Chapter Ten

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Stef inspected the mess in his patient's pen. "Andrea only left you for an hour and look what you've done."

The patient, a fourteen-year-old poodle with a freshly drained abscess, had had an unfortunate bowel event that he'd tracked over just about all of his bedding. He had unpleasantness stuck in his fur, and it was only by some miracle that the bandage itself was still pristine.

"Welp, there's only one thing for it. C'mere, you." Stef roused the old dog and opened the door to the pen. His first stop was the worktable, where he cobbled together a plastic barrier to cover the dressing. Then a bath, where he cleaned off the unpleasantness. His patient was shivering when he was done, so he got some clean, warmed blankets and, after removing the foul ones, made a nice bed in the pen.

"She said you can have another pain pill now." After washing his hands twice, he stuffed a pill into one of those pocket treats and offered it on the flat of his hand. "Now get some rest, you big goofball."

The dog pawed at the blankets, then turned in a circle a couple of times. Dogs, man. Stef found his patients endlessly entertaining, even the ones who sometimes walked on two legs. Once the dog was asleep, Stef went to his office. There was always paperwork, so he figured he'd knock some of it off while he waited for Andrea. Knowing her, she planned to bring the dog to her house so she could watch him overnight.

And what would Stef do tonight? He knew what he wanted to do — just about anything involving one Brandon Charles — but he wasn't sure he should. They'd gone from first acquaintance to being in each other's back pocket pretty darned quick. Maybe he'd agreed to watch Andrea's patient because he had some subconscious need for space.

But if that was true, why did he feel so cold?

He still hadn't figured that out when Andrea returned. He gave her an update and left her to it. On the way to his car, he decided it wouldn't hurt to shoot Brandon a quick text.

Hey. Done at the clinic.

What should he say next? Do you want me to pick up some dinner and bring it over? Nah, they'd called out for pizza last night. Heading home would sound too final and Would love to see you would sound too needy. "Christ on a crutch. Make up your mind, Barros."

Since he couldn't decide what to text, he decided not to send anything else until he heard back from Brandon. He hoped the guy would reply before he reached home, but his phone stayed stubbornly silent.

And something about that silence seemed ominous.

Just checking in. Everything okay?

Because that didn't sound paranoid at all. "Really, Barros? A guy doesn't respond to your text within five minutes and you decide there's a problem? You're such a drama queen."

Still talking firmly to himself when he arrived home, Stef parked in his assigned spot. He owned a condo in Kirkland, with a view of Lake Washington if you stood at the right angle. It was nowhere near as spacious as Brandon's house, but then Stef lived alone. The small rooms with their Ikea furnishings suited his needs.

Settling on the couch, he angled himself so he could watch the sunset over Lake Washington. "You should get a cat. That's what this place needs."

A cat, and a text from Brandon.

Helloooo?

"Jesus, that came straight out of middle school. Have some pride."

Disgusted with himself and fighting with an amorphous feeling of concern, Stef headed for the kitchen. "There must be stuff in here to make a salad."

There wasn't, or there might have been two weeks ago. "Okay, so DoorDash it is."

Which took him back to his couch, where he could see that he had not received any texts in the last three minutes or so. "So." Stef literally shook himself. "Order dinner."

There was no text between the time he ordered dinner and when that dinner arrived, and there was no text when he finished eating. The sun had long since set. Stef was twitchy, worried, and berating himself for worrying over nothing.

Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm just going to drive by his house and see if his car is still there."

The distance between his condo and Brandon's house wasn't huge, but the whole way, Stef argued with himself. The side of himself who said, ‘Give the man some space, why don't you' fought against ‘This feels very weird and I need to make sure he's okay.'

Neither came out the winner.

Brandon's big Lexus was in the driveway, which reassured Stef.

Although if he was there, why hadn't he answered?

Layla's Tesla was parked behind the Lexus, so she was here, too. "But if they're both home, why are all the lights off?"

Stef slowed the Prius and brought it to a stop in front of the darkened house. "Something's not right." He shut the engine off and climbed out of the car. "Maybe they both went for a run."

In the dark? Right.

He went to the front door, but when he raised his hand to knock, he noticed something.

