Chapter Fifteen

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, cat. You're going to get stepped on." Stef hopped to one side, avoiding Sparky in her tube, but barely. Layla had gone straight to her room, and while there were things Stef wanted to say to her, he let her be for now.

Because yeah, that was the thing about secret societies. He hadn't introduced himself as ‘veterinarian to werewolves' and she hadn't introduced herself as ‘secret superhero' and here they were.

"That must be why we escaped from the office building without getting shot," Brandon said, making it clear he and Stef were rehashing the same ideas.

"Right? Like, she must have blocked the bullets with her superpower."

Sparky looped around to block their way into the kitchen, a sound like a wee tiny motorboat coming from her direction. Stef stopped, fists on his hips. "Since when do dead cats purr?"

Brandon's laugh had a trace of bitterness. "She's getting less dead by the hour." He bent down and scooped her up. She still wore the tube, but her spine seemed to be knitting itself back together, because she curled into his arms like, well, a cat wearing a plastic brace.

"Wonder if we could take that thing off," Stef murmured, following Brandon into the kitchen. Brandon set Sparky on the breakfast island, and Stef didn't stop until he'd come right up to Brandon, pressing himself against the man's broad shoulders and nice round ass.

Brandon reached back and took hold of Stef's hand, pulling it around his waist. Stef took the hint, hugging Brandon closer and resting his cheek against Brandon's shoulder.

"I really, really don't want to do this," Brandon murmured. "Fucking Spike with his fucking deadlines."

"They are kind of throwing the baby into the pool without swimming lessons."

That made Brandon laugh more sincerely. "I need water wings at least."

Stef turned to rest his forehead against Brandon's back. "We can figure this out, though. I mean, even if you never work for SPAM"—an outcome Stef figured was unlikely—"you need to learn to control your power or you're going to end up like Noah with his ark full of animals."

"Dr. Doolittle, the Eddie Murphy version."

"Rex Harrison is much sexier."

Brandon shook his head. "I… don't know what to do with that."

Laughing, Stef slid to one side of Brandon, tucking himself in so Brandon had an arm around his shoulder. "Just ignore me. I've barely moved past Ryan O'Neal in What's Up, Doc. That combination of hot and nerdy gets me every time."

"Hot and nerdy is your kryptonite? Where does that leave me?"

"If the shoe fits…"

They were both laughing, interrupted by a yell from Layla's room. "No canoodling. You've got lives to save."

Brandon stiffened, his laughter dying so abruptly it was like it'd been shot. Stef sighed, tightening his grip around Brandon's waist. "Wanna go raise the dead?" he asked, and after a long moment, Brandon nodded.

"Let me get the blue book first."

"Sure. I'll meet you upstairs." Stef reached around so he could tilt Brandon's face toward his and pressed a kiss to Brandon's frown. "It'll be okay, Brandonakis. I promise."

"Don't." Brandon closed his eyes. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

Stef didn't really have an answer to that, so he headed for the stairs. Reluctantly. He had half a mind to barge into Layla's room and give her what for but restrained himself. She'd say something that would trigger him and he'd go off on a rant, and then nothing would get done.

He might not have graduated at the top of his veterinary program, but Stef Barros was something of an expert on himself. He had years of therapy to thank for that, even if there were times all the anger management techniques in the world didn't help.

Setting The Layla Thing aside for a moment, he went to the bedroom where they'd left the squirrels and the bird. The bird had found its zombified way to the windowsill, and the squirrels were curled up together in a corner. The only furniture in the room was the bed they'd slept in, a nightstand with a lamp, and the kind of bureau Ikea called BERRSKAMor some other nonsense name. He sat on the edge of the bed, engrossed in reviewing the ways he'd been taught to control his temper, wondering if there was a connection between those mind control techniques and what Brandon needed to do.

"I need graveyard dirt."

Stef ducked through the door to the hallway. "What?"

"Graveyard dirt," Brandon hollered.

"Huh." Stef stood at the top of the stairs and Brandon stood at the bottom. "I have no idea where the closest graveyard even is."

"North of us on 15th." Layla joined Brandon, phone in her hand. "Maybe I should go."

For some reason, her offer provoked Stef, landing him somewhere beyond annoyed but not quite to anger. "I thought none of us was supposed to leave." He might have rolled his eyes as a punctuation mark.

Layla's glare grew hot. "I can shield myself."

"Oh, right. Your superpower." Stef crossed his arms as if a tight bind would help him hang onto his temper.

Not so much.

Layla's scowl said she was as ready as he was for a fight. "At least I haven't lost my shit and stormed out."

