Chapter 18

Dylan

I don't know if Marc's reading my mind or if I'm just being super obvious—probably that option—but he's being helpful, and I'm so grateful.

"Perfect!" I hide my wince. That sounded too chipper. "I mean… that solves that. Since I'm redecorating anyway, we can get rid of the coffee table." I glance around. "We might keep the chair and sofa until we replace them, though. We'll need somewhere to sit. But the chair can go in my office when you need the bed." I smile, pleased to have it all resolved. For two nights, at least, there's going to be a higher demon in the apartment, and Matt will be safe.

Whoa. That's not something younger me would ever have dreamed of thinking.

Matt and Ian still look like they think we're insane, so a distraction is needed. "Well, we don't need to sit around in here all day," I say. "I think we promised Marc a tour of the most pretentious places in San Francisco."

"We're actually going to do that?" Ian sounds super unenthusiastic. "I thought it was just a lure to get him here."

"So did I," Marc comments, surprising a laugh/snort out of Matt. "But since you offered?—"

"He takes it back," Matt and Ian chorus in unison.

Marc gives them a disgusted look. "Could you not even attempt to separate your brains?"

"Dude, now that I know it upsets you so much, I'm gonna do it more often," my boyfriend announces cheerfully. "Hey! I guess that means you've progressed to the level of friendship where we do things just to piss each other off. Go, you."

With dawning horror, Marc asks, "We weren't already there? Until now, you've been trying to be nice ?"

"Just as much as you were," Ian says pointedly. "You were trying to be nice, right, babe?"

"Please stop calling me that." The demon's expression is pained, and since he helped me out before, I decide to rescue him.

"We're going out," I say firmly. "I'm awake before noon, I took tonight off from work"—not that it'll stop me from logging on after they're all asleep—"and we promised Marc a visit he'd enjoy. So we're going to have a long, expensive lunch at the Ritz-Carlton, hit some of those high-end furniture showrooms where you need appointments, and go to the ballet tonight. Though Marc will need to use his mojo for all that, because we don't have reservations, appointments, or tickets." I glance at Marc. "If that sounds interesting to you."

He nods slowly, his gaze laser focused on me as Ian and Matt both groan. "It does indeed. Before we go, however, I believe an update may be in order. Have you learned anything new?"

Dammit. I sigh. "Not really." Putting my hand on Matt's thigh, I ask, "You've been keeping Ian up to date, right?" I know he has. They talk every day, and if for some reason that doesn't happen, they text. It's sweet. I'm an only child, but if I'd had a twin, I'd want to be that close to them.

Because let's face it, Matt and Ian might not be blood related, they may not share physical features, and their birthdays might be four months apart, but they pretty much share a brain. I know they've had issues in the past with partners thinking they spent too much time together, and it was something Matt brought up pretty early on after we decided we were serious about each other, but there's no way I'd ever expect him to give up Ian. It probably helps that Ian and I are friends too.

Weirdly, as much as we complain about Marc, the actual demon, Matt says he's never suggested that Ian should talk to him less either—though I think he might have said something about never seeing Connor again.

"Yeah, he's told me everything. Unless something new came up between yesterday and now."

I shake my head, and Matt says, "Nuh-uh. Not unless you count the weird-ass dream I had last night."

"How weird?" Ian asks curiously, and Matt recounts the details. "Bro, that's, like… did you eat spicy food right before going to bed?"

Matt shrugs. "Nope. But it was one of those dreams where everything felt super real. Like, I could have sworn I could actually hear that kid vomit and smell the bread."

Ian snorts. "Only you would have vomit and fresh-baked bread in the same dream."

"A couple arguing, a sick child, and baking smells?" Marc asks casually. "Those were the key elements?"

We all look at him like he's crazy. "I mean, if you wanna get all dream-analytical, yeah, those were the ‘key elements,'" Matt says. "But I'm not psychic. I might be a hunter, but this kind of dream is just a dream."

"We get dream training," Ian explains. "I can't remember if I've told you that before."

"Dream training." Marc's voice is flat.

"Aren't you the one who just went all ‘key elements' on my dream? Yes, dream training. When you have hunter abilities— or mediums, they get dream signals too sometimes—repeated dreams or dreams with really strong themes can be our power trying to tell us something. We're trained in how to recognize that. Which is how I know this was just a dream and nothing more."

I thought the same as Matt, but seeing the way Marc's face goes perfectly blank makes me wonder if we're overlooking something. Though… an argument, kid vomit, and bread? I can't think of anything that even connects those into a single theme. Unless Matt starts having this same dream over and over again, I still think it's just a weird dream.

"You all are the experts in hunter abilities," Marc agrees. "Now, let's return to the topic at hand—not that your child vomit dream story wasn't delightful, Matthias."

"Everything I do is delightful," Matt says, deadpan, and I elbow him. I share a bathroom with him, so I'm witness to that not being true. Love him, yes. Think everything about him is delightful? Pfft.

