by Gayle, Linda
An impatient exhale from Tash. “Still, if you run into trouble, call immediately. These demons are getting bolder. Remember the ones that attacked me last week? There’s no reason for them to be here. What interest could the reformatores have in this place?”
“It is a puzzlement.” He rubbed his cheek and sighed. “Maybe they’re just scoping us out.”
“For what purpose? Unless there’s something developing we don’t know about.”
“I can’t imagine what.” He cast a weary gaze over the shabby car dealerships and the fast-food wrappers littering the curbside. “Is Brother Arum still with you? Maybe he would know.”
“No, his servant took him back this morning.” Of course the blind brother couldn’t drive himself.
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry,” he said before he thought better of it. “I wish to God I didn’t have this calling to deal with.”
“It could be a blessing. The brothers are very interested in you, Cameron.”
“Yes, I got that impression,” he grumbled.
“Don’t you want to find out why you experience these urges? I’d think you’d welcome his help.”
“I’m tired of being…different. What good is it if I can’t even find a weasel right in front of me? You’d have caught it right away.”
“Don’t be discouraged. You have a purpose. I have no doubt.”
Wonderful. A purpose. If only he had a blasted hint of what it might be. It only reminded him how adrift he was. He was a shitty human and an even shittier trice. “I’m going to keep looking now. I’ll call if I see anything.”
“All right. I’ll keep the phone handy. Where are you staying again?”
He’d never said precisely and knew Tash was only trying to worm it out of him. “The same place downtown,” he said evasively.
Tash grunted. “Good enough, I suppose. Be safe.”
Did his mentor actually sound concerned about him? He wondered if Tash might possibly be missing him? He felt quite the dick then, being rude to the teacher who’d walked by his side all these years. “I’ll be in touch. And Tash…thanks.”
“For what?”
“For being there, I suppose. Putting up with me.”
“It’s been a chore.” But Tash laughed before he disconnected.
Cam sat for a minute more, bouncing the cell phone in his palm. The calling had well and truly gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. For so many years, he’d been aching to get away from his fellow trices. He’d nurtured a fantasy about living as a human. In theory, it could be done. Nothing said he couldn’t go without returning to his true form and live out a nearly natural life in his guise.
But today had showed him how hard it would be to fit in. He’d always have to guard his eyes. He’d always run into those who recognized him, if imperfectly. There would always be questions and doubts…and weasels. And there might never be another lover like Dylan, the one man who could look him in the eye and not be afraid.
The thought he might have gotten Dylan fired shot pain through his chest. Cam laid his palm over the ache and hung his head. The pain radiated into his gut, and he bit his lip. Strange. That was more than heartache. Perhaps it was all the running. He must have winded himself. He took a few minutes to breathe until the strange twinge passed, then rose and started slogging the distance back to Dylan’s apartment. He wasn’t a quitter, and one way or the other, he’d find a way to make this right.
By four o’clock, Dylan had filled out ten job applications at local businesses. His hand cramped as he finished the last one, for a fast-food chain—he’d learned not to be proud. A job was a job. Probably he couldn’t count on Dr. M for a reference anymore. Shit, he wished he could explain to her what had happened. Well, he wished he could explain in a way that she’d believed. It really stung like hell that she hadn’t listened to a word he’d said, just shaken her head and told him to get himself together before it was too late.
Dylan’s throat started to close up again with frustration. He stuffed his discouragement down, pressed his lips together, and focused more intently on filling in the “work experience” section of the application. Other than picking up poop and pushing a broom at the vet clinic, what did he have to show for his twenty-three years? Hadn’t even had a paper route when he was a kid. Didn’t finish high school. No GED. So what did that make him? Drug dealer? Drug addict? Slut? Cocksucker? Freeloader?
