Night Owls

by Lauren M. Roy

  Justin flinched on his stool, but the tub didn’t reach him. It got caught up in the vortex of light that surrounded him, circling like a miniature tornado. Smaller objects were drawn in—the paintbrushes, the smudge sticks, loose odds and ends Elly and Cavale hadn’t bothered relocating to the kitchen. The bigger things were flung around the room, smashing against the walls.

  “Get down!” Elly had almost forgotten Chaz was beside her. He grabbed her and pushed her to the floor, covering her with his own body as an end table shot over their heads and left a dent in the hallway wall.

  She peeked out from beneath his arm in time to see Justin go rigid.

  The book fell from his lap, its pages fluttering like some invisible reader was trying to find where he’d left off. Justin rose off the stool, his feet six inches above the ground. His whole body bowed, and Elly could see veins popping in his forearms as his fists clenched. His breath came in short barks of pain.

  This isn’t supposed to happen.

  Cavale seemed to be thinking the same thing. He made for the circle, pulling his sleeve up over his fist to help rub out the edge of the chalk line. The stone bowl Elly had put the smudge sticks out in slid across the floor, lifting off when it got near Cavale and missing his nose by inches. Other objects shot out of the swirling around Justin, pelting Cavale and driving him back.

  Elly nudged against Chaz, who was still wrapped around her. “The circle,” she whispered, though she didn’t know if he could hear her over the racket. He eased up, though, giving her room to push off. She dove across the living room. Whatever it was they’d pissed off remained focused on Cavale; nothing came at her until she was right on top of the circle. The couch and the love seat both came toward her like something had shoved them, but it was too late. Elly swept her hands across the chalk lines, wiping out boundaries and inscriptions in one long arc.

  The blue light winked out. For a split second, silence reigned. Elly opened one eye to find the tattered corner of the now-motionless couch about a foot from her face.

  Then came the rattling and clattering as everything that had been swirling around fell to the floor, and one heavy thud as Justin came down, too.

  20

  ELLY SCRAMBLED INTO the center of the now-dormant circle and knelt beside Justin. Chaz was right behind her, debris crunching and crackling beneath his feet. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s breathing. It’s a good start.” Elly peeled back one of his eyelids. His pupils darted back and forth like he was dreaming. “Help me get him on the couch.”

  Chaz eyed it suspiciously. “You sure it’s done attacking us?”

  “Yeah. The circle’s broken. It’s just a couch again.” Elly glanced at Cavale, who was surveying the war zone that had been his living room. A normal person would have been overwhelmed by the mess; Cavale’s reaction was the opposite. He wasn’t looking around and assessing the damage. He was retracing the ritual’s steps to figure out where it had gone wrong. Mundane messes you could clean up easily. Magical ones took more effort. She cleared her throat and waited until his gaze settled on her. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

  The request pulled him out of his contemplation. “I’ll go get it.” Casting one last frown at the circle, he set off toward the back of the house.

  Justin didn’t stir when Elly and Chaz moved him onto the couch, or when Elly pinched the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. That should have hurt like hell and woken him up. He was down for the count. Whether from physical injury or magical trauma had yet to be seen.

  Cavale came back with a mixing bowl filled with water, a dish towel, and a small tackle box that had a red cross drawn on it in permanent marker. The contents of the box rattled and clattered when Cavale set it down beside her.

  “It’s a little understocked,” he said, looking sheepish. “I was never as good with it as you were. But you should have the basics.”

  She undid the clasp and opened the lid. The bottom half of the box held Ace bandages and gauze, cloth tape, a pair of tweezers, packets of antibiotic, and a box of Band-Aids. The top part, though, the shelf that was intended for fishing hooks and lures, held wax envelopes of dried herbs and a series of small jars whose contents were noted on a strip of masking tape on the lids. Elly’s fingers danced over their tops until she found the myrrh. She uncapped it and set it down in easy reach, then dipped the dish towel in the water and began washing the pigs’ blood from Justin’s chest and arms.

