Chapter Seventeen

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Stef had been fucked before, but not like this. It was going to be an hour at least before his legs could bear weight. He lay right where Brandon put him, skin damp and cool where Brandon had been on top of him. Brandon, the responsible one, had got up to get rid of the condom and bring back stuff so they could clean up.

A small smile teased Stef's mouth. "Yeah, and you can clean me up, too, Brandonakis." It didn't even matter that Brandon wasn't there to hear him. Stef liked to be spoiled, and if today was any indication, Brandon liked to spoil.

A plug, though? That sounded so hot.

Brandon had just opened the door when something banged, the sound coming from downstairs. "What…?" Stef asked, right before Layla burst into the room.

"Get behind me," she said, grabbing Brandon's arm. "Get on the bed."

Brandon dove toward Stef. Layla quietly closed the bedroom door and glanced at them over her shoulder. "Oh fuck. Put some clothes on."

His peaceful mood thoroughly ruined, Stef scrambled for his jeans. He didn't bother with his boxers, just slid denim over tender skin. Brandon did the same, and they stood together on the far side of the bed.

Layla faced the door, backing up until her thighs hit the bed. "There really must be a leak because whoever is downstairs is not friendly." Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. "Damn."

Stef fished his phone out of his pocket. "Any guesses who it is?" He pitched his voice low.

"Shh."

He crouched down and shot off a text to April.

Unknown visitors. Layla shielding us. Could use backup.

At least he hoped Layla was shielding them and that she wasn't the leak.

"Cover my face," she whisper-shouted.

"What?" Brandon took a half-step toward her and stopped, his brows drawn in confusion.

"My face. Use your hands or a pillow or something." Her posture and the way she held her hands stiffly toward the door gave the appearance of magic. "I have to scream to trigger the shield."

His phone chirped almost immediately and he slapped it to muffle the sound. That left Brandon to follow Layla's orders. He grabbed a pillow and held it in the direction of her face.

Team on the way. Do what Layla tells you to.

It wasn't like he intended to play the hero. He would have let Brandon and Layla know that backup was incoming when she screamed too loud for the pillow to completely dampen the sound.

"What was that?" A harsh voice came from the hallway and the bedroom door flew open. A buzz started, the annoying kind of noise a mosquito makes when it's close to your ear. Stef flinched, bringing his ear to his shoulder, but the sound didn't stop.

The man in the doorway looked like an extra from The Matrix. He wore a leather coat and carried a matte black automatic weapon under one elbow. "Thought I heard someone scream but there's no one in here," he said, tossing the words over his shoulder.

A second man joined him. This guy was bigger, a mohawk topping his resting fierce face. He bumped his friend aside and came into the room. The buzzing grew louder and Stef bit hard into his lower lip to keep from making a sound.

"I swear I heard something," the first guy said.

His partner grunted. "Don't see nothing here, except for that dumb dead bird."

The two of them left, their muffled conversation too low to hear, even though Stef wasn't breathing.

About six years later — or maybe five minutes that seemed really, really long — their visitors thumped back down the stairs. Another voice greeted them, though the buzzing of magic made it hard to hear what was said.

"Stop. Hands up," came through loud and clear, however. Gunshots sounded, punctuated by inarticulate shouting. A window shattered, as if either a bullet or a body had gone through. Then, silence.

Stef's phone chirped.

All clear. Team leader is Greg Fujita. Ask him his first girlfriend's mother's name. It's Mandy.

"April gave us the all clear," he said, nearly sighing in relief as Layla allowed her magic to fade. "There's a team downstairs."

Brandon handed him his shirt. "Let's go."

"Good Lord, take a shower. Both of you. This room stinks." Layla flounced away before Stef could dish her any shit. Before he could thank her, too. She'd saved their asses.

Brandon made a move toward the door, but Stef stopped him. "Wait a minute."

"Why?" Brandon's face was about three shades too pale.

"Dude said he saw a dead bird." Stef pointed toward the windowsill.

"Hey," Brandon's surprise was plain. "The robin."

The bird lay on the windowsill, as if she'd decided to take a nap. Stef glanced at the squirrels. They still lay curled up together in the corner, but there was a new quality to their stillness.

Something that looked a lot like death. "You did it," Stef said.

"Wish I knew how."

"I expect it was the spell. It must have taken longer than we expected, is all."

Brandon didn't look particularly reassured by Stef's assessment. "Where's Sparky? Is she dead too?"

