Chapter Thirteen

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Stef muttered to himself. He'd gone to the door to accept delivery of Clancy's records. SPAM worked quickly; the delivery courier stood next to a stack of three packing boxes, a fourth one on the steps behind him. The courier didn't ask to see Brandon, but then Stef hadn't expected him to.

SPAM was nothing if not protective of its members. At least that's what their PR materials claimed.

He called for Layla, who helped him drag the boxes inside. The first one he opened looked for all the world like someone had just dumped the contents of a bookcase into it and sealed the lid. It smelled musky, funky, with moldy notes and a touch of antiseptic. "This is going to take all day."

Brandon came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to do this. Take a break and I'll start digging."

Stef smiled through the first hint of annoyance. "I'll sort, you read through anything that looks relevant."

"And what will I do?" Layla asked.

"Start with that box," Stef said, pointing to the one closest to her. "Put things in piles: trash, curiosities, and might-be-usefuls."

"Yes, boss." Layla's mocking smile wasn't as annoying as Brandon trying to send him away, but it didn't help his mood any. For a heartbeat, he looked at her, really looked. She had her long hair twisted into a sloppy knot on top of her head, and Stef noticed her broad shoulders and long, lanky legs for the first time. It's not that he didn't pay attention to women, but for some reason he hadn't paid much attention to Brandon's housemate.

Their body language was nothing more than friendly—Stef's feelings about her didn't include even a note of jealousy—but she carried herself with more confidence than he would have expected for a tech-inclined twenty-something.

Like maybe there was more to her than she'd let on.

Stef tucked that thought away for later, and plowed into the box closest to him, like he'd find the secret to hanging onto his temper. Despite years of therapy, he went from annoyed to angry way tooeasily.

In short order, they were all on the floor, pawing through the detritus of a necromancer's life. Stef made a pile of notebooks, one of correspondence, and another of what could only be called garbage. Someone must have thought having access to Clancy's old sandwich wrappers would be useful. Stef didn't agree. He did, however, add sandwich wrappers to the list of things that were annoying him, a list that was starting to get long.

About halfway through the pile, Stef uncovered a leatherbound volume, its cover held closed by a locking clasp. The cover was incised with a drawing of a crux serpentines, a snake wrapped around a crucifix.

A symbol of black magic.

"Here." He held the book out toward Brandon. "If we can find the key, this might be helpful."

"This key?" Layla held up a small gold key on a black chain.

"Maybe." Stef all but choked on a burst of irritation. "Where'd that come from?"

Layla passed the key to Brandon with a smug little smirk. "Um, the box. You think I just conjured it from thin air?"

Maybe. Stef held his tongue, barely. He'd been riding an emotional roller coaster for the last couple days, and he knew himself. He was capable of blowing up over nothing when he was in a good place.

This here was not a good place.

Brandon slipped the key into the clasp's lock and turned it. With a soft click, the book fell open, and Stef moved closer to get a better look.

The first page had another crux serpentines on it, nearly obscured by crabbed, messy writing. "Can you read any of that?"

Brandon's lips moved, but he didn't otherwise answer.

"Brandonakis?"

He sat back on his heels and gave Stef a lost look. "I don't want to."

Stef clenched his jaw on the first wtf response. He took a deep breath and asked, "Why?"

Brandon closed his eyes, the book in his lap. "I want to fight the wraith, but not… like this. These words are… poison."

"Words are poison?" Stef couldn't disguise his disbelief. Brandon had said he wanted to defeat the wraith, but he was giving up on the first real clue they'd found. "None of this is fun, my dude. Avoiding your power won't magically make things better."

By the time he finished, he found himself standing up, his heart pounding. Brandon looked like someone had slapped him. Stef stuck his hands on his hips and tried to focus on his breathing, a technique some therapist along the way had promised would help him control his temper.

His efforts were for naught, which he realized when Layla stood up, facing him and mirroring his hands-on-hips posture. "Chill out, my dude."

As if she'd waved a cape at a bull, he rounded on her. "Fuck you, too. We're stuck here in this bolt hole until someone handles that wraith, so forgive me if I'm frustrated by Brandon's—"

"You invited yourself, Romeo, so you can fuck right off with making this Brandon's problem." Layla's knot of hair tumbled down around her shoulders, waving gently as if she alone stood in an indoor breeze.

An indoor breeze or some sort of power.