  Cavale got up after a minute, returning to his study of the remaining runes. He seemed content to let her do her thing while he paced about, looking for places he might have gone wrong. He won’t find any. Every piece was perfect. It was a conclusion he’d have to draw on his own; Father Value had ingrained the concept of independent verification into them before they could even pronounce the terms.

  Chaz hovered over the back of the couch, watching her work on Justin. “Will he be okay? What the fuck happened?”

  Elly didn’t look up. “Probably, and I don’t know. That’s what Cavale’s trying to figure out.” What should have happened was far less dramatic than what they’d witnessed: once Cavale’s spell finished, Justin would have written in the book one last time, the ink setting not just Creepscrawl down on the page, but transferring the magic the Creeps were after with it as well. They certainly hadn’t figured on spontaneous levitation and pissed-off furniture.

  The cushions turned pink beneath Justin as Elly cleaned off the runes. Cavale didn’t seem to object to her ruining his couch; she had the sneaking suspicion the pillows had been replaced several times before. They didn’t exactly match the rest of the upholstery when you looked closely.

  Only a little of the blood was Justin’s, abrasions he’d most likely received when he fell. When she came across a nick, she dabbed it with myrrh. Chaz’ nose wrinkled at the bitter, smoky smell. “The hell is that?”

  “Myrrh. It’s a good antiseptic.”

  “Yeah, but so is hydrogen peroxide. Probably easier to find, too.”

  Elly eyed him. “This works better.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but Cavale spoke up from across the room. “Elly makes it work better.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. “I just do what F—” Best not to bring him up right now. “I just do it the way I was taught,” she amended, lamely. It wasn’t even anything arcane. Father Value had taught her how to be efficient in her work, how to quickly staunch bleeding or to sew a neat line of stitches if a cut was too deep. She knew how to use drugstore remedies, but she preferred the old methods.

  Plus, myrrh didn’t sting quite as much as rubbing alcohol did.

  She was pulling a splinter from Justin’s shoulder—probably received when he hit the stool on his way down—when she noticed his breathing change. Her nose was nearly touching his skin while she dug around with the tweezers. She could smell the last traces of his soap beneath the coppery smell of blood, and was fighting the ridiculous urge to inhale deeply once more. He’d already called her lifestyle weird. If she started sniffing, that’d only prove how weird she was, too. His chest still rose and fell evenly, but the pause between in and out went away.

  Above her, Chaz said, “Hey, look who’s back.”

  Elly lifted her head slowly and met Justin’s sleep-muddled eyes.

  “What smells like church?” he asked.

  “That would be you.” She got a grip on the splinter and pulled it out, then dabbed on a bit of myrrh. She hoped looking down would cover her sudden, utterly stupid, blush. “The ritual went wonky and you fell. Just taking care of some scrapes, is all.”

  “But did it work?”

  “I, uh.” She sat back on her haunches and cast about for her brother. “I don’t think we know yet. Cavale?”

  He rose from where he’d been crouching at the center of the circle, the Creeps’ book in his hands. “The pages are still empty. But whether it’s still in your head or not . . .” From his back pocket, he produced a memo pad. Several pens had been
caught in the spell’s whirlwind. He plucked one from the debris and brought it over to Justin. “You want to give it a try?”

  “Why not, right?” Justin pushed himself up to a sitting position and flipped back the memo pad’s cover. The pen hovered over the paper for a moment, while Justin closed his eyes and muttered, “Please work.”

  Everyone held their breath as he wrote. Chaz and Cavale leaned in closer. Justin’s hands blocked the lines from Elly’s view, but she didn’t need to see them: all three men swore at the same time. Chaz turned away, looking like he wanted to punch something. Cavale pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Justin sat there stunned, staring at the Creepscrawl like he’d failed a test.

  In a way, Elly supposed, he had. “We’ll figure something out,” she said, even though she had no idea what else they could try. “Cavale will work on it, right Cavale?” She nudged him with her elbow. She was out of reassurances and needed him to take over.

  Unfortunately, he was too busy thinking to be useful to her. “Yeah, we’ll get it,” was all he said.

  Chaz wasn’t much more help. “Fuck this. I’m calling Boston. Val can argue with me later.”