He realized his fist had clenched around the ballpoint pen so hard it was shaking and forced himself to take a deep breath and roll his neck to get the kinks out. He collected himself a moment, then wrote what he’d written on all the other applications. A lie that he’d been a student enrolled in a college far away until recently. MacDonald’s wouldn’t check, and neither would any of the other low-paying jobs he’d applied for. He just needed a chance, a place to start, and he’d work his way up. That was the problem with Dr. Martin’s—there wasn’t anywhere to go there. No upward mobility, as they say. He should probably be glad he got canned.
But try as he might, he couldn’t take any satisfaction from the way the morning had unraveled. He’d sprinted to the clinic but been forty-five minutes late, out of breath, hair a wreck, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and the smell of weed clinging to his clothes. Honestly, could he blame Dr. Martin? He wouldn’t believe him either.
With an exhalation, he straightened and pushed the application away, capped the pen and stood to hand paper and pen to the manager. If he didn’t get a job soon, he’d lose his shitty apartment. He thought about trying the Chinese place. That cute girl would put in a good word for him. But then she’d be all over him, plus they seemed to mostly hire family. Three of the jobs he’d applied for had been kitchen jobs anyhow. Anything. He’d do anything.
Except go home.
He just couldn’t face Cam. Man, he’d fucked that up too. As he exited the restaurant, his growling stomach begging for the delicious-smelling fries he couldn’t afford, Dylan scrubbed his face. If he stayed out long enough, maybe Cam would give up and take off. Dylan wouldn’t have to look into those knowing eyes and tell him he’d gotten fired. He’d heard the alarm go off and ignored it. Wasn’t sure who hit the snooze, but that was no excuse. He should’ve gotten up the first time.
But he’d been too wiped out from the night before. Another fuck-up he didn’t care to dwell on. Screwing Cam on an air mattress at two a.m. when the kid was fuzzy from his first weed and a bottle of wine. Someone like Cam deserved…well, better than that. What a total shit Dylan was.
But, having nowhere else to go and too tired to fill out even one more application, he shuffled his way down the familiar street and up his crappy front steps. Down the hallway to… “What the hell?”
“Not for you.” Jose had opened his door as Dylan passed and glowered at him. “For your friend.”
“What’s with the cake? And the candles?” With his foot, he nudged a fat white pillar, unlit, thankfully, since this shit hole would go up like kindling.
“Ask him,” Jose said shortly, then closed his door.
“Huh.” Stepping over what looked like Saran-wrapped pound cake on a paper plate, Dylan opened the door and let himself in. No Cam. That ache in his gut just got worse when he figured he’d gotten his wish and Cam had taken off. There was more cake and a dozen eggs in a box just inside the door. What was up with that?
The damned apartment was too depressing to sit in, what with nothing but the air-mattress scene of the crime and… It struck him that the place smelled good. Lemony. He looked around at the clean counters and swept floor. Not just swept but mopped. Everything shone, well, as much as it could when everything was in shitty shape to begin with.
And there against the wall was Cam’s gym bag. Well, hell. Maybe the kid hadn’t given up on him after all. He couldn’t figure people out. Or whatever Cam was.
And whatever he was, Dylan wished he was here now. But he wasn’t. Grabbing up a plate of cake, Dylan slouched out to sit on the front stoop and d
evour it and feel sorry for himself.
He’d hardly gotten one bite down and barely started on his pity party when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. As the sun was already sinking, Dylan had to peer hard up and down the street. A few of the regulars strolled past, people he knew from the nearby apartments. Nothing unusual, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched. Then…there. Back in the shadows of the vacuum-repair place across the street, a tall, thin guy. Standing so still it was fucking weird. His face… Dylan couldn’t really make out his face. Just a pale oval. Like a pale oval on top of a wavery black shadow, like…
It reminded him of Cam’s wings, the way he couldn’t quite get a hold of it.
That thought stiffened his spine, and he jerked up his head. When he did, the man-shape went even more shadowy, and if it wasn’t for the whiteish face, Dylan would think it had disappeared. Dylan stood—and then the thing really did disappear.
If he didn’t know better, he could swear he saw some low-slung black animal lope around the corner of the building, out of sight. As if the man had dissolved into…a big rat or something.