Brandon patted the air. "Calm down, y'all."

Stef ignored him, his next words fueled by anger. "I apologized for that."

"So? Wouldn't have meant jack if we'd been found."

Okay, if she was going to play rough, so would Stef. "And when exactly were you going to tell us about your superpower anyway?"

"I had no choice." Layla clenched her fists, and for a second Stef thought she might make a run at him.

"Makes me wonder—"

"Enough." Brandon's shout shut Stef up.

"Sorry," Stef said, his anger doused by embarrassment. He raked a hand through his hair and began a ten count.

Layla didn't apologize, but she met Brandon's gaze and shrugged.

"As I was saying"–Brandon articulated each word—"maybe we can try without it."

Simultaneous phone chirps made them all jump.

"Graveyard dirt to be delivered to your current address," Layla began.

Stef picked up where she left off. "In five minutes, someone will come to your door. They'll double-knock, wait twenty seconds, then triple-knock."

"You give three single knocks at five-second intervals, wait ten seconds, then open the door." Brandon looked from his phone to Stef and Layla. "Does that seem unnecessarily complicated to y'all?"

Their phones chirped again.

Maybe you'd rather tap-dance with the wraith.

"No, I'm good. We'll knock when we're supposed to."

Laughing, Stef plunked himself down on the top step, grateful that this moment's storm of anger cleared. "That April, man. She's on top of things."

And don't you forget it.

At the appointed time, someone knocked. Brandon took charge of their response, and soon he carried a box upstairs.

Layla had taken refuge in her bedroom, and Stef followed Brandon into the room with the squirrels. Brandon kneeled down, placed a small blue book on the floor, and sprinkled dirt on the rug.

Stef took a seat on the bed, a little behind Brandon's line of sight.

"This is weird, right?" Brandon's question was aimed at the squirrels.

"I mean…" Stef's voice trailed away. On the one hand, hell yes, this whole situation was effing nuts. On the other hand, he was supposed to be Brandon's cheerleader, and he'd been raised with ‘If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.'

"Okay." The word came out on a sigh. "The book says I should pull power from the dirt and direct it into the creature I want to animate or, in this case, deanimate."

"Let me know if I can do anything to help."

"Know any Latin chant?"

That gave Stef pause. "Why?"

"Just trying to create the right atmosphere."

There was a candle on the nightstand and — fortunately — some matches in the drawer. Stef lit it and set it next to the sprinkled dirt. He tried to move slowly so as not to distract the budding necromancer, but all that earned him was a sharp "Hurry."

Back on the bed, Stef opened the Spotify app on his phone and searched for Gregorian chant. Lowering the volume, he set it on the bed and allowed himself to relax. Normally the music alone would have put him right to sleep, the droning, vaguely dissonant quality a soporific. Excitement kept him conscious.

Brandon was going to do it this time. Stef knew it, and he couldn't wait to see what happened next.

Brandon had never been a fan of Gregorian chant, and right now it made him want to tear his hair out. Ignoring the music as much as he could, he took a series of breaths, each one deeper than the last. The book had shown him the place his power flowed from, something he visualized as a button in the area of his kidneys. What it hadn't said, so far at least, was what to do with that power source when he found it.

It might have made more sense for him to separate the two squirrels, but they looked so comfortable, all wrapped around each other, that he decided to try a two-fer. They were nowhere near as large as a man — or a man-sized wraith — so he figured it was as good a place to start as any.

Kneeling wasn't the most comfortable posture to maintain, and between the music, his squished calves, and his lingering annoyance with Stef — because fuck, dude, Layla's not the problem here — he couldn't find that place of peace the book talked about.

The best he could do was to reach a point of keep your mouth shut before you cause more trouble.

And then he couldn't even do that. "Turn that stuff off. It's giving me hives." He shifted his weight so his butt was on the floor, freeing his legs from their cramped posture. "And tell me why you don't like Layla."

Stef flushed, his movements clipped as he turned off the music. "Sorry. I can go."

"You could." Brandon fought to maintain some level of calm. "Or you could answer the question."

"I don't dislike her." Stef popped off the bed like a cork from a bottle. "She's fine. I'm fine. It's all fine."

"Then why do you keep getting tangled up with her?"

Stef made it to the door in three quick steps. "Because until we know what the hell is really going on, I don't trust anybody but you."

He swirled out the door in a nearly visible shower of sparks.

"Stef." Brandon barked the word and Stef's footsteps halted. "Get back in here and let's talk this through. I'm not angry, and you don't need to be, either."

