Chapter 9

Deckard sat opposite Perry at his kitchen table, peering at his laptop. The remains of a Thai take-out meal had been pushed to one side. His hope of an early night had died, but at least the midnight oil came with a side-helping of pad see ew, good coffee, and Perry. All of those were decent compensation.

Perry swiped irritably at the tablet in front of him and clenched his jaw, now outlined with a faint haze of dark stubble. "Lots of random and inconsistent info about lithomancy, which appears to be telling the future with rocks. Nothing about ‘The Lithomancer' anywhere. You?"

"No supe organization named SPAM that I can get access to. Maybe we should swap searches."

"You mean, maybe the internet will somehow recognize my astounding superpowers through my typing and open up secret avenues to me?"

"Why not?" Deckard's voice went sharper than he meant it to. "Nothing about this is logical anyhow."

Perry sighed. "The only thing it will recognize is my astounding ability to make typos. To think I once dreamed about being a writer."

"You did?" Deckard rubbed his eyes. "What kind of writer?"

"The kind that actually finishes something they're working on. When I got out of school, I told myself a mundane job meant time to write. I now have twenty-six stories started. Ask me how many I finished."

Deckard figured he knew the answer from the twist of Perry's lips, but he dutifully asked, "How many?"

"One. A short story. Eleven pages. I sent it to some Sci-Fi magazines. Guess how many rejections it got."

Deckard decided they didn't need to flog that dead horse any further. "What we need is an expert. Someone who knows superheroes and villains. We're stalled out on the human side so far, maybe we can make progress if we can find an authority on the supe side."

"Didn't you say you had some kind of police department for that?"

"Yeah, the OSA. I have a request in, but I gather some creep is going around freezing up plumbing to municipal buildings and making pipes burst. OSA is busy tracking that down."

"The Freezer?" Perry giggled tiredly. "That's worse than The Interior Decorator."

"I think she calls herself the Ice Queen." Deckard shrugged. Not his circus, not his soggy monkeys. Other than keeping the OSA from answering a simple question. "What about you? Super abilities run in bloodlines, or so they say. Isn't there some relative of yours we could ask? Or a friend who's a supe? Sorry, superhero."

Perry waved a hand. "Supe is fine. I hear it all the time."

Yeah, but you don't like it. Deckard was good at reading people and he hadn't missed the little twitch Perry gave at the word. He'd learn to do better.

Perry added a fake grin. "After all, we call you ordinaries."

"Fine with me." He hated to push, but this case was giving him the mother of all headaches. "You didn't answer the question."

That grin faded. Perry nudged a container of rice farther down the table. "I really don't know many people in that world. When I was small, my mom liked to hang around with some of my grandfather's superhero buddies. They were good to me, since we'd lost both my grandfather and my dad. But once it was clear I wasn't going to become some kind of high-powered hero, Mom cut ties and moved us away. Ashamed, I guess, of how I didn't live up to the hype."

"Her hype," Deckard pointed out. "Kids grow up who they are. My parents wanted me to be a doctor and heal people, not a cop who might kill people." That was one of the reasons he'd had a Christmas-and-Thanksgiving relationship with his own folks, and rarely spoke to his dad now between holidays.

"Either way," Perry said, "most of those old heroes are dead now and I wouldn't know how to get in touch with any who are left."

"What about your mom? Would she know the community?"

That caused a major flinch. Deckard bumped Perry's knee under the table. He had some idea of how bad Perry's relationship with his mom was, but he was trying to save lives.

"She might," Perry said slowly. "I could call her, I guess, and ask."

"Is she a morning person or an evening person?"

Perry laughed. "Definitely not morning. I should do it now, right? Seize the moment?" He unplugged his phone from where it sat charging.

Deckard stroked Perry's wrist, feeling Perry's pulse bounding under his fingertips. "You don't have to. It was just an idea."

"A good idea. Let's get it over with." Perry tapped a contact, gave Deckard a sideways look, then switched to speaker and set the phone down.

The line rang, rang, rang… just before Deckard expected voicemail, a woman's voice answered. "Peregrine? Are you dying?"

"No, Mom."

"You never call me. Explain yourself."

Deckard clasped Perry's wrist, trying to convey support. He and his mother had ended up with a distant relationship where a month had sometimes gone by without speaking, but he'd never heard that tone in her voice.

"I need some information," Perry said. "I've been contacted by someone called April from SPAM and I have no idea who that is."

"Why don't you ask her?"

"She didn't exactly leave her number."

"Have you developed a new power?" Perry's mother's voice sharpened. "SPAM only deals with active operators. Why did she contact you?"

"So you do know who they are."

"Special Processing and Management for superheroes. Of course I do. Your father was one of their most stellar operators and your grandfather before him. How did you gain their notice? What can you do now, Peregrine? Tell me."

"Nothing new, Mom." Perry shifted uneasily in his chair. "Maybe my old talents have some use after all."

