunt,” Jeremy said.
“For shells,” Laila said, “for motherfucking shells.”
Cat laughed and threw her arm around Laila’s shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. “This is much, much better than shells, babe. It’s a mystery.”
Laila gave in with an eye roll and Cat and Jeremy let out identical cheers. He threw the box in his tote bag and then promptly forgot about it the rest of the afternoon. They stretched out their beach towels on the sand and let the sun bake them inside and out. Cat flicked on the speaker she had brought and blasted her music, and Jeremy let it weave around him.
It was a perfect, beautiful day.
Later, back at the house, Jeremy sat cross-legged in front of the coffee table and fiddled with the lock with a bobby pin, courtesy of Laila.
“No way that’s going to work. This isn’t some low budget spy film.”
Jeremy ignored Laila and focused on his task. 10 Things I Hate About You was playing on the TV, and both Cat and Laila were stretched out on the couch. A day of lazing in the sun made them sated and exhausted, and the silence was only broken by the dialogue of the movie and the faint clicking as Jeremy jiggled the bobby pin in the lock.
He barely believed it when he heard the click, which is why he didn’t say anything before flicking the lid open. He hadn’t really expected it to actually open, and if he had, maybe he would have given a second-thought before opening a potentially cursed (okay, maybe Laila was right) obsidian box.
But it did open.
Magic flared through the room so violently Jeremy nearly choked on it. He heard exclaims from the couch, but he could barely think through the haze of black mist pouring out of the box. It slithered across the coffee table, pooling into a mass in front of the TV before eventually rising up and up and up–
“Holy motherfucking–” Cat yelped.
“I told you–”
The mist stilled and a man stepped out of it.
“I’m going to kill you guys,” Laila said faintly from behind him.
The man was tall, and from his position on the floor Jeremy had to crane his neck up to see all of him. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and black jeans, but that did nothing to hide how striking he was. Broad shoulders that tapered to a thin waist. Pale, almost glowing skin. Dark hair buzzed close to his scalp.
He was staring at his feet, so Jeremy couldn’t make out his face, but he was totally and completely sure that Mist Man was so his type.
If he didn’t kill them all, that is.
Laila was up in a heartbeat, pulling Jeremy to his feet with her. She bared her fangs at Mist Man, shoving Cat back down onto the couch when she tried to stand up.
“Who the fuck are you?” She snarled.
Jeremy appreciated that Laila thought he was a good enough witch that he could stand shoulder to shoulder with her to defend Cat, the only human, when they both knew the most Jeremy would be able to do was make a flower sprout and whack Mist Man with it. It was the thought that counted.
Mist Man tilted his head upward and the temperature dropped. Jeremy felt a chill slither up his spine.
He couldn’t even appreciate the (frankly unfairly) amazing bone structure of Mist Man or his (unfortunately entrancing) slate gray eyes.
No– because Jeremy knew what that tattoo around his neck meant. The interlocking, ancient symbols that wound around that pale throat. And Jeremy knew that if the man wasn’t wearing long sleeves, there would be identical tattoos trailing up his arms.
Like cuffs.
“No fucking way,” Cat said.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Laila added.
“A genie?” Jeremy croaked.
He wasn’t sure if it was all of them talking at the same time or the experience in general, but Mist Man made the first expression since he had been released from the obsidian box. His eyes flared open, briefly, before returning back to a blank slate.
“You’re not my master,” he said. There was a faint accent twining through his words.
Jeremy could feel Laila’s stare on the side of his face. “I blame you for this.”
And yeah. Totally fair.
“We’re– uh. Yeah, not masters.” Jeremy winced and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I mean. Sorry. I’m not really sure how to approach this. I’ve never met a genie before.”
Because genies weren’t supposed to exist. They were created by using dark, forbidden magic. Blood magic. Magic that forced a human to bend to the will of another, twisting their own magic to suit another’s needs. It was barbaric and outlawed and sure, Jeremy knew bad shit existed in the world-- but nothing could have prepared him for this.
For that tattoo around the man’s neck and the blank look on his face.
“You’re not my master,” the genie repeated. His eyes flicked to Laila and Cat before landing on Jeremy. “Has he loaned me to you?”