"Who are you, really?" Stef glared at her, hard, trying to find other hints of her true nature.

She all but laughed. "I'm someone who's known Brandon a lot longer than you."

"Like what? Three whole months?"

"Better that than seventy-two fucking hours."

Layla's smirk made Stef want to hit something. "That doesn't answer my question. Who are you and why haven't you run screaming from all this?"

She lifted her chin. "Bite me, Dr. Doolittle."

Stef glared, Layla postured, and Brandon sat on the floor, nearly forgotten. "Could y'all calm down? Please?"

The pulse in Stef's temple throbbed. "Sure." He whirled around, fully intending to make a dramatic exit. He was interrupted by a ping from his cell phone. Glancing at it, he almost laughed with relief. "Sorry, kids. Gotta run. There's a snake shifter in Montlake who's stuck halfway through a molt. I'll be in touch."

His vet cases were there, at the foot of the stairs. Scooping them up, he was out the door before he could make any other stupid proclamations.

"Well, that was… a thing." Layla sank to the floor, shaking her head and laughing.

"I just meant that this book wouldn't be helpful, not that I was going to give up." Brandon locked the clasp and slid the book in Layla's direction. "He's a bit of a hothead."

"You could say that." Layla scooted closer to the box she'd been sorting. "Do you still want to do this, or should we take a break?"

Brandon dragged Stef's box closer. "We don't have time to take breaks. I just hope no one saw Stef leave." And I hope he calms down and comes back.

"Sure." Layla reached into her box and pulled out a handful of detritus. "I wonder what we're looking for."

"I have the feeling I'll know it when I see it."

Layla didn't have an answer for that, so the two of them went to work. The only sounds were the scuffle of papers and the rattle of Sparky's tube, who probably thought she was helping by batting at some crumpled paper with minimal interest before settling down to watch.

They'd been at it long enough for Brandon to finish Stef's box, combine his piles with the ones Layla was creating, and start on box number three. There, right at the top, he found it.

A slim volume, blue, its cover made from something cool and glossy. There was no lock, no threatening symbol traced in blood on the flyleaf, and no stink of black magic. Instead, there was a simple inscription.

If you've found this, you need the lore it holds. Peace, friend, and bear it well.

Holding it close, Brandon went to one of the overstuffed chairs. "If you want to take a break while I'm reading this, that's cool."

Layla surveyed the disorder covering the living room floor. "Nah, you read and I'll try and organize this mess."

Brandon didn't answer. He was already on page five.

The room was much tidier when he finally looked up. Layla had returned everything to the boxes, presumably in a more organized way, and had stacked them up in one corner. Sparky had taken up residence in his lap and even begun to make a purr-adjacent sound. He hadn't noticed. Music came from the direction of the kitchen, some indeterminate indie rock band, and from the clink of utensils, he guessed Layla was making lunch.

Or — he glanced at his phone — she'd already made lunch and was on to dinner.

Setting the book aside, he scratched Sparky's head. "Let's go find Layla." The cat hopped off his lap, giving him a disgruntled tail flip as a response. Laughing, he got up, ignoring the way his hips and knees protested.

"Any word from Stef?"

Layla's exaggerated eye roll made it clear he'd put his foot in it somehow. "Nope, but then I'm not in his contact list."

"Sure." Brandon pulled out his own phone. "Nothing."

"Romeo must still be extricating the snake shifter from its predicament."

She was at the sink washing three potatoes, as mundane an activity as any he could imagine. He felt bad for ruining the image. "I think I figured something out."

Her smile brightened. "Really?"

Closing his eyes, he felt inside for the trigger Clancy's book had promised him would be there. Yup. He brushed the spot with mental fingers and felt the twinge travel through him faster than thought. "Yeah. I know where my power resides anyway."

"We should try an experiment, maybe see if you can connect with one of the squirrels."

Sparky stalked between them, her tube hanging more loosely than before. She didn't seem to need it anymore; or at least, her gait was closer to that of a normal cat.

"I guess." Brandon brushed the spot again and shivered at the twinge, like an electric shock. "If I ask it nicely, maybe it'll do what I want it to." He hoped. He had the feeling that the book contained more information, that if he read it again, he'd learn even more. Still, he was happy to have made a start.

The box with the squirrels and the robin was in the room he'd shared with Stef. Layla followed him in, and he tried not to grimace too obviously at the rumpled bed. They hadn't done more than sleep, but there was an intimacy in the sight. Layla didn't call him out, though, for which he was grateful.

