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  City of Dreams

  Book Details

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  About the Author

  City of Dreams

  SYDNEY BLACKBURN

  In the City of Dreams, art is of high value and any artist with the Eye is a celebrity. Sebastian Moreaux uses his celebrity status and position of authority at the Ecole d'Art to fill his bed with whomever he fancies.

  Then he meets Marcus Allegro, newly arrived in the City, talented and beautiful—and stubbornly determined to settle for nothing less than a relationship. But Sebastian's had his heart broken before and has no intention of taking that chance again. He'd rather drive Marcus away, no matter how much doing so hurts.

  If Marcus is going to get the man of his dreams, it's going to take a friend, a bit of magic, and all the determination he can muster.

  City of Dreams

  By Sydney Blackburn

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Michelle McDonough

  Cover designed by Kirby Crow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition April 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Sydney Blackburn

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620049891

  One

  "Oh look, isn't that Bastian's little friend?"

  Marcus's paintbrush froze mid-stroke at the silky feminine voice behind him. Then he deliberately finished, setting the brush in a jar of mineral spirits spritzed with a pinch of cleaner from Prestcote's spell shop. If he didn't pack up immediately, Marie and whoever was with her would tease and annoy him until the painting was ruined beyond saving.

  He put the lid on his palette to save the colours he'd mixed and began to slot everything into place in his easel. It was such a beautiful day. He didn't normally paint outside, but he'd wanted to get away from the common studio.

  "Don't go on our account," Marie Bottrell said, taking the seat next to him in a flounce of ruffled silk and powder. "It is terribly funny, though. You thinking Sebastian Moreaux, of all men, would settle for one person. And even if he did, it wouldn't be a pretty boy like you. He likes real men and real women, not whatever in between you are."

  "You must think I'm particularly stupid," Marcus remarked, his voice calm while inside his emotions writhed and flinched from her words. "I've already gotten that message multiple times, from Bastian himself, no less. You were there, if I recall. I don't need to be reminded daily. I'm not likely to forget."

  "Aren't you? Then why do you still come around to Bastian's salons?"

  "Because he invites me," Marcus said curtly. It wasn't a satisfactory answer, not even to himself. Why did he accept Sebastian's invitations? They certainly did nothing to further his art. He doubted even tomorrow's luncheon at the café would be instructional, yet he knew he'd be there.

  "He just feels pity for you, you know," she continued, garnering twitters of laughter from those with her, whom Marcus was still purposefully not looking at.

  "I doubt that Bastian is even capable of that much fellow-feel," Marcus replied, hefting his easel across his shoulders. "Now if you don't mind, I need some fresh air."

  He strode away across the park, ostensibly looking for a new vantage on the crumbling medieval pavilion, but he knew his concentration was broken for the day. Instead he took his things back to his room, trading them for a more portable sketchbook, and wandered the streets, trying desperately not to think about Sebastian Moreaux and his humiliation at the handsome man's hands.

  *~*~*

  "Hello, beautiful."

  Marcus turned to see warm brown eyes surrounded by long dark lashes and blushed. The rest of the face was even more lovely to look at—a straight nose, broad cheekbones, lips... lips... He dragged his gaze back to the brown eyes, sparking with the reflections of golden spell lights. "Hello," Marcus said, willing his blush to recede and failing as usual.

  "I'm Sebastian Moreaux. I understand you're new to my group," he said with a smile. His head was resting on the back of the divan on which Marcus was sitting. Marcus was just honoured to be considered good enough to fall into such an elite group of artists. All he could see of the celebrated Moreaux was his head and he was so swept by the beauty of it, he almost forgot that Moreaux—the Sebastian Moreaux!—had called him beautiful. "What's your name, beautiful? Haven't seen you before."

  "Marcus. Allegro," he managed to say without stuttering.

