“Sexy.”
Jasper nudged his shoulder. “Be serious.”
“Fine,” said Crimson. He wrapped his fingers around the ends of the scarf and pulled him into a hard, passionate kiss that tapered reluctantly at the end. “Very sexy.”
He was still getting used to the way the werespider looked at him, as well as the indiscreet way he chose to voice and display his affections. Jasper smiled at him and gently tugged the ends of the scarf out of his hand, smoothing it down and looking away. “I guess it’ll have to do,” he said. “You giving up the leather for good?”
Crimson raised an eyebrow at him. “Why? Are you into it?”
“Crimson.”
“What? I’m just askin’.” He snapped a heavy silver chain around his neck and undid the first two buttons of the undershirt so that it wouldn’t hide the necklace. Then he rolled back the cuffs and pinned them higher, just above his elbows. “I gotta know stuff like that, y’know?” He popped on a pair of sunglasses with small square lenses, tinted slightly purple, untucked the undershirt, and spread his arms slightly. “Now?”
“Now you look like a James Bond villain.” Jasper laughed, but drew a step closer, touching the chain. His dark skin made the silver look sharper, shinier than it really was, and the color of the lenses reminded him of the hue Crimson’s eyes sometimes took right after he kissed him. “I like it.”
#
They returned to their own home three days later. The temperature outside had gone down dramatically, an early cold front in late September; he hated to think what the winter was going to be like. Crimson said he could turn the thermostat up if he didn’t mind the likelihood of the whole place going up in flames; he hadn’t cleaned the air ducts in thirty years.
“Just use the fireplace.” The cold, empty grate in the attic room looked like it hadn’t been dusted since before the vents. He barely ever even noticed it before, situated in the corner, the mantel covered in old trinkets and framed photos, the piano shoved practically in front of it. There was no firewood, but Michael had apparently rigged it up with magical flames, because it burst on at the flip of a switch. Like the bonfire in the Summerlands, the flames changed colors, going from blue to green, green to violet. The heavy black curtains kept the heat from escaping through the poorly insulated windows, and the flames kept the attic warm despite the lofty ceiling.
One afternoon, Jasper woke to the rhythmic sound of a hammer and found Crimson downstairs, repairing the broken windows on the lower level. He had torn up the majority of the damaged carpet, revealing the hardwood floors underneath, and seemed set on fixing the lower floors into something halfway livable, though Jasper told him probably twenty times that he really didn’t mind the space in the attic.
Crimson, visibly on the upper end of one of his moods, cheerfully told him it was really no problem, he needed something to do anyway. “Besides, you shouldn’t have to live in an attic. Especially not when there’s a whole house just sittin’ empty.” It was impossible to reason with him when he was like this. Besides, it would be nice to have a little extra space. Jasper helped in what ways he could.
During the days, Crimson kept on the project. During the evenings, he ran all over the town with Jasper—to movie theaters and concert halls, to restaurants and museums. He was always in the bed when Jasper fell asleep, but always up well before him, and if Jasper had considered him amorous before, there was no word for it now. He hung on him whenever there was opportunity, and even convinced him to dance with him in the clubs once or twice.
It passed, of course, not all at once as it sometimes did, but gradually, less noticeably. One night, he would want to go home early. Another, he wouldn’t want to leave the house. The pace of the renovations slowed from a hyperactive whirlwind to a resentful plod, and then were abandoned altogether. Some days, after waking, Jasper would stay in bed with Crimson all the way to nightfall, talking to him, or reading with him, or simply holding him while he dozed. Others, he gave him his space.
He painted the walls that were already stripped of rotting paper, put throw rugs in the two finished front rooms, and hung curtains over the new windows.
One morning, two weeks to the day since they had been home, just as he was about to fall asleep, Crimson murmured that he loved him, his voice barely audible over the crackle and snap of the fireplace.
