Chapter Four

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Stef said out loud.

"What?" Andrea poked her head into his office. The clinic wasn't open, though they both usually came in on Saturday morning to catch up on paperwork and deal with emergencies.

"Nothing." He tried to wave her off, but no, his Andrea wouldn't give up so easily.

She came all the way into his office and closed the door behind her. "You're always twitchy, but today you're hitting new highs. What is going on?"

"Really, it's"—he typed the words reverse necromancy into his browser—"nothing, or nothing that'll be a problem."

"Hooo-kay." She pulled the extra chair closer to his desk. "Start at the beginning."

"There's nothing to say." He scanned the list of hits from his search. Nothing particularly useful. He would have tried to wave her off again but gave it up as a bad bet. "That last client yesterday has apparently developed a propensity for necromancy, and he wants to know how to send his… er, creations back to the great beyond."

She leaned forward, bracing her elbows on his desk, her thick curls tumbling over her brow. "You made a series of word-shaped noises, but I'm not sure what they meant."

"Damn it." He cleared his browser and flopped back in his chair. "He has reanimated a few dead animals. Not on purpose. He doesn't know he's doing it. He'll be out for a run, or something, and poof. There's a dead squirrel on his heels."

She shifted so she could rest her chin in her palm. "And you want to make them dead again?"

"Basically."

"Have you tried ketamine? Some kind of paralytic? Profound hypoxia?"

"No." He flicked his fingers at her, as if that could make her and her unpleasant ideas go away. "I'm reasonably sure that drugs won't influence a creature that's alive by magic."

"Point." She shrugged, straightening in her seat. "Have you called SPAM yet? Surely someone there will be able to help."

He gave her a plastic smile. "I was about to do that when I was interrupted by my partner." Waving both hands, he shooed her away. "Don't you have a dog to castrate or something?"

Laughing, she stood up. "Good luck. You'll have to let me know how things work out."

"Fine," he said, mostly to himself. A quick flip through his contact list brought up the name of a guy who used to work in research. Nice guy. Smart too. In fact, Stefanos might have had a bit of a crush on him back in the day. Before he could fall down that rabbit hole, he tapped the call button. Three rings and he got an answer.

"Morgan."

"Hi, it's Stef. I have a question. If someone accidentally raised the dead, where would they find information about undoing that act?" The silence lasted a heartbeat too long. "Morgan?"

"Sorry, you're going to have to come up with a couple more details for me to make sense of that."

Stef's jaw tightened. The situation really wasn't that complicated, so people should understand the first time. But then, Morgan sounded more intrigued than pissed, so Stef started with the same explanation he'd given Andrea.

"Whoa, dude, that's a trip. Your friend must be freaking the fuck out."

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact." Stef picked up his pencil so he'd have something to distract himself with while he answered Morgan's list of questions. Because the dude always had a list of questions. That's what made him good at his job.

"I think our local necromancer is on sabbatical, but I've still got back-door access to the library. Can you give me a day or so to dig?"

"For sure. That would be awesome." Considering it would take Stef exponentially longer to cover the same territory, he could hardly complain.

"Great. I'll be in touch."

Stef was about to end the call when Morgan asked him one more question.

"Who is this unfortunate guy? I mean, I hear SPAM is pretty desperate for a new necromancer, what with Clancy losing his marbles and everything."

Giving it some thought, Stef decided to keep his cards close. "I'll ask him how he feels about that and let you know his name when you call back."

He might be overcautious, but until Brandon said, "Sure, give my name to SPAM," Stef would keep that info confidential.

They ended the call. Exhaling, Stef glanced at the clock. Eleven forty-five. He'd managed to kill almost thirty minutes. First thing this morning he'd sent Brandon a text, and they'd decided Brandon would pick Stef up at his condo and they'd go to dinner from there.

Stef just didn't know what to do between now and then besides counting down the minutes.

He had a tendency to fall too hard and too fast. It had happened in the past. His relationships always ended the same way, too. Whether the relationship lasted two months or two years, whoever he got involved with ended things. They'd reach a tipping point where they could no longer tolerate his work hours, especially since he could never give them the full explanation.