They kneeled on either side of the box, and Brandon held his breath.

"So, what now?" Layla clasped her hands, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I guess I just… ask." Closing his eyes, Brandon found that spot and did just that. "Please send our little bird friend to her well-deserved rest."

The energy moved through him, more familiar now, and he waited, though he wasn't sure what he was waiting for. A thunderbolt, maybe?

"Hmph." Layla's grunt made him open his eyes. The robin sat upright, still undead. It fluttered its wings, as if to emphasize that point.

"I must have done something wrong," he murmured. "Let me get the book."

They both stood, and Layla put her hand on his arm. "For what it's worth, I'm in awe of your bravery, and I'll be here to help, no matter what."

She might have stopped herself from saying something unflattering about Stef, something Brandon could almost hear. He didn't respond to her unspoken comment, instead leading the way downstairs. "I'll be in the living room."

"Sure. You study, I'll cook."

And neither of us will be waiting for a certain veterinarian to return. Definitely not me…

Dinner was done and dusted and Layla had said goodnight before Stef returned. He opened the front door so slowly that Brandon had time to travel through all the stages of alarm to fear to panic before he set a foot in the house.

"It's me," Stef whispered, even as Brandon was poised to do… something. He didn't know what. He was a coder, not a fighter.

"Where the hell…" Brandon's voice trailed off. Stef slid through the door, pushed it closed, and made a show of turning the lock. That must have taken something out of him because he flapped back against it as if his joints had been lubricated.

"Are you drunk?"

Stef peered at him with one eye closed. He let his vet bags slide to the floor. "Maybe."

Awesome. Brandon was still forming up his next salvo when Stef began moving in his direction. Sliding, swinging; there was a sexy intent that made his walk into something more than just taking steps. He stopped about arm's length from Brandon.

"I owe you an apology." Stef's breath hitched and he shook his head, as if somehow the words had confused him. "I have a temper sometimes."

Brandon fought back an inappropriate smile. "I'm more concerned that you were barhopping while a wraith is wandering around with your name in their back pocket." He sobered as the memories of the last time he'd tangled with a wraith threatened to pull him under. Last Year…

"Mm-hmm." Stef's noncommittal response made Brandon flinch.

"I mean," he said more firmly, "the thing could have snuffed you out and I wouldn't have had the chance to—"

Whatever he'd been about to say was cut off when Stef launched himself, taking Brandon by the shoulders and slamming into him. His lips parted against Stef's open mouth, their tongues finding each other. Stef tasted of liquor and something spicy, his beard rough against Brandon's face. Brandon got his arms around Stef's waist and pulled him close enough for Stef's hard cock to ram into his thigh.

Stef worked a hand into Brandon's hair and pulled. Brandon's eyes watered, but that had more to do with the intensity of the moment. They'd kissed before, sure, but never like this. This wasn't just a kiss. They devoured each other, their spirits colliding through their physical connection.

Brandon broke off the kiss, but only so he could work his way along Stef's jaw, kissing and nipping skin through the coarse beard.

"I want you to fuck me," Stef murmured, his head tipping back to give Brandon greater access.

"Mmm." Brandon found a bit of soft skin below the beard and sucked it hard.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Stef gasped.

Brandon laughed. "Odd time to take up prayer," he murmured, lips brushing against soft skin.

Stef's chuckle reverberated through Brandon's chest. "Let's go upstairs," Stef said. He tried to pull away, but Brandon wouldn't let him go.

"No fucking until you've stopped slurring your words."

"I'm not."

"Well, you're not sober, either." Brandon took Stef's face in his hands. I've been worried, he wanted to say. What if the wraith… "Let's just go to bed."

Stef slid a hand between their bodies, palming Brandon's cock. "And fuck."

"No."

Stef stroked Brandon through his jeans. "I could suck you off."

Gah. "Stef." Brandon's voice broke.

"I'd really love to taste you."

"Stef!"

This time, when Stef pulled away, Brandon let him go. His thoughts were confused. His gut said they shouldn't fuck yet. There was too much uncertainty, too much fear.

Too much tequila on Stef's part.

But maybe they could…

Stef took Brandon's hand, and together they mounted the stairs. Even if fucking was off the table, there were lots of things they could do.

And Brandon wanted to do them all.