  That got through to Cavale. He blinked at Chaz, incredulous, his mouth agape a moment before he recovered. “You know she hates dealing with them.”

  “Yeah, well, I told her if this wasn’t sorted, I was going to do it. We’re about eight hours past my deadline now. I’m done stalling.”

  Elly frowned. “Who’s in Boston?”

  Chaz already had his cell phone out. He didn’t look up from the screen as he replied. “More vampires. They’re a colossal band of assholes, but they’re not entirely useless.”

  “Why doesn’t Val like them?”

  His jaw tightened, the way people’s did when they stumbled across bad memories. “See ‘colossal band of assholes.’ But if the Jackals are bringing a nest here . . .” He looked from Elly to Cavale. “You two might be good, but are you that good?”

  They glanced at one another. Yes, she thought, we are. She heard the Creep from last night: “Said the leech wasn’t alone. Said . . . Value.” She knew Cavale was thinking it, too.

  But before either of them could answer, Justin broke in. “Um, guys?” He held up the notepad and pointed at its eye-wrenching lines of Creepscrawl. “I . . . I think I can read this.”

  They stared at him.

  Cavale’s throat clicked when he swallowed. “What does it say?”

  Justin squinted at the words, his finger tracing the Creepscrawl as he read. “The syntax is all weird, but this line is talking about the harvest moon. Uh. I think it’s ‘The blood runs strongest beneath the harvest moon.’”

  “Well, shit. That’s this month,” said Cavale. “It’d explain some of why they wanted it so quickly.” He passed the Creeps’ book to Justin and opened it to a page of text. “Can you read any of this, or just what you write down?”

  His lips moved as he scanned the page. The book was bigger than a college textbook, its cover heavier. It made Justin look like a kid trying to read from a grown-up’s library, especially when he seemed to be sounding out some of the words. “This is disgusting,” he said after a minute. “I can read it, but I don’t think I want to.”

  Chaz came back and leaned on the back of the couch. “You might have to, kid. Especially the missing pages.”

  “You can’t be thinking of handing them over.” Elly stood up so she could glare without craning her neck. “People died for this. Even more will if they learn how to kick-start their breeding process again.”

  Chaz held up his hands, the cell phone still awaiting his command. “Easy there. I didn’t say a word about handing anything over, did I?”

  She paused. “No, but—”

  “But Val’s going to want to know, and I’d bet you and Cavale could use some inside information, too. Are you telling me you’d turn down a glimpse at the enemy’s playbook?”

  “No, of course not.” In fact, it was all she could do not to turn the book to the very first page and demand that Justin start reading aloud. He could tell her what Father Value had died for. Maybe she could use what was in there to carry on his work. And avenge his death. She itched to sit down on the damp, blood-stained couch and get started, in case this new ability was only temporary. What if it wore off before they could learn everything? Her breath caught.

  If Chaz had noticed her sudden anxiety, he was ignoring it. “That’s all I meant. So how about this. Sunny and Lia are expecting you guys for dinner. I’m thinking safety in numbers is good, especially now. Let’s let Justin wash the rest of that shit off and we’ll hit the road; he can translate to his heart’s content on the way.” He glanced at his cell phone and grimaced. “I’m still calling Boston. This shit just got even bigger. But I’ll follow you to Sunny and Lia’s, then I’ll go get Val and we’ll meet you there. Sound good?” He addressed the question to all of them, but his eyes were on Justin.

  Justin peered at the mixing bowl beside Elly. The water in it had turned a dark pink from her repeatedly wringing out the dish towel, and she’d only washed off his front. His back was still covered in runes.

  “This has probably gone cold,” she said. “I can go refill it with warm water, if you want.”

  He blinked. “I, um. I was going to ask if I could just, you know. Take a shower?”

  Cavale saved her from mortification. “Sure thing. Second door on your left upstairs, towels are in the cabinet. El, help me pick up a bit?”

  As they swept up the broken things and moved some of the furniture back where it belonged, Elly’s eyes kept straying to where Justin had left the book on the couch. We’ll get them, Father, she thought. We’ll finish what you started.

