Chapter 2: Welcome to the GSA - PART 2

“Well, so much for food…”

The sign hanging on the cafeteria doorway was certain enough. “CLOSED” , with no indication when it would open again. This left Spike and Rosa standing outside, looking forlornly through the windows at two big rows of tables and seats that wouldn’t be occupied again til sundown.

Rosa’s stomach rumbled, but she tried to play it off with a pretend cough. “Lucinda is our main chef and she well…sort of just serves food when she feels like it.”

Spike’s stomach mimicked his companion’s—he had been so anxious on the drive over that he hadn’t had a bite to eat all day. Now that he was more relaxed, his stomach was enacting vengeance. “I really could go for something fried. Or something sweet. Or both.”

“Yeah…her churros are legendary. Everyone fights each other to get them. She used to sell them outside a lot of spellbreaking events before she caught Colt’s eye. She was so proud of her work, and her food speaks for itself, that he offered her employment on the spot.”

The spellbreaker pressed her back against the glass door and looked out into the prairies. “Colt has a real eye for talent. He picks good people. I mean, not just people who are good at what they do, but kind people. Well, kind and…I guess, sort of broken? I think he likes taking in strays.”

“I understand,” Spike said, mirroring her. He still hadn’t fully accepted that his childhood hero had chosen him to train and work for this federation. “Wow, what a guy. Hey, not to be random, but are you the only lady spellbreaker here?”

“No,” Rosa said with a laugh. “A lot of the other girls are on the road right now, actually. You’ll meet Calypso at training since she’s a rookie like us. Us girls keep ourselves busy. But I…still have a lot to learn.”

“And the size of all these hunks doesn’t intimidate you?” Spike hoped he wasn’t prying too much.

Rosa laughed, letting him know he hadn’t crossed a line. “Are you kidding? They’re all big puppy dogs. Besides, my spellcrafting can put them in their place easily.” Her eyes flickered with wicked intent. “I love beating up big, strong, men and making them feel utterly helpless.”

Spike blinked, noting the unusual sensation in his pants. Did…did my sexuality just expand?

“Let’s get your room key,” Rosa suggested—perhaps a ploy to distract them both from their increasing hunger. “Kengo should have calmed down by the time we’re back.”

The last building on their tour, besides Colt’s farmhouse (off-limits, of course) was a converted barn at the back of the property. It was a fair distance away. Spike had no issues with walking, but the heat combined with hunger was proving a very difficult tag team. He hoped the tour would be over soon and he could get some alone time (preferably with a burrito).

Spike approached the office door, flanked with two GSA show banners from previous exhibitions. He admired the design work ad detail—there was something explosive and dynamic about the GSA logo art, the color and bold lines.

“This where Colt works?” Spike asked his tour guide.

“Yeah. He keeps a pretty low profile, always running the show from behind the scenes.” She shrugged. “Still, I wouldn’t be afraid to ask him anything. He’s really invested in people’s comfort. I know he looks really intimidating, but he’s the biggest puppy dog of them—”

Her words were cut off by a sudden and loud peel of thunder. Spike and Rose nearly jumped out of their socks. Spike looked up at the sky, thinking he’d just misheard the clash of distant farming equipment (they were near an active ranch after all), but indeed, the sky had turned from hazy blue to rapid gray, with storm clouds blossoming where it had been clear only seconds ago. Even the atmospheric pressure shifted.

Spike held out his hand, anticipating the kiss of raindrops. “Um…the weather report didn’t call for rain, did it?”

“Oh no,” Rosa winced. “Maybe we should—”

Again, she was cut off mid-sentence by an intrusive, loud sound—this one more human. Spike and Rosa whipped their heads to the door, mistaking oncoming footsteps for thunder. Colt, 270 pounds of tempestuous fury, emerged from his offices in a rage.

“GODDESS DAMN IT!” he shouted, in time with another thunder clap. Lighting flashed behind his eyes. “That cheap bastard Grigorivich wants to charge me a damn booking fee for--” He stopped himself, noticing his two proteges staring slack jawed right at him. “Oh,” he started, remorsefully removing his cowboy hat and running a hand through his long, messy hair. “It’s you two.”

Spike’s eyes went to Colt’s button up shirt—even his business casual attire couldn’t conceal so much muscle. It wasn’t that Spike was deliberately staing at his chest either, but it was very hard for the fledgling spellbreaker to meet his master’s eyes.

“Um…hi, Mr. Tamberly.”

The big boss looked down at his charge, and then up at the sky, frowning at the byproduct of his runaway emotions. He sucked his teeth, snapped his fingers, and the clouds dissipated, as if afraid of angering their own conjurer. Blue skies resumed.