  "Are you really old enough to be a student here? You look too pretty to be a man grown." His smile was kind, and Marcus blushed even deeper. Normally he disliked being taken for a youth, but the friendly and interested way Moreaux was looking at him made the comment almost a compliment.

  "Really," he murmured, his voice not as firm as he felt it should have been.

  Moreaux's smile grew to a grin and he rested his hands on the carved sofa frame, peering at Marcus. "I’d need to see you standing," he declared. His gaze dropped lower and Marcus squirmed from embarrassment. Sebastian grinned and winked salaciously. "No matter. I'll find out soon enough."

  Then he was gone. Welcome to the City of Dreams.

  *~*~*

  "Come over here, pretty boy," Sebastian called, gesturing with a curl of his finger, causing the room to fill with giggles. He held court in his suite, a high back armchair serving as the throne from which he surveyed the room and to which everyone else present came and went, to pay homage, it seemed.

  Marcus considered obeying, but decided his dignity was worth more. He looked across the room, meeting Sebastian Moreaux's teasing brown eyes. For a second time, he considered giving in, but instead he tightened his mouth and turned away. Sebastian Moreaux might have been one of the most attractive men he'd ever met, but he'd been at the ecole long enough to know that finding himself in Moreaux's bed was something almost everyone present had done at least once, or aspired to with every likelihood of succeeding. He had no interest in that sort of connection.

  "Refusing Bastian isn't your smartest move, Marcus," said Clarissa, the young woman he was speaking to before the summons. She, too, had stars in her eyes whenever Sebastian spoke to her, but she was a shy young woman, and her eagerness to bed their mentor had not yet manifested in her willingness to approach him.

  "He's to mentor and grade my art, not my performance in his bed. I've no need to buy his good opinion with my body."

  "I'm certain he is objective when it comes to judging talent, but it can't hurt to fall under his special attention." She smiled knowingly. "And you would have his body in return, wouldn't that be worth it?"

  "Tempting," Marcus admitted, "but not tempting enough."

  "What is tempting?" Sebastian's voice spoke right in his ear and Marcus felt a blush rise in his cheeks as Clarissa's eyes widened.

  "Excuse me," she murmured with a half curtsy that Sebastian didn't deserve or seem to notice.

  "Why won't you come sit with me, pretty one? Marcus, isn't it?" He and Marcus had both turned halfway and now they faced each other.

  "Perhaps if you remembered my name," Marcus suggested dryly. "Or that I'm a man."

  "But we haven't determined that yet, have we?" Sebastian teased, his gaze flicking downward.

  Marcus had been
at the Ecole d'Art under Moreaux's mentorship long enough for the teasing to have lost its charm. The heat of his cheeks was more anger than embarrassment. "You do seem to be confused. Fortunately, I'm not. I do thank you for the invitation, Master Moreaux. It is an honour, but the hour grows late, and I must bid you good-night."

  "Late?" His voice rose. "But the night's only just begun!" His hand fell on Marcus's shoulder and Marcus twisted away.

  "Then I shan't keep you from your amusements."

  *~*~*

  A note arrived at Marcus's rooms the next day, a request—demand?—to see Sebastian within the hour. Confused, angry, and aware that his traitorous body was anticipating the event, he found himself in a surprisingly empty room. It seemed small at night, filled with people and only lit with globes of spell lights, but now it looked enormous with only Sebastian in it. He was only half dressed, but fully covered, and his dark brown hair looked as if he'd just woken. Perhaps Marcus wasn't important enough for him to comb his hair. Then he raked his fingers through it, and Marcus guessed Sebastian's hair never stood a chance of looking tidy, if that was habitual for him.

  Marcus was half expecting an apology, so he was rather surprised with Sebastian turned to him, frowning, and said, "You rather embarrassed me last night. Marcus, yes?"

  "Yes, for the umpteenth time, my name is Marcus," he snapped. "And how, pray tell, did I embarrass you? I don't recall me being to the one make mockery of someone whose name I can't be bothered to remember."