  • • •

  ELLY HAD NEVER been anywhere as nice as Sunny and Lia’s. Sure, Father Value had taken her to meetings in fancy places before, but they’d never lasted long, and she’d always felt people’s eyes on her while she waited for him to finish his business. She stuck out, she knew it, and she could practically hear people wondering why she didn’t leave so they could stop pretending she wasn’t there.

  But it was different with the succubi. They’d kissed Chaz’ and Cavale’s cheeks, hugged Justin long enough to make him squirm, and, when Elly stepped across the threshold and tried to act invisible, they’d taken her hands and welcomed her. Then they’d let go well before the contact made her uncomfortable. She’d never been good with strangers touching her. It was like they knew exactly how long was safe. Well, duh. Of course they do. Except, it hadn’t seemed calculated.

  She didn’t have much time to ruminate on it, though. Once the round of introductions were done and Chaz had ducked out to go to Val’s, the demons had swept their guests into the brightly lit kitchen. Sunny bustled around getting everyone drinks and fussing with the appetizers they’d laid out—crackers and cheese, little spinach pies, and tiny hot dogs in matching tiny crescent rolls. Their bigger version had been Elly’s specialty, once upon a time. She almost opened her mouth to see if Cavale remembered, but after this morning’s cherry pie disaster, she didn’t quite dare.

  While her partner was making sure everyone had a plateful of food, Lia settled them around the table and held court. She focused mostly on Justin and Cavale, but made sure Elly was part of the conversation. It was so smoothly done, in fact, that Elly forgot to fidget whenever Justin took his eyes off the book to answer Lia’s questions. He’d hardly looked up from it at all on the ride over, only pausing to make notes on the legal pad beside him. Elly had spent the trip entranced, wishing he’d write faster.

  But now she’d relaxed a bit. The spell hadn’t faded at all. If anything, Justin had said the Creepscrawl was getting easier to read, not harder. Cavale seemed to think their ritual had made the magic dig in deeper, though whether that was something they’d triggered or whether it was the nature of the Creeps’ spell to resist ejection, he didn’t know.

  She felt slightly guilty about hoping that Justin
’s affliction would last long enough for him to finish translating, but she couldn’t help it. Whatever was written in that book was a potential weapon they could use in fighting the Creeps. Father Value would have been hovering over Justin’s shoulder, chivvying him on and scowling whenever Justin traded the pen for his fork to take a bite.

  Her semicontent feeling lasted until dinner was nearly over. Then Elly screwed it up. Again.

  She had a bellyful of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes. The green beans had actually been green, and had a bit of snap left to them, not the sickly snot brown rubbery things she’d eaten out of cans for as long as she could remember. She was so full, every movement felt languid. She knew that she’d need to be alert soon, especially with the sun on its way down, but that safe feeling was back and she let herself ride it a little longer.

  Sunny had poured coffee. The cream was near Justin, but his head was bent over the book again. Rather than interrupt him, Elly reached across for the pitcher.

  And knocked over the salt shaker.

  She pinched a bit of it and tossed it over her shoulder. Father Value had ingrained the habit in them so young, she didn’t even think about it. When she looked up, Cavale was watching her with a sad little smile. “For good luck?” he asked.

  “Mm-hm.” She should have stopped there. He wasn’t judging her with the question. If there was anyone in the world she didn’t have to explain herself to, it was Cavale. She couldn’t even say why she went on—Justin was deep into the text; Sunny was cutting monster-sized slices of chocolate cake, and Lia was stealing a dollop of frosting. No one was paying attention to her but Cavale, and yet she kept talking. “The only time I didn’t do it, I broke my wrist the next day.”

  His smile faded. “I remember.”

  Sunny and Lia’s playful banter cut off. Their heads swiveled to Cavale, worry creasing both of their brows. They sensed his mood change.

  Of course he remembered it. He’d been watching her. It was maybe two years after the cherry pie incident. She was eight, he was eleven, and they’d gone to the park to play. They were practicing moves on the monkey bars, taking their climbing far more seriously than the other children present, and Elly had slipped and fell. It was an accident. A stupid playground accident, but Father Value had blamed Cavale. She remembered the yelling only vaguely, through the haze of painkillers the hospital had prescribed.