He slipped into slumber before Jasper could find the courage to say it back.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
—
Nothing Gold Can Stay
It was late afternoon when Jasper left the house. The first real hint of autumn was in the air, a light crispness that tickled his nose and had him zipping up his hoodie. He was glad for the gray beanie pulled down over his ears. He knew Crimson preferred cooler temperatures and hoped it would cheer him up some, thinking maybe he’d be able to convince him to come out later. He knew Crimson couldn’t help his moods, and knew it had nothing to do with himself, but Jasper didn’t like seeing him so down and wished there was more he could do to help him out of his funk.
Many of the restaurants and bars around the house were still closed, and the ones that weren’t didn’t appeal to him. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of Brooklyn-style pizza, yet here he was. Max had been teaching him a few cooking techniques, but he still wasn’t confident enough to cook more than eggs and toast and hadn’t wanted to bother Crimson with his bumbling and banging around. There was a nice diner several blocks away that wasn’t too expensive, and that was where Jasper headed. He took his time, cutting through a park and enjoying a cigarette on his way.
The diner was half full when he arrived, and he grabbed a seat at the counter, smiling at the waitress who came over to him and poured him a cup of coffee while he looked over the menu. He ordered a chicken Caesar wrap then took the paperback he was reading out of his back pocket while he waited.
The bell over the door jingled, and someone sat down next to him. He glanced up from his book mindlessly, the movement drawing his attention, and started looking back at the page before his mind caught up with his eyes. A middle-aged man with neatly parted dark brown hair that was gracefully fading to gray, wearing a dark suit paired with a bright blue tie, sat next to him, calm gray eyes looking into his startled green ones. It took his mind another long moment to communicate with his mouth, and when he spoke, he almost didn’t recognize his own voice, it was so thin.
“Dad?”
“Hello, Jasper,” said Charlie evenly. “Happy hunting?”
“What are you doing here?” Jasper looked over his shoulder to the glass door as if he expected to see a whole squad of agents accompanying his father. In the small parking lot he saw a single black company car. The windows were too dark to see inside, but Charlie seemed to be alone. “How did you find me?” He’d given his old phone to Al when he’d gotten a new one and could think of no other way to track his location.
“It wasn’t very hard. I know the werespider’s address and the vampire’s.” Of course he did, Jasper had told him himself, hadn’t he? A cold knot of guilt formed in his stomach. In the early days he’d told Charlie everything. It hadn’t seemed like such a bad thing when it looked like Charlie wanted to forget he’d ever existed, but now…
“What do you want?”
“I know what happened the other weekend,” he said.
Jasper instantly thought of the dark church, of Crimson’s mouth crashing against his, and felt the blood drain from his face.
“With the auction,” Charlie clarified, and Jasper felt mildly relieved, though the sick feeling stayed with him. “I’m impressed you were able to take care of the rakshasa on your own. I’ve never faced one myself.”
“I wasn’t on my own. Crimson helped me. He saved me.”
Charlie looked unhappy at that. “Yes, well, when I learned about what had happened, I began to reconsider my earlier decision.”
The waitress returned and set down a plate with the wrap and a mountain of hot french fries beside
it. A few minutes prior Jasper would have dug in immediately but now found he was no longer hungry.
“Anything for you, sir?” the waitress asked Charlie, and he shook his head politely.
“No, thank you, I was just meeting my son. Actually, could we get that to go?”
Jasper said nothing as the plate was taken away, a cardboard box arriving in its place.
“Let’s talk in the car.”
Jasper bristled. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I just want to talk to you, Jasper,” Charlie said reasonably. He was always so reasonable. “I’m sorry for how things happened.”
“You mean for banishing me and deleting my entire existence?” It was easier to be angry with him.
“How did you—ah, yes. The vampire, right?”
Jasper said nothing.
Charlie touched his elbow gently. Jasper did not pull away. “Can’t we talk? You can pick the place.”
For another moment Jasper still said nothing. Then, “Okay.” He didn’t want to talk here, where anyone could hear them, but he certainly didn’t want to get in that car. He didn’t want to go back to St. James.