Sorry, working latelanded differently when your partner thought you were giving rabies vaccines and treating doggie worms, and he couldn't say, "Yo, there's this werewolf, and he got a paw caught in a trap and…"

After too many rides on that particular roller coaster, Stef had given up on ever finding a partner. It didn't stop him from falling head over heels at the slightest provocation. He'd just learned to keep things casual.

Take tonight, for example. He and Brandon would talk and laugh over dinner, then Stef would invite Brandon in for a round of hide the salami. They'd play, they'd wash up, and they'd kiss goodbye, and that would be that.

Stef almost believed himself, too.

Fortunately, he got a call from one of their local owl shifter matriarchs, who had questions about how to help her teenage daughter through her first period. On the one hand, human menstruation was a fairly straightforward affair, outside of the whole cultural milestone elements. On the other hand, owl shifter. That was enough to mess anything up. They talked for quite a while and eventually made an appointment for him to see her daughter Monday after school.

As soon as he hung up the phone, a kerfuffle in the workroom distracted him. Andrea had an emergency to deal with, a pet ferret who'd developed a mysterious mass. Since he was too antsy to do paperwork, Stef helped out or maybe got in her way, depending on the point of view.

Andrea kicked him out at one, so Stef wasted an hour or two at a local shopping mecca, then pretended to tidy his condo. He showered, manscaped, and made sure he was clean inside and out. He spent a good hour deciding on what to wear, and one way or another, he kept himself busy enough that he didn't feel every second pass.

Still, when his phone chimed with Brandon's text, his heart raced. He took the world's slowest moving elevator and came out to find Brandon in his building's lobby. "Hi!" His voice squeaked with enthusiasm. Dear Lord, tone it down or he'll think you're a freak.

Brandon gave him a nod, a touch of pink in his cheeks that could have meant shyness. Or it could have meant it was forty degrees outside and the guy only had a sweater on.

A really nice sweater, stretched across his broad shoulders and nipping in at his waist. Stef gulped, wondering if they could skip the dinner and get right to the salami part. Lord.

Catching hold of his runaway libido, he tried to sound like he possessed the smallest amount of chill. "What are you hungry for?"

It took Brandon a couple beats to answer. "Did you have someplace in mind?"

Stef bit his lower lip to keep from grinning. Busted. Brandon was totally checking out his Coach crossbody bag, the one that clearly identified him as a gay male with bank. And no, he did not care. It matched his leather jacket, and really, what more could you ask out of life? "Not really."

"There's a brewery over at the Redmond Town Center I've been meaning to try."

"Brewery?" Stef smirked. "As long as they have a decent red wine, I'm sure that'll be fine."

They debated which car to take, deciding Brandon's Lexus would be more comfortable than Stef's Prius, and off they went.

"Had a weird phone call today," Brandon said, easing his vehicle into the flow of traffic.

"Weird as in…"

"I'm hoping you can tell me." He pressed the switch on his steering wheel to turn the music down. "It was from someone named April, claiming to be from SPAM."

Stef gave Brandon a sideways glance. The guy didn't look upset, more like confused with a touch of frustration. "What'd she want?"

"Do you know who she is? This person named April?" He snapped the questions out, giving Stef a glimpse into his real feeling: fear.

"I mean, sort of. She's, well, have you ever played Stardew Valley, or any other RPG?"

Brandon relaxed at the mention of Stardew Valley. "Yeah, more than is good for me."

Stef smiled in a hopefully reassuring way. "So, if SPAM is an RPG, then April is the host. We're not sure where she is or what all she does, but none of us do anything without her."

"Do you work for SPAM?"

"As a contractor, yeah. That's why Mack gave you my contact info."

Brandon slowed the vehicle, turn signal on. "Because she told me I'm qualified to join their TTGB Division."

Stef couldn't help but smile. "Welcome to the family, dude."

"Really?" Brandon grinned, still looking ahead. "She seemed to think I'd know what the TTGB Division was."

"Something fairly arcane, like Talentum Tridens Genus Beneficium, or thereabouts."

Brandon raised an eyebrow.