His mother snorted. "Like making sure the shoes match the dress? Right."

Perry threw Deckard a glance that made him want to shake that cold woman, but Perry only said, "How do I find SPAM? Who's April?"

"You don't find them. They find you. As for April, I met her once. She came to your father's funeral and she doesn't do that for everyone, you know."

"Oh." Perry seemed adrift, his eyes unfocused as if he was peering back in time.

Deckard leaned over and spoke into the phone. "Mrs. Crawford, this is Sergeant Deckard of the Nova City Police Department. Your son has been very helpful to us in a life-and-death crime situation, but we urgently need to contact April of the SPAM." Deckard coughed at the ridiculous phrase and plowed on. "Do you have a number or address for her? What does she look like?"

"The police?" Perry's mom spat out the word. "Peregrine, you stupid boy, involving ordinaries is always a bad idea. I'll talk to you when you develop some sense of what you owe your family line."

Dead air replaced her voice and the dot went gray, then green.

"Well," Deckard said with as much cheer as he could muster. "That moves us forward, anyhow. I will say ‘Special Processing and Management' isn't close to the options I tried for that acronym."

"Me neither. Nothing that banal." Perry pushed his chair back and stood. "My brain is fried. Maybe we can follow those clues tomorrow?"

Deckard saw from the time on the screen that they'd worked past midnight. They both had jobs to get to in the morning. "Good thought." He powered down and stood as well. "I'll let Nix out to pee and then we should hit the hay. Um." The night before, stress and crashing fatigue had made falling into bed together easy, almost logical. Now, Deckard was all too eager to see Peregrine Crawford in his bed. That way lies danger. "I'll take the couch."

"Really? I figured we'd share again." Perry's tone was casual but he didn't quite meet Deckard's eyes. "Since your spare room is a detection maze. Worked fine before. Do I snore?"

Deckard managed a chuckle. "No, or at least, I was far too zonked to notice. We can. Share, I mean. I have nothing against it."

"Me neither."

"Okay then."

"Okay." Perry straightened.

They stood there, eyes locked, five feet apart. Deckard would've sworn he felt static electricity leaping across that gap.

He stepped back and bent to call Nix, scratching her chest when she scampered over. "Come on, girl. Last pee of the night."

"I'll go, um, go to bed," Perry said.

"Good idea. I'll join you shortly. I mean, I'll come to bed. Uh, don't wait up. I know the way in the dark."

Perry's tone warmed. "I just bet you do."

When Deckard looked up from petting Nix, Perry was headed toward the hall. Does he always sway his ass like that when he walks or is the brat deliberately teasing me?

Nix took her time doing her business, but Deckard didn't mind standing on the back step, letting the cool night air soothe his heated cheeks. In the house, water ran, then shut off. When Nix was done, he spent a few minutes checking her over followed by lots of petting and reassurance, enough that she was giving him odd looks by the time he was done.

"Sorry," he told her, waving at her dog bed, now returned to black. "Sleep well, baby."

She trod a few circles and curled up with a sigh amid the fuzzy folds. Deckard checked all the locks one more time, turned off and reset the alarm, checked all the window latches.

You're stalling.

Yes. Yes, I am.

He stopped in the bathroom and washed up, stripping down to his underwear. No sleep pants, because he'd left them in the bedroom, like usual, where Perry also was, not like usual. Deckard regretted his habit of wandering the house naked at night. If Perry was staying, Deck would need to develop new reflexes.

I hope he's staying.

The bedside light was still on when he made it into his room, but Perry lay curled under the sheets, his eyes closed. Not sleeping. His slow breaths were too silent for true sleep. But faking it, no doubt in case that made Deckard feel more comfortable.

He's a good man.

Deckard stripped off his underwear, tossed them into his hamper, and pulled on the sleep pants he'd left folded on the dresser. He wondered, as he turned, if that was a glitter of watching eyes under Perry's almost closed lids.

I hope so. If Perry liked looking at him, that was a good sign— Good sign of nothing. We're not touching him, remember? Cop. Witness. No no no.

Perry lay on Deckard's usual side of the bed. He wondered if that was forgetfulness or provocation. Moving to the bedside, he tapped Perry's naked shoulder. "Hey, move over."

"Huh?" Perry did a pretty convincing waking-up act, although the eye rubbing was a bit over the top.

"You're on my side. Scoot."

"Oh. Sorry." Perry wriggled across the bed, laying his head on the other pillow.

"No problem." Deckard lifted the covers enough to make sure Perry had boxers on and he wasn't dealing with a fully nude, hot, superhero twink in his bed. Deckard had a lot of willpower, but he didn't want to do a test-to-destruction on it.

Stretching out on the mattress with a sigh, he eased the covers up over them. "Bed, glorious bed."

"It is a comfy one," Perry murmured.

"Much better than the couch."

"For sure." That tone sounded hoarse.