Grabbing his book and his sandwich, Jasper stood up. “Come on,” he said and then went out the door, Charlie a few steps behind him. He went back the way he’d come, bringing Charlie to the small park several blocks away from the house. It was close enough that Jasper was afraid Crimson would find them, while another part of him hoped he would. They sat on a bench in front of a drained fountain, and Jazz took out a cigarette. Charlie clucked his tongue softly. “You’re not actually going to smoke that, are you?”
Jasper gave him a look and lit the cigarette, breathing the smoke pointedly away from Charlie. “What did you wanna talk about?”
“I told you I heard about the auction. Truthfully, I’ve always been afraid something like that would happen. I promised your parents a long time ago that I’d protect you from this sort of thing.” This piqued Jasper’s interest. He and Charlie had talked about his parents countless times before, but Charlie had never once mentioned any sort of promise. “I’m sorry for my reaction before. I was angry and disappointed, and I acted rashly. What you needed was help, and instead I pushed you away. This whole situation, it’s my fault for sending you on that stupid job. It’s not worth it. Nothing is worth losing you. I’m sorry.”
Jasper’s throat felt tight. Although they disagreed, Jasper still missed his father and had been hurt when it seemed as if he wasn’t missed at all. Charlie’s words cut through his anger, to his heart, and he tried to tell himself that the stinging in his eyes was from smoke, not tears. “I’m sorry too.”
“Won’t you come home? You’ll be safer there. I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you.”
Jasper was already shaking his head. “I can’t.”
“We can take care of the werespider. He won’t be a problem.” Charlie found himself on the receiving end of the half-blood’s white-eyed glare.
“Crimson is not the problem,” he said, sucking back on the cigarette until it was just a nub between his fingers. He dropped it on the ground in front of him, crushed it under his boot, and then pulled out another though he was too agitated to light it right away. “The problem is that I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to kill innocent people anymore.”
“And what do you think they do?” Charlie’s jaw clenched.
Jasper shook his head again. “I’m not going to argue with you about this.” Charlie wouldn’t get it. It wasn’t as simple as Charlie believed it was, the line between good and evil not so definite. His father was strong and smart and stubborn, but so was he. “And I’m not going back there. I’m done.”
Jasper got up to walk away, and Charlie stood as well, grabbing the sleeve of his hoodie, his fingers pressing into his skin. Folami’s face jumped to the forefront of his mind, his cold yellow eyes staring at him, appraising. He jerked his arm back. “Don’t.” His voice was quiet but firm.
“You don’t understand how dangerous it is for you.”
“I can take care of myself. And I have Crimson.”
“No matter how impressive you think he is, he is not enough to keep you safe. How many demons and spellcasters were at the auction? Was Folami the only bidder?”
Part of him whispered that Charlie was not wrong. He tried not to listen to it. “Why are you trying to scare me?”
“You know you’re safe at St. James. I’ve never let anything bad happen to you.”
Jasper thought of Adam, of the dozens of demons his father had sent him to kill without trial or even thought, and almost argued with him. “I’m going home,” he said instead. “Don’t follow me. I’m not fucking around. I’m not interested.”
“If you will not come back on your own,” Charlie called after him, pausing his exit, “then I will take you there, and I have no qualms about going through that werespider to do so.”
They looked at each other across the path, neither one of them recognizing the man they saw.
Charlie continued, “We will dispose of Crimson”—he said his name like a curse, filled with more venom than Jasper could ever remember hearing in his voice—“and we will kill Alcander and his familiar, Maxwell, and then I will drag you back.”
On his own, Jasper knew Charlie wasn’t that much of a threat. He was one human, edging closer to fifty than forty, and though he was in good shape, that would hardly matter against someone as strong as Crimson or even himself. But even if Jasper could entertain the idea of actually hurting him (he couldn’t), he knew Charlie was not speaking just of himself. The Hunters were a force that should not be reckoned with. If they had their minds set on a target, they would get them. Even Crimson would be no match for the entire agency.
They’d have to run. Already Jasper’s mind was forming a plan. They could go to the west coast, or to Canada, where there were still Hunters but not the same ones. He hated to uproot everyone, but what other choice did they have? He couldn’t go back.