"I'm sure she wasn't close enough for the spell to affect her." Stef patted his arm, trying to reassure both of them that somehow that mangy cat would still be hanging around. "We can practice some more tomorrow."

Brandon's eyes widened as if he was shocked by Stef's proposal. "Tomorrow? We can't wait until tomorrow."

"Uh, Brandon, Brandonakis, sweetheart, it's almost eight o'clock, and we just hid from a bunch of guys who would likely have killed you. We have to find a new safe house before we do anything else."

"But tomorrow?" Brandon pressed a palm against his temple. "That's cutting it too close."

Guessing that there wasn't much he could say that would calm Brandon down, Stef kissed him instead, a brief but firm brush of lips to lips.

"Let's go downstairs and find Sparky."

Brandon didn't argue, and together they headed downstairs. Layla was already in the living room, her duffle bag at her feet. "You don't have your things? Come on. We gotta get out of here."

A man came out of the kitchen. He was tall and slender, his dark hair worn long and pulled back in a ponytail, and he hadenough weapons strapped to his body to make Stef truly nervous.

"Greg Fujita," he said, walking toward them with his hand extended.

Remembering April's text, Stef held his hands up, palms out. "Pleased to meet you, Greg. What was your first girlfriend's mother's name?"

Greg greeted their question with a laugh. "Mandy."

"Was not," Layla shouted. "Your first real girlfriend's mother's name was Victoria, and I know that because it's my mother's name and I was your first real girlfriend."

Greg looked in her direction, eyebrows raised. "Mandy," he silently mouthed the word in Stef's direction.

"I heard that," Layla snapped. She'd have gone on for more, but she was interrupted by Sparky's arrival. The cat jumped onto her duffle bag and began kneading the canvas. "And get that dead thing away from me."

Brandon scooped up Sparky, holding her close, and Stef let go of that particular worry. The dead-adjacent cat was still with them.

"Do you always have to carry on like we broke up yesterday?" Greg seemed more annoyed than truly angry. "It's been over ten years now."

Layla didn't honor that with a reply. Sparky began purring while Brandon and Stef glanced at each other. "Do we know where we're going?" Stef asked. "April hasn't texted me an address."

"My team will set you up," Greg said. "I'm supposed to message April once we get you tucked in."

Layla made a scoffing sound, but Greg ignored her. "Go get your stuff," Stef murmured to Brandon. "I'll go when you get back."

Somehow leaving Greg and Layla alone together seemed like a bad idea.

With Brandon gone, Stef had the opportunity to talk to Layla, and he took it. "I didn't get to say it before but thank you for shielding us."

"It's my job," she said, no inflection in her voice.

No problem. I've got inflection enough for ten people. "I also didn't get a chance to apologize for jumping down your throat before."

At first, she didn't answer. Greg eased a couple steps away, giving them the illusion of privacy.

"Apology accepted," she said, so much starch in her words they could have stood on their own.

"Thank you," Stef responded. He would have said more, but she came off so dismissive that he left it alone. He was still only about eighty-ninepercent sure he could trust her, and until he was one hundred percent sure, he'd be keeping an eye on her.

Brandon came down with his bags and Stef ran upstairs for his. He also gathered the bird and the squirrels, placing them in their boxes and carrying them carefully to the living room. Greg made a phone call and in moments a large black SUV rolled up in front of their door.

They piled in, with Greg and the driver — who never warranted a name — up front, Brandon and Stef in the middle, and Layla in the third row. She seemed determined to stay as far away from Greg as possible, but her very determination began to make her look silly. After all, why would she choose a seat with barely enough room for a child's legs if she didn't still care about Greg?

Problem for another day.

Stef was content to rub shoulders with Brandon and try to figure out where the hell they were going. Northbound I-5. Northgate exit. A part of the city Stef didn't know at all. Narrow streets with houses dating from every decade between 1930 and 2023. After a confusing series of turns, they came to an unremarkable house.

Right next to a graveyard.

"That's convenient," Stef said, pretty sure Brandon was going to demand they practice again tonight. And they wouldn't even need to go far. Damn it.

Sure enough, as soon as they'd staked out their bedrooms, Brandon insisted they head for the graveyard. Layla started to protest, but when Greg said "Okay," she muffled her complaints.

"I wasn't kidding about the chicken. I did some reading and fresh chicken blood is supposed to be amazing for powering a spell."

