Chapter 16

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

"I know what you're going to say, but hear me out," I said before Marthas could slam the door in our faces.

We must have been quite the sight, if I'm being fair. Standing on the asphalt of his vacant club's parking lot was the guy he hated most (me, obviously), the vampire wearing the jacket he'd stolen from him after punching him in the face, the incubus who'd insulted him last time he was there, a beaten and bruised Saint's Army asshole, and Barnaby, who had never mastered the art of suppressing judgment from his face.

Funus and Malphie—which is what I was calling the hellhound—waited in the car so we could surprise Marthas later.

"You have some balls, Wilde. I'll give you that." Marthas scanned over us like we were a pack of raccoons going through his garbage. The midmorning sun was highlighting how little sleep the man was getting, and reflected on the bits of silver in his growing stubble. Stress had aged the mountainous imp by a few years, and was in the process of carving lines beside his eyes and caverns along his mouth. Stress had given his hair some silver streaks, which made his hazel eyes bright despite the bruising under them. His hair had gotten shaggy enough to almost hide his short, stout, imp horns resting on top of his skull.

"Those tears that ripped your club open? We know what caused them and we're trying to make sure they don't happen again. We need a place to lay low while we regroup," I pleaded. "This is the last place DHAP and Saint's Army would look for us."

Marthas continued to lean on the door, tired and unimpressed, his eyes landing on Zane as I explained our dire circumstances.

"I thought you died."

"I came back," Zane answered back in the same icy tone.

"Huh." Marthas's brows twitched upward, his mouth settling into a contemplative frown. "What's the void like?"

Zane thought for a beat then answered with an honest but curt, "Quiet."

"Thank the Gods for that." Marthas shoved a brick against the bottom of the door to hold it open and moved inside, the invitation to follow apparent.

A budding sense of relief filled my chest as I followed, my strange posse at my heels. It didn't feel like a trap, but the lack of arguing, pleading, bargaining or begging had me very uncomfortable. There was no such thing as free favors or acts of altruism in the Swallows, especially not with the leader of the Broken Horns.

The club was the same hollow, haunted place it had been when Sias and I had last paid a visit, though the dance floor had now been ripped away to remove all the black scarring from the tear. Dust from the destruction covered the bar tables and countertops, the smell of old carpet and broken wood drifted through the air like falling leaves.

"Fixing the place up, huh?" I stepped around some busted wood paneling as he meandered further into the club, bypassing the demolished dance floor and creeping into the more private section of the building.

"There's no fixing this place. It's cursed," Marthas explained as he escorted us past the VIP section and down some winding steps. "It's getting demolished next month."

"You could always flip it. The building is still structurally sound, and the big open windows on top would lend itself to a lovely garden space," Barnaby waxed poetically, doing his best to be helpful.

"I doubt anything would grow in this place, sweetheart. Too much death." Marthas navigated us through a section of the building I had never been allowed in before. I had seen his office, the private game room where his thugs relaxed in while awaiting orders, and had even gotten a peek into the "stock room," which was mostly illegal guns, ammo, some very raw magic tech and expensive hexes and charms. The door to that room was locked behind a heavy door riddled with wards and bolts, and I knew better than to ask what was left of its contents.

I had never seen the guts of Biodome empty of Marthas's soldiers, a horde of young imps ready to crawl through the streets armed with guns and vicious loyalty. It was eerie not to hear the muted thump of club music and the buzz of crime within Marthas's little kingdom, even more so when the big man himself moved with a shroud of gloom.

Past what I was familiar with was what I could only really describe as a barracks built into a basement, some private rooms with simple beds tucked along a common living space with an old couch, a medical cot with basic supplies, a fridge and TV. It was shockingly comfortable and looked more like a family basement for game night than a belly of a gang front. It even had the standard basement musk of threatening mildew clinging to the worn carpet.

Marthas pointed out each room as he spoke.