The phrase alone made Jeremy feel sick to his stomach.
“This is beyond fucked up,” Cat exclaimed, finally standing up and pushing between Laila and Jeremy. “You don’t have a master anymore. In fact, we should go to the police. Or the High Council. I might be human, but even I know genies are illegal.”
The man stared at Cat like she was speaking another language. He shifted back to Jeremy, and Jeremy was caught in that thunderstorm gaze.
“He did not loan me to you.” Jeremy saw a flicker of something, then. A lightning flash of panic– there and gone. “You must return me. Immediately.”
“Yeah, fuck no,” Cat said.
Jeremy sent her a look before holding his hands palms up towards the genie. “Listen, let’s all just calm down here, yeah? Take a second. Maybe twenty. I’m Jeremy, that’s Cat and Laila,” Jeremy gestured with his thumb. “What’s your name?”
“It does not matter.”
Jeremy shrugged, even though every muscle in his body was tense. “That’s cool. I’ll just keep calling you Mist Man in my head, then.”
A muscle ticked in the man’s jaw before he said a quiet, “Jean.”
Jean. The faint accent was French, then.
“Why don’t we sit down, yeah?” Jeremy felt like he was coaxing some feral creature, even though there was no way the genie could hurt them. No, without someone commanding him– a master– Jean could do nothing.
Laila and Cat took the lead, and Jeremy sat beside them on the couch. He gestured to the armchair diagonal to them, and Jean’s eyes drifted over to it. He remained where he was, standing and unmoving.
“Sit down, misty,” Cat said. “You’re freaking me out.”
It was like a flip switched. Jean moved to the chair and sat down, all of his movements stiff. He kept his eyes trained on the coffee table in front of them, hands clasped in his lap. Jeremy and Cat exchanged an uneasy look. He wasn’t sure exactly how genie magic worked, but he was pretty positive there hadn’t been any power behind that command. Which meant that Jean had just listened to the command, like a dog on a leash, of his own volition.
Jeremy swallowed and tried to paste on a smile.
“This is comfy.”
Jean looked at him, and for having such a blank face, the glare was impressive.
“So… you’re a genie,” Laila started. “I’m pretty sure your kind aren’t supposed to exist.”
Jean said nothing.
“Do you want something to drink? Water? Or food, maybe?” Jeremy’s eyes traveled over Jean. The man was tall, but his cheekbones were slightly sunken and the shirt clung to his body in a way Jeremy didn’t like. In fact, nothing about this day was shaping up to be something Jeremy liked.
At least his lock picking skills were still intact.
When Jean didn’t respond to his question, Jeremy tried again.
“I know this must be… jarring,” he said gently. “Being in some strange place with three weirdos staring at you. We just want to help.”
Jean’s hands clasped together tightly in his lap, briefly, before loosening. He looked up at Jeremy again, steel in his gaze.
“I do not need help,” he said. The accent softened his words, but his tone was firm. “I need to return to my master.”
Cat made a punched-out sound underneath her breath.
“Okay, yeah.” Jeremy slumped against the couch and rubbed his forehead. “Who is your-- master?”
It was clear they weren’t going to get anywhere with him, which meant they needed to figure out who this “master” was, report him to the High Council, and get that man’s ass thrown in prison for the rest of his life. And then get Jean some help.
And some food.
Jean straightened a bit, something easing in his shoulders.
“Riko Moriyama.”
Jeremy choked on absolutely nothing. Cat smacked his back hard enough to hurt. Laila groaned and buried her face in her hands.
Moriyama.
Even if Kevin wasn’t his close friend, Jeremy would recognize that name. Everyone would. Just four weeks ago the Moryiama name had been splashed all over the news. A dark coven that had been practicing illegal blood magic, all behind the happy, smiling front of a prestigious family. Basically a cult– a cult that Kevin had escaped from, and that his coven member Neil Josten had eventually taken down with his werewolf mate, Andrew Minyard.
The story had been sensational, especially factoring in Neil’s own ties to the magical criminal The Butcher, and every news story had been reporting on it. Four weeks later, actually, and they still were.