Greg smiled, like killing a chicken was something they could do for fun, and Stef was suddenly glad Layla had broken up with him.

"No thanks," Brandon said, and Stef had to stifle a little yip of relief. "Just the candle and your company."

It was nearly midnight when the four of them trooped over to the graveyard. They used their cell phones as flashlights and kept them low, hoping that none of the neighbors would call the cops. Once they were out there, Greg took one look around and started complaining.

"You should have let me bring my team."

Stef waved him off. "Because showing up with an armed guard usually goes over so well."

"My team and a permit, so we wouldn't have to worry about getting busted by the cops."

Stef ignored him, Layla gave him a dirty look, and Brandon wandered over to a grave, seemingly at random.

"This guy'll do." He kneeled down and brought out the candle they'd liberated from their old safe house. Lighting it, he set it right next to the grave marker. The little flame danced and flickered, but there wasn't much of a breeze. Weird.

"If the old incantation was good for deanimating someone, what do you suppose I should say to animate them?" Brandon scratched at the ground in front of the grave marker, more like he was trying to feel the dirt than actually dig anything up.

"Maybe make it about the same gods, but ask them for their help raising the dead?"

"Sure." Brandon went back to playing with the dirt. After a moment, he spoke up. "I call upon those who rule the underworld. Hear me, Hades, Pluto, and all you Shinigami. Share your power, Owuo, Abaddon, and Shiva. Look down on" — he aimed his phone right at the grave marker — "John O'Connor, oh Bast, and raise him in an unnatural life. St. Michael, grant me this gift to restore the balance in your scales."

"Very nice," Stef murmured. Other than their cell phones, there was very little light. Even the moon was hidden by a thick layer of clouds, and the air was damp and chilly. The occasional car passed in a flash of headlights, but otherwise things were quiet.

And nothing happened.

"Goddamn it." Brandon jumped to his feet and stalked off.

Stef stayed put, waiting to see if there'd be some kind of delayed response like with the bird and the squirrels.

Nothing.

"Okay, well, as much fun as this is, I want to go to bed." Layla still sounded uptight, tugging at Stef's sense of sympathy. She was stuck out here with a guy who'd broken her heart — apparently — a guy who didn't trust her, and a guy who might be a necromancer.

No wonder she was grumpy.

Convinced that this time they really had struck out, Stef headed across the carefully mowed lawn, avoiding the graves as much as possible. Brandon stood several rows away, clasped hands resting on top of his head.

"Come on, dude," Stef said. "Time for bed."

"You go on. I'm going to stay here for a few minutes and work on my incantation."

"Not by yourself."

"Gah." Brandon made a scoffing sound. "I'll be fine."

"I'm sure you will be, as long as they just kill you. If they trapped you in another dimension, though, that would really suck."

Brandon arched his back, solid and strong in the darkness. "When you put it that way…."

"Why don't you come back to the house. We can clean up and get into bed, and then you can read to me from your blue book."

"Read to you?"

"Yeah, like, a bedtime story."

Brandon released his grip, and his hands dropped to his sides. "You're too much, Stef Barros."

"That's Doctor Barros to you."

"You want to play doctor?"

"Always."

They both cracked up, then Brandon hollered "Tag" and batted Stef's shoulder. He took off running with Stef on his heels.

Should they have left Layla and Greg alone there? Stef was pretty sure the answer was no. "But maybe they just needed time to talk," he said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Their new room had what a real estate agent might have called an ensuite, but Stef called a closet-with-toilet-and-sink.

"What did you say?" Brandon asked, his voice coming from the direction of the bedroom.

"Nothing. Have you heard Layla and Greg come in yet?"

"Nah, but I can see them from the bedroom window. Either they're making out or I'm getting some kind of optical illusion."

Sparky chose that moment to leap onto the bathroom sink. She pawed at the faucet, so Stef turned it on just enough to allow for a dribble of water. Sparky stuck her paw into the stream, then licked. Fascinated, Stef watched until the cat leaped off the counter. He leaned in the bathroom doorway, fighting a yawn and giving himself permission to appreciate the sight of Brandon stretched out in the bed.

"C'mere." Brandon's tone held the faintest touch of command, and Stef did as he was told.

"What?"

"I thought you wanted a bedtime story."

"Okay!" Stef stripped in record time, then crawled under the covers next to Brandon. His lover was thick and warm, and before Brandon had read more than a page out loud, Stef was asleep.