“Colt is just fine,” the boss man said affably. He ran his hand through his hair again, to pat down the static that had teased a few strands away from their proper place. “Looks like I got a bit hot under the collar there. It’s nice to officially welcome you to our ranch, son.”

Son. Spike’s thoughts went to a much more private place as he took Colt’s handshake. “It’s ok,” he said. A not-entirely-unpleasant sensation, the gentle numbing from a tapering electrical current, danced across Spike’s hand. “Wow, my hand is really prickly.”

“Sorry about that,” Colt laughed. Spike could see what Rosa meant about him being nothing but a big puppy. And lucky for Spike, he liked big dogs. “Ah, you’re with Rosa, so you must be in good hands. I’d trust her with anything. Only spellbreaker with half a damn brain here.”

Now it was her turn to blush. “Oh, Colt, you sweet talker.”

There was a constant excitement and energy in Colt’s voice, like a carnival barker or rodeo announcer on their day off. To Spike, this was the epitome of masculinity—strong, secure, kind, fatherly, and respectful to just about everyone. Spike had chosen the right hero.

Colt kicked the dirt with his cowboy boot, looking somewhat impatient. “I’d stay and chew the fat, Spike, but I’m a busy man and I gotta…” he sighed. Everything he did was just a bit exaggerated and cartoonish, not at all like the steely-eyed warrior he was in the ring. “I gotta go sort some ornery bastards out. One way or the other. Goddess wept, this better not put me on the sauce again. Rosa?”

She stood at attention, a wilful soldier. “Yes, sir?”

“Spike’s keys just arrived and should be on my desk. At least, I think I put them there, I don’t know—I’m seeing red and can’t think straight right now. Anyway, just have him sign some paperwork—mostly it’s so you can’t sue us if I break your back, that sort of thing.” He winked, but Spike wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “You settle in,” he said, slapping his back and nearly breaking his spine in the process. “Training starts tomorrow, and I am not going to go easy on you.”

His back smarting, Spike couldn’t help but venture with a slightly flirtatious, “I would have it no other way.” He was mortified as soon as he said it. Hitting on his childhood hero! Was this not a cardinal sin of spellbreaking?

Fortunately, Colt was amused. “Well, we’ll see about that.” With that, he proceeded down the dirt path with all his cowboy swagger in tow.

Perhaps Spike’s thoughts at watching the hunky, older spellbreaker saunter off into the sunset were more transparent than they appeared. Rosa knocked him on the back, right where Colt had playfully hit him—but the pain was not as well-received. “Should I get a bucket for your drool?”

Spike wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Not just my drool.”

“Gross!” Thankfully, she couldn’t help but crack a wry smile. She nodded for him to get his ass into the converted barn. “Let’s get this over with it and get you fed, Romeo.”

The open office space was partitioned into a few different cubicles. Despite its modern overhaul, the smell of old wood was welcoming and nice. Spike felt at peace here. Or maybe the electric current Colt had inadvertently run through him was doing its work on his brain.

“I’ll go grab your papers,” Rosa said, pointing to one of the cubicles. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

Naturally, Spike did nothing of the sort. He might as well have been one of Colt’s inadvertently conjured clouds, high in the sky and electrified. With a spring in his step, and mischief on the mind, Spike waited for Rosa to vanish from view before he decided to get a peak behind the scenes of the GSA.

He poked his around a cubicle, hoping to catch sight of the merch room, or some other pile of shiny things, when he accidentally locked eyes with a young man stationed at a drawing desk only several feet away. He wore glasses, had a day’s worth of scruff on his face, and was somewhat built. Granted, he didn’t cut the same figure as the other giants roaming the ranch, and by Spike’s estimate, wasn’t as muscular as he was—but still…not at all bad to look at.

It was too late for Spike to duck out and pretend he hadn’t been wandering where he shouldn’t, so he flashed the guy an innocent grin. He looked a few years older than him, but not by much. “Oh, sorry.”

“You’re fine,” the man said, sounding both gentle and somewhat annoyed. “Can…I help you?”

Spike’s eyes darted about the room. Some posters and banners on the wall. And behind the man’s desk, a whole shelf meticulously lined with different kinds of house plants, positioned, and angled towards the sunlight streaming through the barn window. A fluffy Maine coon cat, a miniature lion, slept lazily on the edge of the shelf.

“Me?” Spike shrugged. “Nah, I’m just looking around.” He allowed himself into the room. “Were you…busy?”

“Yes,” the man said, pencil in hand, looking down at his work. “Very.” He said this with a smile, and Spike took that—and the tone of his voice—as a playful invitation.

