Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Seventeen

D espite feeling like death warmed over, Anders was proud of Micah. Proud of his sincerity and the way he'd turned the necromancer's question around.

What does making amends mean to you?

And Anders was pretty damn sure Micah would do whatever Brandon asked of him.

The way Anders figured it, Micah's gift had left him with too many possibilities at an age when he really didn't even know himself. He'd taken the easy way out because there was no one around to tell him different, and he'd gotten in over his head.

At least, that's what Anders told himself he believed. He believed in giving people second chances and besides, all he got from his wolf was, This one is it .

When Brandon left, Micah sank against Anders as if someone had let the air out of his balloon. Geordi granted them all a ten-minute break, and while both Layla and the doc looked like they wanted to have a go at Micah, they chose to hurry out of the room instead.

Spike did stop in front of him, however. "I worked my ass off to recruit that guy, and if you've fucked it up—"

"Enough," Geordi snapped. "I stand by my decision. A polymorph is rare, and valuable, and if you can't comprehend why we need one, then get out."

Spike's pale face flushed—well, light pink rather than crimson—and he stalked out of the room. Morticia followed him and, after a moment, Geordi did, too.

"Well." Micah's voice shook a little too much for only saying one word.

"They'll calm down." Anders hoped he wasn't telling a lie. Micah's laugh said he might have.

It was a good twenty minutes before they all reassembled. The room still stank of tension and vampire, but at least Micah had actually smiled at one of Anders' jokes.

Brandon was the last one to come back, head held high, earning Anders' respect. As Corbin Blande, Micah must have used Brandon's magic to raise the wraith. No one had stated it plainly, but it seemed pretty obvious. Anders felt for him, and he hoped Brandon would answer Micah's question and allow him to make amends.

Geordi cleared his throat, and they all settled down once again. "Now we get to brass tacks." He looked at each of them in turn. "Our goal is to send Seth Damyan to hell where he belongs, and I believe we have the skills to do it. Here's what you need to know."

He gestured toward the wall, and a screen dropped down. On it appeared the image of a man with overlarge features: jug-handle ears, wide floppy mouth, and bulging eyes rimmed with red, like a particularly ugly lemur.

"That," Geordi said, "is Seth Damyan. He is technically a cambion because his mother was human, though she died shortly after giving birth to him. His father is Abaddon, demon lord of sloth. It is believed that Damyan was born around 1824 in London and that he traveled to our area sometime after World War Two.

"As his nature is essentially lazy, he has made a specialty of finding others who can do his work. Like, say, Micah Jenkins."

Micah stiffened and would have pulled away, but Anders didn't let go.

Geordi, however, continued despite Micah's restlessness. "I interviewed Micah extensively, and as a result, I believe we have a workable plan."

"Excuse me." For the first time since the meeting began, Spike looked serious. "No disrespect, but why is this our problem? If dude was stupid enough to get caught in a demon's snare, it's up to him to get out of it."

Geordi tilted his head with a bemused smile. "Have you read your SPAM handbook? Because your question suggests that perhaps you might need a review. This is our problem because this world is not a playground for the denizens of hell. Regardless of Jenkins' involvement, this demon has caused extensive damage and must be neutralized. Are you telling me you'd like a reassignment? Maybe to the research department?"

Spike subsided, though his flat expression raised Anders' hackles. He'd need a target for retaliation, and Micah was going to be it unless Anders got in his way.

And Anders would definitely get in his way, daywalker or not.

Geordi pointed at the wall, and the image changed. It showed a split screen with an ordinary enough suburban home on one side and a goddamn castle on the other. "The grandiose thing on the right is fairly remote, built on a bluff overlooking the Pacific near Long Beach, about as far south on the Washington coast as you can get. The left is a 1970s box here in Bellevue. According to Micah, the demon splits his time between the two."

Micah cleared his throat. "He goes to the castle when he needs to rejuvenate or regroup. He'd much rather stay in town and cause trouble."

"While we want to minimize collateral damage, as our military leaders would say, we have no way of knowing when or if Damyan will return to the castle."

"So we need to meet him where he lives." Micah sounded stronger, and Anders felt better hearing him.

"We need to meet him where he lives," Geordi echoed. "And when we do, we need to neutralize him."

No one raised any objection, and even Anders felt a flush of excitement. Barros hadn't lied about him feeling like shit. Having something to do took his mind off it.

Geordi outlined the basic plan: Micah would get himself invited into the demon's house and the others would station themselves nearby. Spike and Morticia would be decoys, drawing the demon's attention, and Brandon would do the actual sending.

Brandon was the only one with a question. "Will it work if he's not dead?"

Geordi shrugged. "His essence is from hell, so you should be able to manipulate him with no difficulty. But if it would make you feel better, we could have Micah kill him."

Micah stiffened but didn't otherwise respond.

"It would make me feel better," Brandon said softly.

Geordi nodded, and soon after that, he dismissed them. "I'll be in touch with a time and place when Micah sets up the meeting."

Anders stood, pulling Micah with him. "Let's go back to the hotel, baby. We both need some rest."

"Sure," Micah said. "Let's go."

"This is a test," Micah said flatly once he and Anders were alone together in his hotel room. "I've got two weeks before going before the Tribunal. If I can help them take down the demon, it'll go better for me."

He paced the perimeter of the room while Anders lay on the bed, his eyes closed. "C'mere, baby," he said, holding out his hand.

Micah took it, but he stayed on his feet. "I can't relax, Anders. I need to come up with the right message to send to Seth Damyan."