"Some of you are going to have to share beds. There's only two rooms and a couch. Bathroom is there, just one shower. Water pressure sucks and it's not very hot, so don't fucking complain."

"Oh, this is…surprisingly not awful," Barnaby gave the couch a testing poke and wiped his hand on his slacks afterward. "I expected much worse. A fresh coat of paint and some basic cleaning and this might even be pleasant."

"The maid is off today," Marthas said dryly. "I'll make sure to relay your concerns to HR."

"Sorry, he's not used to talking to people," I told Marthas and Barnaby stabbed me with his frown. "So, what's the catch, Marthas? What do I need to do for us to stay down here?"

"I don't need or want shit from you, Wilde." Marthas swung a cabinet by the medical cot open and pulled a rattling bottle of pills from inside. He set them on the counter near the kitchenette, which was comprised of a microwave, sink, rack of dishes and abandoned box of cereal.

"I know you better than to think you're giving this to us for nothing." I watched him carefully as he dug through the freezer and tossed a cold compress onto the counter next to the bottle of pills.

"One of the girls that was swallowed up on the dance floor was named Fiona." Marthas popped open the bottle and swallowed down two pills, then capped it and slid it back next to the compress. "Her grandmother came knocking a week ago. She threw the money I gave her for her discretion back into my face, and repeated her granddaughter's name the whole time she told me what a piece of shit I was. She used the word ‘devil' and hoped my soul rotted in hell instead of finding peace in the void. You. Saint's Army boy."

Austin lifted his gaze to Marthas, assuming correctly he was being summoned.

"Your Saint believes in redemption, right?" Marthas asked. "How does that work?"

"Depends." Austin shrugged. "What did you do?"

"I watched the floor open up and swallow people alive. Watched them die in my club and paid the police and their families to stay quiet." Marthas rubbed at his stubble, the pull of exhaustion tugging at his eyes. "What would your Saint think of that?"

Austin weighed Marthas's words behind equally tired eyes, one of which was mottled a painful green and angry purple from a brutal right hook.

"Fear is just as poisonous as violence. You didn't kill them, but you responded out of self-interest and fear, which to the Saint is worse than shoving them into the tear. The only redemption is sacrifice, otherwise there is no salvation for a cowardly soul."

Marthas huffed a humorless laugh, a ghost of a smile almost flickered to the surface.

"There's your answer, Wilde. I have a penance to uphold if I have any shot at a nice, quiet afterlife. If you really are stopping these tears, keeping other little Fiona's safe, then I'll play nice for now."

"That's the plan," I told him, being honest to him for probably the first time in our entire, rocky relationship. "We know Florence Pierce is the one ripping open holes by meddling in some nonsense she has no right to be messing with. We just need some time to formulate a plan, and maybe some supplies if you're feeling generous."

"That's a big fucking maybe, Wilde. Don't push it," Marthas warned, shoving the cold compress and pills Austin's way across the counter. "For the shiner, handsome."

Austin scowled, but moved to grab the supplies quietly.

"It just occurred to me that we didn't grab Twig and Kevin before we left," Barnaby erupted in a fit of fretting. "If the DHAP raid the house?—"

"Kevin's on it. He'll look after Twig too," I explained, annoyed when Barnaby gave me a scathing look. "My fish is very capable of handling a kitten, Barns. Do I look worried?"

"No pets," Marthas added, assuming the conversation was trending in that direction. "I'm going back upstairs. Listening to you all is giving me more of a headache."

I slashed at my throat in a miming gesture to silence Barnaby as he opened his mouth, his urge to tattle about Malphie almost overpowering. Marthas lumbered back up the stairs and we waited until his big footsteps disappeared before collectively exhaling.

"I need grab the skull and the dog, then ditch the car," I told the room. "Zane, can you do your mist thing and make sure Marthas isn't turning us over to DHAP?"

"I don't think he's lying," Austin said, cold compress easing the swelling in his face.