Marc, wisely, ignores him. "We're all agreed that Matt was the target and that his attack was intended as a message?"

"Yeah," I say gloomily, frustration rising. "I just can't figure out the who or why. Or even what the message was supposed to be."

"I thought it was supposed to be ‘we beat him to death.'" Ian sounds confused. "Isn't that what they did?"

"Mm. But did they do it as a warning?" Marc muses. "And if so, to whom and why? Or was it more of an indication that they exist? Do they want us to know who they are?"

Something about that tweaks the niggling thought I've had at the back of my mind for the past weeks, but not enough for it to become clear. "It's in the code," I say, resisting the urge to throw something—like my coffee mug. It's empty, but still. "I know there's something in the code. I just can't work it out."

Matt sighs gustily and pats my hand. "We're not the best people to help with this, since we don't understand what you're saying. But walk us through it anyway."

Massaging my forehead, I try to think how to explain it. "Okay, so the code is what makes everything work. If it's not coded right, the result—for example, job sheet—will either have errors on it or just not work at all."

"Like when I click on a web link and the page doesn't come up?" Ian asks.

I hesitate, because there can be other reasons for that, but I don't want to confuse them. "Yeah, sometimes. Anyway, rules are the same, but everyone has their own preferred way to write code. When you work with someone for a while, you can usually tell when they've coded something. It's kind of like talking. If you want what you're saying to make sense, you have to follow the basic rules of language. But Marc and Ian, for example, have different speech patterns."

Ian's nodding like he gets it. "Right. So we could both say something about today's weather being clear and sunny, but I'd say it different to Marc, and people who knew us would probably be able to tell who said what, even if we used voice disguisers."

Voice disguisers? Of course he had to make this as weird as possible.

"Essentially, yes."

"So if you knew the person who'd written the code for the job sheet, you'd recognize it?" Matt asks, and I make a face.

"Theoretically. If they were trying to hide who they were I prob—" A lightbulb goes on in my head.

There's something in the code that's bugging me. Because it's familiar . I've seen it before. "It's not anybody I know," I say, more to myself than the others. "They'd try to hide it. But it's someone whose work I've seen before."

"Did he just take a sharp left turn, or is it just me that's lost?" Ian asks, but I'm only half listening. It can't be someone who knows I'm familiar with their work. Nobody on my team—thank fuck. Even though I was mostly sure it wouldn't be, that tiny niggle of doubt wouldn't leave me. But it can't be—for one, I would have noticed immediately, but also, they'd have been super careful not to leave any traces at all. It would have been textbook code, no shortcuts or identifying features. Or… There are some smart people on my team, and if they wanted to throw me completely off the scent, they might have copied my style, or someone else whose work I'm really familiar with. The fact that I've probably only seen this person's work once or twice in the past, and probably not connected to my job, means that this is entirely coincidental.

I read a lot of code. Some people like knitting, some like football. I like digging into the code of every website I visit. It's fun. But it means I've seen a lot of it, and even though my memory is good—better than most people's—it's not a database. I can't just call up the information I need.

That's okay. I have a starting point. I'll go back through the job sheet and pull out every single stylistic choice the coder made, and then I can set up?—

"Dyl?" Matt's face looms in close to mine. "You still with us?"

Huh. Guess I zoned out. I smile and kiss him, feeling lighter than I have in days. Marc's here to keep Matt safe, and I have a plan. "Sorry, I had an idea of a new path I can take. Hey, before I forget—has there been any update from Norval?"

"He's been delightfully absent," Marc says, and Ian glares at him.

"Don't be a dick. He's still my uncle. But yeah, he's been popping in every, like, three days, asking if we're okay, then leaving again. He seems kind of… frantic?"

"He checks in with me every morning," Matt adds, which I knew. It's always when I'm still asleep, and I can't decide if that's coincidence or not. "Basically does the same thing: asks if I'm okay, if I've seen anyone suspicious, if our security is good. Once he mentioned that he thought he had a lead, but he disappeared before I could get details, and he hasn't given me a chance to ask again."

"He's being useful," Marc observes. "Let's not… what's that sweet little human expression? Something about equine gift giving."

Our blank faces make him sigh, and then I get it. "Do you mean, ‘Don't look a gift horse in the mouth'?"

He snaps his fingers. "That's the one. So twee."

"Twee?" Matt asks. "What the fuck does ‘twee' mean?"

"Are you making words up?" Ian demands. "That's such a douche move, babe. We talked about this. You gotta try to be nicer." He looks his boyfriend up and down. "I'm rethinking my generosity in letting you wear the suit."

"The suit is going to get us proper service while we shop for Dylan's new furniture." Marc's smile is pure evil as his boyfriend's face falls. "Speaking of our outing, I believe I was promised lunch at the Ritz-Carlton." His gaze drifts over us all. "You'll need to change."