Jean took in their reactions, his expression tensing.
“Jean…”
Jeremy swallowed. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t want to be the one to do this. The beach and sunshine from this afternoon felt so far away now. All Jeremy could see were stormy gray eyes and tattoos as chains.
“Kengo and Riko were arrested four weeks ago by the High Council. Riko killed himself in prison.”
Jean’s hand immediately went to his neck, fingernails digging into the skin at his throat.
“No,” he said. “No.”
“You’re free–” Cat started softly.
If anything, this only made things worse. Jean gripped his scalp with his other hand, knuckles white. A sound tore from him that didn’t even sound human and Jeremy could see that the fingernails at his neck were drawing blood. Jean was folding into himself, imploding inward, and Jeremy was so far out of his depth he was drowning.
“I– I don’t know much about the Moriyamas. Kevin never told me everything, but–”
Jean’s eyes snapped upward, locking onto Jeremy’s.
“Kevin.”
That one name held so much emotion, Jeremy almost felt like he should cover his ears to give privacy. He didn’t. He was completely ensnared by the genie in front of him, breaking apart and pulling himself back together over and over, within the span of seconds.
“What do you know of Kevin?” Jean asked, tone brusque.
“We’re– friends. He’s with the Fox Coven now.”
Jean’s lip curled briefly. “No.”
“Uh,” Laila interjected. “Yes.”
“He would never work with a coven of rejects like the Foxes.”
Jeremy coughed awkwardly. “The Foxes are actually– pretty good. I mean, nothing like the prestige the Ravens had, but…”
But the Ravens were also revealed to be a blood-hungry cult, is what Jeremy decided not to add. Not when a thin bead of blood was traveling down Jean’s neck, self-inflicted by his own hand.
“Call him,” Jean demanded. “Call Kevin.”
Jeremy hurried to comply, pulling out his phone and scrolling through his contacts. He prayed to whatever God was out there that the elemental witch picked up his phone. Normally, Kevin picked up at a single ring whenever Jeremy called. He really hoped that wasn’t about to change.
Two rings later, and Kevin’s voice came through over the speaker.
“Knox,” He said brightly. “I was just reading about a new type of magic that–”
“Not the best time, Kev.” Jeremy’s eyes darted to Jean, who was staring at the phone like he had never seen one before. “I, uh… have a friend of yours here. Maybe.”
The line went silent.
“A friend?” Kevin finally asked, the tension in his voice clear.
“Jean.”
Another long silence, and then– “Es-tu vraiment là, Jean?”
Jean made a soft sound before leaning forward slightly. “Oui.”
Kevin let out a long string of curses.
“Écoutez,” Kevin said. “Riko et Kengo sont partis, mais la branche principale est toujours en vie. Nous avons conclu un accord avec eux pour notre liberté.”
Jeremy watched as any expression that had been on Jean’s face slowly faded away. He wished he knew how to say more than oui and baguette in French, because he was feeling totally useless here.
“Je comprends,” Jean said, tone rough.
“On va trouver une solution. Tu te souviens de ce que tu m'as promis?”
Jean stayed silent.
“Jean.”
“I could not even if I wanted to, Kevin,” Jean said. “You know that.”
Kevin let out a sigh.
“This has been great and all, Go France!” Cat cut in, leaning into Jeremy, “But we seriously need to call the police and the High Coven. This is–”
“No,” Kevin and Jean said at the same time.
Jeremy, Laila, and Cat all stared down at the phone in shock.
“Jeremy, I can’t explain why, but I need you to trust me. We cannot go to the High Coven with this.” Kevin’s tone was pleading.
Jeremy lowkey wanted to tell him he was fucking insane, but he had never heard Kevin sound so wrung out before. Besides, Jeremy knew better than anyone that the High Coven, the governing and policing force for the magical and supernatural, wasn’t all perfect. He had firsthand experience of the kind of douchebags that were employed there. Still… he glanced over at Jean, who had returned his gaze back to the coffee table.
“What are we supposed to do then? Should we… send him to you?”
“Jeremy…” Kevin let out a breath. “Listen. Now isn’t a great time for Jean to come here. The Foxes are a little… tied up. At the moment. Too many eyes on us.”