Deckard stretched out an arm, turned off the light, and rolled to face Perry in the near-dark. "Are you okay? That was a hell of a day, again."

Perry's laugh held an undercurrent of hysteria. "Yeah. Grilled by shark-like detectives, shot at with acid balls, and drafted by a mysterious agency. And, you know? The worst part was talking to my mother."

Deckard fumbled across the bed and found a bit of Perry. Chest. Naked. He followed it to Perry's arm, rubbing gently. "I'm sorry I suggested it."

"I'm not. She gave us useful information. I wonder if there are photos from Dad's funeral online. Maybe we can spot April."

"Maybe." Deckard waited, hearing the unfinished note in Perry's voice.

"Or maybe we can spot another superhero who might be willing to help us, for my dad's sake."

"Or yours?"

"Nah. You heard my mom. All I'm fit for is working in a bridal registry."

Deckard rubbed harder. "With all due respect, your mother is…" He ran out of words he dared say.

"I don't get it," Perry whispered. "Okay, yeah, she wanted a powerful hero son so she could claim the secondhand glory. She got the Interior Decorator. But I'm still her kid, right? I hadn't talked to her in months, and she didn't even ask how I was doing."

Deckard scooted a little closer. His leg brushed Perry's. He said, "I know it's no help, but sometimes you have to let toxic people go. Even if they're your family. Even if they should love you. My grandfather on my mom's side was as bigoted as they come. Full on Aryan Brotherhood type. When I came out as queer, he had a fit, wanted my folks to send me to one of those conversion camps. Claimed they'd make a real man out of me."

"Fuck." Perry's warm fingers clasped Deckard's. "They didn't, did they?"

"No. First time I saw my mother stand up to Grandpa." He might not have been close to her as an adult, but he'd be eternally grateful for that moment. "Grandpa said she had to choose between him and me, and she chose me. No hesitation. Said he could come back when he grew a heart. They hadn't spoken in a decade when he passed."

"Good." Perry's sigh drifted warm air across Deckard's cheek. "My mom doesn't care that I'm gay, though. She's not a bigot."

"Sure, she is. Sneering about ordinaries. Rejecting you because you're not super enough. That's not much better."

"I guess." After a moment of silence, Perry added, "I bet if there was a camp that could've beat and propagandized real superpowers into me, she'd have sent me."

Deckard had no other choice than to gather Perry close. "Or maybe not. You don't need to push the analogy. But whatever she does or doesn't think, your powers are real, and interesting, and probably valuable sometimes. And even if you never did anything more noteworthy than making the shoes match the dress, you'd still be a special person."

"Really?" Perry blinked up at Deckard, a sheen in his eyes catching the faint light from under the door. His mouth was right there, lips parted.

There was really no other choice. Deckard kissed him.

Perry returned the kiss eagerly for an instant before they both pulled back. "Oh."

"I shouldn't have done that," Deckard told him.

Yes, we should. Many times. And more.

Deckard shoved his desire down firmly. "I do mean it, though. You're a special guy, Perry. It's a tragedy your mom doesn't see that, but other people can. Do."

Perry reached for him, but Deckard forced himself to dodge. "Now's not the time to do anything foolish."

"Kissing me was foolish?"

"Very." He sighed, but the only right thing was to put their problem clearly into words. "I like you. A lot. You're hot—" And kind, and smart, and I am so screwed. He forged on, pretending this was just about what his dick wanted. "—and if we met in some club, I would do you without a second thought. Assuming you felt the same?" He paused.

"Same," Perry agreed.

"But I'm a cop and you're all tangled up with this case. If I hide you here in my house to protect you… well, I can perhaps get away with that much. You're a family friend, you're at risk, I'm not really the investigating officer, that's Major Crimes. But anything more doesn't just cross an unprofessional line, it smashes it to bits."

"Oh." Perry seemed to shrink into the bedding. "Sure."

"But we're both adults, right? We can keep our dicks to ourselves. Like, two hot queer guys in one bed don't have to fuck."

Perry gave a weak chuckle. "Are you saying we're both hot?"

"Hell, that's objective reality—" Deckard swallowed a truly unprofessional baby before the word could cross his lips. I must still be sleep deprived. "Here, turn over. Let me spoon you. We both need to rest."

He thought Perry might argue, but after a moment, he rolled on his side facing away and scooted back toward Deckard.

They fit together well. The AC kept the house cool enough that Perry's back and thighs against Deckard's chest and legs were comforting rather than cloying. Deckard draped an arm over Perry's hip, letting his fingers drift across cotton and hairy skin as he found a comfortable spot.

"Even this is foolish," he murmured in Perry's ear. "But irresistible. Now sleep."

Perry chuckled and softened against him, his breaths lengthening a minute later. Deckard waited to make sure Perry was out, his body lax, his breathing rasping lightly, before letting go of his vigilance and falling asleep.