"We usually just call it the Things That Go Bump Division."

"Of course you do." Brandon laughed. "I couldn't tell you how she got my number."

"SPAM works in mysterious ways." Stef leaned into the leather seat. "Though if you filled out an online form recently, that might be the culprit."

"Huh." Brandon laughed outright. "I'm supposed to meet with someone named Spike tomorrow."

"Yeah, Spike's cool. You'll like him."

"The man's name is really Spike? Because I almost bailed when she told me that."

"Nah, I don't know what his real name is. They give us all code names to ensure privacy."

Brandon turned into the Redmond Town Center parking lot. "What's your code name?"

"Can't tell you. It's top secret."

"Top secret, huh?" Brandon raised a sly eyebrow.

"If I tell you, I'll have to—"

"Kill me?"

"Nah, nothing that blasé. I'll just sign you up for every foster program in the city and soon you'll be knee-deep in kittens."

"So long as they're alive," Brandon said wryly. They were still laughing when Brandon pulled into a parking spot. Before they got out of the car, though, he stopped Stef by putting a hand on his arm. "I'm not one hundred percent clear as to whether April intends for me to work for SPAM full time, or just on an on-call basis."

Stef covered Brandon's hand with his own. "You'll know soon enough. SPAM isn't one to keep secrets, and you've got a fairly rare skill."

"Calling the ability to raise animals from the dead a skill seems generous." His expression sobered. "More like a curse from what I can tell."

Stef gave Brandon's hand a squeeze. "That's because you're not in control of it, but I'm sure April and Spike will hook you up with a good teacher."

"You mean…" He tipped his head to stare at the ceiling. "I'm sorry, but the idea that I'd ever willingly raise something from the dead… damn."

"Come on." Stef opened his door. "You need a beer and some food. That'll make things all better."

"You're right."

Brandon opened his door, but as he climbed out, Stef was pretty sure he heard him mutter, "This is some fucked-up shit."

On that note, they dove into the throngs of neighbors and friends who all seemed intent on finding their own beer and food action. The wait for a table at the brewery was over half an hour, so they ended up at a chain Mexican restaurant. Instead of beer and wine, they drank margaritas and instead of burgers, they ate burritos. Given the way Brandon leaned into his chair, smile widening and eyes softening, Stef had been right about dinner's therapeutic effects.

Or maybe it was the subject matter. Instead of SPAM, they talked about movies they'd seen and podcasts they liked. They agreed that most of the true crime genre left them cold, but they liked Criminal because of Phoebe Judge's voice. They agreed that Conan O'Brien was funny when he wasn't being a jackass, and that they'd rather have a root canal than listen to Seth Whatshisname.

"We have more in common than I would have guessed," Brandon said, summing up their conversation.

For his part, Stef found breathing difficult. They had a lot in common, which was catnip for him. "I'll never tell."

"What?"

"That you like a man who carries a purse."

Brandon reached across the table, taking hold of Stef's hand. "I like a gorgeous man who is kind to animals, living or dead."

And with that one word, their jovial mood faded. Might as well dive right in since the mood is already ruined. "So I did some research on how to, um, send your little friends back to…wherever."

"Sparky slept on the foot of my bed last night."

"Aw, man." Stef tugged on Brandon's hand. "She likes you."

"And I think my neighbor found her kittens."

Adding his other hand to the pile, Stef enclosed Brandon's hand. He liked the way Brandon felt. "Feral cats are incredibly resilient."

"I guess so." Brandon made as if he meant to pull his hand away, then changed his mind.

Stef had the feeling that Brandon was as resilient as a cat, but he kept his tone light. "As for the bird and the squirrels…"

"Were you able to find anything out?"

"I have a friend who used to work in the SPAM research department. He asked for twenty-four hours to dig up some info for us."

"Good." Brandon's smile was almost normal. "I appreciate your help with this."

Stef rubbed a palm on Brandon's wrist. "Entirely due to my own self-interest. You see, once I hear back from Morgan, we'll have to get together again so I can share what I learned."

"We will, won't we."

They grinned at each other like a couple of idiots. "We will."