The door was cracked open just a bit. He pushed on it and it swung open.

Brandon sat at the end of a long boardroom table, angled to look over the lights of downtown. Puget Sound was out there somewhere, a vast pool of darkness behind the lights. His hands were still bound, as were Layla's. She sat to his right, her head tipped down so a curtain of hair hid her face.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. She nodded, enough so that her hair fluttered, but the guy babysitting them knocked his pistol against the table and snarled, "Shut up."

"Why?" Annoyance outstripped the fear that had made Brandon cooperative until this point. "Y'all have gone through all the trouble of dragging us up here. It's not like you're going to kill me now."

"But I can kill her." The man raised his pistol and pointed it at Layla. The tension in her body told Brandon she knew what was happening, but she didn't raise her head.

"So you'll add murder to kidnapping. That'll go over well with the judge."

The man stood, his gun still aimed at Layla. He was an ugly fucker with black, inch-wide gauges in his ears and faded facial tattoos, gray-green smudges on his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. "You're going to get your lady friend killed if you don't shut the fuck up."

"Sit down, Jasper, and you shut the fuck up."

A man burst into the room, hard enough so the door bounced off the wall behind him. He was either very young or very well-preserved. Either way, Brandon disliked him on instinct. He was slick, oily, and — given the way the guy with the ear gauges, Jasper, dropped into his seat — very much in charge.

"I do apologize. Some people have no manners. I'm Corbin Blande." He held out his hand to shake, but Brandon just shrugged. "Are you…? Did he…? Jasper, unbind our guests' hands, you scum."

Jasper came around the table with a big-ass switchblade. He stopped behind Brandon and paused long enough that the skin between Brandon's shoulder blades broke out in goose bumps.

"Now, Jasper." Corbin settled into the seat across from Brandon, at the other end of the table. He had his back to the window, a dark silhouette against the sparkling lights, and he steepled his hands in a theatrical manner.

Jasper managed to slice through the zip ties without drawing blood. Brandon shook out his hands, rubbing at his wrists where the plastic had chafed. He almost said thank you, but it would have come out more like fuck you, so he kept his mouth shut. He didn't always need to be a gentleman.

"Again, I apologize for my companions." Corbin's voice was as oily as the rest of him. "We weren't sure you'd respond to a written invitation, you see."

Layla giggled from behind her hair, a touch of hysteria in the sound.

"I generally don't accept invitations from people I don't know, so your guess was correct." Brandon spoke calmly, though this whole situation far outstripped anything in his experience.

In a really shitty way.

"But you're here now, so that's good." Jasper rose to his feet, bracing his hands on the table.

"If you say so." Layla tittered again, and now that the zip ties were gone, Brandon reached over and put a hand on her arm.

"You've been a challenge to track down. I mean, after your exemplary contribution to Genevieve Burton Lake's project last year—"

"Oh, hell no." Brandon jumped up, ready to run. Aunt Vivi. Last Year. Panic threatened to engulf all conscious thought. If it weren't for Layla, he would have been out the door, and because of Layla, he fought to control himself. "Whatever it is you want from me, you can fuck right off."

Oily Corbin pressed his lips together, the sort of pained look a mother gives a wayward child. "Given the rudeness with which we've treated you, I'm going to ignore that display of bad manners. What I mean to say is—"

"No."

Corbin paused, his head tilted the way a crow does when it's trying to figure out if something is food or not. "I'm afraid you don't have a choice. Your lady friend here, well, I would be incredibly disappointed if you forced us to harm her in some way."

Brandon tightened his grip on Layla's arm. "That shit would have been cut from a Marvel movie as too clichéd."

Corbin's smile was as greasy as the rest of him. "I'll take that up with my dialogue coach. At any rate, what I need from you is quite simple — and quite unavoidable. You've managed to keep your light under a bushel, as it were, for most of the last year, but I need you to raise someone, and you will do it."

Brandon laughed, his grip still tight on Layla's arm. "You're fucking kidding me. You know what I've managed to raise since I left Virginia? Two squirrels, a robin, and a damned cat. And I don't know how the fuck I did any of that. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not your guy."

He tugged on Layla, hoping she'd stand so they could both run. Likely they wouldn't get far; Corbin had friends and his friends had guns, but he wasn't going to sit here and take this shit.