"You don't know him like I do. We're not exactly friends."

"Yeah, I could pick up on that," Austin snorted. "But he strikes me as a guy who isn't in a hurry to involve himself with cops. Nor does he seem like someone who would invite us down into his private living quarters as a ploy. He wants redemption. We're his shot at that."

"God, it must be exhausting being the white knight all the time." I rubbed at my eyes. "Zane, just come with me. You can carry the skull."

"What should I be doing then?" Barnaby refused to sit anywhere in the basement, opting to stand on a piece of carpet that didn't seem as ragged.

"Hang out. Don't leave the basement. Same goes for you, Sias. With an active warrant out for you, we need to keep you hidden for the time being."

Sias was ready to argue but thought better of it, instead he took the bills from his wallet and pressed them into my palm.

"Be safe and bring me back something sugary. I either need candy in my body or a power fuck session to ease this anxiety."

My brain went into overdrive for a moment, smoke no doubt bellowing from my ears as I tried to tweak the plans I was in the middle of executing.

"Maybe we could stick around for just a bit longer, I mean the car's parked in a good spot…" I began, body warming as Sias's eyes took on a teasing shade of strawberry.

"There are other people in the room," Austin reminded us. "People who don't want to hear this."

"Focus," Zane reminded us, not sounding nearly as annoyed as he normally did. "Sias, don't distract him right now. He's fickle enough without your help."

"Fine," Sias drawled. "But only because I like you taking charge. It's…attractive."

"Did anyone hear me say I don't want to hear this?" Austin repeated himself, but we all ignored him.

"I'm perfectly capable of assisting in the mission at hand—not the sex part obviously," Barnaby interjected. "This isn't the first time we've been in danger, you know." He smoothed his shirt down and then snapped his fingers with a sense of glee. "Ah! I can make an agenda for formulating plans! Surely Mr. Marthas has some stationery and maybe some highlighters. You can fetch them on your way out."

"I'll get right on that." I was clearly sarcastic in my tone, but Barnaby's excitement about making a pointless itinerary shielded him from my annoyance.

Despite thinking that Sias's idea of staying behind to help him relax sounded like much more fun, we went with my stupid plan of ditching the car and fetching the undead things we were attached to. Zane and I made our way through the guts of Biodome and out through the back where Sias's car was parked along the side alleyway. Since Malphie wasn't technically alive and Funus was a talking skull, we didn't have to worry about leaving them in the parked car with the windows up, which came in handy for tricking Marthas into agreeing to let us stay.

Malphie lifted his giant head when we popped the side door open, his backside wiggling against the seat when he realized it was us. I was thankful that no one had tried to steal the car while we were inside, but I kinda wished someone had tried.

Imagine boosting a nice ride only to be face-to-face with an undead void hound instead of a car alarm?

That would be a great reality TV show, if you ask me.

"Did it work?" Funus asked from Barnaby's seat, eyes swiveling to me. "Do we have somewhere to hide out?"

"Shockingly, yeah." I tugged over his dog carrier backpack and unzipped it. "I didn't exactly tell him about you and Malphie though, so we're going to try and keep you both a secret for as long as we can. He's a normie—not someone used to seeing a lot of living dead things."

"Ah. Well. I hope he's a reasonable man then."

"He is not." I picked him up gently and placed him into the dog carrier. "But we have some rooms to stay in. You'll have to bunk with Barnaby again, hope you don't mind."

It was meant as a tease, but I caught the way the skull managed to express a wince by flickering his glowing eyes.

"Funus, I was joking," I explained, instantly feeling horrible for hurting the undead man's feelings. "I'm sorry."

"No, no. Please, there's no need." He attempted to brighten his demeanor but it fell short. "I was lamenting before you returned to get us that poor Barnaby is caught up in all of this and it doesn't seem very fair. He is also a…what did you say? A ‘normie'? I sometimes wonder if perhaps I wasn't around, that he would have moved on to much safer endeavors."