Well, hell, now he was covered with goose bumps from head to toe. Dumping his plate of cake, he stepped down onto the sidewalk. And nearly leapt out of his skin when someone grabbed his arm.
“Fuck! What the—” He slapped his palm over his jolted heart. “Cam, you nearly gave me a coronary.”
“I’m sorry. I was calling you.” He let go of Dylan’s arm to jerk a thumb over his shoulder. “Didn’t you hear me?”
Shaking his head, then staring back in the direction the shadow had gone, he said, “No, man. I was watching something. Something weird.”
Cam’s eyes were hidden behind those damned glasses again. “What was it?”
“I don’t know. Looked like a guy at first, but really dark, with a pale face. And then as soon as I stood up, he sort of…melted. And maybe, I don’t know, I thought…” He paused, shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s nuts.”
“What?” Cam’s hand was back on his arm, gripping hard. In his other hand, he held two bags. “Tell me. Was it some kind of animal?”
“Maybe. It looked like a big rat to me. Why? You know something about this?”
“Yes.” He stepped past Dylan, following his line of sight. “I saw one earlier too. Are you sure you only saw one?”
“Yeah. You know what it was?”
“A weasel,” Cam growled, which made no sense, but the way he said it, the way a mad dog would if a mad dog could talk, raised the goose bumps on Dylan’s skin all over again.
“Maybe we should go after it.”
That snapped Cam’s head around. “No. Don’t ever pursue one. They’re dangerous.” His gaze dropped to Dylan’s feet, then up again. “Not usually to ordinary people, but it’s not completely unheard of.”
“To you, though?”
“Yes. Although they’re cowardly and won’t attack unless they’re in number.” Frowning, he glanced down the street again, then again turned to Dylan. Even with the dark glasses, Dylan could tell he was pissed. “If you see another one…” He threw up one hand. “I was going to say call me, but you don’t have a cell phone. You really should.”
“Love to, but I’m broke.” He shrugged. “And about to get broker.”
“I know. I saw Dr. Martin.”
“What? When?”
“I went looking for you after I saw the weasel. I was worried.”
Dylan stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What the hell is that thing anyhow?”
Cam glanced around as if seeing who might be listening in. “Can we talk inside?”
“Sure, yeah—hey. That’s another thing. There’s all kinds of cake and candles outside my door. You know anything about that?”
“Damn, more? Your neighbors have taken a shine to me, it seems.” He dropped his palm quickly over his stomach and grimaced.
“Hungry?” Dylan asked, though he looked more like he was in pain all of a sudden.
Cam shook his head. “Well, maybe a little. I was going to make dinner for you.” He lifted the bags he held.
“Yeah, I saw the cleaning job inside. Nice. Thanks. But you didn’t have to.”
“I know. I just had an urge this morning. Here.” He thrust the bags at Dylan. “Could we go in now?”
His mind whirled with questions, but he knew patience was the key to getting details out of Cam. Dylan stepped closer, set his lips against Cam’s in a soft kiss, then said, “You bet.”
The addictive tingle that ran through him reminded him of why he was in this mess to begin with, and likely to stay.
Chapter Fifteen
Cam gave Dylan only the vaguest details about the weasels—that they were well-trained animals capable of projecting the illusion of a human form so they might move freely in populated areas. Dylan’s eyes widened considerably with that information, but Cam thought it unwise to go further, to tell him they were lesser demons harnessed by the reformatore, an oppositional group that worked against the church, a group even more shadowy than the order that controlled the cockatrices.
He stressed that the weasels likely wouldn’t harm anyone but that it still was a bad idea to pursue them. No doubt the creature had been looking for Cam. Although he could tell Dylan still bristled with questions, Dylan respected the promise he’d made not to dig too deep, and Cam went about fixing supper, hoping that would be the end of it.