"He's telling the truth," Layla said. "I'm his housemate, and while I don't know what you're going on about, he's just accidentally brought home some living dead things."

That made Corbin all but clap his hands. "But do you have any idea how rare and brilliant that is? Most necromancers need to dress things up with props, amulets, candles, and chanted hocus-pocus nonsense. This young man has so much power it leaks out of him." Corbin gave him a creepily fond smile. "I have an associate who will work the spell. All you have to do is power it."

Brandon came very close to puking all over that glossy boardroom table. Aunt Vivi had said pretty much the same thing Last Year. She knew the words of the spell, but she needed him and his friends to make it work.

For a moment, Brandon closed his eyes. If he had enough power to make Corbin happy, had Aunt Vivi really needed Tom, AJ, and Mike? His gut spasmed. Had they died for nothing?

Brandon inhaled as deep a breath as he could get. He had to keep his head. He could fall apart when he and Layla were safe.

"Jasper, if you could call Lorenzo in, I'd very much appreciate it." Corbin settled into his seat, crossing his manicured hands on the table. Jasper did as he asked, which gave Brandon a minute to simply breathe. He didn't know how to tap into his own power, but if he didn't figure it out in the next five minutes, he had a feeling things weren't going to go well for him and Layla.

Damn it.

He should have listened to Clancy. He should have stayed and begun whatever lessons the old necromancer thought he needed if for no other reason than so he could protect himself from bullshit like this. Stef had wanted him to stay, but he'd gone along with it when Brandon refused.

Stef.

Jesus, he wanted to see Stef again. If he'd needed any more motivation than simple self-preservation, seeing the spicy veterinarian again was more than enough. He liked him, maybe more than liked him, and he simply refused to accept never seeing him again.

He still hadn't formulated a plan when Jasper returned. A young man followed him in. Jesus, is everyone in this club so well-preserved?

"Thank you for joining us, Lorenzo." Corbin half stood, only taking his seat when the young-appearing man chose one for himself. Lorenzo carried a black case, too small and thick to be a laptop carrier. Sure enough, he opened the lid and took out a pair of black candles, some polished stones, and the putrefying head of a goat or a sheep.

"Really? You couldn't do it with just a chicken foot?"

Lorenzo ignored him, but Layla laughed outright. He reached over to clasp her hand and she threaded their fingers together.

Corbin's prim, upset-mother expression was back. "Please let us know when all is prepared, Lorenzo." There was a reprimand in his tone if not in his words.

"Ready now." Lorenzo blinked his long and probably fake eyelashes at Corbin. "I'll need to be touching him."

"Him as in me?" Brandon asked. "Because Mama always told me not to touch strangers."

Corbin's lips tightened further. "Jasper?" The sound was as pinched as his expression.

Jasper came to a stop behind Layla, his pistol pointed right at her head. Touching her head. Brandon thought he might pass out.

Lorenzo reached a hand in his direction, his gaze never leaving the sheep/goat thing. Feeling like he had no choice, Brandon took his hand.

The world rocked.

Brandon was buried under an avalanche of feelings: hate, jealousy, anger, greed. They must be coming from Lorenzo because at the moment, Brandon was pretty much only capable of fear, or maybe terror.

Then the sucking started. It was regular, pulsatile, the way a baby sucks on a bottle. But it was coming from outside of him and focused on the hand that held Lorenzo's. It was pulling something out of him — some essential thing that he'd never paid much attention to — from a place deeper than his gut and his bone marrow.

It wasn't exactly the same as Aunt Vivi's spell, but close enough. Brandon's grief grew, taking the place of whatever was being sucked away. Lorenzo began to sing words Brandon couldn't understand. His voice grew so loud that it seemed to echo through the emptiness in Brandon's skull. The garbled words gained meaning, and slowly, piece by piece, something grew at the center of the table.

The same drawing sensation. The same evil. This asshole was rousing a wraith.

Not again.

Brandon jerked his hand away, his skin torn and bleeding where Lorenzo's nails had clawed at him. Didn't matter. The spell kept growing, even without his contribution. The spell grew, and so did the figure at the center of the table.

