Chapter Twelve

"Sounds like…" The rest of the words were lost in a mumble. Brandon could have filled in Stef's sentence for him.

Sounds like a shit-tastic time? That's about right. Brandon went into the kitchen, where Stef and Layla were perched at the breakfast island, Starbucks cups in front of each of them.

"Latte, nonfat milk, two shots." Stef handed him a cup, warm and fragrant, and for a moment, Brandon just breathed it in.

"Thanks." He smiled at both of them. The circumstances might be awkward as fuck, but at least he wasn't alone. Not like Last Year.

So much for his moment of peace.

"Layla was just telling me some of what went on last night," Stef said, a hint of apology in his voice.

Let me just steer this in a different direction. "I can't figure out how we got out of there. I mean, Corbin's associates were armed. The two guys in the lobby had automatic weapons of some kind, and I could hear them firing. I mean" — he tipped his head toward Layla — "we're fast, but I wouldn't have guessed we could outrun bullets."

She just laughed. "I can think of any number of reasons we got out of there. Luck, for one."

"If that's the case, we used up a lifetime's worth in one go."

Stef nudged a chair in his direction. "Sit and drink, Brandonakis."

Responding to that sweet smile — and the sexy-as-hell scruff of beard — Brandon did as he was told. "Seriously, though. We ran through a hail of bullets and didn't get hit." He'd started out trying to take the focus off himself, but now he really did wonder how they'd done it. "That doesn't make sense to me."

Layla shook the hair away from her face. "We're hiding out in someone's anonymous condo to keep us safe from a soul-sucking wraith and that's what you're getting worked up over. Just chalk it up to fate and move along."

Brandon took a sip of his coffee. Strong and hot. He gave a mental shrug and took Layla's advice. "What should our next steps be?"

Stef frowned and tapped his phone's screen. "April says Clancy will be here in an hour. She wants you to start working with him."

Brandon started to refuse, but Stef held up a hand. "She says you won't be safe until you can protect yourself from those who want to tap into your power."

The care he put into those words went a long way toward keeping Brandon from freaking out. Instead of launching his latte at the wall, he took a slow breath. "I'd rather have a root canal."

"She says it's your only choice."

"With no Novocain."

"I mean, it's one thing to bring roadkill back to life." Stef chuckled when the roadkill in question jumped up onto the counter.

"And an amputation."

Stef shook his head. "Brandonakis."

"No anesthetic."

Stef's only answer was a sad smile, though Layla muttered something about babies and their bottles.

"I just want it to go away, y'all."

"Oh, for—" Layla hopped up. "It won't, Brandon. I'm really sorry, but there's no reality in which your ability goes away and you go back to being a garden-variety tech bro. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life in hiding, grow a pair and see what Clancy has to say."

She snatched up her Starbucks cup and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Brandon with his chin on the floor.

"She's not wrong," Stef said quietly. "My window on the world of SPAM is pretty narrow, but in my experience, once you're in that club, they've got you for good."

Pressing his lips together, Brandon nodded. The burn under his sternum told him his stomach acid was going wild. "Have you ever met someone who got stuck in the club against their will?"

"Oh yeah." Stef went to take a sip of coffee, tipping the cup higher and higher before giving it up for empty. "My steadiest customers are werewolves, and they're forever getting tangled up in blood feuds and biting civilians. I get pulled in to bandage the newbs up and at the same time, give them something of an introduction to their new world. It doesn't usually go over well."

Brandon didn't know what to say to that. He bought time with another long sip of coffee. Stef seemed content to sit in silence, so Brandon took time to really think things through. Spike had made it sound like he'd be drafted onto the force full-time, and he didn't want to do that. Learning to protect himself, though, made a certain amount of sense, especially since his friends kept getting dragged into his messes.

"All right," he said finally. "I'll talk to Clancy."

Stef's smile deepened. "You sounded more excited about the root canal."

At that, Brandon laughed, and Stef joined him. Someday he'd tell Stef about Last Year, but not yet.

Not until he could do it without crying.

They spent the next hour cobbling together breakfast from the stocked kitchen. It was a companionable time, interrupted only when someone from SPAM brought Stef a pair of very elaborate luggage bags. They had lots of external pockets and attachments, and Stef opened one to show the portable vet supplies in their neat holders.

"Got everything I need, just about, and the clinic will forward my calls. If there's an emergency, April will have someone pick me up and I'll go to them."

Brandon kneeled next to the pack, playing with the Velcro strap holding a row of syringes in place. "You make house calls?"

"These are extenuating circumstances." Stef nudged Brandon with his shoulder, and Brandon smiled. He should probably be more upset. After all, he was going to have to talk to a goddamn necromancer to figure out how to deal with his own power, and he hadn't been joking about the root canal. He wished with all sincerity that this whole pile of bullshit would just go away.

Unzipping a different pocket, he brought out a handful of foil packets.

"Suture," Stef said. "And this one has vials of anesthetic. There's a limited selection of antibiotics in that one, and the big pouch there holds bags of IV solution."