Maybe a little irritated, but definitely not angry. For a long time, the only answer was a huffing sigh.

"Stef." Brandon kept his tone gentle. He wanted to say more, but figured calm down would be like waving a cape to a bull. Instead, he waited, counting to himself. He'd reached one hundred sixteen when Stef returned.

He only came as far as the doorway. "I'm sorry."

"Your temper doesn't bother me. I just think we should talk things through rather than both of us going off all pissed."

Stef nodded, moving to the bed and settling in the same spot he'd left. "You sound like one of my therapists."

"Had many?"

"Three. Well, four, but I fired the second one after she came on to me."

"Gross."

"Yeah." Stef's voice was husky. "I can't get rid of my current one, though. It's a… condition of my employment."

That had Brandon turning around to face Stef directly. "Meaning?"

"After I joined Andrea's practice, I had less than fruitful interactions with a couple of her regulars. She was on the verge of letting me go when the SPAM offer came in." He smiled, but it was a weak one. "I figured it would be harder to piss off werewolves than suburban doggy moms who all needed to be handled with care. Plus, the wolves can't fire me. I know too many of their secrets."

Brandon knee-walked to Stef and put his hands on the veterinarian's thighs. "I'm not a suburban doggy mom, Dr. Barros. You don't need to worry that I'll react like they did."

"You shouldn't have to put up with my shit, though." Stef placed a tentative hand on one of Brandon's, who turned his over and threaded their fingers together.

"These are extenuating circumstances."

Stef's weak smile grew stronger. "They are."

The bird fluttered its wings, breaking up the serious moment.

"Okay," Stef said. "You should try your trick. I'll talk to Layla afterward and… apologize."

"Sure." Brandon squeezed Stef's fingers and knee-walked back to his candle and dirt. "Let me give this a go."

"I was thinking," Stef said, interrupting Brandon before he could start. "One of the techniques I'm supposed to use is cognitive restructuring."

"The what, now?"

"So, like, when something triggers me and I start to get angry, I try to rephrase the trigger in a more benign way."

Brandon thought for a minute, but he couldn't connect what Stef said to his current situation. "Give me an example."

"So, I suspected Layla was keeping some kind of secret. Now that we know she really was, I'm having trouble trusting her." He paused for a bittersweet chuckle. "I guess her snotty, ice-princess tone of voice is triggering for me."

He shook his head, a sharp movement. "I could have tried to restructure my perception of the situation, reminding myself that everyone reacts differently to adversity and I shouldn't let her subterfuge make me suspect her of wrongdoing."

"Sounds complicated."

"True. I mean, just now, instead of going through that process, I reacted in a… less than constructive way."

Brandon had already figured that part out. "So, I still don't get how that relates to deanimating small critters."

Stef chewed on his lower lip for a moment. "Remember, it's about your intention, right? So if you center yourself and say the prescribed words and think, I kinda hate this and why isn't it working and these poor creatures blah blah blah, maybe it doesn't work. But if you do the centering and the words and think, Come and get 'em, Bast, in a loving way, then maybe it'll work."

"Come and get 'em, Bast?"

The vet tilted his head, his grin just as lopsided. "Or thereabouts."

Brandon snorted. "Sure." Returning to his knees, he spent a moment staring into the little candle. The flame couldn't have been more than half an inch long, but the depth of its brightness made it all he could see. Taking a deep inhale, he decided to give Stef's strategy a try.

"I call upon those who rule the underworld. Hear me, Hades, Pluto, and all you Shinigami. Share your power, Owuo, Abaddon, and Shiva. Take this creature to your breast, oh Bast, and relieve it of its unnatural life. St. Michael, balance your scales and return this creature to its rest."

He spoke slowly, ignoring the voice in his head that tried to tell him this was useless and he was an idiot. Or, if not ignoring it, continuing without giving it attention. Yes, he was an idiot and yes, this might be useless, but he had to try something. "Take these creatures to your breast, oh Bast, and relieve them of their unnatural life." He repeated those words more softly. Shut his eyes. Brushed mental fingers across the power button in his belly and shivered as waves of that mysterious energy washed through him.

Almost like an orgasm, but a lot less fun. Waiting until the last of the shivering sensations left him, he opened his eyes.

Nothing had happened.

"Goddamn it," Brandon shouted and Stef jumped up from the bed.

"What?"

"It didn't work." Brandon grabbed one of Stef's hands and pulled himself upright, damned near knocking the candle over in the process. He didn't care. Burn the whole goddamn house down. "I cannot let you do this. I cannot let you die."