  "I left my chair for you," he said, eyes dark.

  "Deo, you left your chair to take a piss, too—where's the flattery in that?"

  Sebastian's jaw opened and his eyes widened in surprise before he laughed. "You have a point. But remember, Marcus." He leaned forward and grabbed Marcus by the chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Leaving to take a piss is leaving to fulfil a need."

  Marcus jerked away with a laugh of his own, though Sebastian's grip had been anything but unpleasant. "That's quite amusing. There were plenty of people there eager to fulfil your needs, Sebastian."

  "You just will not take a compliment!"

  "Oh is that what you're trying to do," Marcus replied incredulously. "From you? No, I wouldn't believe a word even if you managed to actually say something complimentary. I would take an apology, however insincere."

  Sebastian's brows furrowed. "Apology?"

  Two

  Marcus had come to the City of Dreams with the blessings of his family. He'd left behind a sister and brother and the broken shards of a love affair. "You have a gift, my boy," his father had said, "and there is no better place in all the world to nurture it than the Ecole d'Art in the City of Dreams." He'd been helped along by Johan's recommendation and his own desire to go.

  Johan, his lover and mentor. He had a passion for men who knew their way with a paint brush. They both knew that Marcus going to the city would end their relationship, but in truth it had already been over for months, both of them reluctant to say the final words.

  "Sad in some ways; we are good together, little Marcus," he'd said, stroking Marcus's cheek. The sex, it was true, had been fantastic, but after a year, Marcus wanted more. He had no intention of settling for less.

  "We both deserve better."

  And his lover had looked sad, but nodded in agreement. Reuniting had never been considered, by either of them.

  He sat now outside the Cafe Pekoe, downstream from the ecole on the Savil River. A former warehouse, the building blocked any view of the river, making it unfashionable for the art set, who preferred to take their coffee whilst watching the boats above the breakwater. They seemed to delight in tearing apart the work of others, beyond any justification, in his humble opinion.

  He moved his charcoal idly over his open sketchbook, using the lines to create Johan's face. Or at least, he'd meant to, missing the companionship they'd shared. He'd thought to find more friends in the city. When he realized that Johan's features had blurred into Sebastian Moreaux's he frowned and ripped the page in half. No, he should be sketching his surroundings, noting details of light and shadow, creating unique backgrounds to use with portrait subjects, should he ever have commissions of his own.

  "Mind if I sit here?"

  Marcus looked up to see a pretty girl, perhaps his own age, golden brown hair pulled back to reveal hazel eyes and freckled cheeks. She was dressed in a pale blue gown just out of fashion, though he knew that only from his own recent attendance at the Moreaux salons. In her arm was a basket, the contents covered. He looked around the cafe, noting at least half a dozen empty tables, and his mouth quirked before he said, "Not at all."

  "My name's Kitty," she said, putting the basket down under the table. "What's yours?"

  "Marcus."

  "You're newly arrived, I can tell. Nobody sits here with a sketchbook. Are you not with the ecole?"

  "I am, I suppose. Under Master Moreaux."

  "Oooo," she exclaimed, her voice almost a purr such as her name suggested. "A most desirable place to be, they say." She gave him a sly smile.

  Marcus managed not to blush. Sebastian Moreaux had considerably more charm the less one knew of him, yet he was undeniably handsome and under other circumstances, he might indeed be desirable. He wondered if Kitty was one of his conquests outside the ecole. "You know him?"

  "Pish. Can't be about these parts and not know of him. Haven't met him." She waved her arms in a broadly dismissive gesture.

  "I've been invited to his salons. I don't think I've made a good impression, in any aspect."

  "Oh?"

  Marcus smiled, but even he felt his mouth twist something beyond a smile. "He seems to enjoy mocking me; I've told him I don't care for it."

  "Mocking? Hmm, I'd heard he was more given to shameless flattery. Tell you what you want to hear, so he can have what he likes. Mockery is new; but good for you!"