A wraith. A creature of death, created to do its master's bidding.

Except they always escaped their master's control. Only a fucking idiot would take their chances with a horror like this.

He had to do something to interrupt these fools before they brought Armageddon down on everyone. "Hey." Panic thrust Brandon out of his seat. "Undo this thing you're creating. It'll kill us all." He reached for the goat/sheep head, but before he could throw it across the room, Lorenzo clamped a hand down on his wrist.

"Desist, fool. It is done."

"It is," Corbin crowed. "And now everyone will know who the biggest disruptor in the world is. They'll bow to me. In fact, you two should be bowing to me right now." Corbin broke off in a peal of maniacal laughter. "Bow to me or meet my wraith."

Brandon didn't bow so much as he folded in on himself and clutched his gut, which felt like it had been stripped raw. Layla made a small, miserable noise. She must have collapsed as well because Corbin immediately changed the subject.

"So, I want to give my new pet a test. You, wraith" — he pointed at the thing — "get rid of them for me."

By "them" he clearly meant "my captives," so Brandon yanked on Layla's hand. "Run," he yelled, dragging her toward the door.

She let out a cry that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and the two of them made a break for it. She was right on his heels as he crashed through the hallway in search of an exit, any kind of exit.

"There," she yelled, darting past him. He followed her through the small lobby area where two of Corbin's goons were waiting. They both raised their guns, but they must have been shitty shots because Brandon and Layla tore past them without getting hit.

The red EXIT sign drew them like a magnet. They hit the door running, Layla slightly in front of Brandon, and pelted down the stairs.

One flight. Two. Brandon hadn't been paying the strictest of attention when they took the elevator up, and he had to hope they'd reach the ground floor soon. Another flight. And another.

And what should they do when they reached the street? That wraith would follow them; he knew that from experience. The fool Corbin may have thought he could control the thing, but only a strong necromancer would be able to.

Brandon knew that from experience, too.

They crashed down another flight of stairs, and this time there were two doorways. One was labeled "Employees only" and the other was labeled — blessedly — "Lobby."

Brandon blocked the lobby door before Layla could open it. "We need to come up with a plan," he said, or that's what he meant to say. What came out was a garbled mix of words and gasping for breath.

"You're right," she said because apparently she was a mind reader, too.

He made a mighty effort to take a deep breath and let it go slowly. Better. "That wraith is likely to pursue us, which means we can't go home. We have to hide someplace."

She nodded, biting her lower lip. "Okay, but let's at least go by and grab some clean clothes. I don't know about you, but I don't want to wear the same pair of underwear for an indefinite period."

"Good point."

She tugged on the door, but Brandon didn't let it go. "What if they're in the lobby?" he asked.

"Run like the devil is on your heels."

He nodded in agreement. Because he more or less would be. "On three."

Layla counted them off. On three, she gave another of her wild yells and they darted into the lobby. Two of Corbin's associates were there, identifiable by their black suits and the automatic weapons they had tucked under their arms. Terror made Brandon stumble at the sight of them.

"Don't stop," Layla yelled. She grabbed his arm and yanked, and they both blasted toward the big double glass doors. Gunfire echoed in Brandon's mind, but he didn't stop running until they were through the doors and a good block away from the building.

Running gave way to a fast walk. Layla's shoulder brushed his, the only comforting thing in his reality.

"Westlake is up ahead," she muttered. "We should get an Uber."

"What if the wraith attacks us while we're in a car? We can't risk someone else's life."

She already had the app open on her phone. "We can't very well walk all the way to Redmond, and even if the buses were running this late, we wouldn't want to risk a whole busload of people."

"And carjacking is out of the question, I guess."

Layla didn't honor that with a comment. She was so focused on her phone that she would have walked into an intersection with oncoming traffic if Brandon hadn't grabbed her arm.

"Sorry. Thanks. The driver will be at Westlake in two minutes."

Brandon still had reservations about the Uber idea, but since he couldn't come up with something better, he raced along beside Layla. Once they were buckled into the driver's rear seats, the full terror hit him.

Another wraith, and this time it was surely coming for him. "They're flammable, I think," he muttered.

Layla side-eyed him. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

He covered his face with his hands. "No."