Anders pulled harder on his hand. "I know, but your thinking will be clearer if you rest for a few."

Micah took a minute to survey the man in front of him, all long legs and broad shoulders and a goofy-ass SPAM sweatshirt. Despite the determination in his eyes, his skin had a grayish undertone. "All right." He climbed onto the bed, hovering over Anders on his hands and knees. "We'll rest."

He kissed Anders' chin. "Rest," Anders said slowly, grinning.

A wave of exhaustion hit Micah, and he flopped down beside Anders. "Rest."

Anders patted his shoulder. "Sounds good."

Micah was about to drift off to sleep when he remembered the white serpent. He sat bolt upright. "Do we have any salt?"

Anders grunted, "Why?"

"To line the door and the windows so Seth Damyan can't send another snake."

"Fuck." Anders tipped his head back. "There might be a couple salt packets in the bag from McDonald's. Housekeeping hasn't been in, so they should still be there."

Micah crawled out of bed and dug through the trash to find the bag. He found two salt packets, then carefully spread very thin lines in front of the door and along each windowsill. He wasn't any kind of mage or witch, but magic worked on intent, and right then, he very much intended to keep the creepy-crawlies out of his hotel room.

He also learned something new. Anders snored. He lay back down beside the wolf—his mate, though he had trouble believing it—and shut his eyes. Anders was big and warm, his steady, rumbling breath soothing.

But Micah couldn't sleep. He had spent so many years trying to escape from Seth Damyan's indentured servitude that he had trouble accepting that he was ready to walk into a similar deal with SPAM. He just wanted to do his own thing: keep Jessie, Anna, and Anders safe and use his gift in a way that would help rather than hurt.

Was that so much to ask?

Working for SPAM might be as close to good as he could get, at least for now. If he could deliver the demon and if the Tribunal didn't lock him up for years on end, he might be able to think clearly enough to come up with other options.

Maybe I could take a lesson from Robin Hood or something .

Smiling for the first time in a while, he actually dozed off, only to wake to his phone's ring, a sound that only meant one thing.

Seth Damyan was calling.

Micah answered.

"You've been busy," the demon said by way of greeting, "but I want you to remember something."

"What?" Micah's heart rate doubled.

A little voice spoke into the phone. "Mommy? Is that you?"

All the air left Micah's body, leaving him in a vacuum. The demon had Anna. Something thumped, as if the child had dropped the phone, and then the demon was back. "So, I'm done fucking around. Your flirtation with SPANK ends now."

"Spank?"

"SPANK, SPUNK, SPAM, whatever. I'm giving you one final task, and if you want to see this lovely little girl again, you had better complete it."

"What?"

"I could use a necromancer, one who is beholden to me. Bring me that young idiot you used to raise the wraith, and you can have the child."

"I'm not sure—"

"Well, you better figure it out, fool. And don't say anything to your new friends, or your boyfriend won't be able to sleep it off next time."

A heavy silence told Micah the demon had ended the call. His knees grew weak and he barely made it to the closest chair. He stared at his phone, hoping to wake up from what had to be a nightmare.

He wasn't asleep.

Neither was Anders. "Hey," the wolf said, making Micah jump.

"You're awake."

Anders was sitting up in bed, his hair messed up, his expression sober. "He's got Anna."

"Yeah." Micah brought a fist to his mouth. "I don't know what the fuck to do."

"Call your ex and make sure he's not blowing smoke."

Micah nodded, beyond grateful for Anders' clear head. Before he could swipe his phone screen, though, it rang with Jessie's ringtone.

Jessie started hollering before he said hello. "Where the hell is she?"

"I'm… I don't…"

"I went to pick her up from daycare and they said you'd checked her out an hour ago, now where is she?"

"Wasn't me." Micah responded so quickly it made him feel guilty.

"Then what the actual fuck is going on?"

"I can't tell you that."

Jessie's voice dropped low and dangerous. "But you do know where she is."

"I think so, yeah."

"Then get her back. I'm calling the cops and I'm going to give them your name."

With that, he hung up.

Micah held the phone, breathing hard. He jumped when Anders put a hand on his shoulder.

"We'll figure it out, baby."

For a couple heartbeats, Micah let himself believe that. "I'm not sure how."

"Let's start by calling Geordi."

"We can't. Seth Damyan said I couldn't tell SPAM."

Anders pressed a kiss to Micah's temple. "You won't. I will."

He had his phone out before Micah could process what was happening. "Fuck," he muttered. "I gotta pull myself together."

While Anders waited on hold, Micah struggled to come up with even the remotest possibility. "There's no way they'll trust me to walk in there with Brandon," he said, mostly to himself.

Then it came to him.

Anders had reached Geordi and was giving him a brief outline of the situation. Micah poked him. "I'll go."

Covering the phone with his hand, Anders asked, "What?"

"They'll have to take the wire off, but I can shift to look exactly like Brandon. I'll go in alone, and when I get close to Seth Damyan, I can shift again and take him out."

"How?"

Micah faltered. "Not sure, but I'll come up with something."

Anders relayed Micah's idea and got a shouted, "Get over here ASAP!" from Geordi.

"I guess it's showtime," Anders said, palming the phone.

"I'm gonna need a shower."

Grinning, Anders rubbed up against Micah's body. "That makes two of us."

"But we better take turns, or we'll never get there." And my baby is in trouble . Micah swallowed hard, stepping away from the big wolf. "You go first."

Instead of heading for the shower, Anders grabbed Micah and kissed him, hard. "There," he said, putting some space between them. "We owe each other some quality shower time."

Micah almost managed a grin. "We do."