"Wow." Brandon tucked the packets away. "You really could take care of just about anything."

Stef shrugged. "Were and shifter physiology is just enough different to confuse most physicians, so while it's awkward, they usually do better with veterinary care."

"That's… cool." Brandon grinned around a stab of affection. He leaned over and kissed Stef, a quick peck on the cheek. Stef grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for another, more proper kiss.

Stef's beard prickled his lips and he smelled like cedar and cream. Propped on one hand, Brandon leaned closer, threading his fingers through Stef's hair.

Stef groaned, his hands on Brandon's face, his mouth sweet. The kiss sent a shaft of heat from Brandon's chest to his belly, and deeper still. They might have started tentatively, but they both gained confidence, and soon they were breathing hard.

Catching up Brandon's hands, Stef pushed them both over. Brandon landed on his back, the plush rug softening his fall. Stef crawled on top of him, and yeah, that's where they needed to be.

Stef latched onto the sensitive skin of Brandon's neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Brandon didn't mind at all. His hips rocked, setting their own rhythm. Stef pressed against him, his cock the sweetest weight of all. They rutted against each other until Brandon gasped, "Wait. I'm gonna… what if… Layla…"

"Yeah, what would happen if my housemate Layla came downstairs and found us fucking on the living room floor?"

Layla's sharp voice had the same effect as a bucket of cold water. Brandon's arms flopped out and Stef shook with laughter. "Give us a minute," Brandon said.

"Get a room." Layla made a circuit around them, heading for the kitchen. "By the way, your appointment is in twenty minutes."

That killed any residual horniness. Before he scrambled away, Brandon caught Stef for a final kiss. "I owe you one."

"We owe each other one."

Okay, meeting with a necromancer still sucked, but Brandon's heart was a little lighter. He and Stef got up and put Stef's equipment away. The house had two full bathrooms, so they both took showers — separately — and at the appointed hour, Brandon was downstairs, freshly shaved and neatly dressed.

If he was going to have to do something utterly unpleasant, at least he was clean and looked decent. Stef and Layla waited in the kitchen, giving him and Clancy privacy but remaining available if Brandon needed them. It wasn't a plan they discussed, which made Brandon feel good, like they trusted him to take care of himself.

He might not want to, but he'd handle this thing with Clancy. He had to.

As soon as Clancy showed up.

Antsy, Brandon stuck his head through the kitchen doorway. "What time did Clancy say he'd be here?"

Stef and Layla were sitting at the breakfast island. He checked his phone. "Any minute now."

"Cool." Brandon went back to the living room. He was too amped up to sit, so he made a circuit between the front door and the kitchen. The living room had all the decorative distinction of a bowl of oatmeal — cream rug, light tan slipcovers on the couch and chairs, beige walls — and every lap made the room smaller and smaller, as if his nervous energy was winding it in on itself.

He only let himself look at his phone every ten laps, and he was about to pester Stef and Layla again when Stef came to the kitchen door.

"He's not coming," he said simply. "The wraith got him."

"The… what?" The bottom fell out of Brandon's stomach. He was going to die this time, and he was going to take Stef and Layla with him. "We're so fucked."

Stef walked across the room and Layla took his place in the doorway. "No," he said. "He was old, and his power was mostly used up. You've got the whole of SPAM backing you up. We'll just lie low, and they'll take care of the wraith."

"Words and words and words." Brandon was having trouble breathing. Couldn't get air into his lungs. "And words and words." His ears rang with his effort. "I made this thing. I did. And…" Was he really going to say the words? Something strange and angry welled up in him. Frightening, but not as frightening as the thought that more of his friends were going to die because of him. "I'm done hiding. I will find a way to destroy it. I will."

"How?" Stef didn't sound like he doubted Brandon's commitment.

Brandon laughed, relieved that at least one person seemed to believe in him. "I have no fucking idea. Guess I'll google ‘how to necromancer' and see what that gets me."

Stef's phone pinged and he glanced at it. "April says she'll send you all of Clancy's files, along with scanned versions of the two previous necromancers' grimoires."

"Grimoires? That sounds… grim." Brandon felt giddy, like he really had lost his effing mind. But seriously, there had to be a limit. "I don't want to be a necromancer and I don't want to work for SPAM but even more than that, I don't want to lose any more of my friends." He had to stop so he wouldn't cry. "I simply refuse to let that happen."

His voice was raspy, but he got the words out. Stef came over and took his hand, bringing it close so he could kiss Brandon's knuckles. "As one of those friends, I appreciate your willingness to take this on and will do anything I can to help."

"Me too." Layla surprised Brandon by wrapping her arms around him from behind. "I mean, if we can't get pedicures and watch Real Housewives, helping you learn magic is the least I can do."

Brandon pulled Stef closer and reached down to catch hold of Layla's hand. "Thanks, you guys. Y'all don't know how much it means—"

"Shush," Stef said. "Go get your laptop. Let's get busy."

Brandon nodded, but he didn't move right away. His head was still spinning with the suddenness of his attitude change, and for a few moments, he just wanted to bask in having friends.

Living friends.