  He studied her as she accepted a delicate cup of strong black coffee from the waiter. "Was there a reason you wanted to talk to me?"

  "Not particularly. I mean, you look interesting, and unusual this far down the Savil, and I don't like to take my coffee alone. I'm a sorceress," she confided. "And for what it's worth, it's hard for people to take me seriously, too."

  "I can see why," he said with a grin. "You don't look much like a sorceress."

  She made a face at him. "You sound like my grandmother." Her expression brightened. "Only much better looking. You are possibly the most beautiful man I've ever seen, you know that?"

  "No," he said, blushing and looking away. Pretty, he'd heard and far too often, but beautiful? Yet this was the second time he'd heard it here in the city. He wasn't certain it was a good thing.

  "Are you kidding? Have you seen a mirror? Even with your hair too short in the back, it's such a pretty colour. You've got cheekbones to die for and those eyes—listen to me," she laughed. "I'm practically spouting poetry over you. And I don't even like men! Now that's beauty!"

  Surprised, he repeated, "Don't like men?"

  "Well, obviously I like you, but I don't want to kiss you or anything because, ew, fleas."

  Astonished to hear the childhood accusation, Marcus laughed. "No one's been afraid to catch my fleas since I was eight." He grinned, happy to have met a kindred spirit. "Although I guess I never outgrew my aversion to girl-fleas, either."

  She made exactly the sort of face an eight-year-old might make. "Girls don't have fleas, only boys," she said, before reverting to an adult. "So Moreaux—would you fuck him?"

  Marcus blushed again, and not because of her blunt vulgarity.

  She read his blush as her answer. "I see," she said, nodding sagely. "He's handsome I suppose, and certainly not picky."

  "There's a recommendation," Marcus murmured. "Why don't we talk about you for a while?"

  She beamed. "Love to!"

  Kitty, it turned out, owned the shop just a few doors away, catty-corner to the cafe on Montague Boulevard. "Magic runs in my family, and we have accumulated any number
of useful items over the years, all documented. I sell all the common spells, but also have magical items for rent."

  "Magical items?" Marcus found the conversation fascinating. He didn't know much about magic, although he used all the common spells everyone did. Especially in the city, heat and light were more often spelled as a fire prevention technique. He also purchased spells related to his art, such as brush cleaners and sealants, but magic and art were not complementary, as everyone knew.

  "Oh yes. Like a mirror that will show you what you want to see, or a tablecloth that when unfolded will magically produce a romantic dinner."

  "And you rent those out? What keeps people from stealing them?"

  "A spell of compelling. They have to agree to wear one. It forces them to bring back the item as soon as the rental is up. Spells of compelling are perfectly legal in such cases, though of course, everything has to be in writing."

  Marcus nodded slowly. He'd known that, vaguely, but hadn't really thought about it before. Very few sorceresses sold their wares directly to the public, though he'd never wondered why. "How much would something like that cost?"

  Her smile grew crafty. "A lot. Though not coin. Why?"

  Marcus smiled and shook his head. And the conversation moved on as Kitty chatted brightly about the history of the Cafe Pekoe—once a textile warehouse—and the city in general.

  Three

  "Marcus!"

  Marcus stopped in surprise, not because someone called his name, but because—he turned around to confirm—that someone was Sebastian Moreaux. Evidently he could remember names, if he chose to. More surprising, he was leaving his entourage behind to approach Marcus. "Yes?"

  "Are you coming by this evening? I can make it worth your while," Sebastian said, lowering his gaze to Marcus's mouth and smiling suggestively. He leaned close to Marcus's ear and said softly, "If you're a good boy, maybe very worth your while."

  Marcus closed his eyes and choked back a hitch in his breath. He said as dryly as he could, "Lucky me." Then he turned and walked away without confirming his attendance, but he would go, of course he would. He would not, however, allow himself to fall for Sebastian's blandishments.