"Barns is a stubborn brat, Funus. He'd be here regardless, I promise." I took him back out to speak with him at equal height. It was always a little awkward to talk to one of the brightest minds while he was staring up at me from a dog case. "Plus, he's not exactly going to walk away from it now. I saw how he yelled at you when we were dealing with the tear, my man. Pretty sure he's smitten."

Funus hummed a laugh, eyes momentarily flaring with joy before dimming again.

"I have been dead for centuries, acolyte. I have served my Goddess faithfully as a vessel of knowledge and guidance. But for the first time in all these years, I have regret." Funus's gentle admission knocked a hole in my heart, his whispered tone one of lifetimes of loneliness. "What cruel fate is it, to finally live long enough to find someone to care for, only to be unable to hold their hand? Share their favorite foods? Experience the warmth of the sun together? How is it that my heart breaks even when I don't possess one anymore?"

"I'm sorry, Funus," I told my friend, my own heart aching for him. "I can't imagine how that must feel. But I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Barnaby adores you. You make him happier than I've ever seen him, and I've known that fussy mess for years. You two will figure out your own normal, which I'm sure will be weird anyway, even if you weren't a talking skull."

Funus laughed again, eyes regaining some of their shimmer.

"He loves you, you know. Very much," he said simply. "Remember that when you rush into trouble down the road, Dallas Wilde. We must take care of his heart, you and I. Barnaby needs both of us."

"Don't get sappy on me, skull," I teased so I didn't get teary eyed in front of a member of the council. "You gonna be okay? We're going to need your help figuring out where Florence is hiding and in getting the scythe back."

"I'll be fine," he assured me, sounding bright again. "Just a moment of melancholy is all. I will assist in every way I can."

"You're a good guy, Funus, and I respect you a lot." I set him back into the dog carrier and zipped it up. "Please don't think less of me for this next part."

"Oh, boy," Funus said around an exhale, not even attempting to argue.

"Malphie," I sang to the hellhound, earning more butt wiggles and excited claw taps. "Do you know where Daddy is?"

The big, dopey creature with glowing eye sockets sniffed the air with its nose hole, the sound similar to a vacuum cleaner inhaling dust from a tube. He tilted his head, the fur along his spine lifting before he bounced out of the car. He stood beside me and sniffed again, his gaze snapping to the open back door of Biodome.

"Good boy," I praised, looping Funus's dog carrier around the hellhound's shoulders so the case rested on his back.

"Goddess, let this creature have balance," Funus whined. "If it falls, I'll crack my head."

"He won't fall. Or at least…I'm pretty sure he won't." I gave Malphie a pat on his skinless head before saying the magic words. "Go get Daddy!"

Malphie fired off like a bat—or maybe dog?—out of hell, clamoring across the parking lot before leaping through the open door.

"God speed, Malphie." I gave the hound a salute and turned to climb into the car when I ran into Zane. Before I could hurl an insult about him being a fleshy brick wall in my way, I was pulled into a sweet, painfully romantic, slow kiss.

It was as surprising as it was disarming, and I fell into the hypnotic rhythm of it before my brain could catch up.

I was dumbstruck when he pulled back, lips tingling and breath lost.

"What was that for?" I managed after knocking the knot from my throat with a cough.

Zane nodded to the building. "That was kind. What you said to Funus."

"It's true." I shrugged. "They've gotten really close since you've been gone. It's obnoxiously adorable. I didn't know one of your turn-ons was being nice to sweet, old skulls."

"A few months ago, there was no way you would have been that vulnerable to an undead." Zane ran his thumb over my cheek, his skin alive and still flushed from last night. "My turn on is seeing your emotional growth."

"And my nice ass, right? Where are you going?" I tossed my hands up in exasperation as Zane rolled his eyes and walked away. "I'm being vulnerable to an undead right now!"

"Get in the car, hunter."