What a cutie! Dark hair. Right amount of stubble. Beautiful eyes. Not a beefcake at first glance, but handsome in a familiar way that Spike had not yet put his finger. He wore a plaid flannel over a plain blue shirt, a cross between urban and country. Though seated, Spike gauged his height—tall enough.

Spike looked down at the sketch—it was a line-up for an upcoming GSA show, with all the spellbreakers illustrated in dynamic poses. Spike recognized a few faces.

“Wow, those are amazing!”

“Thanks.” The young man said, smiling shyly. He moved his head. A brushed-over lock of his hair, a charming ‘swoop’ across of his brow, moved with him. “I’m sorta in charge of all the fliers, media, copy, that sort of thing.” He gestured to the poster behind him. Colt, surrounding by electricity, against a dragon-masked spellbreaker wrapped in flame. Spike could almost feel the heat and intensity radiating off the advert—no, work of art.

“You did this?” Spike marvelled. He would have gladly purchased the poster for his room. “Wow! It looks like a movie poster.”

“Aw, shucks, you’re too kind.” The man spoke with a subtle twang, so Spike took him for a local boy. Though he was strong enough, he didn’t stand out as a spell breaker. “You really like that one?” He pointed, specifically, to Colt. “He said I made him look too much like a super hero.”

“Oh, but isn’t he just?” Spike said, glowing with admiration. “The Cowboy King is a super hero as far as I’m concerned. I can’t believe I get to train under him.”

The man smiled, but his eyes narrowed—either in mild embarrassment or profound disbelief “You’re really a Colt fan, eh?”

“Yeah, he’s an absolute stud, don’t you think?” Spike frowned. He was getting ahead of himself. “Ah, too bad he’s not gay.”

“Well—”

“I mean, he’s like a god on Earth! That long hair. Cold, green eyes. Those…muscles.”

And, as if he had somehow summoned the god into being, Colt re-appeared at the doorway with only a brief knock to announcer himself. Spike froze to the spot and hoped he hadn’t overheard.

“Did I leave the damn contract in here?” Colt asked, putting Spike’s fears to rest at once—this man was entirely too distracted to have heard anything. “I swear if my head weren’t attached to my damn neck…”

In real time, Spike watched Colt’s attention span shift yet again as he bounded over to the illustrator’s desk “Oh, let me see that, Buck.”

The young man nodded, but Spike—who wasn’t the best at paying attention himself—noticed his back straightened up. “What do you think?” he said.

The gentleman placed his fingers to his chin and examined the draft in the same way a jeweller would inspect a diamond for flaws. “Hm. Well, it’s fine, I guess. Maybe a bit bolder line there. It definitely needs some work still.” He sounded business-like and unimpressed.

Spike saw the dark-haired man’s mouth twitch. “Er…thanks.”

Once again, Colt’s mind jumped the track. He pulled his Stetson off his head and scratched his hair in befuddlement, making for the exit. “Damn it, where’s the damn contract? Hey, Rosa, darlin’, could you give a big, stupid man a little help—”

They say you should never meet your heroes, Spike thought, but now he liked Colt for different reasons. He was still a god of thunder, just a god of thunder with attention span issues, and apparently not one to sugar-coat their critiques when it came to art.

Suddenly invested in getting this man on his side, Spike spoke candidly. “I will say, he is kinda cold for someone so damn hot, eh?”

“Yep. Pa can be like that.”

“Pa? No, I mean Colt.”

“He’s…my daddy.”

“Oh honey, same.”

“No, he’s actually my father.” The man laughed and extended his hand. “Buck Tamberly. Not an ounce of magick to my name, but when it comes to art, I’m your guy.”

Spike blinked, beyond embarrassed. “Oh…I’m…” I’m about to faint or throw up.

Lucky for him, he didn’t need to live with his faux pas. Rosa burst through the open door. “Spike, when I said don’t wander off I meant it. Stop bothering Buck!”

Suddenly, the artist’s whole demeanour shifted, from nonchalant to a certain look that Spike knew all too well—the posture and tone of the flirt. “Well, now, this is a blessing. Two beautiful strangers came to visit me at my work.”

But, ‘like father like son’, Buck’s expression shifted rapidly as he lurched down in his chair with a sulk (one that Spike still found quite charming). “And you’re lucky you’re both cute, or I’d be pissed. Pa is playing critic again and it’s made me sore.”

Rosa sucked her teeth, nodding empathetically. “Yeah. Just do your best, Bucky. He likes your work. We all do.”

“Well, he certainly shows it in a funny way, now, don’t he?”