“So what does that mean?” Jeremy asked, even though he knew exactly what this was leading up to.
“Can he stay with you? For a bit? I swear, I’ll come down the second I can.” Kevin said something to someone that Jeremy couldn’t make out, before returning back. “Besides, some sunlight could probably do him a little good.”
Jeremy looked at Jean.
“And you?” He asked. “Are you good with this?”
“He can follow orders,” Kevin said.
Jeremy frowned down at the phone. “Uh, yeah. Not what I asked, Kev.”
“Yes,” Jean’s voice was quiet. Flat. “I am good with this.”
Jeremy glanced at Laila and Cat, a silent question in his eyes. Cat, who tried to rescue any stray that crossed their paths, gave a somehow enthusiastic and concerned thumbs up. Laila flashed her fangs briefly before sinking back into the couch cushions. She lifted a single hand in acquiescence.
“Alright, I guess,” Jeremy said brightly. “Looks like we have a new roommate!”
----------------------
Riko killed himself in prison.
Five words. A puny, short sentence. Jean had heard plenty of sentences with five words. You belong to me, dog. Does the princess like that? Promise me that you’ll live. I’ll come back for you. I’ll sew your mouth shut.
Riko killed himself in prison.
Jean’s brain refused to believe it. They were wrong. He wasn’t dead. Couldn’t be dead. The monster that had tormented Jean for years didn’t just… die. That was not the way the world worked, not for Jean Moreau.
He stared up at the popcorn ceiling, unseeing.
It was strange, that they had given him a room. After the phone call, Jean had explained that they could just flip the lid of his vessel shut and he would be sucked back in, back into peaceful oblivion, but the three idiots had looked both horrified and shocked at the suggestion.
So here Jean was. In a bed.
It was Jeremy’s room. The blonde had moved around the apartment with frantic, energetic movements, pointing out different things with an almost manic smile stretched across his face. This is the kitchen– if you need food or anything. Don’t ask me to cook, though, I can barely even make a bowl of cereal. A wide gesture of his arm and– the bathroom, we all share one so space gets a little tight.
And then his bedroom. Crowded with items everywhere. Origami cranes crowded on top of the desk and dresser. Clothes scattered on the floor. A half-finished Lego set. Pictures thumbtacked to the wall, featuring grinning faces and multiple starring Cat and Laila. A strange cut out of a dog Jeremy had explained was named Bark Bark with a slight flush on his cheeks.
And plants. Plants everywhere, pots on every surface and lining the windowsill. Flowers that were explosions of color, leafy greens with their vines trailing on the floor.
Jean had barely stopped himself from curling his lip in disdain.
It was bright. Colorful. Messy.
Much like the man himself.
Jeremy Knox, with the caramel-blonde waves and sun-kissed skin. A bright blue tank top with wide cut out sleeves, showing hints of abs underneath. Board shorts that barely covered his long, toned legs. Bare feet, each toenail painted a different color.
This was not Jean’s world.
He did not belong here.
Riko and Kengo are gone, but the main branch is still here, Kevin had said, we made a deal with them for our freedom.
Jean didn’t know who we was. He didn’t care. Kevin might have made a deal for his freedom, but Jean knew what this meant for him. Ichirou was still alive, and Jean was still Moriyama property.
You’ll always be a dog, Riko hissed in his ear.
We will figure this out, Kevin had said, Remember what you promised me?
As if Jean could ever forget. A promise Kevin had wrung out of him, worse than any command Riko had ever forced upon him. It wasn’t like it mattered, anyway. One of Riko’s first orders was that Jean could not kill himself, and until his new master undid that– that order was there to stay.
His new master– the California beach boy.
It was an insult.
Riko killed himself in prison.
Jean shut his eyes. He saw Riko behind them, grinning. Blood and fists. A door in front of him, Riko whispering in his ear I’ll let him borrow you for the night. Teeth at his throat. Bruises blossoming on his skin. Acts of violence Jean himself had carried out because the collar at his throat burned with the commands.
He opened his eyes.
My name is Jean Moreau, he told himself, I will endure.