“How far do you think you’d get?” Charlie asked, like he was reading his mind. “It wouldn’t be like Miami. The Hunters here are the best in the world.”
Jasper knew he was right. His mouth felt dry, his mind dizzy. He took the cigarette from his mouth, spinning it between his fingers until the paper broke. “If you hurt them,” he said, the words shaking out of him, “I’ll never forgive you. I’ll run away and never come back. I’ll fight so hard you’ll have to kill me.”
“I won’t have to hurt them if you come back.”
Jasper was quiet for a moment. “How do I know you won’t hurt them anyway?”
“I’ll promise you no one will touch them. I’ll wipe their files, and as long as they don’t do anything stupid, they’ll be safe.”
Given that Crimson was extremely prone to doing stupid things, he didn’t think it was a particularly good offer, but it was the best he was going to get. “You promise?”
“Our people won’t bother him.”
Jasper took out his cigarettes and tapped one out. The pack was nearly empty. He’d have to stop by the corner store before he went home. His fingers were numb, though it wasn’t really all that cold, and he struggled with his lighter before the spark caught. “How much time do I have?” He couldn’t leave right now. He’d told Crimson he was just going out for a bite. If he woke up and Jasper wasn’t there…
The smoke wasn’t helping; he only felt sicker.
“Come with me now.”
“I can’t.” He hated the whine in his voice but couldn’t stop it. He felt like crying. “I have to—I have to say goodbye. I need time.”
He chanced a glance at Charlie. His father was looking at him with barely concealed distaste. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he was thinking; the word familiar was active in his own mind. “A day,” Charlie said.
Jasper felt like throwing up. “A week,” he countered. A week was nothing.
“Three days.”
“Six.”
&
nbsp; Charlie’s eyes all but flashed. His hands were rolled into thick fists, though his shoulders were deliberately relaxed. “Five.”
Jasper tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Okay.” Five days was no time at all. He needed five times that amount. Ten times. A hundred. “I’ll be there.” Unless he came up with a better plan. There had to be something…
“Good. I’ll be watching.”
Jasper’s stomach shifted uneasily. Were there cameras on the property? Inside it? Had his father actually seen him sprawled out on the couch night after night, letting himself get felt up by a demon, and enjoying it? Did he know they now shared a bed? That the consummation of their relationship was now only a formality—a “when” rather than an “if,” a “soon” rather than a “later”? That, for maybe the first time since Adam had died, he was happy? That he was loved? That he…
But no, if Charlie knew everything, if he knew the true nature of their relationship, he wouldn’t have asked Jasper to come home. He would have put a bullet in his brain.
Of course Charlie would be watching and listening and waiting. He was a good Hunter, not the sort to let a target out of his sights. Jasper wondered who was on his case, and then told himself not to think about it—any of it. He gave a stiff nod, not meeting the Hunter’s gaze, and started quickly away. Charlie did not follow him.
He felt like he was in a daze or caught in a dream, like his body was far away and he was somewhere else. He was through the park and walking into the corner store near their house without his realizing it, the bell above the door jarring him back to himself. He was having trouble breathing, trouble focusing. He started to leave the store before he remembered he was almost out of cigarettes and went to the counter to buy two cartons of Marlboros. Crimson would want some when he got home.
He floated down the street and through the metal gate, up the front path and into the front room. That felt like a dream too, his eyes still unused to the changes. It looked much better than it had when he had first seen it—the walls freshly painted in a warm yellow, rotted floorboards replaced and polished, covered by a soft area rug, the years of grime swept or scrubbed away. The rest of the house still had a bit longer to go along before it was entirely livable, but if the werespider hit another spurt, it would easily be done before the year was out. They were going to get a new couch, and Crimson said they’d get a reading chair to put by the nonmagical fireplace. The upstairs closets were packed with boxes and boxes of old vinyls, and just yesterday he had suggested they could maybe frame some of them and hang them on the walls, since most of them weren’t doing anything other than collecting dust. He already had a few in mind: Damn the Torpedos by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Jumping Jack Flash by the Stones, Queen’s Night at the Opera.
Strangers in the Night Page 37