Rosa sighed. Spike sensed they’d been down this road before. The was an invisible energy between them, something understated. A mutual attraction, perhaps? His head was spinning so quickly, that he failed to realize that he himself had been included in Buck’s ‘cute strangers’ lines.

“Hey,” Rosa called out, snapping him out of his thoughts with the metallic jingle of a pair of keys. “Let’s leave the tortured artist alone. See you around, Buck.”

“See ya.” Buck nodded. “Nice meeting you, Spike. And don’t worry, your face really does look cute when it’s all red like that.” He winked, and Spike felt his heart melt. Right then and there, he knew that of all the spellbreakers in the joint, it was the one who wasn’t a spellbreaker that was going to be the best sort of problem for him.

Spike said nothing til they were outside, well out of ear shot. And, after Spike had looked both ways just to make sure, he blurted out, “COLT HAS A SON!?”

Rosa stared at him, blankly, before she forced his keys and the waiver into his trembling, sweaty hands. “Oh, sweetie, where to begin? Colt—bless his muscular heart—has a lot in common with the Greek god, Zeus. They’re both in charge of a pantheon of heroes. They like to throw lightning bolts. And they are both notorious cads.”

That didn’t surprise Spike in the slightest. Seems we have more in common than I thought. But it had never once occurred to Spike that his idol had born a son. The Son of Colt! An heir to a whole legacy of spellbreaking excellence, and not once had Spike ever heard of him before! Of course, nature being cruel and fickle, the boy didn’t have a glyph. How crazy to think that while Spike was watching Colt on TV growing up, his boy was probably watching his dad kick some ass. And to think, Buck had chosen to help his dad’s business out instead of becoming an athlete himself. It was almost too adorable to bear.

Spike sighed. “I’ve never had so many crushes in one day, Rosa. What do I do?”

The girl indulged him. “I don’t blame you. This place is a beefcake buffet. But take it from me—don’t shit where you eat.”

“Yeah, my friend John Henry said the same thing actually.”

Rosa’s eyes widened. “Mr. Iron? Oh, he’s the best teacher! I hope he comes back soon. Anyways, it’s not worth it getting tangled up with these guys. The life of a spellbreaker is far from stable. I should know.”

With much weighing on his mind, Spike followed Rosa back to the dorms. The sun was lower in the sky now, and no doubt the dining hall would open soon. Maybe Kengo could be convinced to get a meal, and they could finally break the ice (thankfully, clothed).

As Spike said his goodbyes and went to test his keys, Rosa tugged his wrist.

“Wait a second, princess,” she said, rummaging around in her pocket. “I have something for you. It’s dumb, okay, but Colt said I had to be welcoming. So, I thought—hey, why not…”

She handed him a small, pink, velvet pouch—charming enough on its own. Spike stared at it dumbly, like a puppy with a new chew toy before he realized he should open it. Inside the pouch was a small bottle with a spray nozzle—like one of the samples of colognes Spike used to steal at the department stores back in the day.

He pressed his nose to the bottle. It was inviting smell that was sweet but musky and absolutely perfect for him.

“I…like to make things,” Rosa said, demuring. “I actually design most of the spellbreaking gear around here.”

“You make the gear?” Spike said, overjoyed and impressed. He rubbed the scent on his wrists.

It smelled like a guy he’d want to make out with. I am the guy I want to make out with.

Rosa nodded. “By the way, I saw your trunks from your show back in New York. Very cute nautical pattern—if not amateur stitching. Still good tase. I could probably make you an upgrade at some point.”

Spike was genuinely touched. “You’re…really giving this to me?”

Rosa nodded—and was that just a hint of bashfulness? “Yeah. Gear. Candles. Perfumes. Teas. That sort of thing. Buck and I tend to a garden around back—it’s how we destress. Plants are my hobby, mostly because of my glyph.”

“It smells amazing!”

“Well, the men around here hardly wear deodorant, so I’ve started making a point to fix that.” She laughed. “Anyways, I’m supposed to be training with Victor, so I gotta go. Maybe I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Oh.” Spike said. He looked at the door to the dorm hall. “So…what do I do now?”

“Anything you want,” Rosa said. She turned and walked back towards the fitness center. “Just don’t break anything, you little idiot. Equipment. Bones. Hearts. Yourself. Oh, and drills start at 6 AM by the way, so I suggest you hit the bed early.”

The twilight took her. Spike was left to digest the past few hours of his life.

“…Why does it always have to be 6 AM,” he grumbled. Yet still his mind kept turning back to one topic, and one topic only.

“So, Colt has a son, eh? Hmmm…”

Next Chapter!