Making the simple dinner for Dylan would have been much more enjoyable if it wasn’t for the constant low cramp in Cam’s belly. Even as he stirred the tomato sauce and kept an eye on the boiling pasta, the twinge acted up again, not awful, but enough to be noticed. Still, when Dylan came up and put his hand flat between Cam’s shoulder blades so he could lean over and sniff the aroma wafting from the meat sauce, Cam managed a smile.
“Damn, baby, that smells great.” Dylan loosely wrapped an arm around Cam’s back, and Cam leaned into him, inordinately pleased.
“It’s nothing. If I had more time and more ingredients, I could really make you something special.”
“Trust me, this is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me in forever.”
Cam leaned in for Dylan’s kiss, dinner forgotten as their lips met and Dylan’s tongue gently slipped along his. Dylan’s hand wandered down to give his butt a squeeze. He flushed all over, hotter than the stove. Already his cock was stiff, which Dylan must have noticed because he reached with other hand and gave that a good feel too. Cam grunted and tried to grind into his palm. All the tension of the afternoon begged for release in Dylan’s arms.
“Later, I’ll show you my appreciation,” Dylan said with that wicked grin Cam adored.
“I’d appreciate that,” Cam joked through a haze of need.
Then Dylan grew serious. “You doing okay today? I’m really sorry last night was so…rushed.”
“Rushed? It was perfect.” He gave the sauce an extra little stir, nearly shivering with the pleasure of the memories. “I’ll never forget it, as long as I live.”
“Eh, I shoulda done better by you.” Dylan leaned back against the counter, his arms folded. “Romanced you a little, maybe. Roses, candles.”
“There was a candle. And God knows we have plenty more.” He waved his spoon toward the white pillars they’d lined up by the door.
“Jesus, what is up with that anyhow? Not that I mind so much. The cake was tasty. When I first moved in, before me and Jose started tussling, Manuela made me guacamole that was out of this world. Maybe she’ll leave us something else tomorrow.”
“It wouldn’t be right to accept it. She’s under the misconception that I’m someone I’m not. It happens now and then.”
“What, like you’re some celebrity or something?”
“Something like that. Someone from Mexico.”
“Maybe it’s the dark hair and those Hollywood shades.”
Cam gazed at Dylan from under his lashes and saw he was not at all f
ooled by Cam’s excuses. Likely he was in that limbo of not really wanting to know an answer he feared, just as Cam feared to give too much information that would drive Dylan away. This odd tightrope they walked was awful. Already, he’d told Dylan too much. How he could have blurted out the word “weasel” earlier was beyond stupid, goaded by emotions he couldn’t quite handle. One dumb step after another, bashing down doors that, once opened, couldn’t be shut again.
“Hey.” Dylan cupped his cheek and brought his face around. “Don’t go hiding away on me. I know there’s shit going on, but it’s okay. We can handle it.”
Leaning into the warmth of that palm, Cam forced himself not to close his eyes out of habit, though he kept his gaze focused around Dylan’s mouth. “I just want everything to go away. Everything but you and me.” He risked glancing into Dylan’s eyes and felt that instant connection, the tumult of feeling that was so novel to him. Thank goodness Dylan pulled him in for another kiss or he might have continued babbling on. And oh yes, that mouth, the rough rasp of stubble against Cam’s chin, the tongue growing more demanding as Dylan’s hands wandered…
Dylan worked his wet kisses down the side of Cam’s throat, and Cam could feel his smile against his skin. “Pretty soon you might get your wish. Just you and me in our cozy cardboard box under a bridge somewhere.”
He drew back and put his hand flat on Dylan’s chest. “You know that won’t happen. You’ll get another job. I can go back and talk to Dr. Martin, explain that I screwed up and it was my fault.” He let his hand drop. “I feel terrible about that. It is my fault.”
“No, it’s not. Look, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I have to take responsibility. I heard the alarm go off and didn’t get up.” He crowded a little closer so Cam dropped the spoon in the sauce and turned into his arms. “I just couldn’t leave you when you were all nice and warm and I was feeling so, so good.”
“It was lovely, this morning,” he admitted shyly.
